Baking for Lockdown

During the enforced COVID lockdowns, interest in baking reached fever pitch. Now as a cook I must admit to being no more than just about competent.  I can follow a recipe if its simple, and can manage passable Roast Potatoes when the need arises.  As things get complicated though and as the amount of washing up increases, I will invariably reach for a take away menu, or something easily microwaved. 

However as the summer days stretched on I began to look back through old cook books looking for something a little different to try.  Buried deep in a box at the back of a garage lurked a slim volume from the dim and distant past, a cookbook sold by my primary school in London to raise funds for a swimming pool that was never built.  Parents and staff contributed their finest recipes and the books were sold out from what I remember.  The cover features an illustration by the famed Willie Rushton, who was a local resident.

The extremely rare Bousfield Cookbook

I flicked through classic recipes from the 1970’s dinner parties the cosmopolitan parents of an inner London school were making at that time.  Homemade delights such as Taramasalata, Spanish Prawns and Tabouleh, which for the uninitiated is Lebanese Parsley Salad.

Tucked away in the pudding section is a recipe for Crundle Pudding, which was submitted by my mother.  The origins of the recipe are lost in the mists of time, but it was made by my paternal grandmother and was passed down through her family.  It’s really quick to prepare, and is very filling.  So, for some 70’s nostalgia, courtesy of the long forgotten Bousfield Cookbook give this a try!

Ingredients:

1 ½ oz Margarine

2 oz Self Raising Flour

½ Pint Milk

2 oz Sugar

1 Egg

Jam or Syrup Sauce

 

Method:

Cream the margarine and sugar, then add the egg and beat into the mixture

Add the flour and mix well

Add milk just before baking

Pour the mixture into a greased dish (it will be slightly lumpy)

Cook for 45 mins at 190 °C

Serve with Jam or Syrup

If you're brave enough to give the recipe a go let me know how it was in the comments.  If any of you are really keen I might even share some of the other recipes from the book.  Let me know below.

Getting Students to Revise: A Hopeless Task?

Now that exams have returned after the Teacher Assessment forced on us by the pandemic, the perennial problem of getting some students to engage in revision endures. What strategies can be employed by classroom teachers to improve students’ attitudes to revision, and have a positive effect on their outcomes.

We’ve all been there.

“Right Year 11, end of module test next week, revision for homework. It’s really important as this will be the grade that goes home on your interim report.”

Once marking the test you get that sinking feeling. Something that you have taught in detail and appeared to be well understood by the class ends up causing carnage in the exam. What do you do about it? Extra classes? Detentions? Phone calls home?

Whichever you choose inevitably you will spend time going over it again, the class appear to “get it” as they did last time. You might give extra practice exercises which are done well, but when it comes to assessment the wheels fall off. So what’s going wrong? The answer is likely to be revision.

In my experience students fall into three categories when it comes to revision. The first group, lets call them group one, are the conscientious ones. They will work hard, engage in their revision and come and ask you questions about things they don’t understand. They are highly motivated and a pleasure to teach.

The second group, group two are the demotivated. It doesn’t matter what you do for these students they are just not going to revise. They won’t come to revision sessions, they won’t complete classwork or homework to the expected standard if at all. When you try and engage the parents, they are either indifferent or are having the same problems as you in trying to motivate their child. These students say that they don’t care about their results, either they are resigned to a certain grade and won’t try, or they’ve been told by someone they don’t need a grade in your subject so they won’t bother working. We can still help these students but it will take a lot of effort to get them working.

Group three are those in the middle. They are the ones that could move up to group one with the correct encouragement, or will fall into group two if it all becomes too much.

These students don’t like revision lets be honest. Going over something you’ve done already is just a bit boring. As teachers we cajole and try to motivate these “grumpy” teenagers to engage with our subjects, but remember we are competing with another ten members of staff, each vying for our students limited attention with the same passion for their subjects that we have for ours.

Equally if you sit down with students individually and discuss how they actually revise it becomes very clear that most of them haven’t the first idea of how to go about it. They may say that they read over the classwork that they have done. Some might do the odd mind map. Some may even write flashcards or post it notes. However, the common theme is that they get fed up very quickly and very soon they become distracted by their social media or the games console, and even those with the best of intentions will give up. We need as teachers to teach our students how to revise more effectively. If we can get them to engage in a method that works for them they will be more likely to revise and keep revising.

During my teacher training, at a time when the three-part lesson was the in-vogue pedagogy, one of the key messages was that teenagers have shorter attention spans than adults. I remember being shown graphs showing attention spans ranging from 10-15 minutes for year 7 up to year 13. This was supposed to encourage the planning of short lesson segments in order to better manage students in the classroom. This wasn’t always possible in GCSE required science practical’s, but as a general rule of thumb 15 minutes on a single activity works well in most cases. In fact, that is why commercial television has a break every 15 minutes. To encourage students to revise we can use this to our advantage.

Most students will get a revision guide at GCSE and A level. These can be used to help the revision process get started easily. I would suggest that students do the following:

• Choose a section in the revision guide. For 15 minutes read through that section making flash cards or highlighting the key points.
• Once the time has elapsed, stop, get up from their desk and have a break for 5 minutes.
• Return to the revision guide or workbook, and answer the questions on the section they have been reading, going back to their flashcards and amending where necessary. Stop after 15 minutes.
• Take another break, make a cup of tea and find someone in the house to talk to.
• Spend 5-10 minutes trying to explain to a parent what they have been revising. If they can do so fluently they have learnt that section well. If they struggle then they know that they need to revisit that topic again.

In the above example, the student has worked for a total of 50 minutes. They should find that this method of “bitesize” chunks was much easier than just reading over notes. By finding a family member to explain to they should hopefully receive encouragement and the family know the student is using their time effectively.

An ideal time to discuss this with students is at parents evening, as the parents can buy in at the same time, and keep encouraging the students when they start flagging.

This is just one important step to prepare students for exams. There is much more of course, particularly with regard to exam technique and answering subject specific questions and vocabulary.

Nevertheless, ensuring students do some revision, will have a positive effect on their outcomes. Indeed, once they find a method of revision that is effective for them, they are more likely to persevere and students will engage more positively with their studies in future.

The Pied Piper: A Modern Fairy Story

As soon as I saw the quaint little village I knew it was perfect. It nestled hidden in a valley high in the north country hills, almost completely cut off from the rest of civilisation. One road in and one road out. A Church, a small school, a pub and a shop cum post office. Country folk set in their ways. It was ripe for the taking, and I was the man to do it.

My first port of call was at the home of the councillor that had placed the advert. The cottage was typical of the area, that is to say square and squat with leaded mullioned windows. The door was wooden and very old. Without seeing a bell, I knocked loudly and waited. The door creaked as it opened.

“Good morning sir. My name’s Beamish, Joseph Beamish of Beamish Pest Control,” I pointed at my van with my name written on the side. “Would you be Councillor Snell?” My question was addressed to a tall elderly man with half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He was dressed almost entirely in corduroy and looked quite the country gentleman. His attitude however was less than gentlemanly.

“Aye I’m Snell, what do you want?” He spat the words at me, clearly the councillor was a man of little patience with a lot on his mind.

“I’ve come to assist with your rat problem,” I smiled as sincerely I could manage whilst waving the advert that had been posted in the local paper.

“Oh, right you are. Best come in then.” He was reluctant but I had piqued enough of his curiosity to be admitted.

I followed Snell into a sitting room with a low beamed ceiling. A fire was smouldering in a dusty grate. The place was shabby. When built it would have been marketed by a canny estate agent, if such a profession had existed in the 1700’s, as a Hovel for the upwardly mobile. In the twenty-first century it had at least gained electricity and indoor plumbing, but it had probably not been decorated since the early 1980’s. The wallpaper was peeling and old papers were strewn about the room. It was a typical bachelor pad. No self-respecting lady would have tolerated such a mess or for that matter Councillor Snell. I knew though that this kind of surface poverty concealed the depth of wealth of a successful miser. It was the kind of wealth I was interested in acquiring.

Snell explained that the village centre was overrun with rats. They had suddenly appeared about six weeks ago and now they were out of control. They were in people’s larders; they were chewing through beer barrels at the pub. The children were frightened to go to school as the rodents were running riot through the classrooms. It was putting off the tourists and something had to be done. They’d tried traps, poison, even men with terriers but it had done no good. The rats were becoming more numerous and the people of the village demanded action. In desperation the parish council had advertised for a pest controller to save the village.

The advert had mentioned a sizeable reward for success. I had a sizeable figure in mind.

“I’m sure I can help,” I said. “No need to pay me the £10,000 now, I’ll dispose of the rats and then you can pay me so you’re sure I’ve solved the problem. If I fail then no charge.” Snell was dubious.

“Ten grand what will you do to the blighters, paint them in gold?” I tried another sincere smile to try and reassure him.

“Standard fee for my patent method Mr Snell. It has been developed over many years and is scientifically proven.” If he was impressed he didn’t show it. “I offer you a guarantee of total satisfaction. No-one else in the country offers such generous terms. If there’s a single rat left in the village once I’m done you’ll pay nothing.” His eyes widened when I explained that he might not have to pay. He scratched his chin, weighing up my offer, balancing the no win, no fee guarantee, against the not inconsiderable financial cost of success.

“Alright on you go then, get started.”

I drove down to the village green. It was located in the centre of the old community. The medieval coaching inn was on one side with the impressive gothic church and school on the other. I unloaded my mini digger and set to work. In the centre of the green I began to dig. It took a few hours, by the time I had finished the sun was low in the sky and the shadows stretched across the green. For my efforts I had a hole ten feet deep and of twenty feet diameter. At the bottom of the hole I carefully placed my special device. It was a small silver box with a speaker in its centre. It looked nondescript but was very powerful. It was the solution to their problems, or the start of a whole lot of new ones. They would ultimately decide which and I chuckled to myself at the thought.

All this activity had attracted quite a crowd, it seemed most of the village had turned out to watch. They created a low hum as they chatted amongst themselves, confused at what I was doing, but curious, nonetheless.

I was climbing out of the hole as I came face to feet with Councillor Snell. I looked from his green Hunter wellingtons up to his confused face.

“What’s all this malarkey then?” I climbed to meet him face to face before explaining what he would be getting for his money.

“Simple Mr Snell, very simple. I place my special patented device at the bottom of the hole there,” I pointed to the bottom of the hole. “I activate it using this remote control here.” I pulled a small control pad from my pocket and showed him. “The rats are then attracted to the device; they just can’t help themselves. When they’re in the hole, we turn on the water and hey presto they drown.” Snell was not convinced the solution could be so simple after all they had tried before, but before he could protest I activated the device.

At first nothing happened. The crowd looked at each other and whispered, Councillor Snell folded his arms.

“Well Beamish?”

As the words left his mouth rats suddenly appeared from all directions. They scurried out of every building racing across the grass. Soon the green was a heaving mass of tiny four-legged grey bodies. The crowd scattered screaming as the rats raced headlong into the hole. I picked up the hose pipe and whistling a jolly tune, began to fill the hole with water. The device floated but the rats did not. In a matter of minutes every one of them was dead, their squeaks forever silenced. I switched off the device and turned to Councillor Snell. He was opened mouthed, completely in shock at what he had just witnessed. He wasn’t the only one, the rest of the villagers were amazed as well. Then they began to clap and cheer. Expressing relief as their rodent infestation nightmare was over.

“There we are, I’ll dispose of the corpses humanely and then I’ll take your payment. Cash is preferred.”

“Hold on a minute,” replied Snell. “Is that it? Dig a hole and drown them!”

“Yes, it’s very effective don’t you agree?”

“That’s not worth ten grand!” Snell was red in the face. Maybe he felt I’d humiliated him, tricked him in some way by getting rid of the rat problem so easily. “We won’t pay ten grand, £50 quid that’s our final offer.” I was taken aback. I turned slowly to face him.

“I don’t think you understand Mr Snell.”

“Oh I understand very well Beamish.” Snell was now playing to his crowd. “These rodents suddenly appear out of nowhere, and then you conveniently show up and get rid of them in five minutes charging the Earth!” The crowd murmured their approval, they’d forgotten the days digging apparently. “You’ll not get ten thousand off us. How do we know you didn’t bring the rats here in the first place?” The crowd was getting restless. There was a danger of the situation getting ugly. They were all siding with Snell. I tried to placate him.

“Look we had an agreement councillor. I’ve solved your rat problem. I asked for nothing in advance, just payment on completion of the job.” I kept very calm wary of provoking the crowd. I wondered if to bargain, accept a lower price. On reflection I thought not. Stepping closer I whispered in a low voice. “I’ll warn you just the once Mr Snell. If you decide not to pay me the agreed price there will be unfortunate consequences.”

“Do what you like, here’s your £50.” He threw some notes at me and they fluttered to the floor. He turned on his heel and walked away. The crowd dispersed, chatting laughing and pointing, enjoying my humiliation in the late evening sunshine. I crouched to pick up the notes and as they walked away I smiled to myself. Time for a little revenge then. I actually preferred it this way. They had made their choice. I gazed towards the school next to the church.

The following day the children arrived in dribs and drabs for Sunday School. I watched from my van as they waved goodbye to their parents. The adults went into the church, the good god-fearing country folk they were. I laughed aloud at my good fortune. The feast of St John and St. Paul. This was a 26th June they would not forget for a long time.

Before I could complete my plans I made a tour of the village.  I let myself into a number of homes, helping myself to a few valuables to cover my costs.  Councillor Snell had a number of very valuable items of gold jewellery that would leave me a tidy profit once sold.  I smiled as I returned to my van.

At 11am precisely the children tumbled out into the playground. They laughed and shouted with joy as they played, waiting for the church service to finish and their parents to return. The bells of the church began their peal. It was time.

On the passenger seat was my device. I chose a new setting and switched it on. Immediately the children stopped frozen to the spot. Expressions wiped from their faces, they gazed into the distance unseeing.

At that moment, the congregation poured out of the church. It took them a moment to take in the scene before them. There were a few moments silence before the shouting began. Cries of concern rippled from the crowd. Parents tried to run towards their zombie like children. I pressed another button on my control and they suddenly became glued to the spot.

I climbed down from the van and walked towards the church gate. It opened with a creak. I stared at the frightened faces of the congregation. I picked out Snell, desperately pulling at his legs, trying to free them from the invisible force holding them fast. I called to him.

"Last chance Snell. I am a fair man. If you pay up now, I will release you all and you'll never see me again. If not, then the consequences are on your head."

"Go to hell you B£$%&*%d."

These types were all the same. Lords of their tiny manors, too proud to back down, unwilling to make any compromise to save face. Their pride always cost them in the end. It was the secret of my success.

"So be it."

I pressed another button on the control pad. The children turned and began to walk towards my van. I climbed back into the cab, started the engine and began to drive slowly up the hill towards the moor above the village. The children followed marching in silence, immune to the cries of their anguished parents that faded into the distance.

Up the hill we went, a silent army marching to an unknown fate. Further ever further onto the moor, into the wilderness. I imagined the scene in the village. Desperate parents slowly freeing themselves from their paralysis, hunting for their children. Shouts and screams, hysterical tears when they couldn’t be found. The realisation when suddenly recall the arrogance of the unfortunate Councillor Snell. The arguments, the retribution and the sickening realisation that they were powerless. The children had gone. My smile was broad.

Miles from anywhere we reached our destination. In this remote and forgotten spot high on the moor there was a cave entrance. It was almost totally obscured by nettles and long grass. This did not stop my army. In they went one after another, marching into oblivion. As the last child entered I used my digger to push a huge stone across the entrance trapping them forever. I pressed a button on the control.

The spell was suddenly broken. I heard the screams as the hungry rats began their meal. Thirty children would last them quite a while. I have to keep my own children fed after all.

I studied my map looking for the next village to have a sudden rodent infestation. Always make sure to select one with a school and church.

Anyway, remember my friends, don’t be selfish and don’t be greedy. Always keep your promises.

First Day on the Job for Eloise - A (very) Short Story.

 

“They’ve sent us another one,” said Terry.  “I don’t think she’s much of a looker.” 

Terry was staring through the glass door of the Science staff room.  He was almost salivating.  He was like this with every new member of staff.  New meat for the grinder. 

Walking up the corridor was a very nervous looking young woman, accompanied by Denise from personnel.

The girl looked petrified.  She stared down at her new black Mary Janes as she scurried along next to the confident striding Denise.  She hid behind her long mousey brown hair, her gaze darting from one side to the other avoiding eye contact with anyone she passed.  Her Primark suit looked shiny new and unnatural.  In her arms she carried a small leather satchel, like a refugee carrying a precious baby from a warzone.

“Lay off Terry, we need all the help we can get.” 

In any other school Terry Butler would have been “managed” out years ago. His views on women and ethnic minorities were best described as “outspoken.”  It was his total arrogance that helped him survive in this tough school.  The kids were actually scared of him and indeed so were most of the staff.

“Bet she’s had enough by lunch time, especially if she’s got year 11 before break.”  Terry walked back to his desk, picked up his coffee cup and walked out, making sure to beam his creepy smile in the direction of the newcomer as she entered.

“Eloise this is Andy Smith, Head of Science.” said Denise.  “He’ll be able to answer any queries you have.  Come and find me in the office at the end of the day.”

“Hi, grab a seat.”  I offered my hand, as Denise left and Eloise shook it tentatively.  Her eyes briefly met mine and darted away to the floor.  “Have you been teaching for long?”

“Just qualified.” Her voice was gentle and she sounded terrified.  She was a rabbit in the headlights.  Terry was being optimistic about her, if she went into a class like this she’d be done by break.

“Ok, this place might be a bit tougher than your PGCE.  Just be confident and don’t take any nonsense from the kids.”  I tried to reassure her, but I wasn’t convinced myself.  “I’ve got some lesson plans for you and a timetable.  I’ll be in the room next door so if there’s trouble just call me.” I passed a folder across the table.  “I have to go to assembly so if you wait here until the bell, your classroom will be free to get setup then.”

“Thanks.”  She seemed to be a lady of few words.  I made for the door.

“Help yourself to a brew,” I pointed towards the collection of cups and the staff kettle.  “If you need anything, just ask.”  She nodded in reply and turned away.  I headed off to the hall.

I was really worried.  We had been through half a dozen supply teachers in the past fortnight.  The kids smelt weakness and were happy to bully any new teachers they came across.  Supply agencies were now refusing to send anyone to the school.  Even those career changers from the army wouldn’t come.  This left me as Head of Department struggling to keep classes learning, especially my own.

On returning to the department for the first lesson I expected to find the usual chaos.  Kids messing about rather than lining up to enter class.  I was ready for my morning shouting session.  I could not have been more surprised.

All the classes were lined up in the corridor.  Uniform was perfect.  The unruly pupils I had become so used to were in stunned silence.  Standing in the middle of it all was Eloise, or rather Eloise 2.0.  The nervous character I had seen just ten minutes earlier had been replaced with someone else.

No longer hiding, her hair was tightly drawn back, giving her the look of total authority.  She stood up straight commanding all before her.  In her hand was a metre rule, which she pointed at any child that was not following her clear and unambiguous instructions.

“Mr Smith’s class enter the room quietly.”  She spoke with such quiet authority, no one would dare disobey.  “Mr Butler’s class wait for him to arrive.  My class enter now in silence.”

It was as if a magic spell had been cast across the school.  The day passed without any behaviour incidents.  Every class worked hard in silence.  At the end of each lesson each pupil thanked me.  Science was an oasis of calm, unnerving and unnatural but unexpectedly welcome.  The catalyst seemed to be Eloise.  At lunchtime some pupils volunteered to stay behind to do extra work.

At the end of the day I sought her out.  To thank her, and hope that she would return for a repeat performance tomorrow.  I opened the door of her classroom and was horrified.

Eloise was nowhere to be seen.  There was a large pool of blood in the centre of the floor.  Directly above, hanging from the ceiling was the twitching corpse of Terry Butler.  On the whiteboard was scrawled just one word, “Revenge.”