It was Friday afternoon, which meant one thing: swimming. The trials of the modern-day primary school teacher are increasingly well documented, but amid all the headlines of 60-hour weeks and Sats reform, you hear very little mention of swimming-pool changing rooms. This, to my mind, is something of an oversight, since, when it comes to teaching at the sharp end, presiding over the post-swim change is where it’s really at.
When it comes to teaching at the sharp end, presiding over the post-swim change is where it’s really at.
Of course, to demonstrate such a specific teaching skill you will need the right location. City council swimming pools, however nicely modernised, usually manage to retain a couple of rooms resembling Cold War bunkers in which to segregate school parties from the general public. The temperature varies from fridge-like to tropical, but the one thing you can always rely on is a general lack of space and pegs, and a heady aroma of chlorine and feet.
As they made their dripping, shivering way back in after the lesson, I was acutely aware that time was of the essence. The coach driver was revving, the next school was banging on the door, yet Madison had still to locate her towel and Ayesha had just knocked her neighbour’s neat pile of uniform into a puddle. It was time to bring the changing-room race into play.
Making a splash
I shouted the challenge through the door of the boys’ room and, as usual, they didn’t disappoint. A naturally competitive attitude - unhampered by dripping plaits and twisted tights - saw them lined up and headed towards the bus, minutes before the girls got their act together (although I did notice the boy at the back was wearing his jumper backwards and missing a sock).
Back in the girls’ changing room, I spent my time retrieving socks from puddles, wrestling with jammed zips and presiding over a hunt for Ruby’s missing knickers which, true to form, materialised as soon as she removed her wet swimming costume.
Despite these challenges, I love teaching swimming. Whether getting my trousers soaked by kicking legs in the learners’ pool or flinging diving sticks for the club swimmers in the deep end, I’m happy. Maybe it’s because it is one of the few areas of teaching that has remained untampered with. You can’t mark it; you don’t spend hours planning for it; and behaviour management is virtually nil (any miscreants tend to mend their ways after a minute sat shivering on the side).
There’s also no complicated differentiation and temperamental technology. No one cites growth mindset as an excuse to drop the non-swimmers in at the deep end to try butterfly tumble turns, in the hopes that high expectations might accelerate learning. They simply work at their level and learn to swim and, if they don’t, you give them a float and keep teaching them until they can.
As an added bonus, you also get to teach them something that, one day, could save their life.
Jo Brighouse is a primary school teacher in the Midlands
