Coronavirus shutdown: this isn’t just a job – I’m invested in my pupils’ lives
Y6 teacher Sophie Bartlett on having to plan an impromptu last day for her class
As I’m sure was the same with most of us, my class numbers began dwindling last Monday.
News moved quickly every day, and while many of us were urging schools to close as our fears grew, I don’t think any of us understood the gravity of that until it actually happened.
By Friday, I was down to 19/28 children, 13 of which were Year 6s.
I have taught these Y6 pupils for nearly two years now. I moved into the area and started at my current school in 2018, so they were half of my first cohort.
I was looking forward to so many things with them that are so important in the last year of primary school: SATs (yes, I know, but I wanted them to see for themselves how far they had come), residential, SRE lessons, production, leavers’ assembly, secondary school transition days, end of year celebration…
And suddenly, all of that may be taken away. That’s the worst part – we just don’t know.
If I’d known it were going to be the last day, I would have planned it as such.
I can cope (just about!) with having a myriad of my own unanswered questions, but it breaks my heart to not be able to answer those the children have.
On Friday, the children sat where they wanted (suddenly it’s ever so exciting to not have to stick to the seating plan) and I let them doodle while I finished our class story – we were reading for 45 minutes.
Before lunch, we played Kahoot quizzes, something they beg me to do at the end of every term. After lunch, we made Mother’s Day cards, had a huge clear-out of trays and the cloakroom, took a ‘survivors’ photo to stick in their journals (part of their home learning is to keep a diary) and played bench ball.
I’m not much of an ‘inspirational speech’ person, but I spontaneously decided to sit them down for a chat before they went home.
It was an amalgam of emotions I’ve never felt simultaneously before: relief (at least we’re at a reduced risk now); anxiety (when are they coming back?); fear (what if they don’t come back this year?); hope (perhaps they’ll be back sooner than I think); sadness (I’m really going to miss them).
I told them I’d be in regular contact – not so much for their home learning, although that’s obviously part of my job – but more because I want to know that they’re OK and what they’re up to.
I don’t think children will understand that to many of us, this isn’t just a job – we are invested in their lives. I am definitely going to feel at odds without seeing them every day for the foreseeable future.
Sophie Bartlett is a Y5/6 teacher in an English primary school. Find her at missiebee1.wordpress.com and follow her on Twitter at @_missiebee.
