Mike Kent’s Tales from the Head’s Room came out last week, and to mark the occasion, we’re giving a sneak preview. Based on Mike’s most popular TES columns, the book charts a year in the life of the London primary head, with all its ups and downs and hilarious episodes. Here’s a favourite of ours from the month of May…
Fifty-one
Life is a rollercoaster ride
I’ve always enjoyed taking school assemblies. Sure, you can chat about healthy eating, or why it’s daft to smoke, but you can also introduce your own interests. During the past year I’ve told the children how I became a writer, how magicians cut people in half, how I taught myself the banjo, how I sprayed a door on my classic MG, and how I built a little cinema in my loft. My message is simple. Life is a lot more interesting than watching television or fiddling with a PlayStation.
Occasionally, something I’ve demonstrated really fires them up and they talk about it for days. My rollercoaster Assembly, for example. I’ve loved rollercoasters since I was thirteen, and I’d recently been with my family to Florida, riding some of the tallest and most exciting in the world. In Assembly, I demonstrated how they’d evolved over the last 50 years – stacks of science here. I held up large, colourful photos of vertical-drop coasters, wooden coasters, looping coasters. I explained acceleration speeds and braking technology. Then a little history – and screams of delight – when I ran an old Super 8 film taken from the front car of a Big Dipper at Blackpool. And finally, by swinging a bucket half full of water in a complete circle, I showed how centrifugal force helps hold riders in the car, even when they’re upside down.The children were astonished when the water didn’t come out, and Alison stayed behind after Assembly, looking at the bucket thoughtfully. ‘Could I have a go at that?’ she asked. ‘It takes a bit of practice’, I said. ‘Come and see me tomorrow when I’ve time to show you.’ Throughout the day I was stopped by children asking how I’d done ‘that magic trick with the bucket and water’. ‘It wasn’t a trick’, I’d say. ‘It was centrifugal force – I explained it to you in Assembly.’ ‘Yes,’ they’d say, ‘but how did you do that trick with the bucket and water?’
On Wednesday at playtime, Alison knocked on my door. Would it be okay for her to have a go if she went to the Nursery and borrowed one of their little buckets? I explained that the Nursery was closed for the day, and that she should try tomorrow. I was sure she’d forget – and that would save our tiniest children from being showered with water. On Thursday, two things happened. In the morning, two Infants children rushed excitedly into my room brandishing corrugated paper plates and pieces of wood. ‘We’ve wrote a roller coaster rap!’ they said, and proceeded to dance around my room, singing the words and working up a lively rhythm with their plates and scrapers. Secretary Sandra peered round the door, scratched her head, and disappeared again. Then, in the afternoon, David came to see me. He’d gone home after my Assembly, seen his dad painting the ceiling, and offered to show him a clever trick with the contents of the paint kettle. Dad, fearing for his carpet, informed his son that if he went within a metre of the kettle he’d emulsion his head. Then, on Friday, Alison was back – with a bucket from the Nursery. Never one to rain on the bonfire of enthusiasm, I stood her in the middle of my room, moved everything out of the way, put some water in her bucket, and told her to have a go. Taking a deep breath, she swung the bucket upwards, took fright, and showered herself with water.
Next week in Assembly, I’m going for the easy option. I’ll just tell the children why they shouldn’t lock each other in the toilets.
Rosie Pattinson
Editorial Assistant
