‘Carl, think before you speak. One comic comment per lesson, no more, OR ELSE! Comprende?’

Nathan had a habit of coming to class on wheels. When his computer session had concluded, he would zip down the hall on his five-wheel jalopy, schoolbag on his knees, and into my mathematics lesson. That is until the not-so-amused IT teacher appeared to retrieve her computer room chair. It was a mistake to tell his Year-Eleven group about outback Geoff from the seventies (MY CALCULATOR TELLS PORKIES) who pronounced ‘12’ as ‘twerrve’. From then on, Nathan picked up the ‘twerrve’ baton, much to the amusement of his peers.

I recall the pint-sized, twinkle-eyed, mischief-maker Ryan who squeezed himself into the textbook cupboard much to the delight of all and Albert’s entertaining steam-train noises. Alistair, when admonished, would cower and throw his arm over his head as if about to be beaten, bringing a nervous giggle from his mates and a wry smile from his senior class teacher. ‘Tis true, classroom jokers are legion. 

Finally, let me introduce―drrrrrum roll please―Nicko: tall, strapping, fair and freckled. The uno numero, the Superman on stilts, the juggling genius, the articulate artiste, the face-painter fantastique: the Krusty of all Klowns. (And my sincere apologies for waxing lyrical again.)

You might have gleaned from that introduction that Nick was a professional clown. In the early eighties, our small outback community had sponsored him to participate in a cultural event. Part of his brief was to share his skills during timetabled classroom lessons: a unique opportunity for any school, and a buzz for the students and er, well, even the staff.

Years later, my role as a year adviser inspired me to share my meagre juggling skills with an enthusiastic group of new Year Seven students: esprit de corps and all that. It became clear that I was no Nick as, despite an impressive box of coloured sock balls, frustrated children left the group in droves.

And despite the passage of forty years, I occasionally grab those coloured juggling balls. Alas, my fine motor skills are not what they used to be.

‘Nothing shows a man’s character more than what he laughs at.’ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832: German Playwright, Poet and Novelist.

‘Banjo P’: Australian poet Banjo Patterson (1864-1941) from The Man from Ironbark.

Alan’s eyes narrowed as he whispered in Keith’s ear―skullduggery etched on both faces.

They were not alone in their secretive endeavours. Sue and Gordon exchanged knowing glances and swapped pieces of paper with the guile of Special Branch operatives. John and Steve stared at the shared clipboard, which gave their overt action an air of respectability. But those who understood their motives were not amused.

I had witnessed similar incidents in previous weeks, but today their behaviour unsettled me. The assembly had just begun, so I decided to interrupt and accuse them of colluding: besides, they were teachers.

The blatant disregard for the wishes of other staff members had now reached an unacceptable level. Colleague against colleague: partisan strategies shared then shattered. Will this state of affairs ever change?

OK, my workmates were not as unscrupulous as it sounds. The seven of us recognised our dilemma, in the short term, would be resolved next recess when we traded our role-playing recreation for reality.

Diplomacy, for those unfamiliar with the pastime, is a board game based on a political map of Europe before World War I. Each player guides one European country, aiming to increase its power and territory through strategic offensives. Progress in the game requires forging alliances with skill, tact and foresight. This task proves most difficult because upsetting nearby neighbours, as the saying goes, is a clear and present danger.

In our outback school in Hay, cramped faculty rooms meant everyone met for morning tea in the teacher’s common room. During one term, in the early eighties, we set aside a coffee table for our Diplomacy board. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we updated the state of play according to the negotiations which had taken place since the previous move. We shuffled replica tanks and boats around a flagged Europe akin to a scene from the war room in an old movie. In week fifteen―the four-term school year did not begin until 1987―we determined the winner from the countries still active in the conflict. The years have passed, and my memory is failing, but I assume Alan, the master strategist, won.

Friendships remained intact, but the stress involved in the constant negotiations limited our Diplomacy entertainment to one term and one term only!

“When playing a game, the goal is to win but, it is the goal that is important not the winning.”

Reiner Knizia (1957-) German Mathematician and Game Designer.

Bill pitched his vocal sounds somewhere between a powerful pachyderm and a grunting grizzly.

• 

Yes-siree-bob: I never taught a louder student—not ever, never. Inside or outside: in the morning, & in the afternoon: weather foul, even weather fair: it made no difference. When Bill asked a question or volunteered an answer―same as, same as.

He talked with a classmate and addressed the entire group with a volume of ten-plus. To query the usefulness of algebra, with his thirteen-year-old mate, or argue the number of sides of an octrahexa-whatever might have been acceptable but subjecting the class to a garbled account of why he reckoned Hoss wore a different shaped hat to the rest in Bonanza, thanks, but no thanks.

On days when he was missing from the school bus that ferried him the 50km from his out-of-town village, reminds me of C J Dennis who rhymed; “Where’s the harsh voice, rising shrilly, I would ask [them], ‘Where is Billy?’”

My students didn’t always work beneath the cone of silence. Some lessons provided an opportunity for my charges to chat with their neighbours. In my experience, students can make competent tutors. On many occasions, I stood and listened as one pupil explained a skill or procedure to another student.

Whilst a chatty room may not always indicate an on-task environment, it does allow a child to verbalise their knowledge. This often increases their understanding of the mathematics at hand. In many areas of education: rewards are there, for those who share. Besides, pupils couch an explanation in terms a peer can appreciate. I considered this an effective learning environment for both.

But Bill failed to understand any request to “talk quietly”. I had reasoned, cajoled, and threatened without success. As a teacher who believed problems were best solved in-house, I had exhausted my chalk box of strategies to modify his behaviour. To isolate him in the classroom only exacerbated the situation. A solution eluded me.

Then one day, in desperation, I confronted William with a different approach. Sitting beside him, I did not chide, harass or intimidate. In the middle of my ‘a’-is-not-always-equal-to-5 explanation, & with an almost matter-of-fact voice, I mumbled; “Hey Bill, how come you’re so loud?”

His demeanour didn’t change and he offered me nothing more than a sideways glance.

“’Cause at home, it’s just me an’ dad, and me dad’s deaf Sir, that’s why.”

As a teacher with limited years of experience, a candle kindled in a dark space and strangely, the problem now seemed manageable.

To recognise the reality of home-life for one more student, opened the “eyes of my understanding” to the essence of teaching.

We can teach a lot of things, but if the teacher can’t relate by talking to a group of students, they’ll never be a competent teacher. William Glasser (1925-2013) American Psychiatrist.

Did rotten luck or incompetence scuttle the start of the holidays in my first year of teaching?

The 3:40 bell announced the finish of lessons and the start of the Easter break. Michael, in his Volkswagen, slipped down the highway like snow peas from a Teflon pan. The drive to Sydney had begun, but problems loomed for Herbie.

At my first posting, I arrived by train as did most teachers. Few first-year appointees had saved the cash to own wheels. Hence, at terms end, it became imperative to catch a lift with someone who owned a car. In doing so, one avoided the onerous rail trip to the coast.

Now it came to pass, not far into his journey, Mike had a blow-out—it happens. Not unexpected really because, in the sixties, the first one-hundred miles of road out of Hay was unsealed. A group of teachers, in the following car, arrived to help change the tyre. No problems or ‘pas de problémes’ as my French-teacher brother would say who also started his career out west

An hour further on, the car swerved as a second tyre disintegrated. Could Mike’s luck have gone Hay-wire? From a mathematical perspective, the probability of two flat tyres in an hour seemed unlikely.

Without a spare, he had to wait. Sunset, however, heralded the next carload of colleagues. Whilst some waited with the beetle, others relayed Mike to the closest town, fifty miles distant, to replace the tyres. This interruption added hours to the eastern migration for all concerned.

Akin to a Ripley’s moment, yet another tyre failed and delayed more chalkies in their travels. Twenty-five years later, Phil from Ground Hog Day, would echo Mike’s thoughts; “I’m reliving the same event over and over again.”

The problem? Well, back in ye olden days, tyres were not tubeless. Only then did the garage attendant, on hearing Mike’s yarn, discover that all inner tubes fitted were the wrong size. Bad luck? No-siree-bob―incompetence.

The moral: Check new tyres and, for future holidays, leave town before Mike.

“Repetition is the reality and the seriousness of life.” Soren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) Danish Philosopher, Theologian, and Psychologist.

NOTE: In July 1974, Australia changed all its units of measurement to the metric system. Because of this, all the road signs had to be changed.

“There was a little girl who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead.”

Not in my classroom. No, not one girl—two! Twins, and both with a ringlet twisting its way down their brow. I spent my childhood not knowing the difference between the Flower Pot Men and now I was teaching teenagers that once again I could never tell apart—never, not ever, no never.

I confess identical items have always proved a dilemma. For example, consider the dashboard of my first wheels, a ’68 VW ‘beetle’. As well as the speedo’, the Spartan instrument panel boasted two matching knobs. Many times I turned on the lights to clear the windscreen or used the wipers when headlights were needed.

Besides, I don’t recall any ‘Gemini’ characters in my childhood. Maybe for that reason, look-a-likes posed a predicament.

But back to my twin girls. These congruent kids were an arty couple of pupils who always sat at adjacent tables. Comparable from coiffure to their little black court shoes. Duplicate hairstyles with corkscrew curls hanging face-side like Christmas decorations dangling from the mantle-piece. I’ll warrant at the self-same instant, each girl swept that curl behind their right ear.

This is no exaggeration. Folders, pencil cases, writing gear, calculators—every damn thing matched. Oops, apologies. But do I sound exasperated? Well, Yes-siree-bob. Frustrated every day because I perceived no distinguishing clues.

They often arrived in accessorised uniforms and yes—you guessed it. Gloves, scarves and hair thingies an impeccable match.

From my perspective as a teacher, their classroom qualities also displayed an uncanny resemblance. Both were courteous kids with a respectable work ethic. Mathematics wise though, both were towards the bottom rung of the classroom ladder. Kindred spirits, who often struggled to rack up double figures in assessment tasks.

For two years I persevered with report time, midyear and year’s end, proving a difficult exercise. Devising interchangeable, professional comments—addressing the same issues—became a formidable task.

Yep, always unsure,

Which girl was who;

When report time came,

What else could I do?

There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins.  Henry Wheeler Shaw aka Josh Billings (1818–1885) Humourist, Lecturer

The Flower Pot Men is a British children’s programme, produced by BBC television, first transmitted in 1952, and repeated regularly for more than twenty years.

This picture contains six errors. Some are easy to spot, others are more difficult. If you wish to post the mistakes you discover, include them as a comment. The six errors will be posted at the same time as the next story and will be found on the ANSWERS PAGE (Click here).

THE “UNTEACHABLES”

Today’s episode: “Killing Time” starring Shaun, from year 9.

The “Unteachables” were  not a common occurrence in my teaching career. As young teenagers, they were blessed with an above-average intelligence. They did, however, possess a swaggering—and at times arrogant—disposition. This attitude too often proved a detriment to their progress in mathematics.

Each encountered few problems in the initial years of High School and gravitated to a group of conscientious ‘mid streamers’. This created a mindset which barked, “I’m smarter than youse guys, and I’ll do teacher’s stuff without any help.”

Our star, Shaun, barked louder than any bulldog. Unfortunately, the assessment policy at our school reinforced his preconceived woofs. Whilst his test results on new content were poor, he always obtained creditable marks in major examinations. Not surprising really, as these larger tasks always included stacks of basic bones from junior years.

Like a flea on a dog’s back, I cajoled and badgered him.

“Sir, I don’t need your help.”

“Can’t I just give you a few clues on how we got the answer to question three?”

“She’ll be right, Sir. I’ll work it out on my own or copy off Darren.”

Now, in my experience, all children can improve their number skills. Most try, at least on occasions, and do master new ball-fetching skills—but the ‘unteachables’, uh-uh.

Shaun always completed set tasks, albeit copied. I sent notes home, interviewed his mum, and wrote frank report comments: all to no avail. He reminded me of my efforts to teach our pet beagle to ‘stay’—so frustrating.

Despite numerous, contentious tete-a-tetes, he remained an amicable student.

For two years, Shaun persisted as the proverbial ‘old dog’—one pupil who appeared to gain zilch from my expertise. And yes, he still obtained a satisfactory result in external exams.

QED

But I had failed.

The following year, Shaun’s name did not appear on any of my class lists. I passed him, however, first day back at school, in the canteen. His tail wagged like a pup waiting for one of those smelly liver treats.

“Hi Shaun.”

“Gidday Sir. I kinda hoped I’d be in your class. You were my best teacher last year.”

Yep. Go figure.

As teachers, … we must keep working at changing and experimenting and trying until we have developed ways of reaching every child.  Albert Shanker (1928-1997) American Mathematics Teacher, President of the Federation of Teachers.

Notes:

‘QED’ stands for the Latin phrase ‘quod erat demonstrandum’. The literal translation is ‘that which was to be demonstrated’. (Shaun had proved to himself his work ethic had paid dividends.) These letters are often used to signal the end of a mathematical proof.

‘old dog’ refers to the proverb, ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks’.

The ‘Unteachables’  A reference to the TV series ‘The Untouchables’ which ran from 1959-1963 and starred Robert Stack.

The ALPHABET CAPER—A BLAKE-E MYSTERY

April 17, 2016 and Book 2 of the Blake E Mystery series has been published on Amazon as an eBook for Kindle.

Once again, following countless edits, reams of cardboard for cut-outs and a gimungous amount of time spent on layered photo-files, The ALPHABET CAPER is finished. Oops, gimungous isn’t in the dictionary— it’s a Blake neologism—I reckon it’s what you get when you combine ginormous and humungous.

THE ALPHABET CAPER is an illustrated, chapter-book for early readers and their parents.

BLAKE EDUN-ESPINOZA is now in grade five. When mysterious letters appear, scribbled on the outside blackboards, Blake believes they are coded messages and decides to investigate. His clues lead him to a group of students who are up to mischief at Blue Hills Primary School. But can he crack the coded capitals and round up a bunch of rogues? Once again he is accompanied by his sister Brooke, Holly the class poet and Maddie, his wise-cracking table mate.

The third book in the Blake E series is The BILLY-BUCK CAPER and should be published before the end of the year.

Click on the cover picture to investigate The ALPHABET CAPER in detail. My Alphabet Caper page provides a link to the first chapter, as a flipbook, along with links to downloads specifically produced to accompany the story.

Please share this page with anyone you think might like to hear about “The ALPHABET CAPER”.

 

“A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.” C S Lewis (1898 –1963) British novelist, poet and academic.