It’s last lesson on a Friday and the sun is shining. I have my Year 11 business studies class, and my six “lively” boys have all managed to synchronise their watches to “ignore” and have forgotten to leave the football pitch for my lesson.

The class are in and focused on the starter, and I can now see the missing boys giggling and squatting underneath my window as they sprint down the side of the school. They’re eight minutes late and counting.

They eventually run down the corridor to the lesson, disturbing four other lessons on the way. I head to meet them at the door.

Behaviour management

Why did I go to greet them at the door even though some might say they should come to me after their blatant disrespect of staying with Mr Sunshine rather than coming in to revise the Boston Matrix?  

I needed to set the tone of how I want them to enter my room, make sure that my other learners were not disturbed and also try and minimise the additional time lost in learning.

“Boys, I don’t know why you’re bothering to come down the corridor. I could smell you long before you came off the playground,” I say immediately.  

“OOOOOOhhh, she’s talking to you, Jenks.”

“Naw, low it, she’s talking about your new girlfriend.”

I let it play out then say: “I assure you, I was talking to all of you.”

After much baying, crowing and pushing, it’s time to get the boys back to reality.

“See the thing is, boys, you’re nine minutes late, so you’ve lost nine minutes of learning. So this is how it’s going to go down: that ball is doing to go directly under my desk. You’re going to sit down get your equipment out quietly and crack on with the starter. For every peep I hear from you, I’ll be adding a minute on. If you work like Trojans, though, you’ll only owe me five at the end, so it’s all in your hands, really.”

“Can we earn even more off if we promise to get it all done?” they ask.

I reply: “Based on the sitter I saw you miss in front of the goal at lunch, I suggest you do get it all done. You need a back-up plan. Rooney isn’t feeling threatened, that’s all I’m saying!”

More hilarity, a countdown from me, they go in, follow my advice, and this has all been dealt with in under two minutes.

Use humour wisely

You see, humour - when done well, and with respect - really works with pupils. Some might see this dialogue as time wasted, and say that I should have just got them in and either reprimanded them then and there or dealt with it after school. I don’t see it like that at all.

Using humour meant I held their attention while simultaneously getting them to engage during the graveyard slot of the teaching week. They still had boundaries and sanctions, but it was delivered in a way that de-escalated the situation.

In order for my humour to work well, it’s followed up with several positive reinforcement manoeuvres such as reminders of time that had been earned off (or put back on). And I never use humour in a way that belittles the pupil.

However, I do think that to use humour we do have to ensure these three things are in place:

1. Investment

Try not to come across as the person that’s desperate to be “down with the kids”, but at the same time, be aware that what may not be funny to you could be hilarious to them. Find out what is funny and relevant to them, and always be aware of that fine line between humour and sarcasm.

2. Rapport 

I genuinely don’t think you can exercise humour if you have no rapport. You stand more of a chance of alienating the pupil. With great rapport comes great responsibility. Humour will come naturally to those that you have taken the time to build a relationship with, and they will always understand the place that you are coming from. If you are dealing with a child who is completely devoid of humour, you may end up humiliating them (and yourself). You have nothing to gain from this, so find another tactic.

3. Consistency

if you are going to use humour, try and make it a part of your normal routine.  There’s nothing like being a strict task master then trying to turn on your humour and charm when you have someone observing your lesson. They know, you know, the observer knows… it really does go down like a bad smell in a car.

Nikki Cunningham-Smith is assistant headteacher and centre lead of a PRU