“You know sir, some of the other boys say you’re a w****r but I tell them you’re alright, ‘cos you are. You’re alright. So that’s alright, isn’t it?”
I was escorting a boy from a lesson he had been sent out of. His relationship with his teacher had completely broken down and it was hard to say whose behaviour was worse – his or the teacher’s. This might appear an unlikely moment to remember as a breakthrough, but coming four weeks into my first headship in a rapidly deteriorating school, it was the moment I knew things were going to be OK. Amongst the group of utterly disaffected, educationally failed, socially disadvantaged boys in Year 10, the boys who demonstrated their distaste for school through loud, loutish, contagiously anti-social behaviour, I had an advocate.
The school I took on was reeling from a series of setbacks, most recently the massive instability caused by forty-three staff – over 50% of the teaching force – leaving at the end of the previous year. Teachers who had stayed were despondent. They were trying to be loyal to their school but were starting to question that loyalty. Other teachers were new to the school, recruited in a flurry of desperation. Many were on short term contracts making accountability difficult. The school desperately needed leadership, but as I was the fifth head in less than five years, commitment to me personally was slow in coming. People were looking at me not to see what kind of leader I was, but to see how long I lasted.
There were a number of pressing priorities. Behaviour was terrible and needed addressing urgently if we were to keep the rump of what had once been a strong teaching force. There had been a substantial erosion of trust between leaders and the rest of the staff. Trust between the community and the school had all but evaporated. That trust needed restoring. The operational systems in place were byzantine, with complexity being misunderstood as a proxy for innovation. Things looked bad in almost every direction.
I needed to gain people’s trust sufficiently to be able to take the school community with me through the rocky decisions we needed to take – curriculum reform, behaviour reform, a simplified school day, higher expectations. In a packed parents’ forum, I promised that things were going to be different, that I was in it for the long haul, that I was invested in the future of the school. Without looking up from her phone, one mother said “The last one said all that.” Her friend, also looking at her phone, added “And the one before.” Simply imploring people to trust me wasn’t going to be enough. I needed a way to fast forward that trust. I needed advocates.
I was lucky in that I had worked with the deputy previously, and we got on. I had an advocate there already who would reassure people that I was a decent person, that I would take care of the school. But I needed more. That meant inviting parents to come and meet me, inviting complaints so that I could get a more profound understanding of the problems, answering email after email asking what was I going to do about the shocking state of the school. It meant endless patience and endless optimism. It meant every spare moment being spent out and about – on the gate, in the canteen, in offices and classrooms, demonstrating my values.
Values are much discussed in school literature. Rather than trying to work out what the school needed, I went with what I believed in because integrity was going to be essential in maintaining my leadership. So I was open, honest and fair. I showed confidence and humility. I listened with curiosity. I shared details about myself with people. It wasn’t a charm offensive, it was a “this is me” offensive. And gradually, week by week, I won people over.
Some people were, justifiably, suspicious. They had been let down again and again. But I kept at it. No matter how tired I was, how shell-shocked by what I was seeing, I kept at it – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. I tackled every breach of the rules I saw. I took on every child who stepped out of line. I challenged every instance of low standards that other adults were just walking past. I worked my socks off.
And by the end of that first half term, I had secured advocates amongst the staff, the students and the parents. People were willing to give me a go. I had the support I needed to get on and do my job because there were enough people who agreed with that boy in Year 10 that, at the end of the day, I was alright. I had advocates.
Andy Hunter