written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label exam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exam. Show all posts

Tuesday, 12 May 2026

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

Tuesday, 16 July 2019

Paper - Examination


I chose a place next to the wall. I could lean my bare arm on the tiles for some cooling respite from the heat of the afternoon. The scuffed, well-worn desk reminded me of school. I put two spare pens, facing the same way, in the groove next to the empty ink-well. The hinged lid lifted easily. Well, I couldn’t resist. Who would, faced with such nostalgia? It was empty, as expected. Inside, it smelt of a classroom freshly cleansed with that disinfected brown sawdust sometimes used on floors. Eric Wright, form 3 alpha had this desk in 1959, according to the neatly scratched detail on the underside of the lid. Initials in a heart shape had been obliterated with red ink, or paint. Identity lost forever.

It was almost time. The room had filled up. A couple of desks at the front remained empty. I read and re-read the exam rules on the blackboard. Papers were given out and we had reading time. I was relieved to see the question I had hoped for. My answer to that question covered everything and amounted to two and a half sides of A4 and earned me top marks in a mock exam. I knew it word for word, including a four line quote. Apprehension began to melt as I allowed myself a tiny hint of confidence.

Time to begin. I held my favourite Parker pen with a new, fine-point refill, poised to start with my well-versed question, only I couldn’t. The answer had gone, almost every part of it, like something had erased it from my memory, paragraph by careful paragraph. I couldn’t remember the quote beyond the first word. Some self-counselling, deep breaths, don’t panic, answer something else and come back to it, this is an exam paper, not the end of the world.

I muddled through the exam. I managed other parts of it and returned to ‘my question’ praying for my brain to bring my memory back. It didn’t. I answered it in the best way I could, which proved to be enough as I passed with a good grade.

That was more than forty years ago. I still can’t remember that ‘perfect’ answer or the quote. I still have my mock exam papers showing the marking of 100%, but even now I can’t bring myself to refresh my memory. The blip didn’t hold me back.

 
Here’s something from Simon Armitage,

Paper Aeroplane

The man sitting next to me on the flight
     was reading a blank book, keen eyes
     panning left to right across empty leaves, fingers
     turning from one white space to the next.

Sometimes he’d nod agreeably or shake his head,
     or painstakingly underline some invisible text
     with red ink, or decorate the margin
     with an exclamation mark or asterisk.

It was a hefty-looking tome, hand-stitched
     but wordless front and back and down the spine.
    Coming in to land he laid the silver ribbon-marker
     between two bare pages to save his place.

I was wearing noise-cancelling headphones
     listening to fine-mist, when he leaned across
     and shouted, ‘Forgive the intrusion, but
     would you sign this for me? I think it’s your best.’

Simon Armitage.
 
 
Thanks for reading, Pam x

Monday, 17 February 2014

Is this a question?

09:09:00 Posted by Colin Daives , , , , , , , , , , 1 comment
Is this a question?

The legend that is the philosophy exam question to which the urban librarians claim that one student one year wrote. "If this is a Question? Then this is an answer." and got top marks. Personally I heard it as "Only if this is an answer?" Same idea, less words.

For many years, since I first heard of this interesting exploration of thought and perception I have considered many things regarding the unanswerable. Not like 'Which came first the Chicken or the Egg?' which from an evolutionary standpoint must always be the egg by definition of what constitutes a chicken. More inquiries such us: 'Is the chicken the eggs why of reproduction?'

This question has far reaching ideas that leads to reasons for reproduction. Within these thought I had the notion that the question 'Why are we here?' was some sort of genetic driving force. If we can't answer it then maybe the next generation can. This would then give a reason to procreate, the constantly push the children so that they may find the answer. But should this question ever truly be satisfied, the urge to breed would reside; there would be no point.

This led me to one conclusion: Pandas already know why we are here.


I hope you enjoy Monday's poem.

Question?
A statement to extract?
Rhetorical or fact?
A constructed situation requiring Solution?
Presentations of the choice?
A request to hear your voice?
A desperate prayer as you ask for absolution?

Please? Will you? Can I?
Stay or say Goodbye?
Three roads lay ahead one change to ride?
Is it? Are they? Won't we?
To be or not to be?
Shall I stand and shine, or cower, and hide?

Do you want to know?
What is the end of the show?
Can you still enjoy once spoilers read?
Do you believe?
Is it so hard to conceive?
What really waits for us once we are dead?



Hmmmmmmm?

Colin?