SILENCE IN THE CORRIDORS!

If you’ve had your ear to the ground with regards to education news, you’re probably semi-aware of the current uproar regarding a school in Birmingham demanding silence in their corridors. If you’re not even semi-aware, a secondary school called Ninestiles in Birmingham has, for a range of reasons, made it a firm rule that pupils must be silent in their corridors during transitions. Naturally, comparisons to Nazi-Germany and concentration camps have been made, because who in their right mind wouldn’t draw parallels between infamous war crimes and a widely employed behaviour management strategy? Educators on Twitter also had, and continue to have, lots to say:

Some of the arguments against silent corridors are so bad they make me embarrassed to be a teacher 😔

— Rufus (@RufusWilliam) October 22, 2018

Whatever your views on silent corridors you surely must agree that this is most definitely not news. Especially not when there is so much more newsworthy stuff going on in education, the country, the world.
https://t.co/AF7z6E2etf

— Aidan Severs (@thatboycanteach) October 22, 2018

I struggle with this. If a Head thinks silent corridors is best, why wouldn't others in education respect their judgement? I can understand parents complaining but not teachers judging. How can the profession gain respect outside if teachers don't respect each other inside?

— Amanda Dewinter (@amandadewinter) October 21, 2018

I’ve muted the words ‘silent corridors’ and already my half term is better.

— Emma Cate 🎃 (@emmccatt) October 22, 2018

Now, I don’t have a real idea of what is happening at Ninestiles - I only have the media for reference and the media these days is neither trustworthy nor is it in equilibrium with reality. Therefore, I can’t say I have fully formed idea of what’s happening and therefore I cannot judge. What I can do, with clarity and clear-headedness, is offer perspective by explaining what my school is currently doing, as we are also employing a silent corridor approach (for the time being).

 A bit of background: my school is a small primary school which has recently joined a federation. We are a school with mixed age classes and around 130 kids call my school home. I am proud to say that my school is a loving, positive element of its children’s lives; they access a broad and balanced curriculum through which they learn to balance academic growth with character development. Decisions are often made after democratic and fair discussion, and all my school does is done for the kids. We don’t have all the answers, but we have a damn good go at doing things right and for the right reasons.

With all that said, the job is the job - educational bureaucracy weaves its hungry, victimising fingers into even the lightest of places and touches even the brightest of hearts, and so it finds its way to us. Compared to some of the horror shows out there, my school is great to work in. I honestly believe that. Do we have bad days? Absolutely. But our bad days are far outweighed by our good. Even so, this year the chemistry in our corridors led to considerable time wastage, and we as a staff realised that we weren’t getting the most out of our time because time was being wasted. For instance, we knew that we weren’t getting the most out of English lessons because ten minutes was spent fussing as children transitioned from being in their class line outside to being sat ready to learn. The main part of the problem was the chatting, hanging around and shuffling of feet in our cramped, small corridor. How was this happening in such a positive school? I hear you ask. Surely the children would want to be in class quicker if its such a great place to learn? 

 The problem isn’t unruly children that have a disregard for their learning or a disrespect for staff. In fact, our children are our pride and are regularly complimented for their manners and behaviour in front of visitors and guests (some of our children even won an award from the bus service we use to take our children swimming, recognising their manners and regard for transport etiquette). No, the problem was that our children were part of a close community who found pleasure in chatting, being together and were comfortable in close spaces (much like our staffroom!). As lovely as this is, they were missing out on 50 minutes of English a week, as well as 50 minutes of lessons after dinners. Those hungry, soul-scorching fingers of bureaucracy soon began to shine light on children’s shortcomings and, no matter how happy a collective staff, the lone teacher that has performance management looming is only going to think of those shortcomings and the questions that will be raised. So we implemented silent transitions for the purpose of quick turnovers and longer lessons. 

Has it worked and is it worth it? I hear you ask. Yes, it has and yes, it is, at least for me and my thirty four gibbons. My class alone are sharper in beginning lessons now that we enforce silent walk-ins. I now have time to teach spelling without sweating and many children have improved as a result. Confidence is up, too, as slow writers have more time to plan, write, annotate and play with their language, as well as have direct feedback from me. The stress on me is lessened and I am, therefore, a happier teacher, which gives the children a better leader.

That is what matters. My children have less anxiety, all because we asked for a silent corridor in transition times. My colleagues and I have less anxiety because our time is better spent. If this is happening for the staff of the Birmingham school whose very non-unique behaviour management strategy is being scrutinised by those who know little to nothing about it, then good for them, and to them I say keep it up and apologise to no-one.