Sats and early GCSE papers apart, the big question troubling schools has been whether that computer voice says “Laurel” or whether it says “Yanny” (or indeed, “Yammy”).
I’ve heard it as “Laurel” every time, except for the one occasion when a higher-pitched “Yanny” entered my head so distinctly that I assumed the whole thing was some huge internet hoax.
However, when later listening to the voice with my wife, I discovered that she only ever hears “Yanny”. Weird. It’s a bit like when I occasionally tune in to Talksport radio. I hear interesting and amusing exchanges about football; she just hears a monotonous drone.
As a teacher I have found the Laurel/Yanny auditory illusion highly instructive, finally casting light on one of the great ongoing mysteries of teaching. Now, at last, I understand why I can utter a particular word or phrase and find that several students appear to hear something completely different.
Take one particular word of the moment, for instance: “revision”. One group of my students hears it as that, but another plainly just hears it as “Fortnite session”. I now realise that this is entirely my fault. The pitch of my voice is clearly too high for some, way too low for others.
Similarly, at this time of revision advice, when I say “practise a few past questions” many of my pupils just hear “mindlessly copy out my notes again”. And “don’t leave it to the last minute” is alternatively heard as “don’t bother, even then”.
For the exam itself, “answer the exact question set” often converts to “write whatever you damn well want to” and “remember to use the data” and “remember to write a conclusion” are plainly heard by some as “Yanny” and “Laurel” respectively. If only I had known all this sooner.
‘Recruitment crisis’ v ‘record levels’
But this strange and frustrating auditory phenomenon is not confined to students. For example, when headteachers speak publically of a “crisis” (as in funding or the recruitment and retention of staff) our government seems only to hear “record levels”.
Similarly, while many of us heard Michael Gove declare that all students must take the government’s new “world-class” GCSEs and that the old IGCSEs did not count as such, no one heard him seemingly add the words “except in the case of grammar and independent schools”.
Yes, it’s apparently fine for many grammar and independent schools to carry on taking those old-style, more stimulating, more accessible (and frankly easier) English and other IGCSE exams. (In IGCSE, for instance, there is still a coursework element and English literature students can still take annotated texts into the exam, rather than having to memorise quotes. “Compare and contrast”, as they say.)
Selective state and independent schools can wear almost as a badge of honour their subsequent comic positions at the foot of official league tables, whereas those of us working in non-selective schools are in no such position. Their IGCSE students end up with a qualification that looks exactly the same on paper as everyone else’s, despite being easier. How fair is that? In fact, when I think of so-called exam reform, I just hear “Laurel and Hardy” in my head - a “fine mess”.
Even more amazingly, entire reports are sometimes misheard by government or - like dog whistles - not even heard at all. “Research shows that grammar schools do no better in terms of pupil achievement than other schools” came the recent report based on nearly half a million students. Given the £200 million that the prime minister then authorised for grammar school expansion, not a single word appears to have gone into her ears.
What exactly do these people hear, I wonder?
Stephen Petty is head of humanities at Lord Williams’s School in Thame, Oxfordshire
