For 34 of my 43 years in teaching I have been referred
to as ‘Andrew’ by students and fellow teachers. Andrew is my name – others
called me ‘Andy’ when I was at college, but that has never stuck. I have always
had difficulty seeing myself as an ‘Andy’, the name holds connotations of one
who likes to go out with his mates, have a good time, and be the life and soul
of the party – I’m afraid that is not and never has been part of my character,
believe me I have tried!
‘How can the children possibly respect you if they
call you by your first name?’, my mother was aghast when she heard that I had
found a job at a school in which informality of relationship was deemed as
integral to its ethos.
‘How can there be discipline when the children can
wear what they like?’ She added, as all the formality of her own background and
way of life came rushing to the surface like a flood of disbelief. My mother
thus encapsulated the authoritarian outlook that has dominated schools for many,
many years.
Recently, I read about a mainstream state secondary school
that on the first day of the school year made nearly 200 students sit in
silence in the school hall for about 2 hours for ‘uniform infringement’.
The school’s stated uniform policy is this –
‘We believe that correct uniform is very important in
encouraging self-respect, pride in the school and a sense of community. It’s
also an excellent indicator of a student’s attitude, state of mind and
readiness for work.’
Bohunt
School, Liphook, Hants
An informal ethos in educational establishments
questions assumptions about regimenting children, systems of punishment and
reward, and allows for relationships to blossom. Undoubtedly, teaching in an
informal situation is very challenging – there is no hiding place, no status to
cling to, little in the way of a formally designed sense of hierarchy, and there
is an obligation to respond to questioning of authority by giving attention to
the question itself, and listening to the student.
I have had the very good fortune of teaching in 3
schools* in which informality forms the ground upon which learning takes place.
The level of informality has differed in each place, but the school in which I
am now working, and have had significant involvement in over the last 40 years
or so is probably the most informal.
It is a residential international education centre for
around 75 students aged from 14 to 19. Staff and students live together,
sharing many of the day to day tasks of taking care of the place and each
other. The community exists to learn about what living is – not what someone’s
idea of what life is, but to find out what it means to inquire into life with
an open mind. This cannot effectively take place in an authoritarian
atmosphere; it cannot exist in the systems that exist in most schools. However,
this sense of informality does require consideration of others, a willingness
to withhold judgement and an acknowledgement that mistakes are made. For
learning to be effective there must be affection, which implies a lack of
coercion and a willingness to listen.
Formality implies control; the formal gardens that became
fashionable in stately homes of the 18th Century are testament to
the obsession in taming the wild. And that obsession was also translated to the
treatment of children. Formality is mechanical, requiring pre-determined
responses and ensuring outcomes that have also been prescribed. Consequently,
formality limits freedom, limits spontaneity and denies humanity. Formality
forms the basis in the language of fear.
The current approach to education is all about a
faceless, standardised production line from which some children will emerge as
successful achievers and many others will be spat out as failures, losers. This
lugubrious machine hoovers up money as the segregated masses are processed, but
the residual fallout of individuals through this system is requiring even more
funding.
Learning is the lifeblood of being human; there is no
price; there are no limits and learning cannot be formalised.
My mother did change her attitude to the schools in
which I taught, even supporting our youngest son in his final year at the school at
which I now work. Sadly, the formality of her own upbringing could not leave
her. She died after 2 years at a care home where she was seen as a cantankerous,
self-important, superior nuisance; until she succumbed to dementia and softened
slowly into a self-imposed death – no longer eating or drinking.
*St. Christopher School, Letchworth;
Bedales School, Hants; Brockwood Park School, Hants.
