A stick is not always a stick

People often ask Ron, "what makes good art?" The majority of the general public can appreciate the skill and take pleasure in the photo realistic images of the great masters, but find it difficult to take the leap between this and any of the less obvious visual arts. It then depends on the degree of understanding, whether we can empathise with what is being communicated. Mostly we can appreciate the feeling shown in Lowry's  matchstick men and find acceptable the colour effects of Monet, but Picasso and Dahli now that's different. Even more so the Tracey Emin and Damien Hirst become harder to follow accept or rate.

When walking the randonee botanique, which passes Le Fresnay, one sunny shady summers day I bent to examine an unusual stick. Strange markings I thought and moved closer when to my absolute amazement, the said 'stick', reared up , inflated its head area in  menacing way and hissed loudly at me. Now you reaction to this depends on your attitude to snakes; from mild curiosity and surprise to distaste and phobia.

As our newest language guest, a doctorate student of French Law with research specialism in 'Proof', explained, its not about reality or even truth its about what constitutes a body of proof. Example: in UK law the evidence of a husband or wife is not considered 'proof' where as in France it is. Perhaps here the answer to 'what is great art',its the provable & sustainable and a bit like the snake that depends on your perception.

So when is a stick not a stick? When its a snake. And Ron's answer to the continual question as to what makes great art, is simple. His retort," I know a lot about art, but great art,well I know what I like"....

Baby wipes & Bike sheds....its all in the job

School Leadership V Headship

In 2009 I was successful in passing & obtaining my NPQH, National Professional Qualification for Headship.

Designed in collaboration with current leading head teachers and academics it is a rigorous masters level course running over 6 -18months. It comprises all elements, both academic and practical of Teaching &Learning, Educational Management and high quality professional leadership. It is one of the best higher level studies I have undertaken, with wide ranging applications.

I mention because of a conversation I had recently with an NPQH qualified friend and practicing head teacher. She mentioned that she had concluded that headship was ‘a marathon not a sprint’. Furthermore, excellent as the NPQH preparation was, it could never cover the day to day continual twists of school life. All those unplanned, unexpected areas & events that no training can prepare you for.

Here are listed ‘one hour in the life of headship’, all before 8.30am:

·         School caretaker, collecting the school minibus has not informed anyone & is waiting to be picked up from the MOT garage.

·         Cycle safety officer arrives, unscheduled and the key member of staff is not in school. Keys to said bike shed need to be located.

·         Informed that the drains are blocked and need immediate action, possible baby wipe overload.

Now STATS, Educational Standards, NC Planning &Ofsted, Performances management and Safeguarding, you expect in headship. Teaching & Learning Strategies, Behavioural Management, Dyslexia Awareness, Setting the Vision, strategic management and effective School Improvement Partnerships, are all predicted.

But baby wipes and bike sheds, now that’s in a different league. In headship, as in teaching, you’ve got to love it to do it well.

Thoughts for the day....

Sunday, so aptly, I thought I’d share a moment with you. No it’s not a heavy philosophical or religious statement, more a simple comment, ‘we hear what we believe we hear’.

Prompted by a conversation with a friends about her early retirement plans, she was explaining her voluntary work in her church group and how busy she was. I was convinced she had said that she was ‘taking the lead on faith guarding’. Seemed logical to me; regular and new congregation members, you must need to do a lot to guard people’s faith. I had a mental picture of my friend somewhere between superwoman and Saint George, fending off all doubts and affirming all positive convictions.

Seems it was ‘Safeguarding’, a process to check and ensure the safety of children, incorporating police checks of all those working with those young children. A very important process, but not quite the theological and moral battlefield I had imagined. As another friend reminded me, its all about the ‘received language’ and that depends on the receiver as well as the person transmitting the message.
So my recently retired friend is doing sterling work in a new role and very much living the moment. And I am wondering, hence thought for the day, about my own receptors or reception of language.

As a French guest commented having viewed an episode of the British comedy farce ‘Allo,Allo’. “Why do they keep saying, ‘allo,allo’, when it has an H sound’’. I tried to explain that humour and satire of all the languages and nationalities depicted was part of the comedy of the drama. “yes’’, replied my new friend,’’ but they need to be clear in their pronunciation of ‘allo,allo’ ‘’.

I will say this only once, ‘Reception is in the ear of the befuddled’….

Beam me up...

My duel existence in France and the UK is currently full of amazing coincidences. It seems as though my two worlds are getting muddled; the spheres of time are overlapping.

It started on my first return to the UK. I had met Ashley Hutchings (80s folk fame) in Carelles ,whilst he was tutoring on a music course Sept 2012.Then, by pure chance again in my one & only visit to a pub folk group in Cheddleton June 2013.”What are you doing here?” was his response, “well I live here “.Bizarre!

The next week I took a call from some Hawaiian friends, who we met via an art forum on line and who own a holiday home south of us in the Pay de la Loire. RWe have met several times but now they were in England and proposing a visit. Three days & delightful guests, but it felt surreal, as if I’d muddled the images in a dream.

Days later, out house hunting, I meet people actually looking to do the reverse of what we are planning. We are downsizing in the UK with an emphasis on France. They were similarly downsizing, but considering a move to France. Later that day I viewed a property with our daughter Jane, which, it turns out by chance is owned by, a ‘not so popular’ and distant relative, who I’ve not seen for many years. Jane was brilliant, kept her cool and we left in the knowledge of no sell and having taken the ‘moral high ground’, result, but bizarre. Space continuum is having trouble with my timeline!

Then Thursday, responding via Facebook to my old mate Rene (not seen since about 1980& living in New Zealand), she mentions an acquaintance in NZ who came from Longton & was a biker. Several messages later, turns out this guy is the same age and fellow motor head as Ron (ever patient husband) also said husband that knew him in the 1960s. So it comes as no surprise that he is visiting France this year. Invitation to Carelles sent…other worlds colliding!

And only Friday, waiting for a friend at the hospital in Stoke & sitting with a random group of women, I find another bizarre coincidence. One lady knew the village of Carelles, inhabitants 300, and in particular one person, me! It turns out that she is one the village council of the Moorlands school that I have built a link with & the children in both countries re writing to each other. Seems this lady heard the presentation given by David the Head teacher about the school twinning work. Amazing, what are the odds?

Not sure about fate, or whether my stars are in some strange cosmic alignment, but I keep getting this image of ‘the gods’ looking over a pool which is my life & laughing at the ripples they make that muddle my duel existence. Perhaps it’s simply a small world and eventually you will meet those people and places that stand on the edge of your existence. The lesson to learn is that everything is linked, we are all counter balances to each other.

However I have a further theory, it’s called Ryanair…

Now for those of you who have not booked on line through this budget and reputable firm, here’s the low down. Throughout the booking process they bombard you with adverts & services, car hire, suitcases, extra insurance, seat preference hotels and even lottery tickets, all designed to make you spend more money with them. You must complete the obstacle course by checking & declining every step of the way. Now here’s the theory…I reckon at some point in my recent frequent travels I failed to click ‘no thank you’ on one of those sections.

Note to self: Next Ryanair booking check no to…’Time Travel’ option…it’s all getting too bizarre!

But there's always a Kevin...

But then there’s always a Kevin...

Some of our English names just don’t translate or get lost in the cadence or accent; Graham becomes Gramm, Ian (Een), Machin (machsa) means’thingamy’ and the female name Jean is just plain confusing (French for John). Other names are interchangeable but their sound is so evocative as to feel very different (see below with apologies for the phonetic rendition & any spelling changes).

UK	FRANCE	PHONETIC
Alan	Allan	A/la
Cyril	Cyrill	C / rill
Andrew	Andre	Ond/ rA
Jack	Jacque	Jj/ac
Lucy	Lucien	Lu/sia
Matthew	Mathieu	Ma/chew
Denis	Denis	Den/E

 

Then there is the English liking for shortening or altering given names. In France it would always be Elizabeth, Susan or Christine, but just look at what we do with the name Elizabeth.

Bet	Beth	Bess
Bessy	Liz	Lizzy/Lizzie
Liza/Lisa	Eliza	Bettie/Betty
Beth	Betsy	Be

 

But some names are international like Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham and Kevin. Now I know that last name took you by surprise and no religious humour or insult is in any way intended. But ask any teacher they will always know a Kevin.  I have asked in Brazil, America, Holland, Malawi, India, Sheri Lanka, France and England, teachers just nod their assent. It’s not the actual name, there are others like Wayne or Jason, it’s just that they symbolise that child who will be different, have or be a problem (immortalised in Harry Enfield’s’ Kevin & Parry'). Now for anyone about to name a child don’t be put off by this assertion, they can be lovely kids, real characters, clever or funny, but there is always a something. And in case I seem to be maligning the boys, the same can apply to Chantelle, Kylie and another Enfield character Waynette. I’m sure there is Chinese, Ukrainian, Icelandic or Japanese version of this phenomena, it’s a teaching universal ‘taken’.

So what do we do with these children, well the same as with all children? As educators we try to reach them, engage them and develop them...do the best we can. And as for me I made a career out of Kevin's and loved every minute; they made me laugh and cry, feel elated & despondent....but always made me aware, made me be a better teacher. So I raise my imaginary glass to all those children, many now adults. Here’s to Kevin’s everywhere, the world would be a duller place without you...

Votre Prenom...

Votre Premon?

French first names are rarely shortened or changed to nick names. Christophe is not Chris, Valerie not Val and Thomas not Tom. They take a pride in their full title; Marie-Louise, Jean- Claude or Louis-Henri.

Unlike the UK & US, where Bill & Bobs, Ron and Rob, Marty & Matt, Pam & Pat, abound. English first names are less traditional, changed by fashion, influenced by celebrities or fiction. Not in France the Kylies (Minogue), Harry (Prince or Potter), Wayne (John or Rooney), Johnny (Depp or Halliday). Neither do they intentionally invent or spell names differently; no Corrie-Lea, Kristofer or Zandras.

Granted they have David (Beckham or Bowie), Sylvestre ( Stalone) and Henry (Thierry or King), but it’s because they are traditional names. Names like Jean, Baptiste, Claudine or Virginia. In fact every day of the year is dedicated to a different saint’s name. These names are not just listed as a religious acknowledgement of that saint, but can be used to determine your name. Each December the local M/Md les Poste sell calendars (helps as a Christmas bonus) and, amongst the local information & maps is an almanac of saints’ days. Born January 21^st my middle name is likely to be Agnes, April 20th possibly Odette and I may celebrate the saints’ day as well as my birthday.

So if I really want to play the name game in France, I could be Paulin, celebrating on January the 11^th,Appauline and have my day on February the 9^th or  Pauline (actual birthday in August) and that’s just my first name. Just might take some convincing the family that I need three gifts each year.

Happy Clappy...

I arrived in the French classroom all prepared for a lesson to develop the children’s ability to describe themselves & their facial features. However waiting for me was a large envelope from the teacher in England, with letters inside from the children, written in their beginners French. Times like these require change. The children were intrigued and so I abandoned the carefully crafted lesson and ‘went with the flow’.

It was then, whilst listening to them read what their UK classmates had written, I remembered. This is what it used to be like in my early days of teaching; pre-National Curriculum, pre-Ofsted, pre SATS and league tables. Yes we had curriculum and planning, but we also had the freedom to use our professional judgement and be spontaneous.

An unexpected visit from the local MP, someones mum had had the baby, a child brought a postcard in from abroad, the daffodils were suddenly all in bloom. All these & so many more, could take you on a magical learning curve, with the children so motivated and eager to learn. Stories, cards, poems, pictures plays and number games. Real life in the classroom, not just dictated curriculum with carefully measured outcomes.

‘Happy Clappy’ we were not, grounded and flexible to learning style we were. Its true consistency was needed across the education system and that curriculum could vary, but we have lost something precious in all our preoccupation with measuring, assessing, listing and ranking. We lost the flexibility to bring learning alive and respond to the real world the children exist in.

As I watched the light in those French children’s faces and their sheer pleasure, I wondered if teachers trained now can move outside the format, the plan, the targets, could they kindle that special flame?

We did continue with our oral descriptions, we did meet our written objectives, the curriculum requirements were met, but all were embedded in enthusiasm to communicate with those children in England.

 

 

This was a lesson they will never forget, so thank you to my teaching colleague Emma who took real world of language, worked with, sent, built on and kept the flame alive.