Switching it On

I haven't blogged much recently.  I've been grumpy. I've not eaten enough vegetables, moved enough, I've watched too much TV and I'm reading a book that I'm not enjoying. Twitter is bonkers and although it is still making me laugh, reading Donald Trump and Vincente Fox Quesado's tweets are making me feel a little uneasy.  The idea of Wikileaks publishing the personal details of anyone with a blue tick (including their family) is terrifying me, so much so that I suggested that my daughter might want to refuse her pending verification and I spent one early waking morning deleting any Facebook profile picture that I wouldn't want to be used if I was murdered. (I left the pictures of cheese.)

I've been trying not to inflict my grumpiness on the rest of the world but this week something has really bothered me.  I was teaching a song on SingUp called Switching it On, about the invention of the lightbulb.  It's a great song with two part harmony and is perfect for a Victorian Topic.

The lyrics are:

On a dark and stormy night,

Ben Franklin flew a kite.To the tail he tied a metal key —Now it wasn’t down to luck,He was sure when lightning struckThat he’d shown the world e-lec-tric-i-tee.
Of course he didn’t think one day he’d switch it on, 
Of course he didn’t count on Volta, Mather and Swan,
Of course he didn’t count on Thomas Edison,
Thomas Edison —

I knew about Ben Franklin, Thomas Edison and Joseph Swan and I had heard of volts, so thought that Volta might have invented the battery but I'd never heard of Mather.  I googled "Mather," and the top results were a law firm, an architect and an engineering company.  "Mather light," took me to a light railway in Sacramento.  I checked SingUp's teaching notes, which told me to pick out the inventors' names and discuss what each one did.  Luckily, they gave their first names, so I googled "Sarah Mather," and found Eminem's half sister and a singer from American Idol.  I was beginning to think that this was SingUp's little joke, to see which teachers were paying attention but "Sarah Mather inventor," gave some answers.  

On April 16th 1845 Sarah Mather submitted a patent for an submarine telescope with a lamp attached.  It was designed for examining the hull of a boat from above the water but in her patent she thought it would have various uses, the lamp being used to light items for inspection under water.  No website knew anything about her, as a person.

I was stunned. Why do women get written out of history? 

The children just shrugged when I said that I could find lots of information about the men but none about the woman.  They weren't as horrified as I had been.  

"Would you like to see pictures of these people?" I asked.

They all agreed that it helps to see a picture of someone.  They suggested that Joseph Swan should have invented the electric razor or better still a lawnmower and asked, "How does someone grow a beard like that?"

When they saw a picture of Sarah Mather there was a stunned gasp.

"Oh, she's quite pretty, actually."

It was my turn to gasp.  Equality is such a long way off if the next generation can only see a woman's worth in terms of how she looks.  

How to put on a concert

1. Find a group of small children.

2. Give them instruments.

3. Make them sing every day.

4. Start a band (and in the words of Bryan Adams, "try real hard")

5. Let the children show the others what they can do all the time.

6. Tell them they are brilliant. All the time. Even when they are not. 

7. Sing a bit more.

8. Spend a year counting to 4. Repeatedly.

9. Expect them to get better. Be disappointed if they don't and wildly, stupidly, over the top enthusiastic when they do.

10. Smile and laugh, often.

11. Sing a bit more.

12. Become a member of SingUp

13. Sing more.

14. Get the school diary and book the hall between 5 and 7 one evening, in Summer when you know it will be hot, sweaty and uncomfortable.

15. Offer a letter to all children inviting them to take part. (Yes, I mean all children. You never know who might have spent a year playing in secret)

16. Talk to anyone who replies and find out what they are going to play. Don't turn anyone away.

17. Be brave.

18. Sing together for courage.

19. Expect a lot from the children.

20. Be supportive. Repeat step 9.

21. Spend a whole day with pieces of paper around you, juggling all the solos, duets, 12 person flute groups, band and choir pieces into some kind of order that makes sense. Making sure that you have the child who has to go to Brownies on first and the child whose parent can't get back from work until 6 later in the programme. Put the Key Stage One children on in the first half so that they can go home in the interval if they want.

22. Send a letter home to all soloists, choir, band, flute group and Ukulele club members, asking how many audience seats they'd like. 

23.  Put children who are scared on the programme and tell them that you believe in them.

24. Have a practise of how to go onto stage and most importantly take applause. Bowing is a life skill!

25. Check CDs and technical equipment (although one of these will go wrong)

26. Send children home to have some tea and change into their best

 outfits.

26. Tidy the hall

27. Put hundreds of chairs out (expect a big audience)

27. Check technical equipment and CDs four times.

28. Practise the piano (while no one is there to hear the swearing). This step might not be necessary if you can actually play the piano.

29. Go to photocopy the programmes and find that the wonderful people in the office have done it for you.

30. Change into your concert dress, heels and wear red lipstick. I think this is important step and shouldn't be restricted to one gender.

31. Let people in, no earlier than 25 minutes before five. Those plastic chairs can get very hard and sweaty if you sit on them for too long.

32. Panic that you have forgotten to ask the PTA to run refreshments.

33. Relax when you realise that you didn't forget and they have a large selection of ice pops in the freezer.

34. Take a photo of every child. Make them feel special.

35. Remind everyone that they are going to be brilliant.

36. Bribe some nearly grown up children that you used to work with (chocolate usually works) to come and help move stands, work CDs (and if you are really lucky conduct the band)

37. Let the headteacher talk for a bit (it is their school after all)

38. Start with a song.

39. Watch with complete pride and admiration for every child that stands up and performs.

40. Allow re-starts. 

41. Cheer wildly after each performance.

42. Make the Chinese piece by Tu-Ning joke. Everyone expects it.

43. Try not to tell the rude joke about the French Horn player on a date while your  helpers get the stage ready between each act.

44. Remember that you are asking the children to be increasingly brave and nerves can come in many forms. Be kind.

45. Allow them to use their own stand, not stand on the stage, perform with their back to the audience - whatever it takes to get them up there and showing off their talent.

46. Remind the audience how brave the children are.

47. Be disappointed when the CD sticks (it will) but try again. If it happens again turn it off, encourage the children to keep singing and wait for the biggest round of applause.

48. Remember there is nothing wrong with Hells Bells by AC/DC on the electric guitar, even if you are in a Church of England School.

49. Have tissues ready. There will be tears (for all kinds of reasons) and possibly the odd nosebleed. Stress, nerves and heat can make bodies so funny things. 

50. Make sure you have some sparkly hats. They will inspire a performance that will remind you how much fun making music can be. 

51. Make sure your second half is shorter than the first. 

52. Make the audience sing, wave flags and pretend they have just witnessed the last night of the proms.

53. Try not to hide under the piano if the headteacher says nice things and gives you flowers. Practise the breathing exercises that you taught the children and allow them to tell you off because you didn't take the applause and bow politely.

Simple. 

 

Awards, Rewards and True Love

This week I've been thinking a lot about motivators; rewards and punishments.  Towards the end of my first year at University, our course tutor sent a note which said, "Sticks and Carrots.  If there's a reason you can't get your arse in gear come and see me."  I don't know if it worked.  It made me laugh and made a friend go to see him to switch to a creative writing course.

Many schools have complicated systems of rewards and punishments.  My son's school, this week, had an awards ceremony, where my son grumpily accepted an award for Geography and we parents sat, sweltering in a boiling hot hall, listening to an ex-pupil (aparently a success) who bored us about his work for BT and how he had learnt about perserverance from failing his A levels at the school. The headteacher gave his  usual, although uncharactaristically short speach about how wonderful he was.  The next day, I heard many parents complaining, "how did that person get that award?  My child is top of the class, why didn't they get it?"  There was a feeling that such random awarding of rewards was actually a demotivator, "why should they work so hard when it's just given to the scruffy oik, who only managed to hand his homework in once and that was on the back of an envelope?"  My son was more phlegmatic about the whole thing.  He felt that he'd already worked hard by the time of the Award Ceremony and if you got it it was......well, just something for your mother to dust."  They also sent a letter, this week, stating that pupils now had nine lives, like the mangy moggies they are, which they can lose by being late, ill, scruffy, etc.  The letter said that there would be cash rewards for well behaved children.  My son, was equally scathing about this, pointing out that we had a letter about uniform last year and how the school were "definitely losing the uniform battle." My daughter had worked it out at 4 years old.  When I visited the school I saw her name on a golden apple on a tree display and said, "Oh, well done, you've got a golden apple reward." She looked at me as if I was possibly the stupidest person alive and said, "Mummmmm, everyone gets one by the end of the year!"

I tend to agree with my children.  The best reward is the feeling you get when you know you've done a good job.  I've had this feeling a lot this week, with concerts, a church service, pupils doing really well in exams and the phone call from Sing Up.

My school found out that we have received the Platinum Award from Sing Up this week.  This is the highest award they give and makes us an ambassador school for singing.  Although, I have driven us getting this award it was a true team effort and so I had to find a way to reward the staff who had worked so hard to get it.  My reward of choice is always cake.  I think people like cake and it shows that you've put a bit of effort in.  

During the inspection visit my headteacher said that if we got the award we'd have to celebrate, maybe have a Platinum themed party.  I said that I was thinking that a small piece of platinum jewelery would be nice and she said she was thinking more of platinum coloured paper plates.  I'm still waiting to see which she chooses.

$240,400.00

£1.75 for 8

This is the time of year when I usually get a weed letter from the allotment nazis.  The stick that is meant to make me keep my allotment in better condition.  I am now resigned to the fact that the letter will arrive because end of term concerts, assemblies, church services, weddings, award ceremonies all take up valuable weeding time.  I am also resigned to never winning the 'best kept plot' award so I think that getting the letter is at least something.  After all, who wants to be average?

When I arrived at the allotment today, I was surprised to see that I appeared to have been awarded a golden heart.

On closer inspection it turned out to be a balloon that had got caught on my 'protect the cabbages from the birds' frame.  It is quite a sad little gold award, as it has messages attached to it to a recently deceased grandfather.

I was even more surprised to find that my allotment looked as though it deserved an award.  It was lush and watered and almost weed free.  The Long Suffering Husband said that he knew I was busy and so had been popping over every evening, while I was teaching or practising to water.  That is the best reward I could have asked for and a sign of true love. 

This is when I'm most dangerous.

Today I am like Tigger on acid.

Sing Up are sending someone to visit our school today and there is a chance we could be given the Platinum Award and I'm excited.  Last night I thought I was stressed because I ate a whole box of Maltesers, even though I haven't eaten any chocolate since I lost my voice in December.  This morning I was awake at 4am and realised that I'm not stressed or anxious at all but excited.  I can't wait for someone to see our fantastic children enjoying singing.

So there I was at 4am, listening to the birds dawn chorus and wondering about a choral version of it (I know it's not an original idea) my brain wizzing, ideas rushing around in my head when I thought I'd just get up and get started.  After all it is Midsummer's Day, the longest day of the year.  I watched Question Time and sniggered childishly as Boris Johnson said, "an orgy of banker bashing."  I walked the dog.  I did some silly writing and I started to have ideas about school projects. 

Stop me.  This is when I'm most dangerous.  "Why don't we have a big concert with all the schools in Essex?" "Why don't I start a Lads and Dads Choir?"  "Why don't we make a CD?"  (Whoops already doing that one).  Yesterday the last four words that were played against me on Words With Friends were idiot, stupid, fool and daft and when I mentioned it to the person who played 'daft' she said that she'd just had a text conversation with one of my friends where they had both agreed I was bonkers.  There is hope for me though because a colleague commented on my facebook status about dreaming of donkeys and bottoms, saying that when he first read it he thought I'd finally gone mad.   Phew, I'm not there yet then.