Here is a short post about the end of year and a story about a pupil, a teacher, a class reader and the end of year tradition to thank teachers.
The pupil is Tom. I’m the teacher. (With my safeguarding hat on – I want you to know I asked Tom’s mother, and Tom, if I could share this post.)
The class reader is Frank Cottrell’s “The Unforgotten Coat.” It tells the story of Julie, a Year 6 pupil from Bootle, Liverpool, who befriends two Mongolian brothers, Chingis and Nergui. It is a cracking class reader for Year 6, fostering empathy, compassion and rich conversations about friends and cultural awareness.
And finally, there is a poignant moment of reflection when discussing the book once completed. Initially pupils see Julie as helping the boys, their appointed “Good Guide,” and the boys the beneficiaries of her support, before it dawns on them that Julie, and her classmates, are also beneficiaries in this exchange. That in helping others, you also grow.
The final weeks of term and the final teaching task
The final weeks at our school are full of wonderful disruptions. It is very busy. However I was determined to make the most of the books final disguised lesson, that helping others, helps you too.
Task: Write a poem – ‘A friend like you,’ that draws on the life lessons that Julie, Chingis and Nergui gain from their meeting.
Lesson one: Round table small groups of 3-4. ‘Detective work.’ Identify those important friendship moments and lift textual references and storyline features from the book. To support and to accelerate the progress – I presented six lines of enquiry or signposts and page references.
Lesson two: I demonstrated how I had take a “nugget” of storyline detail from the book and woven into a line of poetry. I then demonstrated how I had taken a comment made by Julie and woven that into a line of poetry. The lesson ended with pupils sharing a single line of poetry.
Lessons three-six: I shared an example four verse poem. The pupils wrote their poems. We held a silent walking gallery, where pupil walk the room, reading the poems – as if in an art gallery. The pupils performed their poetry. After all – is that not one of the best reasons to write poetry? For it to be shared and enjoyed?
Now here is the hardest part of this post to explain. Here I am, encouraging the realisation, that friendship is bidirectional. When it dawned on me that so is teaching a new class, particularly if from a different subject or sector. (Should teachers gain experience of teaching beyond their comfort teaching zone?)
I will leave it to you to draw the parallels between the moment it dawns upon our pupils that Julie possible gains more from the friendship than Chingis and Nergui, and the moment it dawns upon me, that I have gained so much more from teaching Tom this year. That when “one teaches, two learn.”
Here is the story.
Best Gift Ever
Mr Still loved being a teacher. Mr Still loved being this Year 6 class’s English teacher. Mr Still loved being Tom’s English teacher.
Tom is an incredibly bright, academically enthused pupil. His cultural capital is somewhere between enormous and colossus. He aches for knowledge.
Mr Still would wish, would wish he could see inside Tom’s head. He imagined the most wonderful spectacular fireworks display going off – with an untamed, unfamiliar irregularity.
Managing fireworks is tricky.
Writing however, is hard.
Mr Still loved letting Tom “go,” during class discussions. He genuinely loved to hear Tom’s rich, verbose explanations of what appeared to be the most simplest of things. The innocent eccentricity coupled with the complexity of connections. Tom once borrowed three minutes of class time to explain why his articulate definition of a keyword “should possibly have note (Tom stressed “have not”) include a direct derivative of the word itself, although in this case, it was very difficult not to, not without losing definition or meaning. Oh well.” And all finished with a smile.
Mr Still believed poems should be at least shared, better heard, even better – performed. Tom generously performed his ‘A friend like you,’ poem. It was a class-voted finalist.
Writing is hard. Tom read performs beautifully too. The innocent eccentricity coupled with performance confidence.
Knowing how supportive Tom’s mother was of her son, Mr Still strongly hinted to Tom that he might like to write out a copy of the poem for her. Remember, writing is hard and Mr Still knew this represented quite an effort. Mr Still was proud of himself, knowing the joy that reading that poem would bring Tom’s mother.
The last day of term past without incident – until that evening.
Mr Still had to ring Tom’s mother to tell her that he had found “her gift,” a hand written copy of Tom’s poem, in his leaving card.
She replied – “I have my copy.”
