If I was going to be working with them then I needed to know all about them.

During the morning circle I released this idea and checked that they would be happy to talk to me briefly. I showed them my new notebook and explained that I would be taking some notes. I went round the circle, calling on each child by name and checking for their consent. It seemed I had everyone in, divided between nods and smiles. The meeting was closed and they dispersed at speed. I let them disappear fully beyond the freshly turned hay before I set off to find out all about them.

The long way round

I passed through the shade cast down by the enormous parachute canopy and emerged into bright sunlight and heat. I paused very briefly to orientate myself and adjusted my planned course so I didn’t cross the drying hay. I noticed two of the boys coming the other way. Likewise, they skirted the hay, taking the much longer route around the edge of the field by the stream. I would have not been at all surprised if, taken in the moment by a driving impulse, they simply forgot the instruction and bolted across the hay, only to find themselves mid-field either through sudden self-awareness or adult cry. But no, they strolled, side by side, taking the long way round. Our paths eventually crossed and we agreed to meet for our ‘interview’ when they returned.

Leave the past in the past

They all seemed happy to share. We sat side by side and I took notes as they talked. I made sure they could see what I was writing and when we were finished I read back what I had recorded.

They gave me incredible things. I was particularly taken by a comment from one boy who expressed a ‘hatred of science and history and geography’: “The past should be left in the past.” He went on to say that he was, however, fascinated by AI and ‘the future’. One of the boys working nearby gently challenged him on what he saw as an obvious contradiction: “You will need science to think about the future, and AI is science anyway.” Boy 1 dismissed this immediately, but I noted it down as there seemed to be some space here for something.

There were points of convergence: all seemed bound by a love of animals, the natural world and being outside together. Animal rescue was a unexpectedly popular sub-category, though this seemed more animal collection than rescue. Art and crafts were not as popular as I would have anticipated; watching TV was almost universally unpopular; gaming, the ties that bound. Having summarised my notes I asked them all if there was anything else they wanted me to note down about them. This was typically followed by a pause, so I suggested that if they thought of anything over the course of the day they wanted me to add to my notes then they should come and find me and I would scribble it in.

Flow

In the afternoon we carried on with some pewter casting. The future-fascinated boy from earlier came into the circle and asked to take part. He worked for about 30 minutes on a clay mould. I don’t think he looked up once. I reached out across the circle a few times, but he didn’t want any help. I have to say, I was surprised when we checked his mould before he poured the molten metal and he absorbed my suggestions for final tweaks without any of the impatient resistance to improvements so common when children are on the cusp of the best bit. We made the adjustements together and he poured. I said to him that I didn’t recall him saying that he enjoyed arts and crafts when we spoke earlier, but that he had shown total focus in this task. He just nodded.

No one never ever until now

It’s quite common to leave something like this open over the course of a day; to allow space for further cogitation and follow-up. I can say with near 100% certainly that this has never happened. I cannot think of a single instance in 24 years of teaching where a child has come back to me on whatever it was that we were talking about. So it was with utter surprise when, during the closing circle, one of the boys sidled up to me and said, “Pete, I want you to add something about me to your notes.”

“Brilliant,” I said, “Go on.”

“I love diving.”