Star Teacher Read Free Page B

Frankie Spraggon nodded in satisfaction when given responsibility for paintbrushes; the tall netball captain Dawn Phillips was delighted to clean the blackboard; Ryan Halfpenny thought all his birthdays had come at once when he became the official ringer of the school bell; and, finally, the lightning-quick Barry Ollerenshaw smiled as he was selected to be the pupil who delivered messages to the other classrooms.
    After distributing a Reading Record Card to each pupil along with a variety of exercise books, an HB pencil, a rubber, a Berol rollerball pen, an
Oxford First Dictionary
, a tin of Lakeland crayons and a wooden ruler, we began our lessons.
    Soon the children were busy with their first piece of writing while I heard each child read to me and then selected an appropriate graded reading book.
    â€˜M’fingers ’ave f’gotten ’ow t’write, Mr Sheffield,’ declared Damian.
    â€˜So ’ave mine,’ agreed Ryan Halfpenny.
    This was often the case after the summer holiday. However, those who had not picked up a pencil for six weeks battled on and soon rediscovered their individual writing style.
    When it was time for morning assembly my children carried their chairs into the hall and arranged them in a line at the back. The little ones in Anne’s class sat cross-legged on the floor while she sorted her sheet music on the piano.
    I took the opportunity to call into Pat’s classroom and was pleased to see that all the children seemed to be busy using their School Mathematics Project workcards. Pat was busy with a group of more able children doing some work on tessellation patterns. However, I noticed in the corner of the room six-year-old Sam Whittaker was sitting on the floor under his Formica-topped table. He was clutching a pencil tightly and counting to himself, then finally writing numbers in his mathematics exercise book. He was out of Pat’s line of vision, so she had not noticed the little boy’s strange behaviour. It was well known that Sam was one of our best-behaved pupils and I remembered Anne saying that he
always
did as he was told.
    I crouched down next to him. ‘Sam,’ I asked quietly, ‘why are you sitting on the floor?’
    â€˜Ah’m doin’ m’sums, Mr Sheffield,’ he answered, without looking up. He was clearly engrossed in his work.
    â€˜Yes, but why aren’t you sitting at your desk?’
    â€˜Miss said we weren’t to use our tables, sir.’
    â€˜Ah … I see,’ and I explained the different meanings of ‘tables’ while he settled once again in his seat.
    Sally Pringle smiled as I popped my head through the open doorway of her classroom. She was busy winding up an English lesson concerning the structure of sentences and all the children were attentive. It was clearly going well.
    â€˜Give me a sentence beginning with “I”,’ she asked them.
    Eight-year-old Ted Coggins was the first to put his hand in the air.
    â€˜Yes, Ted,’ said Sally, clearly pleased with the boy’s enthusiasm.
    â€˜I is …’ he began.
    â€˜No,’ interrupted Sally, ‘it should be “I
am
”.’
    Ted frowned. ‘Are y’sure, Miss?’
    â€˜Positive, Ted,’ said Sally. ‘Now, try again.’
    â€˜OK, Miss,’ said Ted and he took a deep breath. ‘I am … t’ninth letter of t’alphabet.’
    â€˜Oh dear,’ said Sally and I hurried away while she apologized and Ryan rang the bell for morning assembly.
    The first assembly of the year was always a special time. The new starters waved to their older brothers and sisters. Some of them played with their wobbly teeth, while others stared in astonishment at the huge school hall and the crush of children. Gary Spittall had placed his index finger in the ear of the boy in front and I gave him a warning look.
    All went well, the children sang with gusto, Sally advertised her choir and