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Michaela School Wembley London
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Posted on October 31, 2015 by Joe Kirby

Marking is a hornet

Written marking takes up huge amounts of teachers’ time. If the average teacher marks for just over 5 hours a week, that’s 200 hours of marking a year. In a secondary school of 100 teachers, that’s 20,000 hours of marking.

Written marking is non-renewable: it’s a one-off. Each written comment I put in a pupil’s book only impacts once on that one pupil. What else could we do with that 20,000 hours, that would impact more positively on future pupils and other teachers? Marking has a very low ratio of impact-to-effort, and a very high opportunity cost.

MarkingHornet

There are much better ways to share feedback so pupils improve. There are much better ways to focus teachers’ limited time. That is why we no longer mark pupils’ books at our school – at all.

Feedback is a butterfly

Feedback is effective when it is timely (not too late after the task), frequent (not too scarce) and acted on (not ignored). Written marking often militates against this: teachers burn out and it becomes less timely, less frequent and less acted on by pupils and teachers.

There are many ways of giving feedback without written marking:

Feedback

At Michaela, we are continually working on making our feedback have the highest-impact possible on learning:

FeedbackMichaela

Our feedback maximises the responsibility pupils take for self-checking, correcting, editing and redrafting their work. It maximises preemptive teaching, preventing frequent errors and common misconceptions; it minimises laborious, slow, reactive written comments. Although we still read pupil books, score exams, and circle misspellings to be corrected within lessons, we have scrapped written marking of pupil books outside lessons altogether. To monitor marking as evidence to hold teachers accountable for pupil progress is an illusion – comforting for managers, but unhelpful for teachers and pupils.

What we’ve found is that this shift transforms staff culture. No teacher has to take home books in evenings, weekends and holidays; no manager is scrutinising pupil books for frequent teacher comments; no teacher is desperately marking books at the last minute before an impending book scrutiny. Instead, teachers are trusted. Teachers can focus on teaching well, ensuring every pupil is understanding and remembering, and helping their pupils love their subjects. Our pupils are motivated, working harder than they ever have before, and improving their writing fast, as they take responsibility for checking and improving it.

When the school has 100 teachers, stopping teachers from marking even just 5 hours a week will save us 20,000 hours every year. Good school leaders stop people from doing good things, so they focus on better things. Next time, I’ll blog about moving fromunsustainable marking loads to renewable resourcing.

Posted on October 18, 2015 by Jessica Lund

Discovery Learning: The Story of the Rubik’s Cube

Starring the inimitable Bodil Isaksen, the amazing Sarah Clear, the redoubtable Katie Ashford, and the wonderful geeks of Michaela Community School

In a bid to make my lengthy commute more enjoyable, I have been experimenting with a range of pastimes on the tube: listening to audiobooks; playing (losing) chess against my phone; ensuring a liberal distribution of croissant crumbs about my person.

I found a new activity a week ago. While talking to the excellent Ms Isaksen in her classroom, I noticed the small pile of Rubik’s cubes she keeps there as prizes for exceptional performance in Maths. She lent me one to play with, and a new obsession was born. I had played with Rubik’s cubes in my early teens, although I had never learned to solve one.

In the following week, I muddled and fiddled and shuffled my way around the cube. I got really good at solving one side, but was utterly flummoxed after that point. I thought that either it was a matter of time until I cracked it, or that I just wasn’t Rubik’s cube material. Meanwhile, my colleague Ms Clear solved one in fewer than 3 minutes in front of my form, to the awe and applause of the kids.

It was then that I bit the bullet and looked up the solution online. I figured that if I wasn’t making any headway in solving one myself, I could learn from the experts. So, I wrote down the algorithms and, lo and behold, I solved the cube. And then I solved it again. I started to see the interrelation of the movements to the positions of the pieces, and the first few steps at least became completely automatic. I was soon able, with the help of the algorithms, to solve a cube in less than 6 minutes. It felt like a real triumph.

A lovely side-effect of my determination was that a group of about 15 pupils would ask to play with the cube every break time, and huddle together helping one another to put certain pieces in certain places. They were all wonderfully confident in their ability to solve the cube, even though they never had before. This confidence usually wore off after about 20 minutes of play.

I realised that my pupils, Ms Clear and I fell into three distinct categories.

Ms Clear has a well-developed understanding of the interrelation of the pieces on the cube, and a seemingly innate sense of how to solve one. She can solve a cube with ease.

The pupils have boundless enthusiasm, but no real understanding of how the cube works or how to solve one. Without guidance, they become quickly disenchanted when their efforts go unrewarded.

I had no real understanding of how the cube worked, but I was shown the answer by somebody with expertise, and as a result came to understand and be able to solve the cube. I was then able to practice until the steps became embedded and automatic.

While showing off my new skills to my fellow teachers, I explained that I was ‘cheating’ – that I’d looked up the algorithms and followed them, because I was fed up of not knowing how to do it. Ms Ashford chimed in that this was an amazing analogy for discovery learning, something that we have quite strong feelings about at Michaela. She had, in just a few words, summarised exactly what was going on.

In a discovery learning classroom, you have two kinds of pupil – the pupils who get it (Ms Clear) and the pupils who don’t (me). The pupils who get it feel clever; the pupils who don’t feel stupid. This is hugely damaging. It lulls the pupils who get it into a false sense of security (“I got it on my own because I’m smart”) and reinforces to the pupils who don’t get it that they never will (“I don’t get it because I’m stupid”).

Neither of these states are necessary. I chose the alternative: learn how to do it from people who know how. I found (was given) the necessary information to complete the task and to be, and feel, successful. It had nothing to do with ability, and everything to do with practice and assimilation of the new material. Now, no layperson would be able to tell the difference between me and somebody who intuitively ‘gets’ how to solve a Rubik’s cube.

My housemate, when I related this story, said that I was cheating – that I couldn’t really solve the cube by myself because I’d learned using the algorithms. This is arrant nonsense. The end result is the same: I can solve a Rubik’s cube. I got there with far less pain and frustration than if I’d tried without guidance. I don’t feel any less smart for not being able to intuitively solve the cube: I feel accomplished because I’ve gone some way to mastering the tried-and-tested technique.

If we give the kids who don’t get it the algorithm, we give them the key to success. If we give the kids who do get it the algorithm, they get to practise and make it automatic. Tell the kids everything they need to know, and then give them lots of opportunities to practise. Only then will everybody be able to ‘solve the cube’.

Posted on October 4, 2015 by Jessica Lund

Spring Clean

Once in a blue moon, I’m moved to rid myself of the clutter that accumulates over the course of term time.  While I was busy having one of the greatest summers I’ve ever had, the heaps of paper and stationery and books and shoes and so on languished in piles around my room.  The piles became mountains. This morning, as I knocked over a mountain on the way to brush my teeth, I thought it time for a spring clean. Yes, it’s autumn, but hang the orthodoxy.

You know the kind of purge I’m talking about.  Summer clothes are banished to the bottom drawer, items are dragged out for re-heeling/mending/taking to the charity shop, hours pass in a haze of ‘what on EARTH was I thinking?!’ It was a morning of cathartic entertainment.

By mid-afternoon I had filled three bin bags.  Now, while this sounds utterly slovenly on my part – and, to some extent, it is – the contents of those bags were different.  They weren’t bags of clothes or shoes.  They were reams and reams of paper.  Paper that had gathered in my room since September 2013, or the day I started my teacher training.

Since I started my training year, I’ve kept every single sheet.  Every booklet, every inset pack, and every set of notes from the many seminars I attended on the various facets of teaching.  I found ‘outstanding teaching toolkits’, guides to various kinds of lesson, data analysis packs.  Over the course of two years, including my NQT year, I’ve amassed close to 3,000 sheets of paper – resources, lesson plans, training notes, advice, photocopies of god knows what…  I kept it all, in the naïve expectation that, at some point, I might need them.

Today I threw them all away.

I figure that the following is true:

  • If I haven’t revisited this stuff in the last two years, I won’t.
  • If I found it useful, I would have in some way assimilated it into my teaching. If I didn’t, I don’t need it.
  • There may have been a huge amount of wisdom contained in that paper, but nothing compares to the wisdom you gain by seeking advice from good people about real life classroom experiences.

Posted on October 3, 2015 by Katie Ashford

Give him a break

Palmer was a popular lad: square-shouldered, dishevelled, dramatic. An eternal creator of classroom chaos: he and I did not share many positive interactions.

On a typical day, he would wander in late, toss his JD Sports bag onto his desk, slump into his seat, and immediately turn around and chat to his mates. In Palmer’s eyes, reading and writing were unnecessary distractions from his social life, and his disdain for me- a teacher, and therefore the unfortunate embodiment of such hindrances- could be felt in his every scowl and grimace.

In those early months of my teaching career, I was permanently exhausted. I had been warned about the late nights, absurd SLT demands and excessive workload, but nobody had quite managed to express to me the emotional toll of teaching. In the first term, I must have been trying to diffuse around thirty arguments a day. Most people won’t experience that in a year. It was draining. I found myself pleading with children who wouldn’t sit in their seats and sworn at by children who threw things at me. I was ignored when I tried to get the class to be silent; I was laughed at when I tried to sanction them.

Palmer was a frequent sparring partner, and he often pushed me to the limits of my self-control. Any instruction I gave was not only ignored, but sneered at or derided as if I were treating him like a prisoner.

It turned out that Palmer had quite a lot of ‘issues’. I won’t go into them here, because the issues themselves aren’t particularly relevant, but they were profound enough to manifest as they did. I found him difficult to teach, and I’ll admit that a wave of relief would rush through me every time he was absent. He was tough, I couldn’t handle him, and I felt guilty about that. Perhaps, I thought, I wasn’t being sympathetic enough to his needs or trying hard enough to understand them. Perhaps I wasn’t a kind enough person. Perhaps I wasn’t patient enough. Perhaps I was expecting too much. I couldn’t reconcile it all in my head, so I made the decision to give him a break. When he was naughty, I would try to understand why he was behaving this way and try to see things from his point of view. When he was rude, I’d remember what was going on in his home life and would calm myself down. When he was bored or angry, I gave him a break from the lesson and let him take a breather outside, as was his wont.

I gave him a lot of breaks. It didn’t work.

I now think that giving kids a break often isn’t the solution. Palmer’s life was an unfortunate mishmash of circumstance and bad luck. Disempowering and inescapable, he chose to shove two fingers up to the world and hide his anger behind a veil of heroic self-confidence. His brashness made him a tricky classroom customer, and his teachers became helpless victims of his every whim. It wasn’t just me who had decided to cut Palmer some slack. All his teachers had, because they were all human. Multiple simultaneous sighs of relief; a collective exhale of expectations. We lowered our standards because it was easier than not lowering them.

Some convinced themselves they gave Palmer a break because he really needed it. They did it because they cared about his welfare. Even I convinced myself that I was letting him get away with all sorts because of I cared about his wellbeing. After all, if a kid has ‘issues’, it would be cruel to expect them to function like a person without issues, wouldn’t it?

But by the end of the year, he had no controlled assessments, was catastrophically under-prepared for his exams, and couldn’t have a normal conversation with an adult without getting into an aggressive altercation of some kind. Was this what ‘care’ really looked like? Was giving Palmer a break really the right prescription?

I have taught too many kids like Palmer, and whilst I still have a lot to learn about building the strongest relationships and providing the best possible support, I am sure about one thing. If you give a kid a break, you reduce your standards for them, and to do so is to allow them to fall to those low standards. We do care, and caring is a thread inseparable from the complex tapestry of teaching. But sometimes, the most caring thing we can do for a child is to raise our standards even higher.

Posted on 27 June, 2015 by Bodil Isaksen

Let’s create something awesome – part 2!

I am looking for one enthusiastic candidate for each project who could work at Michaela (North West London) from 3rd – 14th August. Expenses would be covered.

You would get fantastic experience producing some really exciting maths curricula and resources, which we would gladly allow you to use in your own school come September.
Design and refine our year 7 curriculum

Once pupils start year 8 at Michaela, we use the Singapore Math secondary curriculum. That means getting year 7 right is really important. We need a curriculum that effectively transitions pupils from wherever they arrive from year 6, to a point where they can benefit from the Singapore curriculum.

You would work on deciding theOPTIMAL sequence and then producing or drawing together resources to make it a reality. You will have access to Singapore primary and secondary maths textbooks and teacher resources. You’ll be working alongside people codifying the knowledge base.

You will have Michaela’s current curriculum, resourceBANK, and assessment system as a launch pad to create something even better.

It’s a great opportunity to learn more about high performing school systems, mastery, and curriculum design. You might even be able to import part of what you see or create to your own school.

Optimise our calculation bootcamp

Getting our kids to nail number is a massive priority of our year 7 curriculum. We want to take our kids to the Shanghai level of confidence with tackling problems like 0.62 x 37.5 + 3.75 x 3.8 without fear.

In 2014/15, I tackled this through gamified drills, tracking, flashcards, number talks and more. In 2015/16, I want to improve, refine and package what we have done so far into a “calculation bootcamp”.

Calculation bootcamp (name open to change!) would be a programme of study covering number facts, written algorithms, and mental strategies for calculation. It would be the programme that would take Michaela pupils from their given starting point to fluent and flexible use of number by the end of year 7.

I envisage a package of diagnostic assessments, graduated flashcard sets, booklets to work through, interleaved practice, drills, number talks, and teacher powerpoints. Even better if we can use design and gamification to make it more appealing.

I already have many of these elements resourced, and plenty of ideas for the rest. Now I want outside inspiration and refinement to bring it all together into something cohesive and replicable.

If you are interested in either of these opportunities, please send a brief email to bisaksen@mcsbrent.co.uk including your current role and which summer project you are interested in. The deadline for applications is Friday 3rd August at 4 pm.

Posted on June 27, 2015 by Katie Ashford

Knowledge is Power

When I began blogging in 2013, the argument that knowledge should be at the heart of the curriculum was readily rejected. The most common counter-argument was that rote learning of lists of facts was a waste of time as it would not lead to ‘deep learning’ (whatever that means) or understanding. Since that time, the debate seems to have shifted somewhat. Fewer people now argue that knowledge is irrelevant. Instead, critics argue that knowledge is just the beginning, or that we should somehow teach knowledge and skills simultaneously, or that a distinction between knowledge and skills is a false dichotomy (yawn).

I’ve always been a firm believer in the power of knowledge. It’s one of the reasons I joinedMichaela– where our motto is ‘Knowledge is Power’. Although I’ve always believed that a knowledge- rich curriculum could lead to great things, I had never seen it in action until I came to work at this school. Over the past year, I have come to see the impact that knowledge can have on a child’s ability to make interesting connections and links, and to analyse and evaluate ideas. At Michaela, all our children are expected to learn lists of facts by rote. This is still very unusual and there are many out there who criticise us for it.

But time and time again, I have seen the value of learning such lists of facts. Not only do pupils genuinely enjoy knowing loads of stuff, this rote learning has proved to be incredibly useful when they come across new knowledge. They are able to make connections and inferences that someone who lacks such knowledge would simply not be able to make.

Here is one of my favourite examples of this:

I was reading through a biography of Percy Shelley with ‘Poseidon’- one of my year 7 classes and my tutor group. Many of the pupils in this class have reading ages far below their chronological age. More than half the class have Special Educational Needs.

On this particular occasion, we were preparing to study Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’. In the biography, we came across this piece of information:

Shelley began writing his poem in 1817, soon after the announcement that the British Museum was to acquire a large fragment of a 13BC statue of Rameses II from Egypt.”

I explained that Rameses II was a powerful Egyptian Pharaoh.

Within seconds, a forest of hands shot up. Slightly baffled, I asked one of the pupils to tell me what was wrong.

“Miss, how could Rameses II be a Pharaoh in 13BC when Egyptian civilisation ended in 31BC? Miss, that doesn’t make sense.”

I was stumped and couldn’t answer for this. It later transpired that there had been a typo in the printed version of the biography. Instead of 13BC, the date should have said 1213BC. Because I lacked knowledge of the date of the end of Egyptian civilisation (which the pupils had learned in Mr Porter’s History lesson), I would never have been able to spot the mistake. In fact, I would have had a completely incorrect understanding of Rameses II and the statue, which was over a thousand years older than I had believed it was.

In this instance, a lack of relevant knowledge rendered me incapable of grasping an accurate understanding of the facts. I consider myself to be a relatively good ‘critical thinker’ (although I’m sure many readers may disagree!), but my ability to think critically was useless in this instance because of the gaps in my knowledge. My pupils, by contrast, had been empowered by their knowledge. Consequently, they were in a far stronger position to critically analyse the text they had been given than I was.

Rote learning is perceived to be a dull, mindless activity that leads to little other than parrot-like recall, but this simply is not the case. On the contrary, mastering lists of important dates is essential for critical thinking to take place.

Posted on 16 June, 2015 by Bodil Isaksen

Maths teachers. Let’s create something awesome.

Summer project: Codifying the knowledge

Spend two weeks at Michaela, expenses paid, working on our curriculum and resourcing. I’m keen to think deeply about knowledge organisers in maths. What knowledge should we include to cover the whole secondary curriculum? How should it be structured and organised? How can we align our curriculum sequence, resources, and assessment optimally in line with this?

I’m particularly excited to work alongside Bruno Reddy, Kris Boulton and the folks at memriseon this. We want to map out and capture “the knowledge” in maths, from year 1 to year 11. We think memrise might be a great tool to capture it on.

We’ve already got some great people, including a cognitive science expert, working on similar projects in English and Science, being led by Joe Kirby.

Ideally, you would work for a 2 week period starting on 3 August, though the length of time and start date are flexible. There is scope to work from home if travel to Wembley would be inconvenient.

If you like thinking about the curriculum and knowledge in maths, and love talking to keen beans like Joe, Kris, and Bruno about it then this project will be right up your street.

Express an interest here.

Full time teaching post: Catapulting our highest attainers

A little while ago, Simon Singh got in touch with me. He told me he’d been bemoaning the lack of attention given to teaching our highest attainers in STEM for years. Now he wanted to try to do something about it. So we’re giving it our best shot.

We want to take the top 5-10 children from Years 7 and 8 at Michaela and Colin Hegarty’s school, Preston Manor (just round the corner from us), and give them a really special maths education. One that truly stretches them and puts them on the road to Oxbridge STEM. If you think talented young mathematicians deserve something more strategic and long term than a desperate last minute scramble of STEP questions in year 13, this is for you. We want to give these pupils an education like this all the way through from year 7 to sixth form.

We’re looking for a full time teacher to make this a reality. Someone who loves maths (especially the sort of Oxford MAT/Cambridge STEP/UKMT/Olympiad stuff) and can do a brilliant job of teaching and inspiring small groups of keen, high attaining kids to go further than would be possible in a class of 30. QTS is not a necessity.

Interested?

Cross-school collaboration: Brent Maths Network

When I started at Michaela, I had no idea that two of my favourite twitter maths teachers,@hegartymaths and @nicked82 were both less than 5 minute walk from my classroom. And given the 1% rule, I’m sure there are scores more incredible maths teachers that I don’t know yet in the area.

I’m starting a Brent Maths Network for maths teachers in Wembley, Harlesden and surrounding areas to connect; share ideas, concerns, problems and solutions;  and host events like teachmeets.

Our first meeting is a pizza night on the 24th June, hosted at Michaela. Michaela is easy to get to (it’s right by Wembley Park tube) so if you’re a maths teacher in the North West, do come along. And, y’know, free pizza.

If you’d like to come along, follow this link.

Visiting

Maybe none of the above quite works for you, but you’re still interested in what we’re doing at Michaela. We love visitors! Visitors normally arrive late morning to have a tour and see some lessons before joining us for family lunch at 12:30. We have an open door policy, so you can observe lessons as you wish.

If you fancy coming along at some point before the summer holidays, fill out this eventbrite form. If you’d like to ask more questions before committing to a visit, fill out this form.

Posted on 13 June, 2015 by Bodil Isaksen

The underrated teacher qualities

These are the underrated teacher qualities.

Reliability. 

Turning up day in, day out. Turning up year in, year out. Getting that thing done for Mrs W that you said you’d get done, even when Mrs W is too sheepish to remind you to do it. Kids knowing what they’ll get when they show up to your door. A calm sense of self assurance. A sense that if you stick with me, I’ll teach you what you need to be wildly successful. A reliable pair of hands trumps jazz hands every time.

Subject nerdery.

Yes, we see subject knowledge on every ticklist out there, but it tends to be ticked off thoughtlessly unless there’s a reason for alarm bells. By subject nerdery, though, I mean being unabashedly in love with the nitty gritty of your subject. Pursuing that love through day-to-day habits. Listening to history podcasts while you iron. Opening your department meetings with a maths problem to solve. Listening to French talk radio while you get ready in the mornings. As well as improving your subject knowledge, the fact you’re dedicating time to learning more about your subject shows the children you genuinely value it as an academic pursuit.

Liking kids.

Wanting to spend time with your charges. Your pupils genuinely bringing you some joy. Yeah, you can fake it, and Lord knows you need to fake it sometimes. But faking it is exhausting. It’s hard for teaching to be your career forever if the faking it is constant. It’s also important for teachers to like kids when they’re their best. I always raise an eyebrow when I hear “oh, I just love the naughty kids” or similar. It’s toxic if pupils get any sense that negative behaviour, which will ultimately hold them back in life, gets them more affection or attention from teachers. Love the quiet kids. Love the beige kids. Love the kids that slog it out day-in-day-out without remarkable results either way.

Explaining clearly. 

Get a reputation for explaining complex things so they seem simple, and you’ll win the respect of all but the toughest kids. No gimmicks required. Explanations are chronically neglected in ITT and CPD. One picks up tidbits from colleagues over time, one might stumble across techniques like economy of language, but it’s too rare, too unsystematic, too arbitrary. I suspect we’d need to worry less about the CPD biggies of AfL, differentiation, and engagement strategies, if we just spent a little more energy on strengthening our explanations so more children understood more of what was going on in the first place.

This isn’t novel or new. Ask people about their favourite teacher from their own school days and I suspect they’d embody many of these traits. How sad that gimmicks, vested interests, bad research, dodgy CPD, managerialism, and observation culture has made use lose sight of these simple truths.

Posted on June 6, 2015

Butterfly                    Hornet

When teachers were asked about workload, 44,000 responded. Teachers work 50-to-60 hour weeks, often starting at 7am, often leaving after 6pm, and often working weekends. Some 90% of teachers have considered giving up teaching because of excessive workload, and 40% leave the profession within 5 years. There are teachers out there working 90 hour weeks.

For a school, there are great benefits to leading the way on reducing workload. Teachers who aren’t exhausted teach better. We contribute more over a longer time period. We are far happier to invest time in building trusting, caring, affirming relationships with children. We stay calmer in difficult confrontations, and are less likely to be short-tempered in everyday interactions. We support and encourage each other better. New teachers improve faster, veteran teachers stay longer, and everyone works smarter. A school that pioneers healthy work-life balance is more likely to attract teachers to join – and little matters more in a school than recruiting and retaining good people.

As a school leader, it’s worth asking: “what do you want teachers to say about the school when they’re with friends and family?”

In the school I work in, what I’d most like teachers to say is this: “We work smart. We focus only on what most improves learning. We stop ourselves from doing some good things, so we can put first things first.” 

What it takes to reduce workload is a shift in the mindset and culture of school leaders and teachers.

You won’t spend very long at Michaela without hearing teachers mentioning hornets or butterflies. I first borrowed the analogy in 2012 from Sir Tim Brighouse, who said that hornets are high-effort, low-impact ideas, and butterflies are low-effort, high-impact ideas. Barry Smith has advised teachers for years to think about ‘learning return on time invested’. Since then it has become a part of our everyday chat at Michaela.

EffortImpact

We can view everything we do at school through this lens. The idea is to get rid of the biggest hornets and search for the hidden butterflies.

Seeking out Hornets As senior team, we think ferociously hard about every decision through the lens of the impact-to-effort ratio. We encourage all middle leaders and teachers to do the same in their own arenas. Here’s what we’ve decided not to do:

  • No graded or high-stakes observations
  • No performance-related pay or divisive bonuses
  • No appraisal targets based on pupil data
  • No individual lesson plans at all
  • No expectation of all-singing, all-dancing lessons
  • No starters, plenaries, group work, attention grabbers, whizzy/jazzy nonsense
  • No cardsorts, discovery activities or flashy interactive whiteboards
  • No writing, sharing or copying learning objectives or outcomes
  • No extensive photocopying of worksheets
  • No shoe-horning of IT into lessons
  • No mini-plenaries or checks on progress within a lesson
  • No labour-intensive homework collection, marking or chasing up
  • No unnecessary manual data input or entry
  • No unnecessary paperwork
  • No labour-intensive written ‘dialogue’ marking
  • No time-wasting, temporary display
  • No split timetabling
  • No long-winded written reports to parents

It’s such a relief not to have to do any of these things and be free to focus on what matters most: our subjects and our pupils.

Searching for Butterflies

Resourcing

Knowledge organisers are the ultimate renewable resource: they can be used by every future year-group and every teacher who teaches them. A knowledge curriculum, teacher-led instruction and strong textbooks reduce workload by eschewing differentiated or personalised resourcing. I’ll write about this idea of renewable resourcing in another post.  

Homework

We replace the hornet of setting, chasing, checking, marking and logging homework withrevision, reading and online Maths – three of the most beautiful butterflies out there.  

Marking

Written marking is the ultimate non-renewable resource. By contrast, multiple-choice questions and icons are butterflies. I’ll write about our feedback approach and minimalist marking in another post.  

Two-Week Half-Term

Teaching teenagers full-time is an exhausting job in itself. The simple decision to have a two-week Autumn half-term has a powerful impact on staff energy in the longest term of the year.

Display

We replace the hornet of transient, temporary display with the butterfly of permanent, enduring display.  

Reports

We replace the hornet of highly labour-intensive written parental reports with online access to subject, behaviour and attendance data so parents can see online anywhere, any time, how their pupil is doing.

WorkloadImpact

If you are blind to the hornets in your school, you are allowing your teachers to get stung. Hidden butterflies improve learning and reduce workload, burnout and turnover. At Michaela, we are just getting started, and we are confident that there are many more butterflies to find.