I am writing this as blizzards batter the windows, cold creeps into our bones and the country stutters to (even more of) a stop. Storm Darcy is raging, reminding us that, yes, things really can get worse. This lockdown was already so much more attritional than the others. Somehow, the sunshine got us through the first, and the remnants of “lockdown novelty” got us through the second. But the third lockdown has been dark, wet and claustrophobic - and we are worn of patience.

In schools, it’s been particularly hard. Alternative provisions, special schools and nursery settings have been told to carry on as normal throughout, despite soaring infection rates, staff shortages and the complexity of ensuring that pupils who need specialist attention are both safe and learning. Meanwhile, in primary and secondary, teachers are juggling face-to-face teaching of high numbers of vulnerable and critical-worker children while providing highly scrutinised remote lessons.

To put it bluntly, the sector is knackered. Yet all the talk is of ramping things up when schools get back to “normal” so pupils can “catch up”. Those in schools would be forgiven for looking at each other and wondering: how much more can we give?

If this feels like a depressing way to open a magazine, I make no apology for it: we need to talk about these things. We need to acknowledge the mental toll of lockdown and, in particular, the cost of being on the front line, be that in the NHS, our essential shops or our schools. We should not hide issues behind a show of Blitz spirit. We need to recognise that nothing will be “back to normal” unless we give people time to reflect, recalibrate and recharge.

This has to be a priority. Yes, in our culture of instant gratification, it feels like we have “wasted” 12 months; that the metronomic march of progress has been interrupted and we must recover our rhythm quickly before we forget how to find the beat. But if we rush it, we stand no chance at all of “recovering” anything. We’ll be simply too tired to try. Those in schools know this better than most. They have nurtured children back from trauma, disruption and events outside of their control. They know how to prod, cajole and encourage. They know how to rebuild.

In the alternative provision sector, you see this clearly. During my years at Tes, I have been fortunate to see many lives turned around with the gentle persuasion of a skilled practitioner. It’s never rushed. It’s about building a relationship and restoring faith, brick by brick. The arts play a vital role in this. Through drawing, painting, writing, crafts and outdoor work, pupils are given the time to express themselves and the space to “settle”. When “normalcy” returns, this settling time should be a key part of any recovery curriculum, and a key cog in staff recovery, too.

Some have already started on this. In this week’s issue, Claire Breithaupt talks of how snippets of poetry have helped her and her class find “comfort in these trying times”.

“While I understand the need for teachers to focus on catching up,” she says, “it’s also important to recognise that students are suffering. Spending five minutes on something that lets them take a break from thinking about exam work is certainly not time ‘wasted’.”

Interestingly, Breithaupt has avoided one particular poet in her daily ritual: “[How is] Philip Larkin going to help anyone during a global pandemic?” she asks. I actually think Larkin has an important message for us - and schools, in particular - at this time. He notices and acknowledges the misery of a broken world. We need to do that, too, because if we don’t, people will suffer in silence.

But in his poem First Sight, he also offers hope that, just around the corner, rebirth is possible if we’re patient enough to wait for it: “Hidden round them, waiting too/ Earth’s immeasurable surprise/They could not grasp it if they knew/What so soon will wake and grow/Utterly unlike the snow.”

@jon_severs

This article originally appeared in the 12 February 2021 issue under the headline “The ‘back to normal’ promise is cold comfort for exhausted staff”