Dear Mrs Stephens,

You may not remember me, but I was the fresh-faced, wide-eyed, enthusiastic NQT who taught in the Year 3 classroom next to your Year 5 class just over 20 years ago. I was full of great ideas about how to change the world one child at a time and prepare and shape young minds for the upcoming 21st century.

I looked at you and saw the past. I thought you and your lessons were boring. I thought you were irrelevant. I thought there was nothing I could learn from you. I was wrong and I want to say I’m sorry.

Working quietly

Your classroom had tables facing the front and - every time I looked in - children were working quietly and independently or you were talking to them from the front. My class were sitting in groups: constantly sharing, collaborating, discussing, learning from each other - I wasn’t going to “lecture” them, but facilitate this discovery from each other.

Your classroom had a few token posters on the wall and some examples of children’s best work. I’d spend half the holidays putting up engaging, lively, interactive displays. You enjoyed being part of a choir and did lots of craft activities - knitting and sewing groups. I think you did some pottery, too.

You had a bookshelf full of textbooks and folders of organised and catalogued worksheets that you used in your lessons. I used my weekends to design fun activities which involved children cutting, sticking, sorting and colouring which they loved doing. You told me once that I was welcome to have a look through your resources and I politely said that I would when I had some time but I never intended to and I never did.

It was the time when the literacy and numeracy hour were being implemented and I embraced this new initiative, organising carousels of activities, differentiating for different groups with five activities and always leaving 10 minutes at the end of a lesson for a plenary. You kept quiet, but I saw you occasionally roll your eyes during the training.

Years of experience

I realise now I was being a disrespectful, obnoxious little ****. I realise now that your years of experience had led you to focus on what was important.

You knew that in order to learn, classrooms need to be calm and organised and a place where children can focus and concentrate without distraction. You knew that children need to practise basic skills regularly and over time. You knew that you were the most valuable and knowledgeable person in the room and that by teaching and explaining clearly, to everyone, they could all benefit. You knew that it was important to have a life outside of the classroom.

I know these things now too, but it has taken me a long time to get there. I wish that, 20 years ago, I could have seen and valued what was really happening in your classroom. I wish I had looked at you shelves of books and resources - I bet it was full of purposeful, deliberate practice. I wish I had sat and talked to you about your career and found out more about your approach to teaching and learning. It would have saved a lot of time.

A great teacher

In short, I apologise Mrs Stephens. You were a great teacher and I’m sorry I didn’t realise it sooner. Sadly, I don’t know where you are or what you are doing now but I wish you a very happy new year.

Footnote: If you are new to the profession, go and seek out the member of staff who has been teaching for the longest in your school - they may be the grumpy, curmudgeonly one in the corner of the staff room. Don’t dismiss them as a dinosaur. Talk to them, visit their lessons, learn from them - I promise you, they have a lot to offer.

The writer is a teacher in the UK. 

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