Doughnuts Had Failed to De-escalate the Situation
written by: Ellie Ness
The Headteacher knew that there were grumbles from the usual suspects in the staff room: autocratic, dictatorial, non-consultative, and other oft-uttered phrases had been bandied about. Well, it was HIS school and he had been appointed by the local authority to make changes and, truth to tell, change was most certainly needed.
The results in the last set of exams had been shockingly poor. A Higher pass rate of 14% which teachers had tried to explain away by pointing to the high percentage of children entitled to a free school meal, eye-watering drug or alcohol dependency figures amongst the parents, and no remaining factories or mines for young people to aspire to move on to when they left school. The children lacked ambition, but so did their teachers!
And yes, Paul was a micromanager and proud of it. He hauled every Head of Department into his office and told them to shape up or jog on. He couched it in acceptable terms so the unions couldn’t object, but the message was the same. The HoDs, in turn, aimed their barbs at their teaching colleagues, and the culture changed from one of collegiality to blame-and-shame, not exactly overnight but rapidly for an educational establishment.
Staff absence went up, children were in tears in corridors before assessments, and the car park was full of teachers’ cars from half seven in the morning until six at night. Everyone in school was miserable except Paul. He saw the effort everyone was making. He dropped in on lessons on purpose unexpectedly and noted that his “Excellent Lesson” tips had been taken on board – lesson starters, whiteboard answers for instant feedback, lesson plenaries, and exit cards were all in place. Homework was now online, and it was instantly obvious who was submitting work, how quickly the teacher was marking it, and how the teacher’s judgements of progress were now tied to evidence rather than gut feeling and experience of past cohorts. Parents were receiving reports every six weeks, and, in Paul’s mind, the mental exhaustion of staff and pupils was well worth it because the exam results would be terrific this year. Paul would then use this experience to move to a better school in a leafy suburb, closer to home, and his BMW wouldn’t seem quite so out of place with the locale.
Staring at the results of the mocks was dispiriting. A Higher pass rate of 14.5% was predicted for this session. Even with the expected uplift of 5% in the run-up to the real exams, supported study and Saturday school, it wasn’t the huge turnaround that the school needed, that he needed. How would he ever get out of here if he didn’t make good his interview promises?
Paul called a staff meeting and rolled out the Krispy Kremes. The urns were filled and boiling away. Bring your own cup, had gone down like a lead balloon. The last thing teachers wanted at the end of a full day of recalcitrant teenagers was to listen to their Headteacher waxing lyrical about how they still weren’t good enough. The doughnuts lay largely untouched, except by P.E., and the facial expressions of those in the rows before him were as unfriendly as the Tricoteuses at the guillotine.
The doughnuts had failed to de-escalate the situation. Paul’s reign of terror was over.
“Listen folks, the results still aren’t great. What can we do that we’re not already doing?” Paul began.
Hands shot up around the assembly hall with ideas and pointers. And maybe, just maybe, it was time for Paul to genuinely listen.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Highers in Scotland, which pupils sit around the age of 16, are roughly the same as A-Levels in England.
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