There’s no doubt that teachers have had it tough in 2020. OK, we haven’t been saving lives or feeding the nation - and we have kept our jobs through the Covid-19 pandemic - but as the year comes to a close, we can look back on what was probably the hardest shift we have ever faced in the classroom in our professional careers.
Yet, while this year has been awash with darkness, you can always rely on teachers to find the light.
Thinking back to March - before “furlough” was a familiar word and the immediate dismissal of all kids from school was merely an imaginary scene from the screenplay I’m writing - the rate at which teachers adapted was remarkable. It was akin to the mobilisation of a peaceful army or seeing nature’s most efficient species working symbiotically.
In common with most schools at the time, mine was thrown into disarray. No one knew exactly what the bigger picture looked like, and yet I overheard a phone call down to the front office: “Where do you need us? What else can we do?”
You know when you see cars parting for an ambulance and you get that sense of “there’s something more important than me going on here”? That’s what it felt like. Each person offering small acts of goodwill for a collective gain. That’s pride-inducing feel-good stuff right there.
The year has seen extraordinarily difficult personal circumstances for many, teachers included. Our profession often feels very public. We are always on show, so it can be difficult to hide personal grief and pain, even in the most settled of times.
Yet I have seen and heard many stories of teachers doing just that during the pandemic.
A friend of mine, in a very quiet way, used tragic circumstances this year to reframe her attitude and approach to life. Becoming absorbed by our profession is fairly common, but Covid prompted her to have a think about how she was going to make it through.
Not having the commute to work every day in the initial stages of the pandemic meant she had time to consider what she could change. She got into yoga, lost 2st and became more mindful about her own needs, embracing that self-care idea that you can’t pour from an empty cup.
And let me tell you that this wonderful woman is a champion of all teachers and never turns away a request for help or advice (there’s often a queue at her door for wise words). Supremely selfless teachers like her are working in every school, so we can’t begrudge their giving a little consideration to their own wellbeing.
The situation has made us all a little less scared of sharing some emotion and allowing ourselves to care. Another teacher told me how, towards the end of November - when she was juggling teaching, managing the isolation of teenagers in two classes and planning cover work for the week ahead (her daughter’s “bubble” had just had a positive Covid case and been told to isolate) - she was ready to crack.
Then, the food tech teacher turned up at the door, smiling, with a tray of hot homemade mince pies. She was making her way around the whole staff with the Christmas treats. It brought a tear to her stressed-out colleague’s eye and made her realise that she wasn’t alone.
I like that cakes have featured highly in scenarios like this. A primary school governor told me how he took cakes into school one week, just randomly, to show that everything the staff were doing above and beyond was admired. He said he’d spent enough time on the other side to appreciate how difficult the situation must be.
Then there are the utterly comical moments. Can you imagine being 14, peer-marking your chemistry homework, when you catch the teacher furtively whispering into the phone “Affirmative office, suspected case,” swiftly followed by one of the senior leadership team turning up in a hazmat suit because someone in the front row of your classroom coughed? Essential? Yes. Giggle-inducing? Also yes.
Or then there’s you and your Higher students trying to understand one another with your masks on. “What was that, Miss? ‘Duck’s in position’, did you say?”
“No, James…I said ‘juxtaposition’!”
Or, what about those moments when it becomes clear that the kids really do care about us - the teen tutees we see for five minutes a day sending a random email to check in on us? That’s enough to raise a smile from the most stoic.
A teacher friend in Cumbria received an email that did just that and, when I went on Google Meet to do mini lessons, it was clear that the students, first and foremost, wanted to know that everything was OK with me.
That’s why we’re in this game: we know we have a connection with our classes, it’s just not usually so overt.
Some students, though, have quite the way with words to define their gratitude for our support. As two of mine told me: “Miss, you have worked your way on to our list of who we’d give a kidney to.” Then one of them added: “There’s only one other teacher on it and I’m not even sure my grandma’s on there, just to put it into context for you.” Aww.
And what teacher doesn’t love to show off all the extras they’ve managed to squeeze into their working day? Twitter has been flooded with those thrilled about the extra time that they have claimed and used on CPD courses (#teacher5amclub never sleeps, pandemic or no pandemic).
Some serious educational devotion has been on display. As for me, I finally managed to find time to sew a garment that, for once, didn’t end up (because of my usual haste) being four sizes too big or with the pattern upside down.
I remembered what it was to actually learn something. There was less noise, less behaviour management and more time to get stuck into the technology. And, love it or loathe it, we teachers cracked the tech. Zoom, Skype, Google, Teams - whatever your poison - we made it up a learning curve that had a similar incline to Everest.
I’ve loved how sporadic school attendees took to online learning and seeing how those who struggle to make good choices in the classroom behaviour-wise had great success completing work at home.
Going back to school and having to adapt to working within a two-metre box (oh, the joys of social distancing) hasn’t exactly been the simplest of transitions, but it has made us think creatively about learning.
Students who had, in the past, flatly refused to give presentations in front of their classmates now had their families film them talking about their work, and shared this with me. These students looked happy and confident, using technology to progress - and seeing their personalities shine through really cheered me.
Even amid the hardships, our school communities have come together to keep giving. A friend’s small primary school near Nottingham raised £437 for Children in Need, despite the adversity they were facing themselves. Back in March, one teacher at my own school was inspired to encourage the students to write letters to local care home residents because her own grandma lived in one close to the school. After reading about 50 letters, she asked: “Are there any more?” Clearly, both students and residents gained much from the process.
In particular, I have enjoyed hearing how parents have been touched by the actions of teachers. In Newcastle, my friend Allie’s little girl, Layla, won an Easter egg painting competition. The headteacher personally delivered an Easter egg and left it on their doorstep, and they blew kisses out of the window to one another - adorable.
Elsewhere, another friend’s son, Harry, was brought books by his teachers. His dad is in the military so they had chosen books specifically about daddies being away from their jobs to try to help him cope; his dad’s return date, like many in a similar situation, kept getting postponed. Both parents were surprised and touched at how thoughtful the staff had been.
I also know dozens of teachers who were generous with their knowledge and expertise, helping family and friends navigate online learning - more truly good humans going far beyond expectations.
There have also been many parents sharing stories of the slower pace of life, and how they embraced extra time with their own children. That time playing, drawing and learning with our own kids is time we will probably never get again. Usually, it’s a luxury that many teachers and working parents cannot afford. Hearing how they experienced less pressure and expectation than when their children are usually in school might be something we should take heed of in the future.
A family of farming friends from my home town were telling me that their little girl witnessed so many caesareans among their livestock during the first lockdown that she’ll probably be able to do it herself next year and save her dad some money. (She’s 7, so perhaps that’s a little ambitious.)
And we mustn’t forget the student teachers. If you want to see real grit, find your nearest newly qualified teacher. They’d only had sole responsibility for classes for about nine days before experiencing an extended period out of the classroom during lockdown, and then they were thrown straight back into the lion’s den in September.
We all remember, in staggering technicolor, how our NQT year felt, don’t we? How about, for added pressure, if a huge wodge of what you’d learned suddenly became obsolete and then still having to deal with all the same pressures as the experienced staff - it’s the stuff of nightmares. Yet, look at the next generation of the profession coming through with that same fortitude, pride and enthusiasm that we have seen from all of our teachers up and down the country.
Overall, it was reassuring to feel wanted and appreciated. We were - and we are. Whether staffing a lockdown hub (admittedly, not possible for many) or holding the fort for the majority of the children on the other side of a computer, the praise flowed freely.
Headteachers, local authorities, friends, parents - even a lady behind the till in my local Morrisons in my case - were all praising teachers’ commitment and care. It came as an unexpected yet welcome boost. If the world at large didn’t know what we did before, they certainly do now.
I’m left with an overwhelming feeling that people are incredibly grateful for teachers - and I’ll carry that into 2021, whatever it throws at us.
Sam Tassiker is a teacher of English based in Scotland, who has also worked in England
This article originally appeared in the 18/25 December 2020 issue under the headline “A year of living dangerously”
Already a subscriber? Log in
