JDMcDsblog

Sir, what are we doing today?

This seems the most important question a pupil should ask. If you don’t know why you are in a class, and most importantly what it is you are meant to be learning or doing, then there is not much point in being there. It always helps to know what we are going to be learning.

One general approach we can apply to every lesson in geography is to think 5 Ws. This is a list of 5 questions, all beginning with W  we should be asking about any place we study.

Where is this place?

What is it like?

What makes it the same as/different from my home area?

Who lives here?

Why is this place the way it is?

We don’t always need to ask all 5 questions, and there are others we ask instead, but this is a useful starting point, and most importantly gets us thinking about the idea of place.

Next-building a geographical vocabulary: what words can we use to describe places.

I was sorry to hear of the death of Michael Marland, an inspirational headteacher  and author of the seminal guide for teachers, “The Craft of the Classroom”. I well remember being given a copy of this book by my first Head as a tyro teacher at St Stephen’s High School in Port Glasgow. The Times describes his successful period as the Head at North Westminster Community College, “where his blend of bow-tied charm, erudition and irrepressible enthusiasm for language, for the arts and for ideas would entice famous figures to come and share their thoughts and performances with students and staff”

The “Craft of the Classroom” focused on effective classroom management, with practical advice on the ways in which a teacher can establish control as a necessary precursor to building relationships, becoming “more friendly, more subtle, and more yourself”. I am going to get hold of the latest edition and re read Marland’s words of encouragement and practical suggestions, which I first read way back in 1983; it’s always instructive to revisit your roots, and weed out bad habits……

I love his pithy use of English; to define the central aim of a school as,

 “..sensitive, warm, efficient, human, realistic and thorough”

and the ideal mix for a teacher was a cocktail – “a spirit compounded of the salesman, the music-hall performer, the parent, the clown, the intellectual, the lover and the organiser”

Not an easy cocktail to distill for HGIOS3, perhaps, but Marland’s insight offers a refreshing vademecum for today’s teacher!

Alexander Brodie in his book “The Scottish Enlightenment” describes the contribution of a group of key literati-the enlightened Scots who forged one of the great intellectual and philosophical movements of Scottish-and European-history. It was a period, he tells us,  when Scots produced works of genius in chemistry, geology, engineering, economics, philosophy, poetry and sociology among others. These men were part of an international community of thinkers, people like Kant,  who thought for themselves, and who saw themselves as members of an international republic of letters.  What strikes me on reading this book are the parallels with some of our contemporary  ways of thinking about education. We are told that the Republic of Letters had no boundaries; the literati wrote for anyone anywhere willing to read them; ideas were laid out for public discussion, dispute and improvement. This public dissection of ideas finds a contemporary parallel in blogs, where writers set out their stall, and invite comment, and debate. Today’s online discourses represent efforts by educationalists to grapple with the big issues in teaching and learning, and to share such ideas with an international readership. There is a real crossover of thinking between the UK and the USA, for example. The literati set up societieswhereby they could enjoy each thers company and discuss and debate the issues of the day.

One account describes such a society (the Oyster Club), where,

the conversation was always free, often scientific, but never didactic or disputatious..as the resort of (visiting scientists to Edinburgh) it derived an extraordinary degree of variety and interest.

Brodie remarks that this was a time, too, of emphasis on critical reflection and analysis; “Enlightenment” was understood as mental activity engaged by a person committed to the values of truth and validity. Much of this seems familar to us today-enlightenment as a concept is every bit as important in today’s schools as it was in the coffee houses of the New Town two centuries ago.

Lord Kames

Originally uploaded by jmmcdgll

Henry Home, Lord Kames was one of the leading lights in the Scottish Enlightment of the late 18th century. A judge and author of several influential books, notably “Sketches of the History of Man”, Kames contributed much to the debate on religion, education, law and the nature of civil society. He was in good company. Among other leading thinkers of the day were philospher David Hulme and economist Adam Smith and  I am interested in tracing the parallels between this golden epoch in Scottish history and where education-and society- seems to be heading today. Does the Curriculum for Excellence and its attendant infrastructure of virtual learning, formative assessment and modularised courses signify a new enlightment. Is Web 2.0 the new community of ideas? The Enlightment ideal was that

people should think for themselves, but not by themselves.

Would Kames, Smith, Hutcheson and Hulme recognise- and applaud- the aspirations of a Journey to Excellence? Certainly they believed in the importance of a good, liberal and general education. George Davie has discussed this tradition  in his books “The Democratic Intellect” and the “Crisis of the Democratic Intellect”. Yet how significant was the Scottish Enlightment for the greater number of Scots, outwith the literati of the Edinburgh coffee houses? I hope to reflect on some of these issues over the next few posts.

At the very end of last night’s opening concert, a performance of The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny, in the Usher Hall, the full force and power of chorus and orchestra were unleashed by conductor HK Gruber as the ensemble reprised the main tunes before culminating in a series of hammered repetitions that brought out the percussive aggression of the music. I was prompted to think of other dramatic endings- Till Eulenspiegel on the scaffold, Strauss’ Electra and even the calamitous conclusion to Act 1 of Turandot, all of which quicken the pulse. The exciting climax certainly drew loud applause and cheers, but perhaps also a sense of achievement that comes at the end of a long journey. It felt that these last 10 minutes somehow made the whole night worthwhile and put to flight some of the nagging doubts I had felt earlier on.

For there had been moments when the attention sagged, when nothing much seemed to happen, and there was a want of pace. Perhaps it was always going to be difficult to convey effectively the Brechtian ideals of decadence, corruption and excess from behind a music stand. One missed the German gutturals, so apt for this cabaret-opera style. For strangers to the piece there was a full libretto, but I felt the audience became so intent on following the words, there were long spells when the singers were performing to the tops of heads immersed in programmes. Indeed at one, quiet point, there was a tutti rustling effect as the entire audience, as one, turned over the page. I felt then that the audience and cast were embarking on two separate journeys and it was to be a while before they met up.

Yet there were high points, too; the stage presence and lyricism of American tenor Anthony Dean Griffey, playing protagonist Jimmy Mahonney, and some comic business from Peter Hoare as Jack Smith showed how  some action can point up the drama. The Alabama Song seemed a little restrained but perhaps I expected too much of what is effectively the opera’s signature tune. The RSNO, under Gruber’s generally crisp and always energetic conducting brought out Weil’s full bodied and eclectic orchestral writing while the men’s chorus was disciplined and in good voice. Hannah Gordon narrated with style, no more so than when using a megaphone to announce in deadpan voice the deliverance of the city from the expected hurricane.  There was the trademark bandoneon and strumming banjo, and a marvellous piece of quasi rhapsodic writing for Pianola, comic and ironic, perhaps but beautifully played. “That’s what I call eternal art” says Jack. Well, maybe not eternal, but an exciting night and a bold stroke which sets the scene for a Festival that focuses on artists without borders.

In a Hurry!

Originally uploaded by jmmcdgll