Angels, and those purporting to have a hotline to God, are experiencing a busy time of year. Tears flow and hearts thunder. Rarely has it been made so clear, expressed so intensely - the extent to which daughters and sons (already grown, so soon) are loved. My personal entreaty goes as follows:
May he be who he really is during this exam.
I can't think of a higher prayer in the circumstances.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Monday, June 30, 2014
Saturday, June 28, 2014
End of Year Summary
In a grand finale of stereotypical generalised negativity, the French school year draws to a close and the lovely long French holidays begin.
I read that the 'educational team' at R's school had much pleasure in working with his class which was "joyfully and cheerfully lacking in concentration' although the class 'made some effort' it nonetheless 'lacked regular progression, the learning was shallow, the work 'too scolarly' and the class must make 'great and serious effort' next year. All this confuses me as 'the class' doesn't really mean anything, and it will not even exist next year, as they insist of mixing up the classes every year, under the 'divide and rule' policy. I asked JC what 'scolarly' was and he said giving the answers expected of you. How extraordinary; they have trained children to give the answers expected of them, and punished them with degrading marks and summarising their work with the chilling words 'you did not do what I told you to do' and they are consequently obedient in the absolute, totally lacking in imagination and originality, and take care never to think for themselves - and now it seems all this was simply in order to complain about the end result of their own system! I tell you it's beyond me. English children thrive on enthousiasm, encouragement and praise, but French children need none of that, and instead truck along with anything on a scale from tepid indifference to a barrage of insults.
R's teacher, Mrs Essex-Facelift made a special end of term effort to 'summarise' (humiliate) each pupil in front of his/her peers, eg
'Well you can wipe the smile of your face, you won't even be able to pass your exams with your 5 out of 20 in maths and your 8 out of twenty in French, you'll have to do a professional bac'.
For R however, there is good news! There seems to be a system in place where pupils are judged and categorised (I've never been furnished with the details, it seems to be something everyone knows except me). Most pupils are 'white', which I take to mean are hiding in a sort of white fog, unnoticed for their good or bad qualities, and deeply grateful not to be one level lower in the dark hell region of 'in difficulty' which offers no hope and from which there is no escape. This year R has apparently emerged from the fog and entered the realm of 'encouragement', although the accolade was VERY grudgingly given by Mrs Essex-Facelift, and I quote "Adequate work but no more than that, he is working regularly but his work lacks care and attention to detail and he must try harder next year'. I believe there are more elivated titles above 'encouragement', terminating in the unheard of 'congratulations', which entitles you to a school prize. (The class 'intello' ((intellectual)) got 50 Euros every year until this year when a policy change meant he received a maths book, which did not go down well and has made him into a classic candidate for 'breaking bad' but I'm not at liberty to discuss that). However, some teachers even wrote 'bravo' on R's report, the highest (and most meaningless) of school praise, and his final summary, which seems to have been doled out by some sort of committee is;
"Some efforts have paid off it must be followed up by seeking more precision and rigour in written work. The term is globally satisfactory, ENCOURAGEMENT. May pass into 3rd class'.
You will note that the word 'ENCOURAGEMENT' is a kind of score/label, but is not actually delivered, however, for a Frenchy, all this is high praise and we are all very pleased (relieved).
I read that the 'educational team' at R's school had much pleasure in working with his class which was "joyfully and cheerfully lacking in concentration' although the class 'made some effort' it nonetheless 'lacked regular progression, the learning was shallow, the work 'too scolarly' and the class must make 'great and serious effort' next year. All this confuses me as 'the class' doesn't really mean anything, and it will not even exist next year, as they insist of mixing up the classes every year, under the 'divide and rule' policy. I asked JC what 'scolarly' was and he said giving the answers expected of you. How extraordinary; they have trained children to give the answers expected of them, and punished them with degrading marks and summarising their work with the chilling words 'you did not do what I told you to do' and they are consequently obedient in the absolute, totally lacking in imagination and originality, and take care never to think for themselves - and now it seems all this was simply in order to complain about the end result of their own system! I tell you it's beyond me. English children thrive on enthousiasm, encouragement and praise, but French children need none of that, and instead truck along with anything on a scale from tepid indifference to a barrage of insults.
R's teacher, Mrs Essex-Facelift made a special end of term effort to 'summarise' (humiliate) each pupil in front of his/her peers, eg
'Well you can wipe the smile of your face, you won't even be able to pass your exams with your 5 out of 20 in maths and your 8 out of twenty in French, you'll have to do a professional bac'.
For R however, there is good news! There seems to be a system in place where pupils are judged and categorised (I've never been furnished with the details, it seems to be something everyone knows except me). Most pupils are 'white', which I take to mean are hiding in a sort of white fog, unnoticed for their good or bad qualities, and deeply grateful not to be one level lower in the dark hell region of 'in difficulty' which offers no hope and from which there is no escape. This year R has apparently emerged from the fog and entered the realm of 'encouragement', although the accolade was VERY grudgingly given by Mrs Essex-Facelift, and I quote "Adequate work but no more than that, he is working regularly but his work lacks care and attention to detail and he must try harder next year'. I believe there are more elivated titles above 'encouragement', terminating in the unheard of 'congratulations', which entitles you to a school prize. (The class 'intello' ((intellectual)) got 50 Euros every year until this year when a policy change meant he received a maths book, which did not go down well and has made him into a classic candidate for 'breaking bad' but I'm not at liberty to discuss that). However, some teachers even wrote 'bravo' on R's report, the highest (and most meaningless) of school praise, and his final summary, which seems to have been doled out by some sort of committee is;
"Some efforts have paid off it must be followed up by seeking more precision and rigour in written work. The term is globally satisfactory, ENCOURAGEMENT. May pass into 3rd class'.
You will note that the word 'ENCOURAGEMENT' is a kind of score/label, but is not actually delivered, however, for a Frenchy, all this is high praise and we are all very pleased (relieved).
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Nuclear Drill at R's School
As far as I am aware the advice in the event of nuclear attack is: take shelter under desk and kiss your ass goodbye, but maybe I'm out of date.
We did have a nuclear attack preparation at my school in the 1970s, but even then the teachers exposed it for what it was by simple addition of logic to facts. Mrs Williams and Mr Abbott, once they had given lip-service to the obligatory bits, drew out their guitars and gave us a hard-strumming rendition of the anti nuclear protest song 'Before we had the War', which was much more sensible. God I loved the 70s.
However, R has been recalled on Wednesday afternoon for a 'What to do in the event of a Nuclear Attack' session, where the class will learn to tape up the windows and take shelter under the desk. The class teacher Mrs Essex-Facelift has let it be known that she is Not Happy about this as she is not being paid for the extra hours. Good to know we can rely on the French teaching profession in an emergency.
R hopes that once the windows are safely taped up they will be able to play cards and board games, but suspects Mrs Essex-Facelift will vent her spleen by making them WORK.
When R came home after the nuclear drill he was in a sweat and could only mutter 'torture, torture' so I had to drag this out of him.
The Headmistress Mrs Scruton opened the proceedings by shouting
"NUCLEAR ATTACK NUCLEAR ATTACK'
over the tannoy, which was broadcast in every classroom, Big Brother style. Then she shouted something like:
'ASSUME HIGH SECURITY POSITION' but no-one was sure as her voice had become distorted beyond recognition by the excessive shouting and poor quality of the PA system.
At this point a mysterious man in black entered the classroom, opened his black attache case and withdrew one bottle of water, a handful of plastic cups, a pair of scissors and some rolls of sticky tape.
'Who was he?' I asked, aghast
'Um, 'chief of zone B' or something...nobody knows.' (his identity will have to remain mysterious).
Mrs Essex-Facelift was in a bad mood about it all but this did not stop her making sure the job was done in every absurd detail. Every window, keyhole and air vent was taped up. Clothes from Lost Property were employed to cover the internal door.
'Did you recognise any of your lost clothes?' I said excitedly.
'No' replied R, with an air of detachment.
'I have another question. How do you know you will have sufficient sticky tape should the terrible day arrive?' I asked, but R could only continue with the story.
It then became very hot indeed in the classroom, and of course airless. When someone complained there was only one bottle of water between 30, Mrs Essex-Facelift shouted 'I HAVE TO STAND UP AND TEACH YOU FOR TWO HOURS AND DO YOU EVER SEE ME DRINKING?' and she set about banning pupils from fanning themselves and wiping water on their faces and other survival initiatives. 'AND STOP FIDGETING, YOU'RE WASTING OXYGEN' she added.
R later found out that the other classes had an appropriate number of bottles of water and plastic cups but Mrs Essex-Facelift had apparently decided to make the nuclear survival process just that little bit more challenging. I think she would benefit from some counselling. They shared out the water, one cup between four.
'What about the spread of infectious diseases?' I asked.
Bets were on that Mrs Essex-Facelift would force the class to do extra French, but she appeared to have been banned from doing this by the Minister of Education (or perhaps in this case the Minister of Defence) so she had to resort to forcing them to watch Alfred Hitchcock 'The Birds', a puzzling choice. R complained that it was an 'old film from the 70s' and 'very badly done' with 'random birds and blood everywhere.'. (Yes we did have the discussion about the old days when there were no computers simulations etc). After one hour and a half of suffocating heat, oxygen deprivation and bird terror, the pupils were released, their physical and mental health shattered.
I asked R if he had learned anything about nuclear explosions, or if he knew why they were taping up the windows but he did not reply.
We did have a nuclear attack preparation at my school in the 1970s, but even then the teachers exposed it for what it was by simple addition of logic to facts. Mrs Williams and Mr Abbott, once they had given lip-service to the obligatory bits, drew out their guitars and gave us a hard-strumming rendition of the anti nuclear protest song 'Before we had the War', which was much more sensible. God I loved the 70s.
However, R has been recalled on Wednesday afternoon for a 'What to do in the event of a Nuclear Attack' session, where the class will learn to tape up the windows and take shelter under the desk. The class teacher Mrs Essex-Facelift has let it be known that she is Not Happy about this as she is not being paid for the extra hours. Good to know we can rely on the French teaching profession in an emergency.
R hopes that once the windows are safely taped up they will be able to play cards and board games, but suspects Mrs Essex-Facelift will vent her spleen by making them WORK.
When R came home after the nuclear drill he was in a sweat and could only mutter 'torture, torture' so I had to drag this out of him.
The Headmistress Mrs Scruton opened the proceedings by shouting
"NUCLEAR ATTACK NUCLEAR ATTACK'
over the tannoy, which was broadcast in every classroom, Big Brother style. Then she shouted something like:
'ASSUME HIGH SECURITY POSITION' but no-one was sure as her voice had become distorted beyond recognition by the excessive shouting and poor quality of the PA system.
At this point a mysterious man in black entered the classroom, opened his black attache case and withdrew one bottle of water, a handful of plastic cups, a pair of scissors and some rolls of sticky tape.
'Who was he?' I asked, aghast
'Um, 'chief of zone B' or something...nobody knows.' (his identity will have to remain mysterious).
Mrs Essex-Facelift was in a bad mood about it all but this did not stop her making sure the job was done in every absurd detail. Every window, keyhole and air vent was taped up. Clothes from Lost Property were employed to cover the internal door.
'Did you recognise any of your lost clothes?' I said excitedly.
'No' replied R, with an air of detachment.
'I have another question. How do you know you will have sufficient sticky tape should the terrible day arrive?' I asked, but R could only continue with the story.
It then became very hot indeed in the classroom, and of course airless. When someone complained there was only one bottle of water between 30, Mrs Essex-Facelift shouted 'I HAVE TO STAND UP AND TEACH YOU FOR TWO HOURS AND DO YOU EVER SEE ME DRINKING?' and she set about banning pupils from fanning themselves and wiping water on their faces and other survival initiatives. 'AND STOP FIDGETING, YOU'RE WASTING OXYGEN' she added.
R later found out that the other classes had an appropriate number of bottles of water and plastic cups but Mrs Essex-Facelift had apparently decided to make the nuclear survival process just that little bit more challenging. I think she would benefit from some counselling. They shared out the water, one cup between four.
'What about the spread of infectious diseases?' I asked.
Bets were on that Mrs Essex-Facelift would force the class to do extra French, but she appeared to have been banned from doing this by the Minister of Education (or perhaps in this case the Minister of Defence) so she had to resort to forcing them to watch Alfred Hitchcock 'The Birds', a puzzling choice. R complained that it was an 'old film from the 70s' and 'very badly done' with 'random birds and blood everywhere.'. (Yes we did have the discussion about the old days when there were no computers simulations etc). After one hour and a half of suffocating heat, oxygen deprivation and bird terror, the pupils were released, their physical and mental health shattered.
I asked R if he had learned anything about nuclear explosions, or if he knew why they were taping up the windows but he did not reply.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Wonderful Well-Attended Careers Day at R's School
I admit that I did have a glass of organic white Bordeaux (thin, dry) when I was told this tale, this may have influenced my extreme reaction; I laughed so much the muscles of my abdomen went into spasm and I couldn't see for crying.
Yesterday was Careers Day at the school. A school which makes no attempt to get into any kind of relationship with students or their families, demands that parents come in on a Saturday morning and woman/man a stand in order to talk about their career to pupils who couldn't give a damn. Anyway, no-one in France that I know of has actually chosen a 'career' or likes it. Needless to say, the parent-careerers were a bit thin on the ground.
Parent visitors and their offspring were however present in large numbers, why (oh why?). The parents were there because the headmistress, Mrs Scruton, had cunningly combined Careers Day with a Parents Meeting, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. I use the word 'meeting' loosely. The idea is you turn up and the teachers are behind desks at which there is a long and desultory queue, you join the queue, you reach the teacher, you hope you have not made a mistake and the guy is actually your offspring's teacher, the teacher hastily consults his notes because he has no idea who your offspring is.
As R predicted before the event; 'The teacher has no idea who the hell he is supposed to be talking about, he smiles, and sneakily eyes the list of scores for clues. If you got an average of 10 out of 20 he says 'dreadful, yes, doesn't concentrate, no good' and if you get 19 he says 'very good student'.'
The teacher that JC queued for did exactly as R predicted. JC and this teacher got into a conversation about the dangers of internet gaming. The teacher in question was very understanding about the problem of teenage online gaming addicts. ???? WOT, this does not happen, understanding, what's that?
'Oh yeah, he's really cool, he plays Black Ops 2' says R.
'What was the career day like?' I asked JC.
'There were only 2 stands' said JC 'and one of those was empty'.
'No Dad, one was the supervisor making sure we all turned up, because if not we get detention on Monday, and the other one was the police. The stands were INSIDE the dining room'. (we have to assume JC missed the careers day).
Well at least JC did manage to queue up to see one token teacher, we'll call him Black Ops, the one that gave R the worst marks, JC likes to maximise his efficiency. Then he queued up to see the class teacher who is also the French teacher and nobody likes her including me, see previous blog. She was there with her Essex Face-lift and protruding knees and unenviable dress sense because she is an ex-model married to a fashion stylist. JC and 2 other parents queued patiently and noticed that other people behind them in the queue were getting to see this teacher before them, to they interpolated her against her will and she said 'You can't see me unless you have an appointment'.
'But we didn't know' exclaimed the parents who didn't know. (Don't know how the other parents knew but they always do).
'You should have had a note in the 'carnet' ('communication' exercise book/prison id papers)' came the clipped reply.
'But we didn't - and anyway, the whole point of this is that we come to see the teachers and queue up, if we wanted an appointment, we could have rung up and asked to see you at a time convenient to us both. We are here to see you!
'Tough, that's how it is, I have 3 classes, I can't see everyone'. (my suspicion is that she is bombarded by so many irate parents that the has to manage the crowd as best she can).
JC found this so absurd, he laughed. The French teacher was so unaccustomed to hearing laughter that she also laughed - and went back to her appointments. The 3 parents who did not have appointments did not get to see the teacher, grumbled about it together and agreed that it was not in the spirit of the thing, and went home, duty done. Now the class teacher will probably call R's other parent 'stupid' in front of the class.
R was forced to go to this event by the motivational techniques of: one hour's detention if he didn't go, and having to fill in a questionnaire proving that he had dutifully done the rounds of each stand (if not filled in one further hour's detention). He planned to go, but stay for a maximum of 10 minutes.
'Perhaps it will be interesting?' I piped up 'you might find a career that would suit you'.
'It's not interesting, Mum, nobody wants to go and nobody is interested'
He left at 10am and was back by 10.10am. He had executed his plan with remarkable skill. First he went and got his form signed (detention avoided), then he persuaded the class 'intello' (intellectual) to let him copy his (excruciatingly dull) questionnaire.
'How did you persuade him to do that?' I ask
'I made him an offer he couldn't refuse'
'What?'
'er, I offered him a sweet'.
There was a stand which must have been manned/womanned by a very canny parent, because it featured a bowl of sweets for the visitors, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. This stand (along with the stand of the computer game programmer) actually had visitors. R has no idea what career the stand was talking about, all he could see was the bowl of sweets. He helped himself to a handful, used one to bribe the class intellectual to give him the answers, went home and ate the rest in front of the telly.
Now the Headmistress Mrs Scruton will be able to write a glowing report of her wonderful well-attended Careers Day, that's the main thing.
Yesterday was Careers Day at the school. A school which makes no attempt to get into any kind of relationship with students or their families, demands that parents come in on a Saturday morning and woman/man a stand in order to talk about their career to pupils who couldn't give a damn. Anyway, no-one in France that I know of has actually chosen a 'career' or likes it. Needless to say, the parent-careerers were a bit thin on the ground.
Parent visitors and their offspring were however present in large numbers, why (oh why?). The parents were there because the headmistress, Mrs Scruton, had cunningly combined Careers Day with a Parents Meeting, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. I use the word 'meeting' loosely. The idea is you turn up and the teachers are behind desks at which there is a long and desultory queue, you join the queue, you reach the teacher, you hope you have not made a mistake and the guy is actually your offspring's teacher, the teacher hastily consults his notes because he has no idea who your offspring is.
As R predicted before the event; 'The teacher has no idea who the hell he is supposed to be talking about, he smiles, and sneakily eyes the list of scores for clues. If you got an average of 10 out of 20 he says 'dreadful, yes, doesn't concentrate, no good' and if you get 19 he says 'very good student'.'
The teacher that JC queued for did exactly as R predicted. JC and this teacher got into a conversation about the dangers of internet gaming. The teacher in question was very understanding about the problem of teenage online gaming addicts. ???? WOT, this does not happen, understanding, what's that?
'Oh yeah, he's really cool, he plays Black Ops 2' says R.
'What was the career day like?' I asked JC.
'There were only 2 stands' said JC 'and one of those was empty'.
'No Dad, one was the supervisor making sure we all turned up, because if not we get detention on Monday, and the other one was the police. The stands were INSIDE the dining room'. (we have to assume JC missed the careers day).
Well at least JC did manage to queue up to see one token teacher, we'll call him Black Ops, the one that gave R the worst marks, JC likes to maximise his efficiency. Then he queued up to see the class teacher who is also the French teacher and nobody likes her including me, see previous blog. She was there with her Essex Face-lift and protruding knees and unenviable dress sense because she is an ex-model married to a fashion stylist. JC and 2 other parents queued patiently and noticed that other people behind them in the queue were getting to see this teacher before them, to they interpolated her against her will and she said 'You can't see me unless you have an appointment'.
'But we didn't know' exclaimed the parents who didn't know. (Don't know how the other parents knew but they always do).
'You should have had a note in the 'carnet' ('communication' exercise book/prison id papers)' came the clipped reply.
'But we didn't - and anyway, the whole point of this is that we come to see the teachers and queue up, if we wanted an appointment, we could have rung up and asked to see you at a time convenient to us both. We are here to see you!
'Tough, that's how it is, I have 3 classes, I can't see everyone'. (my suspicion is that she is bombarded by so many irate parents that the has to manage the crowd as best she can).
JC found this so absurd, he laughed. The French teacher was so unaccustomed to hearing laughter that she also laughed - and went back to her appointments. The 3 parents who did not have appointments did not get to see the teacher, grumbled about it together and agreed that it was not in the spirit of the thing, and went home, duty done. Now the class teacher will probably call R's other parent 'stupid' in front of the class.
R was forced to go to this event by the motivational techniques of: one hour's detention if he didn't go, and having to fill in a questionnaire proving that he had dutifully done the rounds of each stand (if not filled in one further hour's detention). He planned to go, but stay for a maximum of 10 minutes.
'Perhaps it will be interesting?' I piped up 'you might find a career that would suit you'.
'It's not interesting, Mum, nobody wants to go and nobody is interested'
He left at 10am and was back by 10.10am. He had executed his plan with remarkable skill. First he went and got his form signed (detention avoided), then he persuaded the class 'intello' (intellectual) to let him copy his (excruciatingly dull) questionnaire.
'How did you persuade him to do that?' I ask
'I made him an offer he couldn't refuse'
'What?'
'er, I offered him a sweet'.
There was a stand which must have been manned/womanned by a very canny parent, because it featured a bowl of sweets for the visitors, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. This stand (along with the stand of the computer game programmer) actually had visitors. R has no idea what career the stand was talking about, all he could see was the bowl of sweets. He helped himself to a handful, used one to bribe the class intellectual to give him the answers, went home and ate the rest in front of the telly.
Now the Headmistress Mrs Scruton will be able to write a glowing report of her wonderful well-attended Careers Day, that's the main thing.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Back to school blues
'September is the Monday of the year' says B sadly.
Sadness descends upon France, another summer stopped in its prime, another miserable return to the grindstone, the insults, the threats, the scolding, the pressure...
R began his return to school by enduring an hour long lecture by the Headmistress Mrs Scruton; all 6 classes in his year assembled in a hall fitted with four microphones, so that when Mrs Scruton shouted 'TAISEZ-VOUS' it caused the children to clutch their ears in pain. She then went through the same kinds of threats as last year, including repeating the chewing gum rule to make sure it sticks and then she added three pages of new rules, which as R points out, are mostly as a result of the success of last year's pupils in getting round the old ones.
The hour long threats and rules session finished by reading out the class lists, surname, forename, class number...you had to listen to all the names until you spotted your name and made a mental note of the class.
'Did you lose yourself in your thoughts once you had your class?' I asked R
'I couldn't, because the microphones were booming too loudly' he replied. 'It was BORING'.
Our young neighbour T was in high dudgeon because she was in the last class to be read out; also she was separated from all her friends and put in a class with people she did not like with a notorious teacher. When she came round to our place her resounding shouts and squeals made me think she was arguing savagely with R and I intervened to avoid the drawing of blood, but apparently she was just talking 'normally' ie venting. Everyone has been split up into different classes with a totally new set of teachers, which has made most of them rather miserable and disorientated.
The final fact of the first day, which thankfully only lasted 2.5 hours, was that they went to their classes where the new class teachers told them what books they needed and what forms to fill in and Mrs Scruton and her 'team' came round to each class to issue further threats; all to no avail as everyone is bored stiff with threats and know that once the tiresome chest beating is over normal school life will resume.
I couldn't help noticing that R and his friends are all shouting and short tempered today as a result of all the shouting-at that they received on the first day and will continue to receive on a regular basis. R's friend M was locked down for 2 hours after school because on the first day, his mother had not furnished him with a regulation passport photo on his ID book. He was beside himself. They would not let him phone his mum. Eventually his mum phoned the school, she beside herself and shouted them all down, quite right too, it's outrageous.
R always laughs when he recounts his tales, he is a born survivor, but... sigh sigh sigh of frustration, there IS another way...counting days to next hols.
Meanwhile bombarded with 20 books to cover in plastic film, a job which causes grown mothers to weep, unless they buy Le Bon Eleve Crystal system with self-stick corners. Any entrepreneurs out there, if you invent plastic covered exercise and text books, you will clean up in France and drastically reduce the national consumption of tranquilisers.
Sadness descends upon France, another summer stopped in its prime, another miserable return to the grindstone, the insults, the threats, the scolding, the pressure...
R began his return to school by enduring an hour long lecture by the Headmistress Mrs Scruton; all 6 classes in his year assembled in a hall fitted with four microphones, so that when Mrs Scruton shouted 'TAISEZ-VOUS' it caused the children to clutch their ears in pain. She then went through the same kinds of threats as last year, including repeating the chewing gum rule to make sure it sticks and then she added three pages of new rules, which as R points out, are mostly as a result of the success of last year's pupils in getting round the old ones.
- Now all pupils must have their ID papers to get into the school on pain of immediate sanction (it was previously possible to borrow someone's ID to get out of school if you had forgotten yours, no longer...)
- The sanction for arriving without ID will be written in a special Book with a P-E-N (not on computer as Some Pupil has hacked into it and not in ID book as you have forgotten it).
- No teacher may take the ID book of any pupil for any reason and so there is No Excuse for not having it on you (I wonder how long it will be before they microchip the pupils?)
- Anyone in the corridor during class time must have a special coupon signed by a teacher giving permission, reason and duration of stay, on pain of immediate sanction.
- No pupil is to fall ill during the class and ask to see the nurse (unless demonstrably vomiting or pooing pants) they must wait until break and make sure they miss break time to see the school nurse and will not be admitted at the end of break-time only at the beginning.
- No food (complaints that pupils were stealing one another's food, so ban food and end complaints).
- No showers, as pupils turn showers on dressed colleagues, fling open doors to expose colleagues, have water fights and all the other things males in groups do...
- No spray deodorants
- No magnifying glasses...or thick spectacles...and all the flints have been removed from the prison yard...leaving only a handful of sticks to be frenetically rubbed together.
- No earplugs (I jest you not)
The hour long threats and rules session finished by reading out the class lists, surname, forename, class number...you had to listen to all the names until you spotted your name and made a mental note of the class.
'Did you lose yourself in your thoughts once you had your class?' I asked R
'I couldn't, because the microphones were booming too loudly' he replied. 'It was BORING'.
Our young neighbour T was in high dudgeon because she was in the last class to be read out; also she was separated from all her friends and put in a class with people she did not like with a notorious teacher. When she came round to our place her resounding shouts and squeals made me think she was arguing savagely with R and I intervened to avoid the drawing of blood, but apparently she was just talking 'normally' ie venting. Everyone has been split up into different classes with a totally new set of teachers, which has made most of them rather miserable and disorientated.
The final fact of the first day, which thankfully only lasted 2.5 hours, was that they went to their classes where the new class teachers told them what books they needed and what forms to fill in and Mrs Scruton and her 'team' came round to each class to issue further threats; all to no avail as everyone is bored stiff with threats and know that once the tiresome chest beating is over normal school life will resume.
I couldn't help noticing that R and his friends are all shouting and short tempered today as a result of all the shouting-at that they received on the first day and will continue to receive on a regular basis. R's friend M was locked down for 2 hours after school because on the first day, his mother had not furnished him with a regulation passport photo on his ID book. He was beside himself. They would not let him phone his mum. Eventually his mum phoned the school, she beside herself and shouted them all down, quite right too, it's outrageous.
R always laughs when he recounts his tales, he is a born survivor, but... sigh sigh sigh of frustration, there IS another way...counting days to next hols.
Meanwhile bombarded with 20 books to cover in plastic film, a job which causes grown mothers to weep, unless they buy Le Bon Eleve Crystal system with self-stick corners. Any entrepreneurs out there, if you invent plastic covered exercise and text books, you will clean up in France and drastically reduce the national consumption of tranquilisers.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Three School Tales
Story One
Yesterday some pupils in R's class dared to put their hands up and ask 'Sir, what is the point?' of some exercise or other, and the teacher, racking his brains, came up with:
"Le savoir c'est le pouvoir"; Knowledge is Power. (You have to remember that education is one-pointed in France. You aquire knowledge by being miserable over a long period of time but at the end of it you can become a Big Boss and enjoy using your power to make everyone under you miserable).
"Knowledge is Power? Oh no it isn't!" said the class, enjoying the pantomime and employing delaying tactics.
"Well you tell me who there is in power who doesn't have knowledge?" replied the teacher.
Up creaks R's hand;
"Hollande, Sir!".
Even the teacher laughed apparently
(In a reference to a hostage situation in Algeria in January of this year, in which 10 Japanese people were killed, Hollande expressed “the condolences of the French people to the Chinese people.”
The mistake was not corrected, and it could not have made his Japanese hosts happy to be mistaken for their most bitter rivals International Times).
Story Two
Last week the traditional and strict French teacher (Known as Confucius in our family) introduced a radical liberal touchy-feely method into the class. She asked each class member to mark the work of the person next door and add up the score.
 |
| The French Teacher "Madame Confucius" |
R had the presence of mind to find the teacher's unaccustomed liberalism suspicious, especially as it was blatently obvious that 'everybody' was cheating so he decided to mark his neighbour's work fairly. (The boy is Cunning and a Born Survivor, although not yet Honorable).
The teacher waited until the moment she collected the tests to announce that she would be taking off minus 2 points for every incorrect mark given to one's dear neighbour. R swears she was hiding a snigger behind her hand. R's eyes glazed in ecstasy for several days afterwards, as he remembered the panic-stricken scramble to scribble out the wrong marks before the teacher took in the work...
Story Three
"Today is National Music Day. You must all Enjoy Yourselves' said the English teacher in a strong French accent. She did not explain how this was to be achieved according to R.
'That's strange' I replied, 'Enjoying yourself has no place in the serious business of French education and is, au contraire, strongly discouraged'.
'It was a supply teacher, not the normal English teacher' said R, by way of explanation.
What puzzles me is how is she going to ensure her instructions are carried out ? Minus 20 points for being miserable, +10 for being happy I should imagine.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
"Les Profs"; portrait of a failing nation
As part of our English exchange student's cultural education (well it has been pouring with rain for the month since his arrival) we took him to the cinema to see 'Les Profs' a film of a cartoon which bears the same name, which promised to wise him up to the realities of French education.
The producers had the 'witty' idea of combining atrocious cartoon-book violence with realism; that is real actors, only mildly exaggerating the real situation in French Lycée. The acting of the students was particularly convincing; the mass obedience, lip biting in the face of abuse; lip curling of ineffectual rebellion, severe trauma in the face of extreme physical and mental violence - it was like watching child abuse whilst struggling to emit a lame laugh.
The film also extolled the anti -virtues of:
Racism (eg: jokes about cous-cous and pulling at a student's afro hair and shouting 'take off that wig')
Sexism (eg: a teacher whose sole attribute was to dress pornographically and cause all red blooded males to drop their jaws and fall backwards off their chairs)
Violence, physical, mental, group, all unchallenged and pointless
Defeatism
Dishonesty
Sadism
Theft
Substance abuse in school (legal and illegal)
Helplessness in the face of utterly immoral absolute power (School Inspector, Authorities)
There were no actual virtues and no heros and everyone was dragged down together. Things only turned around when one of the defeatist anti heros decides not to walk out (the promise of love with a ravishing German teacher persuaded him to stay) and instead climbs onto the roof clutching a Napolean hat, where he leaves the audience guessing; is he going to throw himself off, or rally the troups, pourquoi pas? He decides to rally the troups (I think) by declaring 'Nous sommes tous nuls...Ensemble!' (We are all stupid, useless failures utterly lacking talent of any kind...together).
The school then rallied, for reasons which aren't entirely clear to me as an Englishwoman, and achieved success (measured statistically) by raising their exam pass rate from 3 to 50 percent. Any other aspects of what one might call 'education' were studiously ignored, and the possibility of an 'alternative' pedagogy rendered risible.
The joyous climax - the absutely 'nul' (stupid useless failure etc) student who had failed his Bac for 3 years running was thrown out of the school by the Powers on High (school informed by letter) which meant the school achieved a 50 percent pass rate, whereas with him still on the books it would have been 49 (this is all about figures not fairness).
Then the 'bad' teachers refused to accept transfer to the Cote d'Azure which they had been offered as a reward for raising the pass rate from 3 to 50 percent, and said that 50 percent could be improved on and they would stay on at the school to finish their duty. Then teachers and pupils did a wild rap dance in the playground, filmed from above, The End
Surely the audience would be left flat I thought. Not at all, the cinema was full to capacity, people were sitting in the aisles (where were the usherettes, the health and safety standards, the social responsibility of the audience to shove up and give them a seat?) 8 showings a day, and the audience gave a standing ovation. The French must be really desperate for education therapy.
The producers had the 'witty' idea of combining atrocious cartoon-book violence with realism; that is real actors, only mildly exaggerating the real situation in French Lycée. The acting of the students was particularly convincing; the mass obedience, lip biting in the face of abuse; lip curling of ineffectual rebellion, severe trauma in the face of extreme physical and mental violence - it was like watching child abuse whilst struggling to emit a lame laugh.
The film also extolled the anti -virtues of:
Racism (eg: jokes about cous-cous and pulling at a student's afro hair and shouting 'take off that wig')
Sexism (eg: a teacher whose sole attribute was to dress pornographically and cause all red blooded males to drop their jaws and fall backwards off their chairs)
Violence, physical, mental, group, all unchallenged and pointless
Defeatism
Dishonesty
Sadism
Theft
Substance abuse in school (legal and illegal)
Helplessness in the face of utterly immoral absolute power (School Inspector, Authorities)
There were no actual virtues and no heros and everyone was dragged down together. Things only turned around when one of the defeatist anti heros decides not to walk out (the promise of love with a ravishing German teacher persuaded him to stay) and instead climbs onto the roof clutching a Napolean hat, where he leaves the audience guessing; is he going to throw himself off, or rally the troups, pourquoi pas? He decides to rally the troups (I think) by declaring 'Nous sommes tous nuls...Ensemble!' (We are all stupid, useless failures utterly lacking talent of any kind...together).
The school then rallied, for reasons which aren't entirely clear to me as an Englishwoman, and achieved success (measured statistically) by raising their exam pass rate from 3 to 50 percent. Any other aspects of what one might call 'education' were studiously ignored, and the possibility of an 'alternative' pedagogy rendered risible.
The joyous climax - the absutely 'nul' (stupid useless failure etc) student who had failed his Bac for 3 years running was thrown out of the school by the Powers on High (school informed by letter) which meant the school achieved a 50 percent pass rate, whereas with him still on the books it would have been 49 (this is all about figures not fairness).
Then the 'bad' teachers refused to accept transfer to the Cote d'Azure which they had been offered as a reward for raising the pass rate from 3 to 50 percent, and said that 50 percent could be improved on and they would stay on at the school to finish their duty. Then teachers and pupils did a wild rap dance in the playground, filmed from above, The End
Surely the audience would be left flat I thought. Not at all, the cinema was full to capacity, people were sitting in the aisles (where were the usherettes, the health and safety standards, the social responsibility of the audience to shove up and give them a seat?) 8 showings a day, and the audience gave a standing ovation. The French must be really desperate for education therapy.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Marks Again!
R was in the mood for revelations this morning: having previously received a false mark on Pronote, the Mark Obsessed Website, 3 out of 20 instead of 13, he now finds the error can be in his favour. He is the proud owner of a 20 out of 20 intsead of a 12. This is because he is sometimes given the marks of another boy in his class who shares his name. Happily for R, this boy is an 'intello', a particularly obedient and diligent child who dedicates his life to getting good marks, so R can only come out on top.
I previously reported that someone at school had hacked into Pronote The Online Mark Administrator and upgraded all his marks, and this morning more revelations emerged on this subject too;
"He got expelled from the school"
"But I thought he only got a warning"
"No, because in fact he was helping lots of people to get good marks"
"A philanthropist, hardly a sacking offence..."
"No, he was charging 10 Euros an upgrade. He got caught because he usually had an avarage of 8 out of 20 and he changed it to 18 out of 20. And then one day a teacher noticed one of her marks should be 15 and was 20, she thought it was a mistake and put it back to 15, and then seconds later it went back up to 20, so they knew there was a hacker"
"Hang on a minute, how do you know all this?"
"One of the assistant teachers likes to tell stories" he says smiling, "It's a pity that boy got caught, otherwise by 18 he could have been a rich man".
I previously reported that someone at school had hacked into Pronote The Online Mark Administrator and upgraded all his marks, and this morning more revelations emerged on this subject too;
"He got expelled from the school"
"But I thought he only got a warning"
"No, because in fact he was helping lots of people to get good marks"
"A philanthropist, hardly a sacking offence..."
"No, he was charging 10 Euros an upgrade. He got caught because he usually had an avarage of 8 out of 20 and he changed it to 18 out of 20. And then one day a teacher noticed one of her marks should be 15 and was 20, she thought it was a mistake and put it back to 15, and then seconds later it went back up to 20, so they knew there was a hacker"
"Hang on a minute, how do you know all this?"
"One of the assistant teachers likes to tell stories" he says smiling, "It's a pity that boy got caught, otherwise by 18 he could have been a rich man".
Monday, February 18, 2013
They really don't listen
It seems R is right when he says that at school they don't listen.
R's friend S came to lunch today, she told me she fell down in sport last week and showed me a bruise on her leg the size of the Atlantic ocean.
Today, a week later, it is time for the sports lesson again, but instead of the sports teacher asking how she is, or even allowing her to come up to him and explain, I have to write her a note explaining that she needs to be careful in sport. Only with this note to show does she have the right to go up to the teacher, flapping the exercise book, and enjoya short hearing (reading the note in front of her, lips moving presumably). Communication is incredibly contorted in the French College, no wonder the French all grow up difficult (in my culturally biased opinion).
R's friend S came to lunch today, she told me she fell down in sport last week and showed me a bruise on her leg the size of the Atlantic ocean.
Today, a week later, it is time for the sports lesson again, but instead of the sports teacher asking how she is, or even allowing her to come up to him and explain, I have to write her a note explaining that she needs to be careful in sport. Only with this note to show does she have the right to go up to the teacher, flapping the exercise book, and enjoya short hearing (reading the note in front of her, lips moving presumably). Communication is incredibly contorted in the French College, no wonder the French all grow up difficult (in my culturally biased opinion).
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Mark Fixing
Rumours are circulating at R's school that some enterprising renegade has hacked into Pronote, the Mark-Obsessed Website, and upgraded his or her marks in every subject for the entire year.
'How did they notice?' I asked R (it seemed strange to me that a pupil would receive such individual attention when all the teachers are entirely tied up with box- ticking and forming-filling for the six-hundred).
'Because the marks were too high'
'What happened to this person?'
'Parents called in, detention, report, warning about being expelled...'
I am left with the question: what kind of education system invites such behaviour?
R is left with the question; what would have happened if this person had not been quite so generous with the marks, could he/she have got away with it?
'How did they notice?' I asked R (it seemed strange to me that a pupil would receive such individual attention when all the teachers are entirely tied up with box- ticking and forming-filling for the six-hundred).
'Because the marks were too high'
'What happened to this person?'
'Parents called in, detention, report, warning about being expelled...'
I am left with the question: what kind of education system invites such behaviour?
R is left with the question; what would have happened if this person had not been quite so generous with the marks, could he/she have got away with it?
Friday, February 8, 2013
Latest Mark Debacle
R opened Pronote, the Mark-Obsessed Website, to gloat over his latest augmentations, when SHOCK HORROR
1
out
of
20
R paled, whimpered and scrambled for his school bag to check for all the things which he could possibly have been marked on - could he have undergone a test without his knowledge, had he filled in the wrong form, was it a score for having a crumb-free bag (fair)?
"I don't understand it, I don't understand it" he quavered.
"How will you check if it is a mistake if the teachers don't listen to you?" I asked.
"I WILL ask the history/geography teacher, I will go and see her after class"
"Ah, so that IS possible!"
The very next day R asked the history/geography teacher, and she did not apologize but blamed a bug in her computer for the score appearing as 1 out of 20 instead of 13. She also blamed a bug in her computer for the poor soul whose score was published on Pronote, the Mark Tracking Software, as 20 out of 20 when, alas, it was 2 out of 20. Then she used her computer to show them a film about the Middle Ages - and a First World War film appeared, at which point the history/geography teacher got a bit hot under the collar and said her computer was totally crapped out.
FAMILIES OF THE " PRONOTE VICTIMS" SUE FOR MENTAL AND PHYSICAL DISTRESS CAUSED BY DISASTROUS MARKING DEBACLE!
1
out
of
20
R paled, whimpered and scrambled for his school bag to check for all the things which he could possibly have been marked on - could he have undergone a test without his knowledge, had he filled in the wrong form, was it a score for having a crumb-free bag (fair)?
"I don't understand it, I don't understand it" he quavered.
"How will you check if it is a mistake if the teachers don't listen to you?" I asked.
"I WILL ask the history/geography teacher, I will go and see her after class"
"Ah, so that IS possible!"
The very next day R asked the history/geography teacher, and she did not apologize but blamed a bug in her computer for the score appearing as 1 out of 20 instead of 13. She also blamed a bug in her computer for the poor soul whose score was published on Pronote, the Mark Tracking Software, as 20 out of 20 when, alas, it was 2 out of 20. Then she used her computer to show them a film about the Middle Ages - and a First World War film appeared, at which point the history/geography teacher got a bit hot under the collar and said her computer was totally crapped out.
FAMILIES OF THE " PRONOTE VICTIMS" SUE FOR MENTAL AND PHYSICAL DISTRESS CAUSED BY DISASTROUS MARKING DEBACLE!
Sunday, February 3, 2013
French Bac in English
I'm English, my son is bilingual, but this does not mean he will be able to pass the French bac in English with ease. He will need to understand what the examiners want, and to practice how to produce it; so I've been looking through some past papers (bac is the equivalent of A-levels, taken at 17 or 18 years old).
All candidates for the bac have to perform in a wide range of subjects (philosophy, language, sciences, maths geography history and more). French students are not free, as British students are, to drop subjects (including foreign language) when they take the bac and specialise in 3 or 4 preferred subjects.
You can pass your bac with or without 'mention'. Mention can mean:
Mention assez bien (literally good enough, or quite good)
Mention bien (good)
Mention très bien (very good).
I feel I should get a 'mention tres bien' very good in English for the following reasons
All candidates for the bac have to perform in a wide range of subjects (philosophy, language, sciences, maths geography history and more). French students are not free, as British students are, to drop subjects (including foreign language) when they take the bac and specialise in 3 or 4 preferred subjects.
You can pass your bac with or without 'mention'. Mention can mean:
Mention assez bien (literally good enough, or quite good)
Mention bien (good)
Mention très bien (very good).
I feel I should get a 'mention tres bien' very good in English for the following reasons
- I am English
- I am old and wise
- I am gifted in English and once won the school prize for English Achievement
- The level of English can't be that hard given the wide range of subjects, surely?
I set myself the challenge of doing the English bac for the students who choose to specialise in language (rather than say, maths or the technical bac) and started with 'comprehension'- English comprehension, surely this at least is in the bag!
I read the text which was two pages of a novel by Kate Atkinson. I didn't understand much of what was going on, so I read the questions, and I didn't understand the questions, and as for the answers, don't even ask.
I went to find my reading glasses and tried again, but it wasn't any better. The text was devoid of context, and littered with obscure vocabulary, subtle psychology and irretrievable cross-references.
Luckily JC enlightened me on the logical and staged French technique.
- Read the text
- Read the questions
- Re-read the text like a detective looking for clues to answering the questions.
After I did this I had some idea what was going on and set out to give a Mention Très Bien answer.
Here is the question, B's answer (the first time he has ever tried such an exercise with no teaching preparation, and in a short time - I'm impressed). Then my answer, and a standard answer from the book which would earn the candidate a 'mention très bien'.
Question; explain why Frank found himself unexpectedly tongue-tied (50 words).
B's answer: He found himself tongue-tied because of all the prettiness of the bread and cups, which prevented him from talking about death and the different ways of dying. He understood that 'the smell of death clearly had no place in the parlour of Lowther Street'. (line reference).
My answer: Frank felt tongue-tied because the reality of war ('the smell of death', 'trench foot' and 'rats') was so different from his civilised surroundings, so unsuited to polite conversation, that he struggled to find something he could talk about. Even the mention of the bad tea in the trenches shocked the sisters, so he knew he could not talk about his life as a soldier.
Model answer: There is such a sharp contrast between the horror of what he has experienced and the softeness and cosiness of this environment, that he cannot find words to express himself and he remains speechless. His world is far from this one, and he understands that there's no way for the women to grasp his everday life. Moreover, the warm welcome makes him feel even more ill-at ease and embarassed.
REMARKS
Although my answer was well-written, logical and justifiable, I think I would just miss the mention très bien by not referring explicitly to the contrast between the soft and warm welcome and the cold and hard realities of war.
Another remark: Sapristi Knuckoes (Goon Shows circa 1950)
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Snowballs; the truth
R has just confessed that he was indeed one of the ones who snowballed the headmistress, Mrs Scruton, although 'somebody else' went for the 'head shot'.
I warned him that it could backfire if he is caught on the security camera.
R explained that when the Headmistress, Mrs Scruton, saw all the pupils having fun in the snow and charging the taped-off areas, so she came charging out of her office waving her Detention Book and shouting Detention Detention Detention, and it was at this point that she disappeared under a pile of snowballs, from which we learn that the Detention Book- form of discipline (mot dans le carnet) does not work for riots.
He also confessed that he was 'convoked' to see the 'Punishment Officer' because I had forgotten to fill in a ticket to say that he was ill, (careless careless careless, however I DID phone the school to say he was off sick, spoke to the teacher in person whilst collecting the school report, and spoke to her by phone the second day he was sick as she felt the need to check up on me even though I had warned her the day before he was likely to be off the following day and even after I thanked her profusely for her show of personal care and gave her a long description of his ills when all she wanted was to tick her box which gave me a slight frisson of sadistic pleasure, from this you will see can see trust and common sense are not on the agenda).
R thinks being called in front of the punishment officer is a wheeze and can do some amusing impersonations. The 'Punishment Officer' made all sorts of insinuations about R, such as had he not arranged to be off sick 'with his friends'?. I feel pretty certain that this has given R some ideas.
(Aside: had to change the title on this one, the original, snowballing the headmistress, has resulted in 38 view from the USA, is this some kind of fetish that I haven't heard of?)
I warned him that it could backfire if he is caught on the security camera.
R explained that when the Headmistress, Mrs Scruton, saw all the pupils having fun in the snow and charging the taped-off areas, so she came charging out of her office waving her Detention Book and shouting Detention Detention Detention, and it was at this point that she disappeared under a pile of snowballs, from which we learn that the Detention Book- form of discipline (mot dans le carnet) does not work for riots.
He also confessed that he was 'convoked' to see the 'Punishment Officer' because I had forgotten to fill in a ticket to say that he was ill, (careless careless careless, however I DID phone the school to say he was off sick, spoke to the teacher in person whilst collecting the school report, and spoke to her by phone the second day he was sick as she felt the need to check up on me even though I had warned her the day before he was likely to be off the following day and even after I thanked her profusely for her show of personal care and gave her a long description of his ills when all she wanted was to tick her box which gave me a slight frisson of sadistic pleasure, from this you will see can see trust and common sense are not on the agenda).
R thinks being called in front of the punishment officer is a wheeze and can do some amusing impersonations. The 'Punishment Officer' made all sorts of insinuations about R, such as had he not arranged to be off sick 'with his friends'?. I feel pretty certain that this has given R some ideas.
(Aside: had to change the title on this one, the original, snowballing the headmistress, has resulted in 38 view from the USA, is this some kind of fetish that I haven't heard of?)
School Report
I didn't get time to write this up in the Christmas rush, but here is the report on R's school report.
I dressed myself in a hat pulled down and a scarf pulled up and went to the school with trepidation in my heart and the words of R ringing in my ears: "Just agree with everything they say and don't say anything".
(I was forced to venture into the school and make cursory contact with a teacher because they do not let the pupils take home their own reports and must verify that the document in question has passed safely into the hands of the parent/guardian).
The teacher was young and charming and seemed perfectly pleased about R. She asked me if I had any questions. I said that the full set of scores was admirably presented on Pronote the marking website, thank you very much.
For the sake of balance, she pointed out that he was a bit "fragile" in French. Controlling myself admirably, I asked her what she meant by this. She meant that the calculation of his marks added up to an 'avarage' score of 9 out of 20. I asked her why this was. She did not know. I asked her what the French teacher had said about him. She said she had not spoken to the French teacher. So I gave her my interpretation and went a bit off track on the failings of the French Education System (shut up shut up shut up) and how hard it was for him to start at a school he had never been allowed to visit and with no-one to show him round (shut up shut up), predicted that R Will Do Better Next Time and that I counted on the school to let me know if there was a problem or anything else I should be doing. She agreed, and said that it was not noticeable that R was new to the school or the system. Which just goes to show what a trusty and hardy invididual R is.
I soon realised that R is quite right; they do not go in for individual attention or care at all. As long as the scores are adequate, sickness absence and bad behaviour are within the norms, the boxes are ticked and everything is generally ticking along tickety boo there won't be any trouble.
Left feeling quite relieved. R has a General Avarage of 16 out of 20, which is Jolly Good, our team effort has paid off.
I dressed myself in a hat pulled down and a scarf pulled up and went to the school with trepidation in my heart and the words of R ringing in my ears: "Just agree with everything they say and don't say anything".
(I was forced to venture into the school and make cursory contact with a teacher because they do not let the pupils take home their own reports and must verify that the document in question has passed safely into the hands of the parent/guardian).
The teacher was young and charming and seemed perfectly pleased about R. She asked me if I had any questions. I said that the full set of scores was admirably presented on Pronote the marking website, thank you very much.
For the sake of balance, she pointed out that he was a bit "fragile" in French. Controlling myself admirably, I asked her what she meant by this. She meant that the calculation of his marks added up to an 'avarage' score of 9 out of 20. I asked her why this was. She did not know. I asked her what the French teacher had said about him. She said she had not spoken to the French teacher. So I gave her my interpretation and went a bit off track on the failings of the French Education System (shut up shut up shut up) and how hard it was for him to start at a school he had never been allowed to visit and with no-one to show him round (shut up shut up), predicted that R Will Do Better Next Time and that I counted on the school to let me know if there was a problem or anything else I should be doing. She agreed, and said that it was not noticeable that R was new to the school or the system. Which just goes to show what a trusty and hardy invididual R is.
I soon realised that R is quite right; they do not go in for individual attention or care at all. As long as the scores are adequate, sickness absence and bad behaviour are within the norms, the boxes are ticked and everything is generally ticking along tickety boo there won't be any trouble.
Left feeling quite relieved. R has a General Avarage of 16 out of 20, which is Jolly Good, our team effort has paid off.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
School jinks
After overhearing a few heated phone conversations it has become clear to me that R has a homework scam going. One night it is his turn to do the homework, and transmit the results by phone to his friend, the next night the friend does the homework and transmits by phone to R. Sometimes the phone calls take place within minutes of leaving for school on the morning that the homework is due.
What are the moral issues? For the most part, the homework which is set could be done by a robot, contains no trace of individuality or originality, is an exercise in absolute obedience and a question of right or wrong one-pointed answers which is mind-numbingly tedious to do and doesn't teach you anything.
What are the moral issues? For the most part, the homework which is set could be done by a robot, contains no trace of individuality or originality, is an exercise in absolute obedience and a question of right or wrong one-pointed answers which is mind-numbingly tedious to do and doesn't teach you anything.
I've decided to think of this as a healthy display of native cunning in a mad world, a coping strategy, a prolongued trust exercise...learning to deal with stress.
However, the cooperative relationship is clearly tainted, yesterday morning (while he was putting on his coat) some pretty heavy blackmail was being applied by telephone (you only get the maths if I get the picture). He only just made it under the fence.
I asked R: "Don't you feel tired and stressed living this life of last minute deception?"
He huffed a bit, then he turned to me and smiled; "No, I like it, it makes the blood circulate".
Oh dear.
However, the cooperative relationship is clearly tainted, yesterday morning (while he was putting on his coat) some pretty heavy blackmail was being applied by telephone (you only get the maths if I get the picture). He only just made it under the fence.
I asked R: "Don't you feel tired and stressed living this life of last minute deception?"
He huffed a bit, then he turned to me and smiled; "No, I like it, it makes the blood circulate".
Oh dear.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Snow FrenchSchool-Style
Take one small prison yard, 600 pupils and 10 centimetres of snow, and what do you get?
Yesterday R came home from school, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with past glories and an irrepressable small smile on his face:
"School was AWESOME..." (I hate this word but I report it as it was told).
"...There was the greatest ever snowball fight. They put up barriers and sprayed the area with salt and water and said we could not go there...the barriers were all smashed, Everyone went everywhere..."
I said: "What about the people who did not want to join in a snowball fight?"
"They all huddled together under a small shelter so they were an easy target. Even the headmistress got one in the face (wheezes with laughter). In the end they had to spray everything with salt and water..."
He lies back on the sofa, licks his lips, closes his eyes and grins in post-vent ecstacy.
Yesterday R came home from school, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with past glories and an irrepressable small smile on his face:
"School was AWESOME..." (I hate this word but I report it as it was told).
"...There was the greatest ever snowball fight. They put up barriers and sprayed the area with salt and water and said we could not go there...the barriers were all smashed, Everyone went everywhere..."
I said: "What about the people who did not want to join in a snowball fight?"
"They all huddled together under a small shelter so they were an easy target. Even the headmistress got one in the face (wheezes with laughter). In the end they had to spray everything with salt and water..."
He lies back on the sofa, licks his lips, closes his eyes and grins in post-vent ecstacy.
Monday, December 10, 2012
LATE BANGED TO RIGHTS
R has transformed himself into an organised and on-time guy following his entry into the prison camp otherwise known in this country as 'a school'. He sleeps in his watch. He has an alarm set to warn him when to get ready and knows exactly what time he must leave to be nicely early.
Despite this some censored on the front gate, running on bad temper and a faulty watch, has decided he (and the usual crowd of miscreants who get caught on the capricious whim of the petty dictators who pass for teachers in this country) was LATE.
There is no questioning this judgement. The ticket is written out. She wrote 5 minutes late which cannot be true, I know what time he left, he left the same time as he has done every day for the last 3 months, he can only have arrived as the gate was closing (presumably early) not 5 minutes afterwards, and this is for 8.20 when classes start at 8.30, so no actual inconveniencing lateness actually took place.
Pupils are of course MARKED on a collection of statistics under the heading "Class Life" (in reality there is neither class nor life in any real sense of the word in this country's schools), arbitrary and subjective judgements are made with reference to tickets for: lateness, absence, detention etc, R got 18.5 out of 20 for 'Class Life', but there is no statistical evidence or references available for why he lost 1.5 marks. So he will suffer marks to be struck off for this affair which will go towards the final judgement of whether or not he is a Good Student (Bon eleve). Anglophone schools just don't think like this, thinking of our children as 'good' (or not) students. In the anglophone world we try to evaluate the progress of the child and we are unashamed to form a relationship with our children and to actually like them and want them to succeed.
Why do French teachers behave like this towards a child who is thoroughly respectful of the rules? What do they hope to achieve? What they achieve is at best indifference (shrug shoulders, "I don't care" ((about anything)), or hostility. Which is perhaps whey they need a police officer to supervise the inmates at hometime. By the way 'hometime' is not subjected to the same precision, they finish any time they want, tough if your child has an appointment at the dentist.
I don't have any recourse following this ticket injustice (or any other injustice), my option is to sign it. I wrote 'not possible' underneath it but I doubt if anyone will notice and then I called the offending person a very rude word in front of my son. He said I just shouldn't care. I wish I didn't.
Despite this some censored on the front gate, running on bad temper and a faulty watch, has decided he (and the usual crowd of miscreants who get caught on the capricious whim of the petty dictators who pass for teachers in this country) was LATE.
There is no questioning this judgement. The ticket is written out. She wrote 5 minutes late which cannot be true, I know what time he left, he left the same time as he has done every day for the last 3 months, he can only have arrived as the gate was closing (presumably early) not 5 minutes afterwards, and this is for 8.20 when classes start at 8.30, so no actual inconveniencing lateness actually took place.
Pupils are of course MARKED on a collection of statistics under the heading "Class Life" (in reality there is neither class nor life in any real sense of the word in this country's schools), arbitrary and subjective judgements are made with reference to tickets for: lateness, absence, detention etc, R got 18.5 out of 20 for 'Class Life', but there is no statistical evidence or references available for why he lost 1.5 marks. So he will suffer marks to be struck off for this affair which will go towards the final judgement of whether or not he is a Good Student (Bon eleve). Anglophone schools just don't think like this, thinking of our children as 'good' (or not) students. In the anglophone world we try to evaluate the progress of the child and we are unashamed to form a relationship with our children and to actually like them and want them to succeed.
Why do French teachers behave like this towards a child who is thoroughly respectful of the rules? What do they hope to achieve? What they achieve is at best indifference (shrug shoulders, "I don't care" ((about anything)), or hostility. Which is perhaps whey they need a police officer to supervise the inmates at hometime. By the way 'hometime' is not subjected to the same precision, they finish any time they want, tough if your child has an appointment at the dentist.
I don't have any recourse following this ticket injustice (or any other injustice), my option is to sign it. I wrote 'not possible' underneath it but I doubt if anyone will notice and then I called the offending person a very rude word in front of my son. He said I just shouldn't care. I wish I didn't.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Why 0 out of 10?
Things were not so easy for R with Papa, who wanted to know how the 0 out of 10 was won. Here are some of R's responses:
- Because she wants me to be superman & work 24 hours a day
- I don't have the test with me
- There's nothing to see
- Strange Donald Duck noise
- Forget it
- I'm tired
- I'm too tired get up and go upstairs
- I don't need to talk about it the teacher talked about it for an hour and shouted at everyone and I've understood now.
- I feel WEAK
- EVERYONE got zero
- My friends got 5, 7 and 8 out of 20 (oh dear, the stoats and weasels are not performing)
- OKOKOK she wants us to put the title on one place and the number on each page and the subtitle underlined and the holes punched and the pictures stuck on and the sources listed.
- Strange Donald Duck noise
Papa finally located the evidence in R's bag. It would appear that the 0 out of 10 relates to file management, which R seems not to have concerned himself with for 3 months, considering it not important and making no sense and because the teacher issued instructions at the end of a long day just before the holidays and nobody was listening.
Finally the teacher's instructions for getting marks for subject of folder administration were uncovered (I translate):
Documentation in the Folder
- Number of documents: a minimum of three per theme
- Relevance of documents to the theme
- Neat and tidy work (cutting out, presentation)
- Title and source
- Personal remarks (at least one phrase to describe the document, make the link with the theme, and show why it is relevant)
Sapristi Knuckoes (this is of course my personal remark).
School Report; Judgement Day Approaches
We are to be honoured with a school report which I am informed by printed message will be delivered into my hands (presumably they can't trust the inmates to deliver it) on the 20th December 2012 (just in time for Christmas, how lovely). The teacher has calculated that she will have precisely 6 minutes for each parent, and if you have more than 6 minutes worth of things to say you should make a separate appointment. I can only deduce that as I will not have had time to read the report, the 6 minutes will be spent by the teacher presenting me with her facts.
My interest in this piece of fire-fodder can be summed up in the French style as 0 out of 20, however, the teachers are in a frenzy of statistical collation and the pupils are preparing for Judgement Day.
R told me today that he managed a 7 out of 10 for one Geography test, but a 0 out of 10 for the other, which he puts down to 'bad organisation' on his part. His overall mark for the Report is therefore 7 out of 20, which tells me precisely 0 out of 20 about my son's ability achievement or improvement in geography.
"Any teacher who gives a pupil 0 out of 10 without giving him a chance to re-do it gets 0 out of 10 from me" I said hotly. "If my pupil got 0 I would be questioning my ability to teach".
R tells me that the school report will divide pupils into categories. Those with consistently low notes would seem to be unworthy of attention, those 10 - 12 shall be called WHITE, and those over 12 shall be called ENCOURAGEMENT. He didn't have anything to say about the top scorers, presumably because he has no hope of being one of them. I'm not sure he's totally understood. I certainly haven't.
"What is WHITE a sort of blank neutral nothing of a white wall? I said to R
"Yes".
And what of ENCOURAGEMENT, you are all encouraged I would hope? In fact I would have thought those with low notes need the encouragement whilst those with high could be congratulated?
"Yes".
I have had to do some emotional processing following all of this and was unable to empty the dishwasher without the help of Amy Winehouse Back to Black turned up very loud.
At least it is midwinter, when I go to collect the offending article I can wear a hat and a scarf round my mouth to hide my hostility. R says I should just say 'I agree not good' about any complaints and 'Jolly good' for anything satisfactory. This could be the longest 6 minutes of my life.
FULL REPORT OUT ON 20TH DECEMBER 2012 watch this space
My interest in this piece of fire-fodder can be summed up in the French style as 0 out of 20, however, the teachers are in a frenzy of statistical collation and the pupils are preparing for Judgement Day.
R told me today that he managed a 7 out of 10 for one Geography test, but a 0 out of 10 for the other, which he puts down to 'bad organisation' on his part. His overall mark for the Report is therefore 7 out of 20, which tells me precisely 0 out of 20 about my son's ability achievement or improvement in geography.
"Any teacher who gives a pupil 0 out of 10 without giving him a chance to re-do it gets 0 out of 10 from me" I said hotly. "If my pupil got 0 I would be questioning my ability to teach".
R tells me that the school report will divide pupils into categories. Those with consistently low notes would seem to be unworthy of attention, those 10 - 12 shall be called WHITE, and those over 12 shall be called ENCOURAGEMENT. He didn't have anything to say about the top scorers, presumably because he has no hope of being one of them. I'm not sure he's totally understood. I certainly haven't.
"What is WHITE a sort of blank neutral nothing of a white wall? I said to R
"Yes".
And what of ENCOURAGEMENT, you are all encouraged I would hope? In fact I would have thought those with low notes need the encouragement whilst those with high could be congratulated?
"Yes".
I have had to do some emotional processing following all of this and was unable to empty the dishwasher without the help of Amy Winehouse Back to Black turned up very loud.
At least it is midwinter, when I go to collect the offending article I can wear a hat and a scarf round my mouth to hide my hostility. R says I should just say 'I agree not good' about any complaints and 'Jolly good' for anything satisfactory. This could be the longest 6 minutes of my life.
FULL REPORT OUT ON 20TH DECEMBER 2012 watch this space
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