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The first rule is: keep your cool

A sense of humour and a thick skin are essential qualities for a new teacher, as Matthew Godfrey finds out

This article appeared in The Daily Telegraph on 19 December 2001

NOTHING pleases some teenagers more than seeing a teacher lose his temper. Try as I might to keep my cool in the classroom, I still lose it from time to time. Normally, it is the incessant chatter of an uninterested pupil that is the trigger; sometimes, it is someone's refusal to follow my instructions.

The point at which "sir" finally cracks is referred to as "switching"; in my case, it is normally manifested by a sudden reddening of the cheeks and a loud outburst, along the lines of: "Right! That's it! Will you please be quiet!"

Troublemakers relish this moment and can sometimes be heard saying: "Look at sir: he's switched!" Naturally, this infuriates me further.
These moments are doubly distressing. Not only have the pupils succeeded in making me look silly - often their aim from the outset - but I also know that yelling at a class seldom helps. Usually, it simply exacerbates the situation.

My quietest, most controlled lessons are the ones when I, too, am quiet and controlled. An occasional deliberate bellow can be very effective; I have done it only once with a couple of my classes, and having witnessed their stunned reaction, I know they do not want me to do it again. But if you do it too often, the pupils see you as weak, a "shouter" who cannot keep discipline any other way, and you quickly lose their respect.

Losing one's rag is, above all, exhausting: even the briefest fit of anger can leave me physically and psychologically tired. Poor pay, bureaucracy and low prestige are often cited as reasons for the low number of graduates wanting to teach; but I think it is this concern - the thought of controlling, let alone teaching, a roomful of today's challenging adolescents, day in, day out - that puts most of them off. I was recently asked to answer questions at a graduate careers fair; after a few polite inquiries about working hours and conditions, everyone eventually came round to the crunch question: "So tell me, just how bad are the kids?"

The best tip I have received since I started teaching at an inner-city comprehensive is to keep a sense of humour and not to take what goes on around you personally. Of course, it is necessary to learn from my pupils' conduct, and to be sensitive to it; but it is also essential to see the funny side of their childish antics, instead of always interpreting them as a comment on my teaching style.

Sometimes, pupils' comments are plain ridiculous. The cry, "Ooh, sir, you're sexist!" is sometimes used when I ask a girl to read aloud instead of a boy who is itching to do so. It is often followed by, "Argh! You're racist, too!" if the next reader happens to be of different ethnic origin to the one who wants to read. I have known teachers to overreact to such comments, launching into complex discussions about the need for mutual respect in the classroom; in fact, a quick disparaging glance at the guilty pupil is usually enough to convince him or her that silly comments don't reap rewards.

Gasps of, "Oh no, not English!" and moans of, "Are we going to do something interesting for a change today, sir?" are commonplace as my pupils file into class. In the past, I have worried that they genuinely dreaded my teaching. No doubt some of them do; but I feel sufficiently experienced now to know that most are having a cheap joke at my expense, and that such comments are best bounced back with a wry grin. Also, experience brings confidence, and now that I am into my second year as a qualified teacher, I have a clearer grasp of what the children need and so am less sensitive to their whims and wishes.

Often, it is what teenagers do not say that is most frustrating. One girl frequently wanders into my morning classes 15 minutes late and slumps into her chair with no apology or excuse. She has a standard response to my inevitable demand for an explanation: "I got up late, innit?", she says, an incredulous frown spreading across her forehead.

I have lost my cool with her in the past, to no avail, and my tactic now is to go reasonably softly, so that at least some communication is possible for what remains of each class. I have reported the problem to the head of her year and called her mother to discuss it with her. "I know, Mr Godfrey, it's dreadful," she said, "but I've bought her an alarm clock and showed her how to use it - what more can I do?"
Such lax parental discipline is the exception rather than the rule, and it is easy to let it get you down. However, a degree of emotional distance is necessary in order to avoid getting too involved with the difficulties so many pupils face: at some point you have to say: "I've done my bit."

Focusing on the less serious - and often very funny - side of the demanding and frenetic environment of an inner-city school is a simple survival tactic, but it can transform an otherwise stressful job into a highly rewarding and entertaining one.

This is the seventh in a continuing series of articles by Matthew Godfrey, a recently qualified teacher

Published in The Daily Telegraph on 19 December 2001

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