Stories About My School Life

By Paul Richardson

This book is a collection of short stories that follow the author’s school life as a primary and junior secondary school educator. There are tales about children. There are stories about parents and others who engage with schools. The recounts personalise the diverse role of a school-based educator. While some of the events took place in earlier and different times, some of the scenarios remain current today.
The anecdotes presented in the book happened in urban and regional schools in Queensland, a junior school in England, and in an international school in Papua New Guinea.
Each story portrays the human side of school life. The people in schools are the fabric of a school-based educator’s job.
Stories About My School Life demonstrates there can be a lighter side to schools, and the roles of their teachers and principals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781794740969

Paul Richardson

Paul Richardson owns and manages a small farm and vineyard in western Spain. He is also the author of Our Lady of the Sewers and Other Adventures in Deep Spain, Cornucopia: A Gastronomic Tour of Britain, Indulgence: One Man's Selfless Search for the Best Chocolate in the World, and Williams-Sonoma Barcelona.

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Stories About My School Life

Stories about My School Life

Paul Richardson

Dip. T.,   B. Ed.,   M. Sch. M., Ed. D.

Synopsis

This book is a collection of short stories that follow the author’s school life as a primary and junior secondary school educator. Through the wide-ranging and often quirky interactions with people across more than forty years, the stories provide personal insights into the life of a teacher and a principal. There are tales about children. There are stories about parents and others who engage with schools. The recounts personalise the diverse role of a school-based educator. While some of the events took place in earlier and different times, some of the scenarios remain current today.

The anecdotes presented in the book happened in urban and regional schools in Queensland, a junior school in England, and in an international school in Papua New Guinea.

In the past five decades there have been many changes to the way schools do business. One thing that hasn’t changed, however, is the diversity of interactions between the people who are part of them. Whether about a child, or an adult, the stories in this book are bound to trigger fond memories of your own experiences with schools and, as such, bring you a smile or two.

Each story portrays the human side of school life. The people in schools are the fabric of a school-based educator’s job.

Stories About My School Life demonstrates there can be a lighter side to schools, and the roles of their teachers and principals.

Fiction books written by Paul Richardson

Diggin’ The Dancing Queen: An Adventure in the Land of the Unexpected

Time on the Fly: You never know what you might find around the next bend

The Red Sheep

Written by Dion Mayne with Paul Richardson

Boomerang Gold

Copyright © 2019 Paul Richardson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means-whether auditory, graphic, mechanical or electronic – without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

The stories in this book are about real situations. However, the names of the people in them have been changed so they do not identify any individual or group. Unless relevant, place names and locations have been omitted.

ISBN 978-1-79474-096-9

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the children, the staff, the parents, the colleagues, the supervisors and the school communities I worked with and for as an educator across five decades. Throughout my working life you enthused me, encouraged me, enlightened me, challenged me, befriended me, and trusted me. I was inspired to be the best teacher I could be, the best principal I could be, and most importantly, the best educator I could be. The memories I share in this book are a result of the relationships and friendships I formed throughout my career.

Everyone who has worked in schools, attended a school, or been involved with a school, may connect with, or relate to the stories I have presented. It is likely you have experienced similar if not funnier situations as part of your own school lives.

Being a school educator is not a career. It is a lifestyle. The support, encouragement, and companionship of family, and friends, was essential to the role.

Thank you to my family, Jo-Anne, Keren and Mathew, for being such an integral part of my school life.

Introduction

If you look back on your own school life you soon realize how much it was the people around you at the time who dominate your recollections. The good times, the bad times, the challenges and the triumphs experienced through your school years are most likely underscored by those who were there with you. Whether they were students, friend or foe; teachers; a principal; or, in many cases, a member of the general school staff, it was the people who shaped your school life.

As a primary school educator for over forty years I met many people and shared many experiences with them. This book is a collection of stories about some of those experiences. They helped shape my school life.

While the stories are written in the first person, I have endeavoured to paint a picture of what it was like to have worked in schools. I have shared some of the funny, and at times, incredulous situations I encountered in my job.

Education is a serious business, but the ability to laugh when the circumstance required enhanced a rewarding and fulfilling career.

The book is not a memoir. It is a collection of memories. The stories tell a range of interesting and amusing tales; from funny things children have said, the frustrations and stresses of parenthood displayed in school settings, to the complexities of being a central player in a community’s life and commonly referred to as the local schoolie. Being part of the richness captured by each of the stories has made me realize what a privilege it was to work with and for so many interesting people.

My career was a fortunate one. I worked in remote communities and cities in Queensland and in different countries. I attended and presented at education conferences around the world. I have seen education through the eyes of different cultures, and through many socio-economic perspectives. I have had the opportunity to engage with gifted students. I have helped and encouraged challenged children. I have worked with positive families. I have been confronted by parents who questioned my existence. I experienced and shared in the commitment, frustration and passion of communities as they supported their local schools. I am in awe of the talented educators I worked with.

In my years as an educator I was appointed to a range of sites; from a school with a student enrolment of twenty-seven, to campuses with enrolments of more than a thousand. My schools ranged from locations in the suburbs of Brisbane, to remote and regional Queensland towns and cities. Beyond Australia the school communities I worked with were as far afield as the Yorkshire Wolds and more recently, regional Papua New Guinea.

I have presented the book in two parts: Part A - A Teacher’s Life, and Part B - A Principal’s Life. In Part A I have shared stories from my years at teacher’s college. I have told stories as a classroom teacher in urban schools and have recalled my experiences as an exchange-teacher in England.

Part B follows my school life as a principal. I have shared anecdotes about being a principal in regional and remote areas of Queensland. I have also recalled aspects from my principal ship in urban schools, then highlighted my years as an international school principal in Papua New Guinea.

My career was dominated by educational fads and trends. In recent times, the emphasis has been to standardize knowledge-recall through systemic testing. Schools have been ranked according to their students’ performances in stand-alone external assessments. This is even though schools continue to be full of individuals, each with different ambitions, desires, and requirements. Despite the need for ongoing differentiation in teaching, teachers’ performances have been measured by the test-scores their students produce rather than the difference a teacher makes to a child’s life.

In some ways the role of an educator has evolved into a struggle against political imperatives, systemic demands and performance-driven measures. However, it is children’s vitality and youthfulness that really makes a school what it is.

It has been refreshing for me to reflect on my school life from a human perspective and to leave the surfeit of policy and performance-reviews for others to ponder. I hope you find these stories refreshing. I hope they help you re-connect with the human side of your own school life. I hope they make you smile.

PART A - A Teacher’s Life

You done a good teach!

Pre-service training required aspiring educators to participate in on-the-job work experience. Practicums, or ‘Prac’ sessions as they were known, required trainee teachers to spend several weeks in classrooms each semester. So, twice a year, we all left the routines and camaraderie of college life and headed out to local schools.

Expectations on student-teachers during Prac varied. The year of the course, the compassion and the commitment of the supervising teacher, and the age of the children, all influenced the work expected from a pre-service teacher. Tasks ranged from writing lesson-observations, through to micro-teaching sessions, teaching whole-class lessons, teaching a class for a day and, eventually, teaching continuously.

School-based Prac-programs were always a highlight for young enthusiastic trainee teachers, most of whom were chafing at the bit to get into classrooms and make a difference to children’s lives. These weeks were also times of stress and tension. Assessment of one’s teaching performance was a critical component of a would-be teacher’s coursework. For some, a failed practicum brought the dream of becoming the greatest teacher in the world to an untimely end.

For the final Prac assessment of my course, I was assigned to a Grade 4 class in Brisbane. The session was to culminate with a final appraisal by one of the Teachers’ College lecturers. The focus of the final Prac was to prepare for and pass the appraisal. My Prac-teacher encouraged and supported me. With her sound advice and direction, I felt confident. I believed I had taught many successful lessons and had developed a positive connection with the children.

I was prepared for the assessment lesson. My planning was ready. My demonstration examples were written neatly on the chalk board. The class teacher had threatened the children with all sorts of consequences if they dared to misbehave for Mister Richardson while his very special visitor from the Teachers’ College was in their classroom.

I had planned a lesson about 2 and 3-digit subtraction. While I didn’t know it at the time, my learning intention was to ensure the children understood the concept of trading and could apply their understanding to the practical examples I had provided so neatly on the chalk board. I had grown up borrowing and paying back in math. While the notion of trading seemed an unnecessary process, I did enjoy the sub-sequential explorations, investigations and games that evolved whenever I led children through the concept of place value. However, to this day I still borrow and pay pack.

The lecturer from the Teacher’s College arrived at the door. We shook hands. He spoke to the class teacher and walked to the back of the classroom. He carried a clip board. He planned to tick or cross the competencies required by an effective teacher based on my performance. The children sat in rows, tall and straight with their hands behind backs. There were narrow aisles between the connected sets of desks. I was pleased when I realized the lecturer had stood directly behind two of the brightest children in the class.

The principal arrived. He nodded and walked to the back of the room. He sat on the opposite side to the lecturer. His knees were tucked up high and apart as he searched for a comfortable posture on the student chair. He used his knees as supports for his arms as he opened a tabloid newspaper.

Before my lesson began, the teacher introduced the special guest and the Principal to the children. She reiterated the importance of their best behaviour, straight arms when answering, and clear articulate voices if called upon to contribute during the lesson.

The teacher sat at her wooden table at the front of the room. She was silhouetted by the daylight which streamed in through the louvered glass windows beside her.

I don’t remember everything about the lesson, but I do remember the way the children engaged in the activities. They answered my questions. They diligently went about copying the chalk-board examples into their sum pads. I do remember how they did everything they could to make my lesson a success. I felt the connection. They were on my side.

At the end of the session the college lecturer asked the children some questions. Most were answered to his satisfaction. The Principal stood and folded his newspaper. He walked up between a row of desks. He stood before me. He gave a slight nod and walked out. The lecturer shook my hand and shook the hand of the class teacher. He said Thankyou to us and Goodbye to the children.

It was time for Little Lunch. The class teacher gave me a smile and a thumbs-up and proceeded to escort the children to the bag-shelves on the veranda of the silver metal-clad relocatable building. The students collected their lunches and moved away toward their eating area.

As the children laughed and joked their way from the veranda, paper bags, colourful lunch containers and water bottles in hand, I stayed behind and tidied up my lesson notes. I cleared the chalk board of my pre-lesson examples and my mid-lesson scribbles. The tangible traces of my very important lesson vanished amongst dusty smudges of chalk powder on the shiny green Masonite. As I wiped away the last of the numerals, there was a knock at the door.

I looked over. A boy stood there. I recognized him as being from a third-row seat on the right of the room.

He said, Sir?

I walked to the doorway. Yes David, how can I help you? Did you leave your hat in the room?

No Sir. He shuffled his feet. He said, eyes wide, like he was about to tell a secret, My friends and I had a talk and I just want to tell what we said.

Okay, what did you say?

Sir. We all talked about it just now and we think you done a good teach!

He smiled. He turned. He jumped down the three steps to the pathway. He turned and waved, Bye Sir! He ran off.

Those words have stayed with me for more than forty years. They have been my motivation. The honesty and the simplicity of the comment led me to use it as a measure of my work. At the end of every day, of every week, of every term, of every year, of every contract, and now, my career, I have asked myself, Did I do a good teach? As a principal, the question became. Has my school done a good teach? The sub-questions which ensued were, What is a good teach? and, How do I know I have done a good teach?

These questions have engaged me and challenged me. They have inspired me to be the best educator I could be. They have also inspired me to ensure I never forgot the purpose for my role: the children. For surely, a key measure of whether I done a good teach, is knowing whether the students I have served throughout my school life have done a good learn.

Teachers’ College 1973-1976

When I first attended, Teacher’s College was like a school. However, the structure evolved and became a College of Advanced Education. It adopted more of a university style approach. I studied with a group of people who went on to be remarkable educators and educational administrators.

Question and answer

My first day in a school as a trainee teacher was spent observing a Grade 6. I hadn’t been in a classroom for three months. Then I had been a student.

I sat at the back of the room. I watched as the teacher asked a series of questions about capital cities. He asked the children for the name of the capital of New South Wales. Hands went up. The correct answer was given. He asked the children to name the national capital. Less hands went up, but another correct answer was given.

He then asked for the capital of England. Four hands went up. The second child knew it was London.

The teacher asked the children to name the capital of New Zealand.

No hands went up.

I knew the answer.

The teacher asked again. He gave some options.

Still no hands went up.

I knew the answer.

The teacher chastised the children, Surely you know the capital city of our neighbours across the ditch!

A hand went up. It was mine. The teacher ignored it. He asked the group a third time, I am looking for the name of the capital city of New Zealand. Come on, is anyone prepared to guess?

My arm was still up.

The students did not respond. The teacher was agitated. He looked at me. Thinking I might contribute in a way that may help the children identify the New Zealand Capital, the teacher said, Yes Paul, err Mister Richardson, can you help us get the answer out of this dopey lot?

I called out.

The children turned. The teacher smiled.

The teacher said, Yes. That is correct. He added, You don’t need to call out the answer. He laughed, Remember, you are a teacher now, not a student!

Children laughed.

I felt silly.

A girl directly in front of me, turned. She put a hand to her mouth. She whispered, Don’t worry, Sir. Thanks. We would have been here for hours. This teacher loves his capital cities.

Despite the embarrassment, it was a moment I have always remembered. It was the first time I was called Sir by a student.

The empty cup

During a Second Year Prac-placement I joined my supervising-teacher in the schoolyard for playground duty. The assigned supervision area that week consisted of the bitumen parade-ground and the granite area between D and E Blocks. For most of that week’s recesses, or big lunches, I watched the Grade 5, 6 and 7 children as they played handball. Occasionally I was invited to join in.

During most breaks the Senior Mistress hovered up on the second-level veranda. There she overlooked proceedings. Rarely did she intervene, but her presence evoked whispers and comments that ensured all children were aware they were being observed.

One break she did intervene. My supervising-teacher was on the other side of the building. I watched a very intense matchup between two of the school’s better players. The girl was in control because the boy had choked at the thought he was losing to a girl. The match-up enthralled the spectators. All, that is, except the Senior Mistress.

From the veranda above us she shouted, Boy! Boy, come here please!

The game stopped mid-point. Both players looked at each other.

A Grade 7 girl, who also watched on, asked, Which boy?

The Senior Mistress told her. She shouted, That boy! Come up here please!

Two boys pointed at themselves. They were told, No! Not you! The Senior Mistress pointed toward the group standing near me. That boy there!

Her finger was resolute. I said to the student next to me. Hey Michael, I think she means you. You better go. The boy walked toward the stairwell that led up to the veranda. The Senior Mistress shouted louder. No! What is wrong with you lot? Not that boy. I want the tall one.

I looked at the children around me. I was confused. No students appeared to be significantly taller than the others.

The command came down at us again. The tall boy! For heaven’s sake. Can’t any of you see the tall boy?

The girl on the handball court said, Sir, I think she means you.

I looked up to the veranda. I pointed at myself.

Yes! At last we are getting somewhere! Come up here please!

I moved toward the stairwell. Behind me I heard smirks and chuckles.

Upstairs, as I walked along the veranda, I noticed the handball game had resumed below me. I approached the Senior Mistress. I asked, Yes Miss? What is it you want?

She smiled. She held out a ceramic mug. It was glazed over a pattern of large yellow flowers. She said, Now that’s a good lad. Can you take my teacup back to the A Block staff room?

I took the mug. I asked, What should I do about my playground supervision?

She said, Oh don’t worry about that. Your teacher is down there somewhere. Besides, I will keep an eye on them. So off you go like a good boy, and make sure my teacup gets to the staff room safely.

I took her mug and headed in the direction of B Block.

She called to me again, Boy! When you get there can you wash it out and leave it on the rack to dry. That’s a good lad.

Bruce the bream

During another second-year Prac I was assigned to a Grade 1 class. For this placement I planned and taught a Sea Life theme. The class learned about all types of marine creatures. They undertook inquiries into life cycles, marine habitats, and food chains. I took them on a field trip to a nearby beach to explore life between the tides.

In the classroom we painted fish and whales and octopus. I wrote some songs. We sang about Shermit the Shark, Christopher Crab and Bruce the Bream. We also created a lot of dances to go with songs.

Our crafty crabs and our ocean mural created a colourful and vibrant classroom. As a beginning teacher I had as much fun as my young students.

In the beach corner I set up a saltwater aquarium. I placed hermit crabs and sea snails in the tank for the children to observe and study.

One time when I collected fresh sea water for the tank, I accidently scooped up a small silver-bream. I gave it a home in the class aquarium. One of the children suggested the fish be given a name. It was called Bruce.

Bruce the bream lived happily in the tank. Bright eyes peered in on it each day. Children laughed as the fish followed the fingers they slid across the outside of the glass.

At the end or my pre-service placement,