Old School - New Technology

 

One of my grandchildren is doing Key Stage 2 Standard Assessment Tests, otherwise known as KS2 SATs exams this week. He’s on track, so I’m sure he will be fine. He likes to do his homework at my house, which is fine. In recent weeks, the homework has been SATs practice papers for Maths and English and a list of spellings to learn. Maths is good. He is a whizz at maths, except anything to do with mixed fractions. Not my forte, either, better ask Grandad. I’m good at passing the buck. I’m good at English. At least, as a published writer I thought I was until I encountered an English paper he needed a little help with. Thank you, Google, for topping up my old brain with ‘subordinate clauses’, ‘subordinating conjunctions’, ‘relative pronouns’ and many more terms new to me that I tried to quickly learn. I decided that although I have qualifications to prove I am (was) educated to a certain level, I finished up feeling a bit thick, and he’s not quite eleven.

He attends one of my old schools. I had five different primary schools due to my father’s job in the licenced trade taking the family to various towns. As a child, I was very unhappy at this school and failed to settle in. These days, someone would pick up on that and show care and encouragement to a child, especially coming in new to the unfamiliar. For all that I once hated it, I’m at home there, now. I look after the infant’s library as a volunteer. Previously, I worked there. I would be out of my depth now. Methods have changed so much, even since my own children’s primary school years. I suppose we must move with the times.

My grandson will go to high school in September, where things will be even less familiar to me. That’s if he tells me anything about it, of course.

In my day, the Eleven Plus created the great divide between Grammar or Secondary school, and made some of the exam failures, like me, feel disappointed and even worthless. The KS2 SATs won’t be responsible for anything like that, thank goodness.

When I was at secondary school, we had to use fountain pens in English. Handwriting was encouraged to be cursive and perfectly formed, something to take pride in. Untidy writers were made to practice on specially lined paper. Sometimes, English homework would be to learn a poem by heart. It would be recited in class. No escape.

My grandson has developed his own handwriting style, as we all do. At school, some work, including writing is done on an iPad. Modern technology is the way forward and as things change and improve, we must keep up. I am ‘old school’ in my ways and in my thinking, but coping, I think, in this digital age.

My poem is not intended to sound cynical, but more of a sigh to what has passed never to return. A comparison from then to now.

An Alternative Education

The 3Rs soon to be redundant
Computer-led kids will be abundant
With all information mega-quick,
It only takes a scroll down and click.
No need for any conversation
Included in their education.

Last year’s reception class have all gone
And taken a leap up to Year One
To drag sticky fingers on iPad screens
And work out what technology means.
Will this be their basic foundation
Instead of formal education?

Numeracy, or let’s call it Maths
Has rules to follow specific paths
Beginning with learning how to count
Then adding up and sharing out.
One click away from calculation
Takes away their education.

When did this digital preference start?
Oh, why no poetry learnt by heart?
‘Spell check’ becomes their favourite teacher
With ‘grammar check’ an added feature.
The only future expectation,
A self-taught on-line education.

The infants are learning to use a pen
It’s not a skill they’ll need again,
For a future spent staring on-line,
Social activity in decline
With hardly any interaction,
So they won’t need our education.

PMW 2015

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More

Reading - I Love Books

 

This is a favourite poem by Julia Donaldson,

I opened a book and in I strode
Now nobody can find me.
I’ve left my chair, my house, my road,
My town and my world behind me.

I’m wearing the cloak, I’ve slipped on the ring,
I’ve swallowed the magic potion.
I’ve fought with a dragon, dined with a king
And dived in a bottomless ocean.

I opened a book and made some friends.
I shared their tears and laughter
And followed their road with its bumps and bends
To the happily ever after.

I finished my book and out I came.
The cloak can no longer hide me.
My chair and my house are just the same,
But I have a book inside me.

                                           Julia Donaldson

I spent yesterday afternoon reading a book, an actual book with paper pages. I found a quiet corner, made myself comfortable and escaped into a gentle Josephine Cox. She could weave a good yarn and I found this one to be an excellent page turner. I’m often reading, but this was a bit different. I was out of the comforts of home to the clinical, basic décor of a hospital waiting area. My husband was having a procedure and needed a responsible adult to take him home and stay with him afterwards. That’s me, then. In sickness and in health. With him safely delivered to the appropriate department, I wandered off to find some lunch. I’m very familiar with our hospital, but new bits keep being added and I was thrown off course for a few minutes, until I recognised something. I’d gone the wrong way, so about turn, and quickly found where I wanted to be. Soon, fed and watered, I was back in the correct waiting room, ready to read for hours on end, which I did.

A few people came and went, though it seemed to be a quiet department. Patients had a minder to accompany them, sitting in pairs. Conversation was whispered. Occasionally, a phone rang at reception or a mobile phone trilled. I seemed to be the only person reading. Most people had their phone out. A sign of the times, I suppose. I like to do a quick ‘Wordscape’ or remind myself of something I’ve forgotten on Google. Of course, they could be reading on their phones. I have Kindle on mine. It’s not the same as turning real pages. I miss that. I soon stopped people-watching and continued with Josephine’s novel.

Before Covid restrictions put an end to it, waiting rooms everywhere had a pile of well-thumbed magazines spilling off a table. I would fish out the most interesting problem pages in Woman’s Own. It was better than getting called into an appointment mid-way through an absorbing read of a riveting article, disturbed from and never to return.

I’ve always been a bookworm. As soon as I learnt to read, and I was a keen pupil, I was off into wherever stories could take me. I would get into trouble many times for continuing to read in bed after ‘lights out’, sometimes with a torch under the covers, which really angered my mother. She would threaten to take my book away, but she never did.

As a volunteer at primary school, I’ve enjoyed listening to children read aloud and praising them for an excellent effort. Now, based in the library I’m happy to help them to choose a book and give encouragement to read for themselves. I used to tell my own children that if they can read, they can do anything. Here’s a quote from Ricky Gervais, in his support of keeping public libraries open,

“I had no money growing up. My dad was a labourer and my mum did everything to make ends meet. Men worked hard. Women worked miracles. But education was free. As was the local library. I knew books were my passport to a better life.”

I agree, and Roald Dahl must have thought along the same lines. His ‘Matilda’ is terrific.

By the way, all went well at the hospital. We were there for hours, but those hours of waiting gave me a perfect opportunity to enjoy reading without feeling guilty that the kitchen floor needs mopping.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More

Class

This word has a few uses. We talk about...a class act...a classy outfit...having class...first class to third class... in a class of its own...and then the reference to education...being placed in a class i.e. a group of pupils usually with similar attributes, a way of sorting people out. Like that comedy sketch of old, "I know my place".

I have no idea what to write this week for at this moment I have excruciating back pain. Even sitting at this chair is very uncomfortable. Instead I'll relate a story to you that I actually remembered and told only yesterday.

At primary school my class was in a 'hut' across the road from the main school. A stove was lit each day to keep us warm. The teacher was a tyrant (I do not recall her name). She was very handy with the tawse , or skud or strap! Spelling errors brought instant, and painful, punishment. Every night we had spelling for homework and I tried diligently to always get it correct by asking my parents or using the dictionary.

I vividly recall one particular day. It transpired that Mary England had received some sort of punishment that her mother regarded as quite unnecessary. So, her mother came to the class and confronted the teacher. An absolute barney ensued with shouting, cursing...it came to blows! Mrs England was assaulted by the teacher. I guess that someone in an adjacent 'hut' sent for assistance. Things really must have escalated. The outcome I do remember. The teacher was put into a strait jacket and taken from the building! How I recall that moment! We were traumatized! Next day the class was removed to the main body of the school into the welcoming arms of a lovely, kind teacher. It was her who encouraged me to tell stories, to write and recite. Thank you Mrs White....

And thank you for reading, Kath . 

Read More

Being in the spotlight

From a young age I enjoyed being in the limelight. We, local children, devised back garden concerts and I recall singing "Tulips from Amsterdam" aged about 6, wearing a rather too small flower girl dress. Finally after many years of pleading I was taken to Donald's ice rink in Aberdeen. I had to have an outfit just like Sonja Henie's, as I'd seen her wearing in a movie. Full of confidence, and thinking I'd glide effortlessly across the ice, I launched myself. It didn't work like I'd seen in the film! A couple of years later and I was competing. My mother remained a nervous wreck, whilst I took it all in my stride. So it was that entering competitions or taking tests became second nature.

Failing my 11 plus I went to a Junior Secondary School. However the education I received there was superb. Encouraged to sing, I had lessons and was an active member of the school choir. Gleefully taking part in operettas and once singing solo in St Machar's Cathedral. The English teacher encouraged us to debate, and I took part in inter school debating. She also involved me in plays, giving me major roles. The Duke Of Edinburgh Award scheme was in full swing in this school and I was asked to attend a first aid course where the Duke of Edinburgh himself was to attend. I was elected to tell him what was taking place. I left that school with 5 "O" grades and 1 "0" level...that being in oral English (an actual 'English' qualification, as there was no equivalent ).

At college I was elected as class representative , taking any issues to the rector and staff.

As a teacher I thought of my work as rather like acting...giving tuition, encouragement and maintaining discipline. Front of house...so to say. I was not averse  to taking part in many extra curricular activities, and displaying interests other than those of being 'teacher'.

I returned to ice skating and took up ice dance with a partner and we competed for Oxford in the Southern league. So this was a form of being in the spotlight once more.

Giving up teaching after 20 years and moving house, with a new husband. I was suddenly propelled into more limelight as he was such an exuberant and outgoing person. Together we formed an ice skating club in Elgin, giving tuition and organising shows...taking part ourselves too, thus encouraging youngsters and adults to take up skating.

It was then that I took up dancing. My husband was very keen on ballroom dancing and rock and roll. We liked to join in 1940's and 50's events...dressing in the era and letting our hair down. Never phased at being the first on the floor, trying to get people to join in and have fun. Fancy dress events were looked forward too and eagerly planned for and organised. Yes. We had a good life together.

After his death I returned to skating after two years absence taking care of him. Two weeks in, at Blackpool Arena, I was invited to do a solo programme in a charity show to raise funds for "Help for Heroes". So aged 60 I was the oldest participant and I featured in a figure skating magazine.

Those early days paved the way and made me a confident, energetic person, willing to embrace life ...be a participant and not an audience member. It's not for all, but it's stood me in good stead. I don't mind being in the spotlight....

   This morning I sat down and quickly drafted this piece....

                    Places, Lights, Action

              Places, lights, action.
              No camera required, yet.
              This dear child, is life.
              The cameras come later
              When you're cleaned and wrapped.

              You are in the spotlight -
              On the stage for life.
              No shying away.
              No return for you.
              Face the world, little mite.

              Places, lights, action.
              First day at school.
              Be a leader or be led.
              It's up to you -
              In the spotlight, or the shadows ?

              Take part, or sit back -
              That's your only option.
              Follow your dream,
              Stand in the beam,
              Or fall by the wayside.

              Places, lights, action.
              First day of work.
              Climb the ladder or stay at the foot.
              You're here for the duration.
              Shine in your work - your choice.

              The spotlight dims- the audience silent.
              Curtain slowly falls.
              You've taken a bow - a final exit.
              So how did you do ?
              Places, darkness, stillness.......CUT !


       Thanks for reading, Kath
             

Read More