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Get yourself through Ofsted…the old fashioned way

theprimaryhead4 Comments

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As I was clearing out my cupboard before the start of term, I came across an old battered document. A tried and tested guide for getting through a full ofsted inspection. I have included some of the main highlights. Do feel free to use them, share them maybe even improve upon them (that last bit is highly unlikely, I think you’ll agree). Enjoy.

Engaging with an Ofsted Inspector

An Ofsted inspector will at some point attempt to catch you off-guard by asking you questions. Be warned: some of these questions may be about school policy or procedures or in the worst case scenario; about something they saw you do or heard you say.

Watch out for their question openers as they often begin a cruel streak of questions with the simple opener: ‘Excuse me, may I have a quick word?’ This is textbook Ofsted skulduggery. In the highly likely event you are approached with this phrase follow the simple four step procedure:

  1. Ignore and continue about you business.
  2. Pretend you are a first aid trained member of staff, say there is an emergency that requires your attention and leave using the nearest fire escape.
  3. State that they are in breach of their inspection procedures and contact your union.
  4. Clutch your knee and scream ‘Ow…why did you kick me? Why would you do that?’

If, after effective deployment of any of the above strategies, the inspector is still trying to communicate with you then use these stock replies:

  1. I’m sorry, I’m on a peer observation placement from another school. I teach at [insert name of local free school]; what is standards?
  2. I’m sorry, I’m on a peer observation placement from another school. I teach at [insert name of the newly opened Steiner academy]; what is a curriculum?
  3. I’m sorry, I’m on a peer observation placement from another school. I teach at [insert name of local academy that just went into special measures]…what is learning?
  4. Je suis desole, je ne parle pas anglais, je suis un eleveur de porcs de las Normandie. (I’m sorry, I don’t speak English, I’m a pig farmer from Normandy)

If none of these replies has successfully rebuffed the inspector then you may have to resort to the final stage:

State that you are visiting ‘role play’ actor and you are here to stage a lock down procedure for the school. Then, calmly push the inspector to one side, scream and smash the place up until you are physically removed by management.

Effective strategies during an Ofsted class observation

It is every class teacher’s nightmare: you are killing time during Literacy by playing hangman, shouting at your class, or telling them to copy out some text from Gove’s bible while you buy a wetsuit on ebay and an inspector walks into your room.
Be aware that the inspector will be looking for:

  • Teaching
  • Learning
  • Progress

It is important that you do not panic.

Use this simple flow diagram to guide your actions and behaviour during an Ofsted class visit:

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Calming down the Head

We all know that teachers and support staff feel the stress during an Ofsted inspection. But, no member of staff is more stressed than the Head Teacher. It may not look like it and he may hide it well with his sharp suit and those shiny shoes, but trust us, your Head Teacher is barely keeping it together. The fact that spotify is blasting from his computer speakers in his office is not due to the fact that he loves new post-modern-pre-punk-underground-ska-dub-step-beatnik-New-York-London-rock; it’s because he is crying.

Crying, because in this dark hour, he has no faith in himself, his SLT, and least of all: any hope in you. His mortgage depends on your lesson and after reviewing your performance management sheet on the T-drive he has just realised he really shouldn’t have re-mortgaged in order to re-do the bathroom.

So as he marches through the corridor smiling and telling the Ofsted inspector all about the school vision…

  • Inspire Tomorrow
  • Celebrate Yesterday
  • Strengthen Phonics

…there are many ways that you can reassure him that this school is a school that can beat Ofsted. Try saying some of these quality assured meaningless sentences if passing him and an inspector in the corridor:

  1. My APS is looking great chief!
  2. I’ve just readjusted my targets because every child has already met them…except that new kid who has been home schooled for the last two years..
  3. Just thought I’d let you know my Y1 class know all 687 phonics sounds!
  4. I’ve dealt with that thing, so don’t worry. You know, the thing? That we didn’t want going to the papers?  With the boy and the fox…on facebook? Well, it’s sorted, I’ve shut it down.
  5. Great assembly Boss. Everyone from Reception to Year 6 got it!

This will make your Head Teacher feel at ease and allow him to confidently continue pulling the wool over Ofsted’s eyes.

You’re only as good as your last crisis

theprimaryhead3 Comments

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New year and more importantly the start of my second year as Head. Having worked so hard last year to get everything in place that I need to move the school forward I am confident that nothing can stand in my way. This is my school, my rules and I am the master of my domain. What, I ask you, can possibly go wrong?
At approximately 1:00pm on Friday I was informed by a teacher that a pupil had possibly opened the school gates and walked out. She had just come back from lunch and some children had told her that this child had escaped. She seemed a little sceptical as no member of staff outside seemed to be aware – even the person on gate duty – but she thought it worth reporting to me. On hearing the news I thanked her and promptly walked out to the playground where a member of the lunchtime supervision staff informed me that yes, they had seen a boy leave the site, and for reasons I have yet to get to grips with, they decided to do nothing.

I cannot exactly remember what I felt at this point: rage, disbelief, panic, despair and inadequacy were all pretty much there and I think I also said something out loud that although was undoubtedly truthful was probably, in hindsight, pretty unhelpful at that moment in time. This disorientating cocktail of emotions lasted about 3 seconds before I sobered up and I began to try and act with some degree of leadership.

Firstly, I went back into school told the Deputy that we had a missing child and off we went to quickly look around the local area. Whilst doing so, I got the office to ring the police and get me the child’s address. After a few minutes I had the address and found myself knocking on the door and greeting the unexpected parent with a phrase I truly hope you’ll never need: ‘Is you child at home? No? Well, I’m afraid he’s not at school either…sorry.’ Then, before I could think of the next stage of my plan, the police rocked up.

Up until this point I was being driven primarily through fear. Having to tell a parent you have no idea where their child is, is probably one of the crappiest jobs I’ve had to do but it was only the fear that made me do it, rather than ‘paper, scissor, stone’ it with someone else. Likewise calling the police: in my heart of hearts I was thinking ‘Can I get away with this without ringing the police and the whole thing becoming massive?’ But the fear told me that I had to do the right thing, I had to get the maximum amount of help to find a child who had literally slipped out of the school’s care.

Once the police were in control with a full search (including police helicopter), a ‘sweep’ of the school and officers reviewing the CCTV footage, I went back to school. Now maybe it was because I was back in my office or maybe it is because deep down I’m really just a grubby self-preserving schmuck but I started to think about the school and what I could do to help ‘it’. From getting an HR rep ready for Monday morning advice, writing the school’s account for the newsletter, wondering how to talk about it with the children in the afternoon’s assembly, deciding how to go through it with staff, ringing my chair of governors whilst all the time thinking ‘Come on…think! What else should I be doing?’

As well as various worst case scenarios about the child that would flutter into my head and wallop my brain like a flump being hit by a hammer, I also began to ask futuristic questions concerning my school. Would this generate media interest, trigger an Ofsted, a school closure, a couple of sackings and the general teaching council and NAHT asking for me to return my membership cards?

Then, after what had been a pretty unpleasant 57 minutes, I had the call that the child was safe and had been returned home. To say that a wave of relief washed over me is probably a cliché but who cares because I’d just found out that a pupil in my school was safe and that really, really mattered. The aftermath went pretty much as I had expected: I acknowledged the incident in the newsletter, spoke to the children reiterating that it was wrong to leave the school site without permission, debriefed the staff and got debriefed myself by the police.

They were surprisingly positive about how we had responded and even commended me and the staff on the support and assistance we had given them. I eventually rang the child’s parents and we set up a meeting to investigate it further and to think about any support needed. They were also grateful with our response – I can only imagine that the shock and relief of the previous hour was preventing them from asking the all-important question: how was it allowed to happen?

These are questions that I will obviously explore myself in the coming days and I’m sure the school’s safeguarding procedures will be strengthened. I too will be judged and I wonder what impact that judgement will have on the school’s future. All that will depend on whether the judgement is based on the event itself, how I responded at the time, or the actions I take after a review. Whichever these becomes the most dominant, the whole episode has reminded me once again that there is little room for smugness over your school development plan successes…because that comfy rug under your feet is simply waiting to be pulled.

The play’s the thing!

theprimaryhead3 Comments

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My first year of headship was a bit like trying to direct a repertory theatre company’s new play. When I first arrived they’d lost the script, some of the leading men and ladies were too busy being Prima Donnas behind the curtain to notice what was happening onstage and the audience had started to dictate what happened to the plot. They were in dire need of a Writer / Director with a strong vision and the courage to make drastic changes and so on I came like a cross between Mamet, Bennett and Fosse: pithy, human, down to earth and with just enough jazz hands to keep everyone happy.

We cracked on straight away exploring the teachers within us and finding our motives-never again would we stop mid learning objective and wonder ‘Why would my character say that?’ There were some casting changes, some major re-writes and one or two scenery updates. We promoted our play way in advance and seemed to get the support from our audience and financial backers .

Sadly our dress rehearsal got well and truly panned by the critics. They very nearly gave us an inadequate 4 stars but we persuaded them that 3 would probably do for now (the jazz hands really came into their own that day). They left with some notes that they wanted us to work into the script (they were already there in the subtext of the play but critics aren’t always the brightest spotlights on the stage so we had to make them a bit clearer so they would get it on the second viewing) and promised to return soon.

Rehearsals went on and although there were times when I would be sat in the wings seriously wondering why I was putting myself through this, I still maintain it was one of the most exhilarating years I’ve ever had. It was exciting because we were literally writing our own story, trying to work out how we could make sure it all ended with the most unashamedly happy ending possible. Damn realism-I wanted an ending that would make Billy Elliot look like a depressing anti-climax.

So along came September and this last week felt like opening night. It was, in my opinion, an absolute showstopper. Everyone was on top of their game and there was a real energy around the place. What I am most pleased about is that everyone seems to have completely memorised their lines – we are, as the cliché goes, all reading off the same script. And boy, what a real difference that makes. There is little room for improvisation – interpretation is welcomed and individual nuances, if effective, are celebrated – but we all understand how important the script is and we deviate from it at our peril.

The pressure for me is now ultimately worse. You’re only as good as your last review. While I am sure that the critics will truly enjoy the play when they next turn up unannounced expecting the best seats in the house, I know that this will in turn, only make them sharpen their knives for the sequel.