It is that time of the year when sheer exhaustion starts to play tricks on a teacher’s mind. To make matters worse, I am currently playing the role of Scrooge in a production of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Performances are running late into the evening and I’m not getting to bed until after midnight. It’s no wonder I’m experiencing disturbing dreams and weird hallucinations.
Tonight a distant church bell wakes me abruptly from a death-like sleep. When my eyes grow accustomed to the dark, I become aware of a sinister figure at the foot of my bed. It is the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (aka Emma). I watch in horrified silence as she points a bony finger in the direction of the airing cupboard. I follow her there and, by some trick of the imagination, find myself transported to school.
It is my classroom still, but everything is changed. The desk is tidy and devoid of gravity-defying piles of unmarked books. The displays are curiously up to date. No dried-out glue sticks or festering coffee cups adorn the window ledge. The learners are not the same either. Blayden, Rogan and Aneisha are still there. But they are in their seats, and focused on their learning. Not one of them is engaged in any form of low-level disruption.
Beware the robots
What’s even more disturbing is the fact that the teacher in front of the class is not me. She is brighter, shinier, newer and manufactured from high-grade plastic. Miss Teach-bot quietly demonstrates her superiority in classroom management. Whilst simultaneously recording, rewarding and updating learning targets and pupil achievement records, her sensors detect Harrington kicking Bailey under the table. She adds a sad face emoji to his electronic behaviour chart without so much as batting an eye-LED.
Clearly this classroom is more efficiently managed than at any time when I was in charge. The children are all on-task and meeting their personalised learning objectives. Good behaviour is consistently rewarded, routines are adhered to and, because Miss Teach-bot has a built-in bladder scanner, no student is able to skive off to the toilet for a break. It should be the perfect learning environment, but something is missing and I know what it is.
“It’s humbug!” I cry. “You may be raising standards, Miss Teach-bot, but what about their mortal souls?” She flickers uncomprehendingly. “Do you tell them scary ghost stories with the lights out?” I ask. “Do you tell them very bad knock-knock jokes that make them groan? Did you ever accidentally smash a teacher mug while trying to juggle tennis balls? Or trick the children into lining up outside the medical room to get anti-head lice injections? There is more to school than tests and targets, you know!”
Miss Teach-bot struggles to comprehend. Lights flash angrily and her voice takes on a harsh, Dalek-like quality. “Schools of the future will be automated,” she shrieks. “Teach-bots will be in control. We will raise standards. All students will achieve maximum learning potential. All students will be educated. Educate … educate … ED-U-CATE!”
Steve Eddison writes a fortnightly column for Tes magazine. He is a teacher at Arbourthorne Community Primary School in Sheffield
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