The Three Trainees: Learn How to Manage the Classroom

By John Wootton

Bal, Mark, and Moneeba are about to start their second school placement as trainee teachers at Holybrook School. Its the inner city, and life is about to get tough, both professionally and personally. They all believe they have what it takes, but do they? When they meet Beebee, an experienced deputy head teacher, they soon realise that their lives are about to change . . . and fast! Will Bal change her domineering ways? Will Moneeba give everyone else a chance to talk? Will Mark overcome his uncanny ability to sweat at the slightest hint of pressure? The events that unfold teach them things they never knew about themselves and their closest friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477230053

John Wootton

John Wootton is a Senior Vice Principal in a Secondary School in Birmingham. He has trained and coached hundreds of teachers and trainee teachers on the subject of behaviour management. In his current school, he uses the latest remote camera and phone technologies to coach teachers whilst they are teaching their students. He believes strongly that teachers should spend as much time learning the art of behaviour management as they do on learning their subject. His philosophy is simple: “It’s all about you!” He lives in Wolverhampton, England and loves to keep active by playing football, badminton and walking miles up and downstairs at school! Although he has done many jobs, he still believes his is privileged to be a teacher.

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© 2012 by John Wootton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   09/07/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3003-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3004-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3005-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1  Beebee

Chapter 2  Why do my friends irritate me so much?

Chapter 3  It’s great when you find out you didn’t know

Chapter 4  Knowing how ignorant you are is really clever

Chapter 5  You have to take the first step

Chapter 6  What is your heart really set on?

Chapter 7  Better a diamond with a flaw, than a pebble without

Chapter 8  Get rid of your bad habits

Chapter 9  Learn from your past mistakes

Chapter 10  If you have knowledge use it, if not, say you don’t know

Chapter 11  You can move a mountain starting with small stones

Chapter 12  Those who really know, always share their knowledge

Chapter 13  Changing yourself will probably make you a better person

Chapter 14  The highest form of defence is not to be there

Chapter 15  Controlling yourself is more powerful than controlling others

Chapter 16  You’ve cracked it when you really know yourself

Chapter 17  Animal behaviour

Chapter 18  Take a few moments and reflect

Chapter 19  Picasso or Nichita?

Chapter 20  Every time you hit your head against a brick wall it hurts

Chapter 21  Thrown to the lions

Chapter 22  Surprise, surprise

Chapter 23  Not so easy after all

Chapter 24  The sound of silence

Chapter 25  Making genuine connections

Chapter 26  The calm before the storm

Chapter 27  The pheonix from the flames

Chapter 28  Rhetorically speaking?

Chapter 29  Times, they are a changing

Chapter 30  Back to the beginning of the end

Chapter 31  No-one said it was going to be easy

Chapter 32  A simple envelope

About the Author

Chapter 1

Beebee

I held open the door as my two friends and soon-to-be colleagues stepped forward into what for me looked and felt like a giant chasm. It was nothing unusual, my nervousness always shone through and no course of hypnotherapy that my doctor suggested was going to change that.

I quickly surveyed the pictures of successful past students with huge smiley faces, holding passports to an uncertain future, trying not to show they had done better than their lifelong friends. Awards and recognition for Holybrook Business & Enterprise School filled the rest of the recently painted walls and I was instantly transported back to my own schooldays.

My PE teacher was Mr Hughes who had relentless enthusiasm and ability to pass a rugby ball the length of the sports hall. Mr Edwards, the chemistry teacher and basketball coach who ended up almost like a father figure and taught me that even chemistry could be fun. Clive ‘Boyo’ Simmons who had a beer gut no matter how many sit-ups he did, but he had the sweetest hook shot at lunchtime basketball club that I ever saw. Mr Thomas my English teacher who wore matching shirt and ties, who went on to become a best-selling author, writing some of his first book in the staff room at lunchtime. Mr Cane the maths teacher who did his best with me, but I never did understand quadratic equations and what on earth pi is or does. And finally Mr Merriott my first headteacher at secondary school who always called you William or Mary depending on your sex and who only spoke to sixth formers in French! God they were great days, the best ever, no responsibility and no thinking about tomorrow. Just waiting for the PE lessons, the end of school or Saturday mornings to play the next game of football… Bliss.

My happy days were abruptly ended by Bal, my friend from college and university.

‘Hello there, I believe you’re expecting the three of us. We’re here to see Mr Beebee," offered Bal to the receptionist. That was typical of Bal, never slow in coming forward, always ready to help and always there with her opinion, which ninety-nine times out of a hundred was always correct anyway, so she said.

Fill these in then you two, her brusque manner nothing new to me or Moneeba, and don’t hang them round your neck in case we look just like visitors!—Joking! Lighten up!

Moneeba looked at me, turned down the corners of her mouth and raised her eyebrows, the usual way she showed her disapproval of Bal’s domineering ways. Moneeba sometimes confided in me in private and would trot out her usual phrase which was something to the effect of, ‘What goes around comes around’. I was only ever half-listening when Moneeba started her monologues; it was certainly never a conversation when she was talking about Bal.

It wasn’t something I felt I could or should solve, so my one and only part in any of the many dialogues was at the end when I would always utter, It’ll sort itself out, all in good time. I swear she didn’t even realise I was there most of the time.

As friends I loved them both as individuals, but as a pair the potential for an argument left me smiling at them both. Sometimes I wondered why I ever went out with them socially as I was left with permanent frown lines, which I could never disguise however much I used the latest magical youth cream off the TV. It was OK for them, as they were both beautiful and were never short of admirers.

Bal was always dressing to impress, never without her designer clothes, handbags, shoes and smellies that simply oozed money. I was waiting for the day when she came to school to teach in a pair of flat shoes and cheap blouse and I could say, ‘I told you so’, which I promised I would. I was also never sure how long it took her to do her jet-black bobbed hair in the morning, but I was sure she had the straighteners on for longer than necessary. In fact, that was the word, ‘unnecessary’.

Moneeba was a different woman altogether; much older in some ways, yet so young and innocent in others. She said that she was a product of ‘east meets west, but still mostly east’ and because I was naïve and my knowledge scant in that area, I always refused to comment. I did know however that loads of my mates fancied her and she was never brazen with it, quite the opposite in fact. The thing that always nagged in the back of my mind though, was whether she was going to be able to control unruly teenagers in an inner-city school. No, looking back, I was concerned.

At that point, the journey that was going to answer the question for all of us was about to begin as the man we had to meet first of all had arrived; Mr Beebee, the Deputy Headteacher at Holybrook School had arrived to escort us for our induction meeting. He was wearing a plain black jacket and trousers, white shirt and a dark-yellow tie; at around six feet inches tall he cut an imposing figure, as in his past he’d obviously visited the gym and pumped iron. His hair was short and receding slightly and the thin lines emanating from the corners of his eyes put him at about 50 years old, but his youthful attitude and clear enthusiasm made him appear much younger. Harry Mawdsley, one of our lecturers, said that you could tell a good teacher by the way they walked into a room and Mr Beebee proved that theory alright.

Bal stared him straight in the eyes and cooed, Hello. I’m Baljit Kooner, pleased to meet you. She wasn’t even on interview and there she was practising all of the non-verbal behaviours we had been advised to use.

And you are Miss Begum, Mr Beebee announced, as he put out his hand to Moneeba. Your first placement school has told me lots about you.

Please, call me Moneeba, we’ve heard lots about you too.

I couldn’t believe it! There was I, worried if she was going to go into her usual babbling routine and she looked him straight in the eyes as calm as you like, succinctly let him know what a pleasure it was to meet him. I was the last to receive the warm welcome.

Mr Vernon! Man after my own heart. He looked me straight in the eyes. PE teachers need to stick together you know!

Er… yes… I reckon so… er… hello. The sweat beads started to slowly bleed from my forehead. If I really could have been swallowed up by that big hole in the ground then the timing would have been perfect. If first impressions count then at that point in my future career I had thrown a one, landed on a square saying, ‘Go back 5 spaces’ and then slipped down the neck of the longest, slipperiest snake on the snakes and ladders board and landed on the square saying ‘Start’.

Why couldn’t I replicate his tone of voice and look him in the eye and choose the right words like him? Why couldn’t I do that and automatically make him feel like a old friend within five seconds as he had just done to me? I was sure it wasn’t just age and experience. More questions.

OK, let’s go to my office and have a quick chat, before your day really gets underway. If we’re quick we’ll miss the throngs of children winding their way down our very slim corridors. Mind you, it’ll make for some quick introductions and give you an insight about their behaviour.

Despite my bumbling response, I felt as though I was happy to know I had an ex-PE teacher as a guide who had obviously risen through the ranks; there was hope for me after all as long as I could cure the insufferable worrying about nothing. He could be the person who shows me the way and all I had to do was follow in his footsteps. That would take years though and even though it was easy to envisage that day, getting there would be slightly more difficult. Arriving at this point had been hard enough and the three of us had changed immeasurably already, but our last placements had not gone that well. We all hoped it was down to inexperience, poor training and de-motivated students in our last school.

Little did I know it, but the day was about to change my thoughts on that, my life and the lives of my two closest friends.

Chapter 2

Why do my friends irritate

me so much?

The corridors were slim and there were throngs of children moving in waves, almost merging into each other as one person’s laugh became another’s cry for help.

Hey Jubel, laters.

Touching of fists.

Bring Usman.

It may as well have been a different country, because before entering the third decade of my life, I had trouble translating ‘yoofspeak’ as it was spoken, let alone on text. I suppose every generation has its own vocabulary and because I was a little older I really believed it was better in my day. I sounded like my Dad and that wasn’t good. Mr Beebee was older, much older, so how did he cope with the ever-changing communication of the young?

He had dashed off in front of us with a purposeful stride as though he was interested in using up every second of the day in case it was his last. He didn’t even break stride as he tidied up the last few children.

Alan, pop your tie up and shirt tucked in please, he asked, as Alan entered room 109. Nahian, food back in your bag now, break’s over.

Sir, was the reply in unison. Not a flinch, not an argument, not anything, almost an acceptance of the way things were and would always be.

Of course, Bal was one stride behind and took the chance to run the fingers of her right hand through the back of her hair as though the instruction to tidy up in some way applied to her. Moneeba was soaking up the sounds and supplanting images of the mirage before her and me bringing up the rear, feeling every step of the way, sweat retreating for now. If only Bal knew how much of a suck-up she looked sometimes, I’m sure she would have slowed down in her race to be the most attractive, best-dressed, first to finish, number one…

Moneeba turned round to see if I was still there, her eyes telling me to hurry up. I always tried put on the look of confidence when she was seeking support and for her that was just engaging her in conversation, letting her know she was important and needed. Little did she know that I benefited as much from the giving. I had to get close to her to talk and someone simply listening to me and letting me know they were listening gave me all the support I needed. Bal’s response was always a, ‘Yes, of course, sure,’; she may as well have said, ‘Yes Mark, whatever,’ and disdainfully show me the palm of her hand.

We fought our way up the first flight of stairs like salmon and walked gainfully along a long corridor. Holybrook clearly loved its children. There were photographs everywhere and not filling up spare wall space was clearly treated as a criminal activity. They weren’t just any photographs though; these were small through to humungous. Someone must have cleared IKEA of every frame they had in stock and the cooking, reading, making and playing of students past and present, were all captured in time as though the teachers wanted to keep them close to their heart and not let them flee the nest.

At last we reached the office and Bal adjusted and preened herself as she glanced at her reflection in the plastic covering children’s faces on the walls. Moneeba simply listened as the sound of students shuffling and being forcibly squeezed into rooms dissipated and the little crevices that made up the ‘v’ shape in between her inquisitive eyes faded away. Noise was always a issue for her she said. Bal couldn’t see why, and I could never quite get to grips with why either. They both followed Mr Beebee through the door which didn’t have his name for some strange reason. My headteacher, Mr Merriott, had a huge plaque and two lights above the switch the teachers pressed to show green for enter and red for go away; an ancient relic which he utilised for a power-play. This door though, quietly stated, ‘Deputy Headteacher’ on a badly worn silver plate attached with 4 screws all with different heads. I wasn’t sure why I noticed things like that or why I had the insatiable urge to put them right.

Right. We have forty-five minutes. Noel Glasspole has planned out your day so that you see all you need to see, speak to all of the important people and hit the ground running tomorrow. For now I’m going to be asking you questions and finding out from each of you what we have to do to support you and mould you into great teachers. All I ask of you is that you are honest and work hard to put any new information into action.

Suddenly I had the distinct impression I was listening to someone who knew exactly what he was doing and that if we followed him, success was assured. My eye caught the photographs of children and families pinned on the wall. It was too early to ask who they were, but their prominence gave me the feeling that they were children and grandchildren, who almost by osmosis, were providing the warmth and security he received at home; not that he needed it.

Moneeba had temporarily gone into a daydream, no doubt inventing all of the conversations she was about to have during the day. Bal was as Bal usually was, concentrating on keeping eye contact, sometimes to the point of intrusiveness I always thought. Her smile was engaging enough and anyone meeting her for the first time couldn’t fail to be impressed with her apparent attentiveness. She once told me that sometimes she thinks about having her nails done when people are talking to her, but as long as she kept looking at their forehead they thought that she was maintaining eye contact. Shallow.

So, first question, he uttered as he took off the jacket and hung it up on the wooden coat hanger behind the door, why on earth would you want to be a teacher? A puzzled look transferred itself from his brow to his stubbled chin. My heart sank and the other two were eerily silent for what seemed like an eternity.

I felt the beads returning just as Bal piped up, I’ve always wanted to be a teacher ever since I was at school. My English teacher was an inspiration and I’ve never veered off my quest to help educate the young people of today.

If I could have projectile vomited there and then I would have. I felt the rising in my stomach and pulled out my handkerchief, faked a cough and hoped that Bal would force back the crocodile tears emerging from the corners of the mascara-ed lashes. I was hoping she would not also be embarking on her quest for world peace. As I put it back in my pocket I was sure I spotted an inkling of a wry smile in the right-hand corner of Mr Beebee’s mouth.

That’s interesting, he replied, because that’s what happened to me. (Really Mr Beebee, really??) What about you two then?

Bal was satisfied with that and immediately relaxed, knowing that whatever we said could never match such a wonderfully altruistic response. She pouted a little, looked at Beebee, then at me. His eyes moved towards me and I felt compelled to go next.

Well… yes… it was pretty much the same for me, but perhaps not so much ‘Miss World passion’ involved. It was my attempt at diffusing the sickly sweet atmosphere that had engulfed us all. My love of lots of different kinds of games was the biggest influence, as I quickly realised that I was a ‘Jack of all trades’ and would never be an athlete, cricketer or footballer earning big bucks from my skills and later as a TV pundit. I felt it was far better to realise that not many people were as good as me at so many games. PE teaching seemed a great way to enjoy my work. Is that a good enough answer?

I didn’t know where that came from, but inside, my blood had stopped twisting its way through my veins and for the first time during the conversation, I felt vaguely comfortable.

It’s your answer and that’s good enough for me, but I reckon I can still beat you at badminton! he replied, laughing at he same time. I bet he probably could.

"Moneeba, what about you?

Well, my family always wanted me to be a Doctor, a lawyer or a dentist but none of those ever appealed to me and I could never hear myself engaging with people in any of those professions.

I could sense one of the Moneeba monologues coming about…

So one day when Mom and I were shopping in the Bull Ring looking at the silks I said I wanted to be a teacher and she said, Oh really? From that day on I knew that she was happy with it because if she wasn’t she would have gone mad and kept on droning on and on about how I should better myself and get a nice house with a nice husband just like she did.

She took a breath, slower than normal, as she was with someone new…

Dad never said anything either, in fact I knew they had been speaking about it and Dad seemed a little more concerned, but as usual my Mom persuaded him that I seemed set on the idea just like she always does. I like being around children and I think that I can get on their wavelength. Moneeba’s way of talking always reminded me of a story I heard once about a saxophone player who used a technique called circular breathing, which helped him play longer notes with more consistent clarity; I’m sure she could do that while she spoke and didn’t even realise it.

Slightly shell-shocked at the speed of response, Beebee readjusted himself in the chair and from the look on his face was trying to piece together the fragments of Moneeba’s mountainous monologue.

"Thanks Moneeba, sounds as if your family have really understood you and you’re all playing to the same tune. OK, well that gives me some idea about all of your intentions. One more question . . . In one sentence, tell me the biggest thing you learned from your last