My timeline today has been full of comments and arguments regarding technology such as Minecraft.

I’ll be honest, I don’t really know what it is, but that’s me and tech. I break it. It goes wrong. So I swerve. Be it a photocopier or an app, chances are that I touch it and it will jam, freeze, shut down, poo itself. 

Yes I see the value of an interactive smart whizzy speakered board and yes, I use mobile phones in lessons. Yes, I use video and music at times, I’ve even been known to use banks of iPads.

Sometimes I use drama, I’ve also been known to sing (badly) in a neon flashing mike, pilfered from Reflex. I’ve even used a sock puppet app. Crazy. Are these things gimmicks? Maybe. 

The actual truth is quite simple; I’m a teacher, I try bits, some work, some don’t. If they don’t, I tend to ditch them.

Not very resilient, I hear you say. And I agree. So lately I have tried the things that didn’t work with other groups, and you know what? Sometimes with different children, in a different context the gimmick sets the room alight; light bulbs and engagement everywhere!

I like technology. I also like pens. I like mobile devices.

I also like charts and spiderdiagrams, drawn with a ruler, in pencil.

I like neat things, but sometimes I embrace chaos. I plan my lessons but am brave enough to ditch a plan.

So when people challenge one another or make sweeping statements (and if you have read any of my previous posts you’ll know that I get annoyed by self righteous, arrogant, narrow minded “I am right and so therefore you must be wrong” challenges) my ears start to prick.

It’s often tit for tat, ironically born out of a mutual love for teaching. So why not meet in the middle? Ever heard that saying, variety is the spice of life? Or that other one: everything in moderation?

Why can’t it work in a classroom? Or on Twitter? Why do I have to be ‘out there’ all the time, or dull like my old chemistry teacher? Why can’t I tread the middle ground?

You see, I know what works with my students. And sometimes it is a gimmick, because that’s what hooks them. Eyes aflame. Smiles wide.

Sometimes a shocking image is a way in, other times a game of charades. I’ve even done Pass the Parcel, or a version of that other one where one person passes a balloon over their head and the next in line through their legs, as a revision game.

Yes, gimmicky, and yes, it worked. Yes, the students were engaged and buzzing, yes, even the Ofsted man loved it and yes, those amazing students’ results reflected their super hard work and engagement. Gimmick yes. Impact yes. So there.

But I am off on a tangent. 

‘There is hope. Enthusiasm. A desire.’ 

Most of this blog was typed whilst I was sat on a plane. I’m off to Stockholm, you see. 

Because some children don’t have access to Minecraft. But neither do they have access to a pen, a book, a desk, a classroom, a teacher. 

Some children think school is an exciting new gimmick, something to get thrilled about, because they’ve trekked across five countries to be somewhere safe, somewhere their parents believe will have pavements made of sparking gold.

Somewhere they can learn for the first time in three years. There aren’t any gold shimmery sidewalks, but there is hope. Enthusiasm. A desire.

Today, I’m attending the Education International Conference for Refugee Education, in Stockholm. On Tuesday I’m on a panel. I’m the only person from England speaking over the two days and I intend to speak from experience and from the heart. 

I care about my students. Be they from my time in Manchester, London, the Isle of Wight, Herts or the refugee camps of Northern France. 

I want them to look forward to my lessons, in the same way I dashed to my own art lessons at school, to see the gerbils my teacher kept in the classroom and to hear the songs being played on Radio One that day.

Yes we bought her the little pets, and yes we picked the radio station. And yes we were sixth-formers. And yes, I got an A. Sometimes learning isn’t just about silent rows of teacher tracking kiddies. Writing in silence. Sometimes it’s more human than that. 

Just as I’d be open and try Minecraft in my classroom in Herts, I earnestly, desperately, pointed at helicopters with a small refugee boy who liked them more than crappy, secondhand, mud covered, 80s textbooks.

I can’t blame him. The chopper was way cooler. And shiny. Red and yellow. And we learned from it. We whirred and spiralled and laughed and did verbs and then did colours.

Gimmick? Maybe? Meaningful learning? I’d argue yes. But unlike the strategies I try in my warm classroom at home, I can’t measure the impact so easily, it’s far from black and white or RAG shaded data.

‘Did he vanish? Yes.’

My 6-year-old, helicopter-loving, superhero boy was gone from me before assessments or transition into a French school. He was a boy not a target, a boy not a number.

But did he get better every day? Yes. Did he tell a translator from The Telegraph that he loved school and his teachers? Yes. Did he come every day, with no absence, and never late? Yes. Did he go from silent, to a chatterbox in both English and in French? Yes. 

Did he vanish? Yes. 

Did I ever find out where? No.

Do I think of him daily? Yes.

So next time you feel like judging a method of teaching, a strategy, a gimmick, a traditional task, just pause…

Stop.

Think.

Okay, you may not like it. It might not seem highbrow enough, or maybe it is too traditional in its approach. But would a child like it? It may not work in a coastal school, but does that mean it would fail in an inner city school, a grammar school or in leafy emerald Home County environment? 

Would it work in a refugee camp? 

I imagine not, because not much does. 

But I’ll tell you what does work brilliantly in those camps - the children and the teachers.

So on that note, as my plane taxis in to Stockholm on a cold November night, here’s a big shout out to all those attending the @Eduint Conference this week, to try and make life better for the millions of refugee and migrant children who are displaced and out of education.

Let’s do our best to find ways to help these lost generations.

A big shout out too to all at @Edlumino Ed Aid, currently out in the camps of Greece, working very hard in heartbreaking circumstances.

Thanks for showing me that my job is so much more important than a one-sided view on a classroom activity.

Thanks for showing me what it means to be a human, with heartfelt empathy and a burning passion for our profession, a teacher.

Natalie Scott is TES Teacher-Blogger of the Year and author of the Miss Scott Said What? blog. This blog originally appeared here.

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