Sure enough, when I checked, there was a copy in my library shelves, and, believe it or not, when I went on my laptop, I discovered the film is on YouTube. So, the very same day, I reread the book and watched the film on my computer.
The story focuses on a boy, Billy Casper, who, says the blurb, has 'nowhere to go and nothing to say; part of the limbo generation of school leavers too old for lessons and too young to know anything about the outside world. He hates and is hated. His family and friends are mean and tough and they're sure he's going to end up in big trouble. But Billy knows two things about his own world. He'll never work down the mines and he does know about animals. His only companion is his kestrel hawk, trained from the nest, and, like himself, trained but not tamed, with the will to destroy or to be destroyed.'
I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it, but I will urge you to take a look at the film. It's captivating! And easy to find on YouTube.
As the review says, 'This in not just another book about growing up in the north of England - it's as real as a slap in the face to those who think that orange juice and comprehensive schools have taken the meanness out of life in the raw working towns.'
When I watched it, the main character, Billy, reminded me of Tiger, the 14 year old who made me realize that my early science teaching style was, well, scabby, to say the least.
Here's the piece about Tiger from my memoir:
Thank you, Tiger!
My
teacher wake-up call…….
Long
ago, in September, 1963, in fact, I started my first teaching job. I didn’t
have a formal interview for the position. Heading home in the train for the
Easter break in my last year at college, I happened to share a compartment with
Mr. Elvet Thomas, one of my teachers when I was in grammar School, and, now,
the newly appointed headmaster of Trinity Fields Secondary School in Stafford.
He
said he was looking for a science teacher – did I want the job? Mmm, yes, yes,
please, Mr. Thomas! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sir!!
Thus,
without further ado, I was appointed as a science teacher at Trinity Fields.
The school, like all secondary modern schools of the time, was for students
aged between 11 and 15, all of whom had failed the national 11+ examination, [1]and
thus seen to be undeserving of an academic education.
The
day before school started for the new academic year, I was given my teaching
responsibilities. I was Form Teacher for 1C, which meant, I was told, that I
took the morning register for attendance, checked who wanted school lunch, and
met with the class again before dismissal
at the end of the day.
After
taking my class to morning school assembly, I was to teach the bottom classes
in each of the four years (1C, 2C, 3C and 4C). The Head of the Science
Department gave me the textbook, pointing out the science topics I was to
cover. “Not to worry,” he said. “When they take the Leaving Test at 15, only
mathematics, reading and writing are tested. It’s a pity but science isn’t
considered that important. Nevertheless, make it good, John Paull, make it
interesting.”
The
following day I began my teaching career. Well,
teaching is perhaps too grand a word. It would be more honest to say that I
began to be paid for standing daily in front of loads of bored adolescents,
opening a well-thumbed science text book - then, scribbling key science words
on the blackboard to be copied into their science notebooks. I didn’t know how
to make science interesting.
My
science-teaching pattern was straightforward. The kids came in, I welcomed
them, they took their seats, opened their science journals, and waited as I
read from the science textbook. I then wrote the key science information on the
board and the pupils, using their best handwriting, copied my notes. Nothing to
it, really.
What
follows. then, is is the description of one significant thing that happened
during my first and very challenging year, especially with Class 3C.
TIGER
Thirteen year-old
Tiger always sat alone at the back of the science lab. As he was always looking
for trouble (and he was really good at finding it), he was, to put it mildly, a
pain in the ***. Tiger made my Class 3C science
lessons a joke. School didn’t interest him and my science didn’t engage him.
His dad had told him that he’d have a job with him as a bricklayer on the
building sites when he was 15, so, hey, why should he ‘do his best’ in
school? What was the point of it all?
My monthly science topics certainly didn’t
interest Tiger. Well, to be honest, they didn’t interest me very much, either. When
I read from the science textbook about Gases,
or, Density, Tiger would roll his
eyes, run his fingers through his greasy hair, scratch his head, and interfere
with anyone sitting close to him. His science notebook was filled with dirty
pictures and rude scribbles. Occasionally, on his really bad days, especially
when it was raining outside, Tiger would shout that he was fed up with school
and very fed up with boring science.
‘Science
is borin’…..flippin’ borin’ ‘
Nothing I did in my science lessons (which,
to be honest, wasn’t much) made any connection to Tiger’s life experience or
appealed to his sense of curiosity. The science I read from the textbook was
irrelevant to his world – especially, I suppose, the way I presented it. To be
honest, the science didn’t interest anyone in the class, including me.
Most of the boys and girls did,
though, sit politely through each lesson. They spent their time scribbling and
drawing in their science writing books, often whispering to each other,
probably gossiping about Tiger. The boys, though, waited for Tiger to stir the
pot.
The days, weeks and months dragged
by.
In the first week of spring thank
goodness, the miracle of miracles happened - a big, BIG change for the better
came over my teaching. Tiger, of all people, and a small garden spider, were my
divine inspirations.
Walking back from shopping for the
weekend food, I spotted the most beautiful orb-web spider sitting in her
intricate silky web in the black currant bush outside the steps leading to my
flat. Surprised to see one so early in the year, I fetched a jar, popped her
inside, and took her upstairs.
The spider reminded me of when I was
a kid when my dad and I found some garden spiders in a cluster of webs at the
back of our house. I kept two or three of them in a jam jar tucked under the
bed – quickly learning that you don’t keep spiders together as they eat each
other. Looking after the survivor was really fascinating, though. Keeping her
safe and well fed with flies and moths made me feel good, especially when she
deposited an egg sac for me on her silky web. Later, I released the babes and
the mother back to the garden which, really, was their best home – much better
than a jam jar.
I took the spider to school the
following Monday, put her in a large bell jar with a little soil, some
greenery, a branch, and a couple of small silverfish insects. I set the spider
home on a small table at the back of the science laboratory, out of direct
sunshine.
The following day, I was thrilled
when I saw a silk egg sac dangling from near the center of the spider’s orb
web. Smiling, and thinking back to when I was a kid, I knew it was going to be
a dead good day. Sensing the spider
was hungry, I found another small silverfish darting around the base of my
desk, unscrewed the top of the spider home, and, with apologies to the poor
little thing, put the small creature on the web. Immediately, the spider came
running towards her prey. I sat and watched, fascinated by the process, until
Tiger’s class came through the door, breaking the atmosphere by noisily
throwing their satchels under their stools.
Here we go, I thought. Sorry,
spider, I gotta go. I got up quickly, pushing the spider home to one side. The
kids were ready for yet another particularly dull science lesson (all chalk
and talk, then reading and writing, and no ‘hands-on’ science
investigation). They looked bored before I even started.
Then Tiger came through the door,
late. He had a real mean look on his face. Crikey, I thought to myself, I think
I’m in for a real treat today! When I asked him where he’d been, Tiger stared
at the floor, kicked a piece of scrap paper, and mumbled he’d been sent to the
Headmaster’s office because, he said, “I was caught looking frew a dirty
book, sir. ‘fore school started. Not
fair.”
Smirking, I felt nosey – I wanted to
know more about what had happened. “Who caught you?’ I asked, thinking ‘Tiger, serve you right!’ Tiger’s tone changed, and he looked across the
room at me, and shouted loudly:
“Mr. Jelbert, you know, Mr.
Paull, P.E. teacher, he looks at us lads in the yard through his ‘scope from
the class upstairs. He saw me. Looking at pictures. You know. Dirty pictures.
Weren’t my book, though, Mr. Paull. It’s Fatty White’s. ’E shows me every day. It’s them pictures I try to draw in me science
book. Now Mr. Thomas has it. Fatty’ll murder me. I’ve got to go back to the
boss’s office after school. And I’ll get whacked. I’ll get six, I know I will.”
Looking sulky and angry, Tiger
turned and went to his usual spot at the back of the classroom, close to where
I’d put the spider.
The class was more restless than
usual. And now, I thought, I have to teach, well, read about the science of
carbon dioxide.
Thank you, Tiger.
As I was writing on the blackboard,
asking the pupils to open up their journals and copy my notes, there was a loud
shout of “CHRIST! Friggin’ ‘ell!”
from the back of the room. Startled, I looked across the lab. Everyone in class
turned their heads to see what was going on. What did we see? Tiger, of course!
There was Tiger, standing up and pointing his index finger and thumb at the
bell jar. The sulky look had gone. His eyes were wide open.
‘F*# ‘ell!
Look! Mr. Paull, Mr.Paull, there’s a spider ‘ere! It’s killing a creepy-crawly!
It’s f*^** killing it! Look!!!” I raised my
hand. ”Tiger, that’s enough! Watch your
language!”
” Mr. Paull, Mr. Paull, I can’t
f*ing believe it. Look at THAT! The spider, f*+** great!!”
Tight-lipped, I told him to sit
down, leave the spider alone, and get out his science journal. NOW!!
Tiger totally ignored me. The spider
eating her lunch, of course, was, for Tiger, far more interesting than my
science -reading lesson. I turned to the class, and tried to settle everyone
down. “C’mon. Everybody! Never mind Tiger. He’s just having a moment. Get on
with your writing. C’mon everybody, it’s no big deal.”
Yeah, right! Of course it was a big
deal! Tiger swearing loudly was much more captivating than my science-reading
and writing lesson for the class. “Wassup
wiv Tiger, Mr.Paull?” asked Michael, suppressing
a giggle. Turning to the rest of the
class, he said, ‘“’e sick or summat?”
Everyone laughed. That did it – everyone
now was restless. I had no choice but to give in. “Go on, then, everyone,
take a look. Two at a time. Go and see what Tiger’s getting excited about – go
and see what’s in the jar – then get back to your seats.”
They didn’t need telling twice.
Everyone rushed to join Tiger at the back of the room He pointed to the jar
which got everyone chattering excitedly about the spider – excited chatter was
something I had never heard in one of my science lessons. “Ain’t never seen
a spider like that! What is it? Wos it doin’?” asked one pupil.
One of the girls, Diane, said the
spider was so beautiful. “Can I look at
it, sir? Please? Can I get a maggy
glass from the drawer?” she asked. I
thought for a moment. Why not? Sounds like a god idea. T’is science time, after
all. I nodded. Diane fetched a magnifying glass and peered through it. “It’s great.” She looked up at me. “ Can I draw it, sir? Please? In me science
book?”
“Of course.” I said. “Use your pencil, not your pen. Oh, don’t,
though, draw it in your science book. That’s for science. Here, there’s a piece
of scrap-paper on my desk you can use!” Dianne looked at me, and
asked, drily, “Aren’t spiders science, Mr. Paull?” “’Course, Dianne” I replied. “Sorry. Do it, drawing, oh, go
on, put it in your science journal.” Then the teacher bit in me added,
“Don’t forget to put the date at the top…..”
The idea caught on and a few more of
the class said they wanted to draw the spider, sitting in her web, clasping the
poor silverfish. Defeated, I told everyone to close the science textbooks. “Draw the spider, go on, everyone! In your
journals.”
Tiger did not draw the spider in his
journal, though. He sat very still, ignoring me and everyone else, eyes staring
at the jar, watching the spider, mesmerized.
The science hour went by quickly,
every minute focused on looking at the spider and swapping stories about
spiders they’d seen around the backs of their homes.
Tiger stayed behind after class for
a few minutes, and, with a warm grin and an impish twinkle in his eye, asked me
where I’d found the spider. When I told him, he said, “The spider’s great, sir, ain’t it great?
You like ‘em? Spiders? They’re brill, ain’t they?” He looked up at me. “Sorry
I swore, sir, sorry. Won’t do it again. ‘Onest!! Sorry I din’t do anyfing in me
science book. Can’t draw, anyway, you know. Scabby drawer.”
“Well,” I said, using a quiet voice, “I think you can draw, Tiger,
but the pictures you draw in your science book are rude, you know.” Tiger smiled,
shrugged his shoulders, and then said he was going to get some spiders of his
own as soon as he got home. “Good, but
now get off to your next class. Don’t be late,” I said. “Oh, and don’t forget to see the Headmaster,
Mr. Thomas………….and be sure to give the book back to your friend.”
That night, I couldn’t put the
spider episode out of my head. The kids really had a ball, drawing and talking
about spiders.
The next day, Tiger was waiting for
me, outside the staff room, before school started. He had that Tiger impish smile on his face again. “Hey,
Mr. P…………Boss let me off. He believed me. Anyway, it really weren’t my book. Didn’t
get whacked.” He took a jam jar out of his satchel. “Look, Mr. P……….Got some spidos. Found ‘em, Mr. Paull, found ‘em.
There were stacks of ‘em. Tiny ‘uns. Babs, I think, ain’t they? I got free
or four. Like yours. Can I keep them in the lab, Mr. Paull? Go on! Can I? Next to yours?” Then, he added: “Found out about
‘em, too, Mr. Paull. My dad knows what they are – they’re Garden Spiders, and
they eat flies and stuff!” He
looked up at me. “You know what?
You’re ok, Mr. Paull! Sorry, sorry, I swore. Won’t bovver you agen, ‘onest.”
“Thank you, Tiger, thank you. I appreciate
that.” I said. “I’m sorry you swore, too.
Come with me. Let’s get some jars for those spiders.” Then, I added,
“Hey, no more naked girls in your science book, ok?”
“Promise, no more. I promise.” said
Tiger.
We went to the science lab and I
gave him four small jars, telling him that spiders can’t live together without
paralyzing and eating each other. “Make a
home for each one, ok? Quick, now, school’s starting soon. Go to your form
room. Oh, and you can tell your class what you know about spiders, ok? Then
take them home and set them free, ok?”
When his class came later in the
morning for science, Tiger stood sheepishly at the front of the room, by the
blackboard, the four jars in front of him. Some of the boys nudged other,
curious as to why Tiger was standing at the front.
Tiger held up a jar. He then told a
very respectful, quiet, surprised, and very attentive audience what he had learned
about spiders. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was fascinated to see
how Tiger caught everyone’s attention with his excited, twitchy, body
movements. Tiger had at last discovered something in my science period that
made him feel that wonderful, inside-your-head glow when the brain is
alive and alert. His classmates felt it, too.
“Spiders, “ he said,
“ are dead good. Look at this one. It’s a
beaut.” He held up one of the jars.
“Guess what I found out…………Spiders suck their
food after they’ve crushed and made watery…….ain’t only the gals that make
silk……..the fella spiders make silk, too, but only when they’re young………..then
they stop and go looking for a spider girl-friend. They mate on the
web………….sometimes the gals kill and eat the fella………some spiders chase after
stuff they want to eat.”
I was taken aback by how much he
knew, thinking: “Where did he learn that from, then? All from his dad? It
weren’t, for sure, from me in science lessons.” He’d really done his
homework. This was Tiger’s golden moment.
Tiger told his audience that, if
anyone wanted to watch, he was going to release the spiders and
their eggs in the school garden at
lunchtime. “They’re goin’ to die soon, oferwise, y’know, and the eggs will
‘atch soon, right, Mr. Paull?”
When he’d finished, everyone
clapped. “Any questions for Tiger?” I
asked. The hands went up, and Tiger was asked a million questions, some of
which he could answer.
Almost everyone turned up at
lunchtime to see Tiger release the spiders.
That
night I checked my spider’s identity in a spider book, learning that it was Meta
segmentata, a common garden species related to the garden spider. Its
courtship routine was different, though. The male, I read, drives off other
male suitors, but doesn’t advance towards the female until an insect is caught
on the female’s web. Both spiders then move towards the struggling insect. The
male’s front legs are larger than the female and he uses them to push the
female away from the insect. He then gift-wraps the prey. As the female tucks
into her dinner, the male wraps silk around her legs and then mates with her.
The following day, I went to school
early in the morning, an hour or so before the official start of the day, and
went to the science storeroom. I gathered a box full of bones and mounted
spiders and insects, microscopes, racks of test tubes, flasks, and other
scientific equipment. I set them out in
the science lab and then rearranged the stools.
When Tiger’s class came through the
door, the boys and girls noticed what I had done and looked at my displays of
science equipment. “Hey,” said one, “look….look at all this science stuff……..and
hey, look, we ain’t sitting alone. He’s put us in groups.” He turned to me. “Mornin’,
sir, this stuff looks great. Can we touch it?”
Tiger showed me a picture he’d drawn
at home of the beautiful orb-web spider. “Hey,
you did it. You drew your spider. You can draw, see?” I said. Tiger smiled. “Can I glue it on the cover of my science journal, Mr. Paull?”
“OK,” I said, “ but first let me rip out
those inappropriate doodles, ok?”
I started
off the lesson by pointing to the specimens I’d found in the cupboard and then sharing
the spider snippet with everyone. I couldn’t believe the effect it had – the kids
were enthralled.
I was very struck with the ensuing
class conversations and how the class listened when Tiger had something to say.
When talking and learning about spiders, the pupils were very animated,
commenting and asking good questions.
“Tomorrow,
“ I said, at the end of the lesson (which flew by), “we’ll
do that again, ok? See if you have anything that links to our lesson topic, you
know, insects and stuff. You don’t have to stand at the front and share. You
can share your stuff with me privately, if that’s what you’d rather do. You can
draw and write about them in your science journals.” “Great,” said Diane, “Like
bein’ a proper scientist. S’dead good!” “Oh,” I said, “leave your journals. Let me have a look at them tonight. You’ll get ‘em
back in the morning.”
That night, I opened up their
journals, the pages of the day filled with spider and insect pictures, facts
and questions. Even Tiger’s………….
Hey, it dawned on me. Why was I such a twerp? I had learned, by
sheer luck, what motivated and engaged my most challenging, disruptive pupil:
observing and studying a small spider. It was, in fact, an incredible teachable
moment. I had learned the importance of arousing curiosity, of engagement…………I
had seen HOW students learn best.
The next day, and for days after,
kids brought in all sorts to show me, and each other………and, for the first time,
I felt like a teacher.
It was THE first ‘Come on, John
Paull, be a REAL teacher. Be professional. Earn your pension.’ wake-up
call. Now I KNEW how to teach science!!
Well, at least I KNEW how to teach
science in a way that I, and my kids, enjoyed.
A life-changing experience, for the
better. From Tiger, of all people.
Thank you, Tiger. Bless your cotton socks. Thank you, spider!!
Extract from: Through
My Eyes – on becoming a teacher. John Paull 2012
[1] The
examination, called The Scholarship, was taken by every ten-year old attending
a state school in the February month of their last year in Junior School……..those
who passed, attended an academically inclined Grammar School, those who didn’t,
hard luck.
If you see the film and/or read the book, I think you, too, will agree that Billy and Tiger are from the same peapod.
