Pumpkins past and Magical moments...

Halloween, has all but finished and, as the fireworks of November 5^th fade and the price of pumpkins drop, I’m left speculating on this, one of our stranger festivals.

 

As a child there was no ‘trick or treat’, no fancy costumes or parties, because Halloween melted under the greater English celebration of Bonfire Night. ’Remember, remember the 5^th of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot!’ and all the excitement of saving for fireworks & gathering round the communal bonfire put the carved turnip head lanterns to shame.

I was reminded of how bizarre the celebration of November the 5th actually was, a few years ago, whilst attending a village bonfire in the UK, with a young French friend. “Tell me again why you celebrate not killing a king, by burning an image of someone who was only a puppet in a conspiracy?” Put like that it sounds completely different, but I felt sure she too must have similar strange celebrations. “Quite possibly”, she replied, “but we killed our royalty and if we did have such a celebration it would be with fine food & wine”. Made my plastic cup of indifferent cider and over cooked sausage seem rather insipid...point taken!

So it started me musing about the whole Halloween thing, why it’s gotten so big and what now makes it a firm family favourite. I think it’s something to do with dressing up, wearing masks and carving pumpkins that appeals to our inner creative selves. When else would we encourage our children to roam the streets (albeit with an adult) and knock on complete strangers doors shouting ‘Trick or Treat’? Indeed a friend was taken with the concept of Halloween she took her border collie with coat laden with treats round the neighbours’ houses to deliver the goodies, such a lovely idea and how delighted those children must have been. Children like to be a bit frightened, look a bit scary and maybe, as adults, we too like the excuse to join in. Maybe it’s this ability to act out the powerful, scary or dark role that appeals; its escape from the ordinary and we get to play out late!

Now teachers and, in particular primary teachers, know this only too well and utilise any excuse to enliven children’s work with colour, description or imagination. We can add up broomsticks, describe witches and print with pumpkins, all in the name of education. And, if we are lucky we get to join in and dress up, because any teacher worth their salt is in touch with their childhood self.

At a friend’s school recently, the children were involved in the work of a local artist who had completed a mural entitled ‘The Magical Tree’. Children & staff were asked to dress up as something magical to create a colourful fantasy around Halloween. Two staff members, suitably attired were hurrying to join the fun when they were caught, mid sentence discussing their relative costumes;

“Well look at us”, one said “Never thought I’d see it, the drag queen bunny and the pregnant fairy!”

Now that’s an image to savour!

 

(With thanks to Neil Pumpkins and Sandra's Schooldays)

Its a French mind set...

The Colmont is a tributary of the Mayenne river which lazily winds through the sleepy villages and picturesque hamlets of the northern Pay de la Loire.
 It is here, close to the village of Brece. that an area for picnics, petanque and play has been made. A place of quiet, children's voices, babbling water and seasonal fishermen. In true French fashion it is simple, well planned and family friendly and affixed to one of the trees is a sign which states that parents are responsible for their children in this location.

Yesterday afternoon, walking in the area I watched as three young boys, between about six and eight years old, played in and around the riverside . Completely unaccompanied, they watched each other, never went too far and finally, holding the youngest ones hand, walked homeward. Attending to road safety and thwacking the passing vegetation, they carefully wound their way back to the village. French children are expected to be aware, act safety and generally be responsible, just as children did years ago in England.
Makes me think me of a conversation I had with a head teacher in 2009 in a township in Malawi (charity educational work). There was a a rough roadway down from the school, one side of which had a substantial drop.The children ranged from 4 ~ 14 years and daily several hundred children ascended  this track. So we asked the Head why there was no fence, no safety rail and his response was simple, " Why would they children go near the drop? They know that its dangerous so they don't go near the edge?"

Yet back in the UK we carefully guard, even cosset our children. Soft playgrounds, prohibitive signage and continuous supervision. Instead, IT, screens, technology, all very essential commodities replace real experience. if children learn to fear the outside world and  distance themselves from reality we encourage dependence and  isolation. Certainly children in the Pay de la Loire seem self reliant and engaged with their environment. And,though its very different, do the children in the suburbs of Marsaille or Paris I suspect. Their self reliance and engagement will be the same. Its a French mind set.

Culpable Kids & Cats

There's an expectancy of behaviour, that the French apply to equally, both children and cats. This expectancy ensures that the resulting  creatures, be they child or feline,  are very different from their English counterparts.

In school French children are expected to have all the necessary writing equipment available and to look after them. The school provide no pens, crayons, rulers, glue etc., its all down to the individual. French children get up to sharpen a pencil or borrow a crayon from a friend or get a tissue mid class or mid activity as the need dictates. There is no need to ask permission, only move at designated times or argue over materials, So many problems in the UK classroom can occur when children move... we don't trust them to do something simple, we over structure, even suppress independence. 

At the village school, here in France I was nonplussed at being told, by the class teacher, that  the gendarmes were in the adjoining room with several  of the children. My assumption was that some kind of safety instruction was being undertaken, but it turned out that the gendarmes were verifying  the identity of the children so that they could attend the various summer functions organised by the commune. The children were being held responsible and accountable for themselves and its this  expectancy which is so important. French society, at least in this largely rural department, expects that the children  be responsible for themselves and act responsibly, and so, largely, they do.
So to with French cats. these are not the pampered sofa loving, do as they please felines of the UK. The French love their cats, but treat them with  a similar expectancy to that of a dog or horse. If farm cats they are working animals, no different from cows or chickens. And, if domestic, they are expected to respond when called, be loyal to the family, possibly holiday with them and even walk on a lead. Now quite what they do to convince these creatures to do this seems to be down as much to pure expectation as anything; the cat is meant to behave in a social manner and so does. I can't imagine any cat I've known, running to greet  or when called (unless food is involved) and as to cats on holiday or walking on a lead, now that's unbelievable. But all these things your  French feline does as a matter or normality, its expected!

Now I'm sure it could be argued that certain parenting, teaching or animal training could and are applied in Britain, but this is not something that's set down, planned or prepared for. It seems that, expectation is deep in the French psyche. Its not a lack of choice, its more an expectation of  positive choice. Rather like, 'If your think something will happen it probably will...', there is cultural affirmation that it should happen and so it usually does.
Maybe its simply that our Gaelic neighbours, have an expectation  that the cup should be half full, rather than assumption that it might be half empty. Well 'a cat can look at a queen', they say and the French did have a nifty way of getting rid of their queens and kings. Perhaps its 'LaRepublique...peu-etre!

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!