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Michaela’s Blog

 Fourth Year (or: I had to pass)

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Fourth year started. I was feeling happy. I had good hours working a job I loved that paid well and also enabled me to study while working. I worked on the newspaper stand in Freshers Week when I wasn’t working, encouraging new first years to join us. I had a group of people I loved working with at university, and a group of people I loved working with at the theatre.

But it was also time to get serious. I may have neglected my studies in third year, but I wanted to get a first. I needed to get a first. I was the first person in my family to go to university, and I wanted to show I had thrived there.

At the end of third year I had signed up to do a course in the modern novel and a course in Jane Austen. I had done all the required reading. I had even, possibly for the first time since Atonement in Freshers’ Week, enjoyed it.

But I needed a first. And one of the course leaders had given me a low 2.1 in first year; the other a low 2.1 in second year. I needed to be strategic. I swapped onto two courses with course leaders I’d never had before, but which were topics I had got firsts in previously – Shakespeare, and Old English. And I really did love those courses. We had optional essays for the Shakespeare course, one a week; I completed every single one and got a first for all of them. None of the marks counted towards my final year marks, but it seemed like a good trajectory.

I was balancing three jobs now: the theatre most of the time, teaching weekly drama and creative writing classes, and occasional waitressing at a sports stadium. I was also balancing my commitments to the newspaper and other university societies. I put everything into everything. I studied between customers at the theatre, where I worked with some of my favourite people I had yet met in Dublin. I ran between lectures and the newspaper office. I burned the midnight oil in the library. I was working so much I didn’t need money for anything but three meals a day; for lunches I could finally afford a proper sandwich with any filling I chose. Life was glorious.

There were low points. If you throw yourself into ‘public’ life (or, the public life of the amateur stage that is university), you are a target to be shot at. Plenty of people wrote letters to the editor about how awful my writing was. One person took umbrage at a column I’d written about life after university, alleging I’d been born ‘with a silver spoon’ in my mouth and ‘could rely on Mummy and Daddy’ to bail me out after my degree, which could not have been further from the truth. One person stood up at a society AGM and called me a fraud and a hypocrite. One person stood up at another society AGM and said I had abused society funds for my own personal advancement, when of course I had done no such thing. An email was circulated to the whole English class about me, the content deeply personal and clearly vindictive. When I complained to the university officials, they said they would investigate it if I halted an ongoing newspaper investigation into dodgy aspects of the university administration they did not want being made public. It was my first experience of officials using their position so dishonestly. I refused to pull the investigation, and the writer of the malicious email went unpunished.

I remember the day results came out. I had arranged for the day off work so I could prepare myself. I longed for a first.

I will write next week about my fifth year at university.

Use the links to read about my first, second and third years of university.

Third Year (or: I stopped going to lectures)

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After the blow of not winning a scholarship, I felt resentment building up about English Literature. I had read everything, and worked so hard, but it had not been enough. Not knowing anything about Dweck and ‘Growth Mindset,’ I declared that English was ‘not my thing,’ and proceeded to throw myself into other aspects of university life.

And third year was in some ways a really wonderful year. I worked for the university newspaper, and for the first time my work felt purposeful. I wasn’t serving drinks to make a pittance, and I wasn’t slaving over books to fail to win a scholarship. I was writing, writing, writing and copy editing; spending whole days and whole nights in the newspaper office over a production weekend, and making actual friends who also got a kick out of working insane hours to produce something concrete at the end of two weeks. I absolutely loved it.

Getting involved in university also had other perks. I found out that there were events that had free drinks, if you only knew the right people, and suddenly I had something of a social life. I worked in a shop, not a bar, so I had evenings free and could actually socialise the way other people did.

The downside of my shop job was, after Christmas (when they had employed a huge amount of extra staff to deal with the massive Christmas bonanza), they kept on far too many of us, which meant there weren’t enough hours to go around. I went from working twenty-five hours a week in term time to being rota-ed for about ten. It was not even enough to pay my rent.

But others who worked in the shop were sometimes flaky. Although my availability for hours was weekends and times when I did not have lectures or seminars, I would often get a call: ‘can you come in for six hours? Someone hasn’t shown up.’ And I would go in.

Third year was the year I started skipping lectures. I didn’t make a habit of it; except that I did, because they always called to offer me hours, and I always said yes. I didn’t want to miss classes, but I did.

When I turned up to the classes, I had done the basic reading but nothing more. I had stopped reading anything to accompany the texts. When I knew I would miss the lecture or the tutorial I didn’t read the text either. I was scraping 2.1s on my essays, which I would painstakingly draft and re-draft in the hum of the newspaper office in between churning out articles and re-writing other people’s. In the newspaper office, I learned the difference between a dash and a hyphen, and when to use a semi-colon. I learned how to check sources and get quotes and find stories. But I did not learn much about English Literature in my third year.

Before exams, the hours had dwindled ever more. Others were feeling the pinch; for some, this was their full time job, and they were working less than 20 hours a week. I resigned just before exams, hoping others could take my hours. I went for a newspaper-related scholarship. After all, I had given up evenings and weekends (in between shifts) to the newspaper. I thought I stood a good chance.

The end of third year brought both good and bad news. I did not win the newspaper scholarship. It turned out, being involved in university societies meant you made enemies as well as friends.

The good news was that I had a new job. I was working in a theatre, selling tickets. It was a different world. For one thing, I got to sit down all day for the first time in three years. For another, they were willing to give me ten-hour shifts six days a week during my university’s summer holiday (on the seventh day, I worked as a teaching assistant at a weekend programme for young people; soon, I was a drama and creative writing teacher there). And finally, when the phone wasn’t ringing or customers weren’t queuing, I could read. It was the perfect solution to my problems. No longer exhausted and run off my feet earning minimum wage, suddenly I could draw the wages of a king (€10.50 an hour!) for sitting and reading. I saw Riverdance five times, and loved it each time more than the last.

In the summer, I looked up my exam results online. 66%. I’d got a 2.1. In fact, I had dropped only one per cent from my first and second year results. The difference in notattending lectures and not spending 8 hours a day in the library was one per cent.

Next week, I will write about my final year of university.

You can read about my first year here, and my second year here.

Algebraic Circle Theorems – Pt 2

Last week, I explored different number based circle theorem problems that can test (a) a pupil’s ability to identify the circle theorem being tested and (b) problem types where a pupil has to find multiple unknown angles using their circle theorem knowledge as well knowledge of basic angle facts.

In this blog, I’m displaying a few different problems within the topic of circle theorems where each angle is labelled as a variable or a term. I am interleaving lots of different knowledge:

  • Forming and simplifying algebraic expressions
  • Forming algebraic equations
  • Equating an algebraic expression to the correct circle theorem angle fact
  • Equating two algebraic expressions which represent equivalent angles and solving for the value of the unknown. Furthermore, using the value of the unknown to find the size of the angle represented by the algebraic expression.

I have interleaved fractional coefficients into a couple of questions to add some arithmetic complexity to the questions. Enjoy!

A triangle made by radii form an Isosceles triangle

Image 0The angle in a semi-circle is a right angle

Image 1
The opposite angles in a cyclic quadrilateral add up to 180 degrees (the angles are supplementary)

Image 2Angles subtended by an arc in the same segment of a circle are equal

The questions for this circle theorem differ in nature from the problem types shown above. Here you are equating two algebraic expressions which represent equivalent angles. We are no longer forming a linear expression and equating it to an angle fact like 180o.

Image 3

The angle subtended at the centre of a circle is twice the angle subtended at the circumference

In these problems types the key mistake that a pupil may make is equating the angle subtended at the centre to the angle subtended at the circumference without doubling the angle at the circumference. This can be pre-empted by asking pupils a key question of “What is the first step?” The answer I would be looking for after going through a few worked examples would be “you need to double the angle subtended at the circumference.”

Image 4Tangents to circles – From any point outside a circle just two tangents to the circle can be drawn and they are of equal length (Two tangent theorem)

Image4a

Alternate Segment Theorem – The angle between a tangent and a chord through the point of contact is equal to the angle subtended by the chord in the alternate segment.

Image 5

I would be keen to hear any thoughts or feedback. Please don’t hesitate to email me on naveenfrizvi@hotmail.co.uk.

Creating Problem Types – Circle Theorems Part 1

Last summer, I made as many different problem types for the topic of Circle Theorems. I looked through different textbooks and online resources (MEP, TES, past papers). I did this because when I last taught circle theorems at my previous school there weren’t enough questions for my pupils to get sufficient deliberate practice. This was a two fold issue. Firstly, I would find a practice set of questions which would not provide enough questions for a pupil to practise one particular problem type. Secondly, the sequencing of questions in terms of difficulty would escalate too quickly or not at all. Here I will outline the different problems types I created (using activeinspire) and then explain the thinking behind them. I have been very selective with the problems I have included here; I have made more questions where certain problems types are more complicated which I shall discuss at the end. I shall more in the following posts.

I made two different categories of problems for each circle theorem. The first type would explicitly test a pupil’s understanding of the theorem to see if they could identify the circle theorem being tested.

The second type would be testing two things. Firstly, such a problem type would be testing their ability to determine the circle theorem being applied in the question. The second aspect of the problem type would be testing related geometry knowledge interleaved which can be calculated as the secondary or primary procedure in the problem e.g. finding the exterior angle of the Isosceles triangle.

One common theme in these questions is that procedural knowledge applied is executed in a predetermined linear sequence. Hiebert and Lefevre wrote that “the only relational requirement for a procedure to run is that prescription nmust know that it comes after prescription n-1.” Multi-step problems such as the ones that you will see show that procedures are hierarchically arranged so that the order of the sub procedures is relevant. Here are the different problem types for each circle theorem where I explain how many items of knowledge is being tested in each question, and what each item of knowledge is.image-0Figure 1: A triangle made by radii form an Isosceles triangleimage-1

Figure 2: The angle in a semi-circle is a right angleimage-2

Figure 3: The opposite angles in a cyclic quadrilateral add up to 180 degrees (the angles are supplementary)image-3Figure 4: Angles subtended by an arc in the same segment of a circle are equal

image-4
Figure 5: The angle subtended at the centre of a circle is twice the angle subtended at the circumferenceimage-5Figure 6: Tangents to circles – From any point outside a circle just two tangents to the circle can be drawn and they are of equal length (Two tangent theorem)image-6aFigure 7: Alternate Segment Theorem – The angle between a tangent and a chord through the point of contact is equal to the angle subtended by the chord in the alternate segment.

To conclude, there are many different problems types for the topic of circle theorems and the complexity of the problem can be addressed in many ways such as:

  • arithmetic complexity
  • Orientation of the problem
  • Multiple representations of the same problem type
  • multiple subprocedures to determine multiple missing angles
  • Interleaving the application of multiple circle theorems.
  • Interleaving the use of basic angles facts
    1. as a necessary step in the procedure to find other angles
    2. as an independent step in the procedure where finding one angle is not necessary to find another angle.

I would be keen to hear any thoughts. Please don’t hesitate to email me onnaveenfrizvi@hotmail.co.uk.

Making the Most of Every Minute

Since starting at Michaela in September, I’ve learnt that every second counts. I’m still shocked at the speed of routines, and how they enable us to squeeze every last second of learning in every lesson.

There are lots of things that slow lessons down which Michaela has almost managed to eradicate. For example, chaotic corridors at lesson transition time, settling pupils into the classroom, lengthy periods wasted waiting for silence, and time-draining activities that yield less learning than alternative methods. In science, the added pressure of getting through experiments requiring lots of equipment can further remove the focus away from learning.

To demonstrate exactly what this looks like in practice, here is an outline of a typical Michaela science lesson, broken down minute-by-minute. This would work with any class, but this lesson in particular was with a year 7 set 3 class – their second lesson on a new chemistry unit. The title of the lesson was ‘Evidence for atoms’. Times are approximate.

10:30 Pupils are waiting patiently outside the classroom in silence whilst another class is dismissed.

10:31 Pupils say a hearty “Good morning” as they come in to the class, take their pencil cases out and are then SLANT-ing.

10:32 “Good morning year sevens. Drill questions page 3. Ready…go!” Pupils sit, hand out exercise books and immediately start their drill questions on page 3 (see more on speedy entrances here). Drill questions are one worded answers to recap over the whole unit.

10:34 I say “3,2,1 SLANT” to get their attention. I tell them to get their green pens (for self-checking) ready. “Ready…set…go!” I read out the one-word answers to each drill question and ask for class feedback.

“Hands up if you have question one incorrect?…two incorrect? Etc.” The majority of the class puts their hand up for question 7, so I provide a brief explanation and recap on Aristotle and the four elements.

10:36 “When I say go and not before, recap questions at the back of the book. Ready…go!” Pupils complete five recap questions in silence. Recap questions are sentence answers linked to the previous lesson.

10:39 “3,2,1 SLANT. Green pens ready. Ready…set…hands up! Question 1…” Pupils give full sentences ending with a Michaela full stop (Sir/Miss). I take a hand up from Arnold*: “Aristotle thought that the world was made up of four elements which were air, fire, water and earth, Miss”

“Excellent, that’s right! Make sure you’ve all got that down in green pen.”

10:42 “3,2,1 SLANT. When I say go and not before, tracking line one. Quickest row gets to read first. Ready…go!” Pupils put two hands on their ruler holding a blue pen in one hand. Each pupil reads one line each of the text and annotates their text book accordingly.

10.47 We pause after line 9 for questions. “3,2,1 SLANT! During which period were Alchemists practising?” More than 50% pupils put their hand up. I non-verbally ask for a choral response: “1,2,3….” “Renaissance!” After a few more questions we continue reading about Robert Boyle (and his theory) with frequent pauses for questioning.

10:58 “3,2,1 SLANT! We have comprehension questions to complete. What is the title?”

Tim: “Evidence for atoms”

“That’s great! What must you remember? 1,2,3..” “Capital letters at beginning of sentences!” “Ready…go!” Pupils start their comprehension questions.

11:09 “3,2,1 SLANT. Green pens ready. Ready…set…hands up! Question 1…” Sarah: “The two main aims of Alchemists were to find the elixir of life and to turn cheap metals into gold, Miss” “Great answer, merit for Sarah. Now check your spellings for Alchemists. A-L-C-H-E-M-I-S-T-S” Pupils check by ticking every letter.

11:13 We continue to read about John Dalton, again pupils annotating their textbooks and pausing for questioning.

11:18 Pupils complete second set of comprehension questions.

11:23 “3,2,1 SLANT. Green pens ready. Ready…set…hands up! Question 1…”Pupils give whole class answer in a similar fashion as the first comprehension.

11:27 “Put one book in another (i.e. textbook folded within exercise books) 5…4…3…2…1 SLANT! Books passed down 20…19…3…2…1 SLANT! Behind your chairs 10…9…3…2…1 SLANT!”

11:28 I read out a list of all the merits and demerits I have given during the lesson. In the final few minutes, I ask a few extra choral response questions. “Dalton said that atoms cannot be broken down. Another word we use is…1,2,3,…” “Indivisible!”

11:30 Pupils are dismissed, filing out into the corridor. It’s always lovely to hear a “Thank you, Miss” when they leave.

Another Michaela lesson complete. The simplicity of each lesson and the consistency of routines enables maximum learning to be achieved.

Click here to see a minute by minute history lesson by Mike Taylor.

*names have been changed for anonymity

Under Pressure

I’ve had two interesting conversations this year with some of our weakest pupils.

Fadekah is in Year 8. For all of Year 7 we despaired if she would even be able to pick and microwave her own meals, or complete routine tasks to earn a wage. She was a seriously spaced-out kid, if very sweet. She never did her homework, and would wear a dopey expression of “I’m cute and helpless and can’t do anything” when her form tutor chastised her for this. Sometimes she giggled if she was being told off. Everything seemed to pass her by. She struggled with the simplest of abstract concepts and didn’t know any times tables. She didn’t know the number before 1000 and seemed unable to remember it no matter how many times I told her. In lessons she did little work, grinning in a far-away manner if given a consequence for not working or not listening. I didn’t see how she could get a G, let alone a C, in Y11. I didn’t see how she could have a good future.

At the start of this year, I had her class again. On the first day she was the star of the lesson. That night she did her homework. And the next night, and the next. She came after school frequently to ask questions about what was learned and took copious notes recording explanations and tips I gave in lessons. Her test results are now typical of the class, despite finding the material difficult to grasp and often feeling confused by the work (Year 8 is mostly algebra). She never needs to be corrected in lessons for not listening or not trying; she is frequently pointed out as a role model. Her questions are insightful and thoughtful. Her homework is always early, she often does extra.

I asked at the end of September what had happened; why had she changed?

“I decided I wanted to do well. So I decided I would do my homework and do work in class.”

That was it. She had nothing to add to it. She just decided, and then she did it.

A colleague had a similar conversation with a similarly transformed pupil. His answer was simple “I decided I should try working instead of daydreaming and the work seems really easy now.”

Another girl in the same class, Jana, had appalling results in maths, and every other subject. She struggled to answer the most basic questions (How do you get home? What’s 4+10?). I assumed she must have a very low processing speed and a very limited working memory. Even an instruction like “pick up your whiteboard pens” seemed to be received on delay. I decided in November that being helpful and understanding wasn’t the right approach; she was getting less than 10% in year group exams where the average always exceeded 70%. I tried being tough. In lessons, if I asked a simple question which she couldn’t answer, and then told her the answer and asked again and she still couldn’t answer (i.e. hadn’t listened), she’d get a demerit. In many lessons she would get two demerits this way, meaning a detention. I was worrying that I was punishing a child who maybe had a fundamental problem.

At the start of this half term, she was different. She was answering everything. She was slightly slow, but her working was always clear and always led to good quality solutions. Her errors made sense and were typical of a Year 8 (i.e. she was doing as well as everyone else, making mistakes that reflected thought). Her hand was always up, provided there was thinking time. She asked good questions. She got lots of merits. I asked her what had changed.

“I realised that if I listen then I get it.”

I couldn’t tell if that delighted me or made me furious. But she has maintained the change, and has stopped looking worried and lost in lessons. She seems to enjoy maths and feel proud of what she produces. I suspect she won’t turn back.

These experiences underline for me how much of pupils’ underachievement, even where they seem like cognitive or social outliers, has a simple explanation. They are not listening properly, they’re not really thinking, and they’re hoping they can fly under the radar with minimal cognitive effort. They are not disrupting, but they are not learning. Their precious time at school is being squandered.

Few normal (i.e. non ‘bright’) pupils get good results, or have good life chances, if they stay stuck in this rut. Teachers need to motivate and inspire these pupils, but we also need to keep them under constant pressure to listen carefully, think deeply and feel accountable for their work, both on the page and in their brains. These are the strategies that we have come up with in the maths department (with lots of input from Olivia Dyer, the head of science).

Strategies for pushing more accountability onto the pupils

  1. After an explanation or example, posing questions that put the onus on the pupils to seek more help or clarification:
    • “Who needs me to explain that more?”
    • “Who would like to see another example?”
    • “Who needs me to say it in a different way?”
    • “Who needs me to ask them a question?”

2. No Opt Out (described in Teach Like a Champion). This comes into play when a pupil doesn’t know an answer to a question. Lemov describes well the why and the how. In summary:

a. Pupil A doesn’t know the answer

b. Tell them you will come back to them (eventually this can be dropped)

c. The answer/explanation is supplied

d. Go back to them

e. If correct: well done, you went from not knowing and answer to being able to say it (I know this is a shallow description of ‘knowing!’. It is the first of many steps…). If incorrect: give consequence for not listening / opting out

Levelling up: Narrate why it is important to listen carefully and be ready for the teacher to return to them. Encourage pupils to remind you to come back to them (by putting hands up politely), thanking them for reminding you and taking responsibility for being held accountable. Praise it as behaviour that shows they really want to learn.

  1. If a pupil looks a little spaced out, or often is a poor listener, saying “I am about to ask three/five questions. You’ll be picked for one of them.”
  2. Everybody answers: before you accept answers to a question, every pupil writes their answer down. This gives more thinking time to the slower thinkers. It also holds them accountable, as it is visible if a pupil is writing or not. This is common in maths with the use of whiteboards (provided there is a good routine in place for pupils to write the work in a secretive fashion and show it simultaneously, so that pupils can’t copy each other).
  3. Describe – and enforce – the body language you expect to see when you ask a question. These are the ones I typically expect and insist upon:

a. Looking at the question on the board, with an expression that shows ‘thinking’ (no vacant expressions). This is usually a focused or intense face. Some pupils faces really screw up their expression when they’re thinking, some look quite calm. This depends on you knowing your pupils, but the absence of focused thought is generally quite obvious.

b. Looking at the question on the page, with a thoughtful expression (as above).

c. Doing working on the sheet / whiteboard. In maths this is typically jottings for a calculation, or other things to relieve the burden on working memory.

d. Hand up, waiting to answer.

With some classes, I’ve said “If you stare vacantly at me once I’ve asked the question, instead of looking at the diagram, I will know you are wasting thinking time. That means we’ll have to wait for you, and is stealing time from the people who started thinking straight away.” I’ve moved to giving a demerit if they persist in it after the warning. That might seem harsh, but the explanation of why I do it means the pupils seem to find it very fair (it’s always palpable when pupils think something is unjust!) and the quality and pace of responses has jumped up. I wished I’d moved to this sooner.

6. Give more thinking time for questions. We all think we do it. We all know we don’t! A colleague pointed out that, for our many EAL pupils, they must hear the question, translate to their home language, think about it, decide an answer, translate back to English and THEN put their hand up. It also puts positive pressure on both teacher and pupils:

a. If more and more hands are gradually creeping up, the coasting pupils think “Yikes! Better think of an answer” as their non-participation is becoming obvious. If you really want to keep them on their toes, you can ask the 1-2 without hands up to tell you what the question was. If they know, but can’t answer, that’s fine. If they don’t know…make clear this means they are throwing away a chance to learn and to test themselves.

b. If the number of hands going up stops, you know the problem is probably you: you need to tell them again, and make it clearer. You also might need to improve the question, so it is also clearer.

7. Pause before asking for hands up. Give the thinking time, then say ‘hands up.’ This means many more hands go up at once (giving the message “It is normal to participate in this classroom” “It is normal to be eager to answer”) and slower pupils aren’t dispirited by their neighbour who has an answer before the teacher has finished speaking.

8. Show almost all of the question, but leave out the final element. This means no one can put hands up until you are ready, but they can begin thinking. For example, you could give this simplification: 4a3 x 5b? and leave the question mark blank for 5 seconds, allowing them to plan their answer for the rest of the question. This gives the slower thinkers time to catch up, and creates a slight element of drama when the number under the question mark is revealed.

9. For recaps when pupils seem unsure, give word starts:

“What is the name for a triangle with two equal lengths and two equal angles?”

[few hands]

“It begins with i…..”

[many hands] [take an answer]

Ask the question again

To be  clear, the strategy above isn’t helping them connect ‘isosceles triangle’ to the definition. It is probably only helping them to remember the name of a triangle that begins with i. But, it can be a good way for pupils to see they know more than they realise, and to build up their confidence. It also helps you see if the problem is remembering a word at all, or connecting it to a definition.

10. Reverse the question. If you’ve asked a question, like the isosceles one above, you can reverse it straight away: “Tell me two special features of an isosceles triangle.” Assuming you made sure that everyone listened to the first answer, it is now not acceptable to not know the answer. This makes clear to pupils that they need to really listen to your questions, not just jump to answers.

11. Interleave questions. If pupils are struggling to match together a word or procedure and its definition or process, or to explain a concept, you need to ask it several times. However, repeatedly asking the same question means pupils quickly start to parrot back sounds, rather than strengthen the connection between words and ideas. Interleaving the important question with other low-stakes facts that they know forces them to listen more carefully and to do more recall (rather than repetition). For example, if the key question is how to find the sum of angles in a polygon, you might mix it in with easier questions like “What does n stand for in the formula?” and “Which polygon has an angle sum of 180?” and “What is the formula for the area of a triangle?” This forces more thinking and practise of contrasting the new answer (the formula) with other faces that seem similar.

Make them accountable for helping you to check their understanding

The main challenge with pupils who are struggling is that they can be adept at disguising it. Many options for ‘whole-class AFL’ are technology heavy, or fiddly in one way or another. We like the following:

  1. Heads down, fingers up: if the groundwork is done, this can be a very quick way to check understanding. It works best for questions with two options (yes/no or true/false) but can be also for ‘answer 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5.’

a. Pose a question (typically focused on misconceptions)

b. Give time to think and decide secretly on an answer

c. “Heads down!” Pupils put their heads down in the crook of their arms (to avoid a ‘thunk’ and bruised forehead!) and one hand resting on top of their head

d. The teacher calls each of the options and pupils raise their hand up a small amount (so the movement is imperceptible to their neighbours). It is important the teacher gives the same amount of time for each possible option, so as not to give away the answer. Counting to 4 in your head can help.

e. “Heads up!” …give them a few seconds to readjust to the light… Having their heads in the crook of their arms means they don’t get as zoned out as having it straight on the desk, which is also helpful!

2. Routines for whiteboards that keep answers secret from each other (described above). You must narrate why it is not only important not to look at others’ boards, but also why keeping one’s own board secret it essential. Narrate how it might seem kind to let someone see your answer, but it is in fact unkind as it stops them from getting the help they need.

3/ When answers are given on whiteboards, praise good-quality written explanation. For example, I will pick out and praise the clearest workings, showing them to the rest of the class and praising how it let me understand what they were thinking. A colleague encourages his pupils by intoning, in a very funny way “…let me see your brains.”

Levelling up: I have recently moved to giving pupils demerits if they show me the wrong answer with no working. This has made a huge difference in two ways: it means that children who are quick thinkers are forced to slow down, so the others aren’t intimidated or disheartened when they need more time. It also means I don’t waste time trying to guess where they went wrong. Full working allows me to quickly identify the point of error and give better feedback. Because this was narrated and ‘trialled’ for a lesson, the pupils who had demerits for this weren’t upset when they got a consequence and, more importantly, have changed their ways.

4. If you are faced with the problem of a big split between how many get it and how many don’t, and you feel bad for the ones ‘waiting around’ for the rest, you can try:

a. Writing up the exercise they will do once you judge they understand it

b. Posing a question to check competency/understanding, telling them to wipe their board quickly and start the exercise if you tell them they’re correct.

c. As you see each correct answer, saying simply ‘correct/well done/correct’ and letting them get on with it.

d. Get a show of hands of who has not started the exercise, then tell those pupils they are going to see more examples and be asked more oral questions. I find that, once I start on the re-teaching, many pupils then say “Oh! I get it now” and then they join in the written exercise, quickly narrowing down how many I am trying to help.

Laying the ground for purposeful written work

Strategies that I’ve tried and seen others use to good effect are:

  1. For short-form questions (i.e. those requiring only 1-2 steps), go through it first as an oral drill, cold calling pupils. Then, use it as a written exercise. There are several benefits: every pupil has had a chance to ask for clarification on questions where they don’t understand why that was the answer, or to note down hints to help them start it on their own; pupils can begin work quickly and in earnest, knowing that it is something they can do with more confidence; you get twice as much ‘bang for your buck’ with an exercise. This works best for things that are highly procedural, but I think it also works well for questions where the ‘way in’ must be found. If a good chunk of the exercise has been done orally, the written attempt will still require them to recall and decide how to begin.
  2. Drill on step 1: If the exercise is focused on decision-making (e.g. an exercise mixing all fraction operations, where the main challenge is that pupils muddle which procedure goes with different questions), it can be done as an oral drill just for step 1. For example, “For question a, what will you need to do? Find the LCD. Question b? Find the reciprocal and multiply.” This can be a lower-stakes version of the exercise to allow you to check how ready they are before embarking on the more extended task of completing the calculations.
  3. Before starting exercises, particularly more extended ones, or quite visual ones (e.g. an angle chase), give the pupils 30-60 seconds to scan for any that they think they don’t know how to start. Then, give hints and tips for those (depending on the pupils, you might model a very similar one on the board for them to look at when they get to it). This prevents you from running around from pupil to pupil as they encounter the problem, and gives them confidence when they get to it…and no excuse for just sitting there waiting instead of attempting it!
  4. If several pupils are struggling with the same thing, or asking the same question, or making the same mistake: STOP THE WORK! Make them all listen to the additional instruction, explanation or example. This prevents you from creating lots of low-level noise as you help others, and gives help straight away to them all.

Culture of Thinking: do I understand this?

The ideal situation is that pupils themselves are thinking deeply about what is being taught. This usually can be observed when they ask question in the form:

  • Did ____ happen because _____?
  • Is ____ like this because _______ is like that?
  • If that is the case, does that mean that ____ is the case?
  • Is this similar to the way that _____?
  • I thought that because _______ we couldn’t ________?
  • What happens if you try it with 0 / 1 / 2 / a negative number / a non-integer / a power?
  • I think there is a pattern in this. Is it __________?
  • Will the answer always be positive/negative/an integer/a multiple of __?
  • I have an idea to help remember it: ___________.

Praise such contributions! Narrate that this is the sort of thinking that makes someone good at your subject, and makes it stick as they are forming connections with other ideas. Their memories of the ideas will be richer and more powerful. You can also narrate how this is beneficial to the other pupils, and to you as a teacher, and express gratitude.

Culture of Thinking: What do I need if I want to succeed?

A good place to get to is if the pupils themselves identify what they need, and flag it up. This is usually seen with questions like “Could we try one first on whiteboards?” or “Could you show another example, please?” or “Could we do another question together before we begin writing?” This means they are really thinking about if they understand something (or, can complete a procedure) and aren’t relying on teacher validation. Things that can help to bring this about:

  • Narrating why you show examples
  • Narrating what you want them to think about when you explain things, or show examples
  • Narrating what they should annotate and why
  • Narrating why you are asking questions
  • Narrating what should be happening in their minds when they think about something

As above, narrate how this is beneficial to the other pupils. You can even say “Who is glad that ____ asked that? Next time you can be the person who everyone else is thanking, by being alert and giving me helpful advice.”

Miscellaneous suggestions

  1. Choral response is nice to deploy to help practice new and difficult pronunciations (combustibility, hypotenuse, consecutive, and so on). It is utterly pointless otherwise, unless it is being used to make pupils think. Choral response is great for an oral drill for questions like,
    1. a1 = ?
    2. a0 = ?
    3. 1a = ?
    4. 0a = ?

…but is pointless if they are simply repeating sounds. It needs to help them put ideas together, or be a low-stakes way to practise recall of facts or saying tricky words.

2. Use as many memory aids and links as you can. They more ways that pupils can recall something and know that they are remembering correctly, the better. There is no use in a pupil correctly recalling the process to find the median if they doubt they have it correct. That is nearly as bad as not remembering at all, as it will feel futile to proceed. Even the weirdest memory aids can be valuable: my Y9s suggested remembering median with two prompts: (1) think of it as medIaN, because it is IN the middle, and (b) it sounds like medium, and medium is the middle size. These are not sophisticated, but it allows them two have two ways to recall the process, and two ways to feel they are on the right path.

3. Set a goal for the lesson. Our deputy head described this as being what a learning objective was meant to be (as opposed to exercise in the time-wasting that can be seen – and enforced – in many classrooms today). I sometimes start the lesson by silently modelling an example of the kind of question I hope they’ll be able to do by the end, then putting a very similar question right by it. This will be on the left of the whiteboard. Then I use the remainder of the whiteboard during the lesson. Often I can be only 15 minutes into the lesson before (some) pupils’ hands shoot up, thinking they know how to answer the ‘goal question.’ This puts positive pressure on the others, as it gives the message “We’ve been taught enough to be able to do this! You need to keep up!” and lets pupils feel smart, and feel intellectually rewarded, for paying careful attention.

4. Have a set of stock phrases to denote things that REALLY matter and make them feel motivated to push themselves mentally. Olivia, our head of science, uses phrases such as

“I’ll bet my bottom dollar this will be on your GCSEs”

“This is the sort of question that only pupils who get an A* can do”

“Pupils who master this always find A level much easier”

I hope these strategies are useful to you. We are trying everything we can to get 100% of our pupils to do well in their GCSEs (and generally, be smart and confident people), so would love to hear about other approaches. These strategies are, of course, in the context of a school culture that celebrates curiosity, a love of learning and the belief that hard work is the path to success. This post focused on some behaviourist strategies, which we believe are the most efficient and effective approach, but in the bigger picture we focus on goals for the future and the instrinsic motivation of being an educated and confident person.

If you find it exciting to think about strategies to motivate and challenge children who often fall behind, consider joining us. Our ad is on the TES, or you can visit our website. You can also email me on dquinn [at] mcsbrent.co.uk if you want to know more.

Scaling Mount Improbable: King’s Wimbledon

What can we learn from a top private school?

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King’s College School Wimbledon is one of the most academically successful schools in the world. 96% of pupils achieve A*-A at GCSE, and 41 pupils gained A*s in every one of their exams. 25% of their pupils achieved 45 in the International Baccalaureate, which put them in the top 1% globally. 56 pupils won places at Oxford and Cambridge Universities. In October, I went to visit.

On a bus on the way just before 8am, I overheard a conversation between two King’s boys. They were practising speaking in Russian for a test. They were learning this as an extra-curricular language and preparing for a trip to Moscow at Easter.

Mount Improbable

It would be easy to dismiss Kings’ results as impossible for us in the state sector to replicate: their expensive fees, high funding, lucrative facilities, academic selection, high-achieving-only intake, highly invested parents. They own a cricket pavilion, expansive playing fields, a swimming pool and even a boathouse on the Thames that they share with Cambridge University. State schools will never have the money, intake or facilities that they have.

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Nevertheless, there is so much that can be learned from Kings, and other private schools, if we approach them in the spirit of an abundance mentality. Their success need not detract from our own in the state sector, but can contribute if we seek out ideas that could help us improve. Here are some of the ideas that I learned from my visit.

  1. Rigorous academic and cultural curriculum

At Kings, pupils study complex Maths and Science from a young age, challenging literature, sweeping narrative history, theology through scripture, Latin, philosophy, fine art, classical music and theatre written by the greatest dramatists the world has ever seen. The rigour is sky-high. Offering the International Baccalaureate at sixth form forces pupils to study a broad academic curriculum: you cannot give up Maths, English, Science, Humanities or a Language until 18. Michael Merrick puts it beautifully in his post about a year growing up in a private school:

‘We were not only exposed to high culture, but completely immersed in it, day after day, as the backdrop and foreground within which our development took place. Here, aesthetics was not a cerebral pursuit for ageing dons – it permeated everything, and infused us with a sense of awe and humility that forced the eyes, even the soul, to look upwards in its educational pursuits. We were encouraged to reach for the stars, not future salary scales. This exposure to high culture [showed] an instinctive commitment to and formation within a higher aesthetic.This is uneasy and unfamiliar territory for many (but by no means all) of us in the state sector.

  1. Simple traditional instruction

Teachers teach didactically and unashamedly from the front, and lessons are heavily teacher-led; pupils sit in rows facing the front; textbooks, exercise books and pens are the default technology, even up to sixth form; simplicity is the watchword: in English, the main resource is simply class texts. The tasks tackle extended subject practice with limited variety: reading, writing, comparing examples, noting, discussing and summarising. For many veteran teachers at King’s, this seemed to be straightforward, no-nonsense common sense.

  1. Culture of hard graft

The message that hard work is the only way to succeed is everywhere: in every assembly, pupils give a musical performance, and then explain how hard they had to work to practice, persevere and resist the temptation to give up; in every lesson, the focus is on thinking hard about the subject and maximising pupil cognitive work on tasks; every evening, pupils and parents are clear that they are expected to produce two hours of homework. Hard graft is celebrated and admired.

  1. Writing guidance

Teaching writing is heavily guided, even up to sixth form. In History, for instance, starting point sentences are shared for each paragraph of complex essays on new material. Extensive written guidance is shared with pupils. Sub-questions within each paragraph and numerous facts are also shared.

  1. Examples as feedback

Excellent examples are continually shared as feedback. In English, the best essay is photocopied, handed out and meticulously annotated so that others begin to internalise the mental models of success. Exemplars, combined with redrafting, are the simplest way for teachers to give guidance on how to improve.

  1. Thesis statements

Introductions are the vehicle of choice for improving essay writing. One-sentence thesis statements are set out to frontload and signpost the essay, and this is taught from Year 9. They are very easy to share and compare. A bank of exemplar thesis statements can therefore be built up, with teachers collecting lots of excellent pupil examples.

  1. Homework

Extensive homework is set at two hours a night in Year 9. In History and English, extensive written homework is set, collected, marked and returned. Over the holidays, two 2-page essays were expected of Year 10 over the week-long half-term. It was simply scored out of the same denominator (i.e. always out of 25) for comparability. Massive amounts of rigorous, independent subject practice are being done by King’s pupils, which sets them up to achieve A*s.

  1. Competitions

Pupils frequently enter national subject competitions such as Oxbridge essay prizes. There are sports fixtures, choir and orchestra performances, music concerts, drama performances and debating contests organised throughout the year. 

  1. Kindness

Form tutors go over King’s kindness commitment every term, and it is in every pupil planner. A culture of kindness is seen as a collective responsibility.

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  1. Pupil Leadership

Sixth formers mentor and teach youngsters in Key Stage 3. Sixth former had set up their own drama club, for instance, and produced and performed their own plays. Captains are appointed for sports, debating and general knowledge teams. Prefects are also appointed to take on leadership roles in the school.

When I was there, I asked several pupils what they most liked about the school. All said similar things: ‘the atmosphere: everyone gets on here’, and variations on that theme.

None of these things is irreplicable for a state school; they do not rely on extensive funding or a selective intake. Any school in the state sector can learn from these ambitious, common-sense practices that could help us improve the education we give to our pupils. The challenge for us is to show that scaling Mount Improbable is not impossible.

Posted on January 14, 2017 by Jo Facer

Second Year (or: desperate for a scholarship)

The summer after first year was filled with work – paid work, and library work. I was surviving on five or six hours of sleep a night and spending the day in the university library. I spent the summer in Dublin so I could keep up my job and my library schedule intact. I read for my courses, and I read for my soul. I read all of Shakespeare’s plays and Tolstoy’s War and Peace. I still loved reading. My first year results were good. I didn’t get a first, but neither did anyone else on my course for that year, so I felt like I had done well. I won a prize for one of my courses, but when I went to collect it they said that it had already been issued and they couldn’t give it to me again. It had been book tokens. They re-printed the certificate, though, which I kept as a reminder that I was not, contrary to how I felt, stupid.

I had worked all summer so that I would not have to work during the first part of the year. The scholarship exams were in April, and term started in October. I had seven months to win the scholarship, and €100 a week to get me there, after rent. For lunch in my first year, I had bought a cup of boiling water (€0.35) and mixed a packet of powder soup into it. This year, I could buy a scone with jam (€1) for lunch. Life was good.

But studying for the scholarship exams was tough. You had to re-learn everything from the first year, including things I hadn’t especially understood the first time around, plus everything in the second year, including courses that hadn’t yet been taught. I went about it the only way I knew how. I read everything, learned quotes for everything, read critics’ essays and learned quotes from them. Somewhere along the way, I had lost any idea of having a critical thought myself.

While I ploughed the bibliographical furrows most the day, the lectures were increasingly disconnected from anything I had ever thought about literature, and the seminars left me feeling more and more out of my depth. I could not have spent more time in the library, but my ideas were all wrong. I had to give a presentation in one seminar. About halfway through my five pages of painstakingly prepared notes, the seminar leader interrupted me, shaking her head and saying, ‘no, no, no! You have got it all wrong. You haven’t thought about it at all.

I had read all the books, but couldn’t understand a thing. It was the intellectual equivalent of ‘all the gear, no idea.’

That said, I felt confident when the exams came around. I couldn’t help but feel confident. No-one else had spent the whole summer in the library. Some people had only started putting serious library time in from January. But I had always been in the library, and, like the slow and steady tortoise, I thought that would work. More than that – it had to work. I had to win the scholarship, and be free from financial stress; be able to eat lunch with my friends who I would surely make and keep when I could go out with them occasionally or buy them a coffee in return for the ones they had bought me. I went into that exam hall – huge and daunting, decked with immense portraits. I had my exam rituals and my lucky pens. I had read everything.

Immediately after the scholarship exams ended, I contracted the worst illness I’ve ever had. My body completely collapsed. But I had to work. With high fever, I worked two jobs under a ‘trial’ basis, only able to keep my tips. I collapsed and was sent home from one, and I stayed in bed and didn’t show up to the other one, which I had forgotten I had.

The day of the announcement came, and I had never been more nervous. I had managed to get a new job, and skilfully managed to get the day off. I silently hoped I would not return to the job, but would spend out my ‘emergency fund’ the rest of the year, safe in the knowledge my rent was paid for the following two years, and more if I did a PhD as I dreamed I would. I remember hanging around the English department with another hopeful before the ceremony started. The Head of English came out, and stopped. He looked at my friend. ‘You’re Tom,’ said the Head of English. ‘I am,’ he replied. The Head of English nodded and continued walking. He hadn’t said anything to me. That’s when I first thought: maybe I haven’t won it.

As it turned out, neither of us had. The long list of names was read out, and I stood with the others at the back of the hall, increasingly despondent. Afterwards, we crowded to the board to see our results. All the English hopefuls, five of us, had got 2.1s – enough to not have to take the summer exams that year. But none of us had reached the magic first – the 70% needed to secure a scholarship. The Head of English sidled up to us. ‘No Scholars in English this year,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s a real shame.’ Given that he had marked the papers, we felt his expressing this sentiment was a little inconsiderate.

In the two months after finding out I hadn’t won a scholarship and was exempt from all exams, I both worked and slacked. I did not go to lectures. I did not go to seminars. I did not go to the library. I did, however, go to the university newspaper. I met some people and started to write. I hung around and hoped I could find a place there.

Next week, I will write about my third year at university.

You can read about my first year at university here.

Vertical vocabulary

One of the great things about working at Michaela is the symbiosis that happens between colleagues. Inevitably for me, this exchange of ideas is most keenly felt between the Humanities and English Departments and, specifically, between the essays that our pupils write in English and history. As Katie has written here, she and the English Department have developed the ‘show sentence’ in order to combat the problem of what happens after the classic sentence starter ‘This demonstrates that…’
A similar problem afflicts history teachers. We can drill pupils all we like on significant dates, people and places, but that does not, on its own, give our pupils the vocabulary to express what these dates, events and people mean. Unless history is to become ‘just one damn thing after another’ we need our pupils to be able to know what I call ‘vertical’ as well as ‘horizontal’ vocabulary. If the names of dates, people and places help our pupils to describe the ‘horizontal’ narrative of history, our ‘vertical’ vocabulary expresses the themes that link seemingly disparate periods of history together. This is the vocabulary that we need to express change and continuity, cause and consequence, conflict, power, economy and ideas. Crucially, this vertical vocabulary is always domain specific: the causes of the First World War and the causes of the Enlightenment will require different explanatory toolkits. An how are our pupils expected to master this vocabulary if we are not the ones to give it to them?

The big mistake that I made when I first started teaching was to presume that this ‘vertical’ vocabulary would just be discovered over time. I think there are many of the ‘enquiry’ bent who still think that this is something that just appears via osmosis. But I now see that this is as much as a nonsense as presuming that pupils will discover any other form of knowledge. Words like ‘tension’, ‘consolidated, ‘exacerbated’ which express historical ‘analysis’ are as much a form of knowledge as ‘King John’, ‘1215’ and ‘Runneymede’. Pupils must be explicitly taught such vertical vocabulary (and even occasionally make mistakes with it as they use it in different contexts) so that an initially inflexible concept bends and flexes over time.

Over the last two years, we’ve toyed around with various different ways to teach our pupils what a good paragraph looks like, each time desperately trying to get away from the straightjacket of PEEL and towards an understanding of paragraph formation that actually concentrates on what it is that the pupils find most difficult. As the English department have found, ‘this demonstrates…’ is not the part of the paragraph that pupils find the most challenging; it’s what comes next. The challenge for history teachers is not just making sure that our pupils remember the ‘horizontal’ vocabulary of dates, people and places, but to remember the ‘vertical’ vocabulary, too. This is exceptionally difficult, not least because the vertical vocabulary pupils need to express themselves with sophistication changes between periods of history and therefore from unit to unit.

What we’ve tried to do is break down paragraph construction into its component parts:

Point: What is your answer to the question?

Information: What dates, people and places have you remembered (we use this term deliberately) that support your point?

Explanation: Why are these dates, people and places significant? As my colleague, Mike, puts it – ‘So what?’

So if we were preparing our pupils for a question on the causes of the English Civil War, we would use an example show them the sort of structure and vocabulary that we’d expect to see in a good paragraph. We broke this essay down for our weakest pupils so they had to write an essay which included paragraphs on religion, power and finance as well as a conclusion. Have we had to over-simplify it as a consequence? Yes, of course. That is the price we have to pay to give them the foundational knowledge that they will critique as they learn more. I haven’t here got into the debate about long and short-term causes, although colleagues teaching more able pupils certainly would.

Here’s how we structured one of the model paragraphs on the religious causes of the Civil War for our weakest group in Year 8 (bottom quartile). The vocabulary that I’ve emboldened has been written into the booklets we use in class so that, by the time I get to the lesson, they should already be familiar with it. We need to be as confident that our pupils know the vertical vocabulary before an assessment as we are that they know the horizontal.

Question: Why did the English Civil War break out in 1642?

The English Civil War broke out in 1642 because of religious tension/enmity/division/animosity/hostility between the Puritan Parliament and the Arminian Crown.

In 1625, Charles I married the Catholic French Princess Henrietta Maria. This was important because the Parliament was predominantly Puritan and it increased suspicion that Charles was a secret papist.

In 1633, Charles appointed William Laud, an Arminian, Archbishop of Canterbury. This created further division because Laud attacked Puritans and banned their books.

Finally, in 1639, this tension escalated into violence after Charles attempted to impose his English prayer book on Scotland. It was this final act that led to a Scottish rebellion which forced Charles to recall Parliament and sparked off the civil war.

These events show/illustrate/demonstrate/reveal/emphasise that war broke out in 1642 because of increasing religious tension between the Arminian Crown and the Puritan Parliament

How is this different to how I used to teach paragraph construction?

  1. We’re not presuming that pupils will just discover words to express ‘tension’ and the changing relationship between Parliament and the Crown in the period – we’re explicitly giving them to the pupils. We create drills so that the vocabulary they need to express this changing relationship is automatized.
  2. We’re deliberately structured the evidence which supports the point in chronological order to help them remember the examples and to encourage them to think about how this relationship changes leading up to 1642.
  3. Each time they use an example, it’s followed by one sentence of explanation. When we’re constructing this paragraph on the whiteboard we’re saying ‘Yes, but why is it significant that Charles appointed Laud as Archbishop? How does that support your point? SO WHAT?!’

This essay was completed by a pupil in our weakest group in Year 8 at the end of last year (from memory). The pencil mark in the corner is the mark 15/25. What I was most pleased to see was the inclusion of the ‘vertical’ vocabulary that we’d be teaching in the lessons preceding the assessment. We’ve still got a long way to go on this, but I think it shows we’ve made a start.

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Visiting Michaela: an update

Michaela had always been open to anyone who wanted to visit, and we would actively encourage all kinds of people to visit us. We were so proud of what we did, and we naively thought that if only those who disagreed with us could see it in action – see how happy the children were, and see how much they were learning – they would have to concede that what we were doing was right for them.

Unfortunately, our trust in teachers to do the right thing regardless of their preconceptions and biases was broken. Our guides began to report some guests being rude towards them and the school. Some guests were asking inappropriate questions of our guides, who were feeling increasingly anxious about dealing with these kinds of teachers. In December, we had to close our doors to visitors following a serious safeguarding concern. It has taken us some time to look into this concern, and to alter our policy on visitors to ensure our pupils are kept safe.

Since publishing that blog, we have been inundated with emails, Tweets, and direct messages from those who expressed sympathy that we had to take such action; supporters of what we are doing who had really wanted to visit our school. We knew we had to put something in place to ensure that those people would have a chance to come in.

Our pupil guides are incredible, but they are also children. Their confidence and articulate explanations can make even their teachers forget that sometimes, but they are still only children. When you visit our school, we are placing a huge amount of trust in you: to treat our children with kindness and respect, and to never forget that they are only kids – age 11, 12, 13 or 14.

We are also placing a huge amount of trust in our guests to abide by our rules. I wrote before about some inappropriate behaviour of guests. Some people visit our school to soak up every piece of information they can, to find out more, to see what they can take back and implement at their own school. Some people visit with different motivations – to steal resources, or because someone has made them come when they would rather be taking ‘important’ phone calls while their pupil guides wait patiently for them.

It takes a huge amount of time to organise the visits, to complete the logistics, and to train and support the pupil guides. We are happy to take this time if it is to benefit those who are visiting with the right motivation. So, what we need to do is to work out how to tell whether someone is visiting our school because they want to learn something, or whether they are visiting our school because they want to undermine what we are doing.

When people visit our school with a motivation to undermine, not only do they write inaccurate and, frankly, untrue, things about what we do online (my favourite so far has been that teachers do not eat lunch with children – something every single teacher at Michaela does every single day) that damage other people’s perception of our school, but, far, far more importantly, that they put our children at risk. When people come, desperate to prove that what we do doesn’t work, in the face of the evidence in front of their eyes, they put our children at risk. We were hugely naïve to not recognise this sooner.

All staff at Michaela, including our Headteacher Katharine Birbalsingh, visit all kinds of schools all around the country. Our visits have massively impacted on what we do. We often cite King Solomon Academy, Mossbourne, and Dixons Trinity as influencing some of our central ideas and policies, but we have learned something from every school we have visited – even School 21, which many consider our polar opposite, has taught us lots. Because we go to these schools with the mindset to learn. 

So we have now established an application process for visiting Michaela. If you email info@mcsbrent.co.uk, we will ask you to fill out a short form, which will be reviewed by Katharine Birbalsingh or a member of the Senior Team to decide whether the motivation is right. Those who have been kind to us or about us, those who are interested and want to learn from what we do, are welcome to come in. Those who have been rude to us or about us, those who are motivated by the wrong things, are no longer welcome to visit. Any visitor acting in a way deemed inappropriate will immediately be asked to leave. Some schools charge up to £50 per person per visit. We are happy for visitors to come in for free, as long as those visitors are supportive and will not put our children at risk.

Our children are our top priority. Some of our guides are lower ability, and they have been genuinely upset by people visiting who do not like the school, who tell them that the school is bad, and that they are wrong to be happy at Michaela. We hope, desperately hope, that this new policy will be enough to allow those who wish to learn to come in, and to keep our most precious priority, our children, safe and happy.

If you are interested in learning from what we do, please email info@mcsbrent.co.uk for an application to visit Michaela.