Waiting for silence

20 12 2025

“As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.”

– John Steinbeck, ‘Of Mice and Men’

Silence is a strange thing.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about on and off for the last week or so. As a teacher, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of my time asking for silence. I also definitely spend a lot of time not getting any! This is especially true in the final week before the Christmas holidays, when every day has been interrupted by Christmas dinner, rehearsals for the pantomime, the pantomime itself, reward trips, food technology exams, and reading tests*. I am desperate for silence in a way that only a teacher at the end of the autumn term could ever truly appreciate.

*Let’s just say that my ‘teacher face’ has been in full effect all week.

There’s a dream of a silent classroom, all my little cherubs with their heads down, writing confidently and eloquently about literature, that floats around in my head during those moments when they’ve kust arrived and all hell is breaking loose, I can’t even make myself heard to ask them to be quiet, and I know I’m perilously close to losing my shit and bellowing at full volume! It’s a lovely dream, in which I’m floating serenely round the room, offering quick ‘golden nuggets’ of advice that are immediately acted upon and happily ticking things.

It’s also completely, ridiculously, unrealistic. Firstly, students just can’t take advice on board that quickly. Secondly, there’s no point just ticking work in secondary school; I’m much more focused on how to improve, rather than just accepting an answer. Thirdly, I’ve never floated anywhere serenely in my life! And finally, in the unlikely event that my room was ever completely silent, I’m pretty sure I’d feel distinctly uncomfortable. I mean, I can’t say this for certain as it has absolutely never happened, but I’m fairly confident in this opinion.

Even when I get home after a day of mayhem, craving quiet and time to process things without a million children repeating ‘Miss!’ like the seagulls in ‘Finding Nemo’, I find I don’t actually want silence. It makes me slightly uncomfortable; a bit itchy and fidgety. I’ve come to the conclusion that what I actually want is emotional silence; a period of time when nobody wants anything from me, nobody needs me to talk, and there’s no need to put on a ‘face’.

It might occasionally need to be quiet, but sometimes the right noise can be just as emotionally silent. The right playlist that switches off my brain. The sound of skates on ice and pucks hitting plexi. The rustle and twitter of the great outdoors as I walk through. Even the reassuringly normal sound of the washing machine can count.

So that’s my plan (dream?) for the next couple of weeks; enough emotional silence that I can reset and recharge my stocks of patience and understanding. Given that I’m heading north tomorrow to see my family, none of whom ever stop talking, the chances of this involving actual silence are slim to none!

Now all I’ve got to do is pack … and wrap presents … and …. 🎄


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Categories : appreciation, belonging, Christmas, dreaming, education, family, imagination, moments, observation, positivity, school, silence, students, teacher, teachers, teaching

Back to where I belong

25 11 2025

“It is good people who make good places.”

– Anna Sewell, Black Beauty

It was my first day back from my placement today and I wasn’t entirely looking forward to it. Don’t get me wrong; i love my school and my job, but I don’t love change, and even change back to how I want things to be is hard to deal with. So it was with a considerable amount of effort, and no small amount of muttering that I hauled my butt out of bed and dragged it in to school.

I arrived clutching a very large bag full of stuff (I’m not even sure where I’d accumulated most of it from), a pile of exam papers, some marked and some not, and a cup of tea.

I opened the door and …..

My classroom was a mess, my stuff had been dumped in the cupboard (in the middle of the floor, rendering my cupboard entirely unusable), everything had been shifted off my desk into a whacking great pile on the floor, and I hadn’t got a clue what I was supposed to be teaching for the day, given that the supply teacher hadn’t bothered leaving me any information about where she’d got up to (nice thanks for the pages of copious notes I’d left for her!!). I spent the first hour in a proper grump, stomping around swearing and putting things back the way they should be. I was focused on the negative; the things that were wrong.

And then Rosy appeared at the door. Her eyes lit up, she grinned and said, “Yes miss! You’re back. I can rant again!!”

And oh, did she rant! About rehearsals for the pantomime. About not having someone to rant to. About her medical issues. About the fact yhat the Assistant Principal wanted her to run assemblies for “Every. Single. Year. Group. Miss. Even Years 10 and 11!” I agreed that that would be scary. I listened, I offered support, I smiled. And as I did so, I could feel the strings of my bad mood loosening. 

Tabitha appeared to collect the scone cutters I’d brought in for her (she’s the daughter of a friend and I’d had an emergency message on Saturday night). She picked the boring one … no flower shaped scones here! The dark cloud loosened its grip even further.

The SENDCo stuck her head round the door as she rushed past; “It’s so good to see you back. How are you doing?” We had a quick chat about an email I’d sent the previous week; she had read it the way I’d intended and not as if I was being a raging witch (phew). I was beginning to feel a little lighter.

Lee wandered in. “You’re back miss, it’s really good to see you.” He asked if I’d been teaching someone he knew at the other school. We established that no, I really hadn’t. He grinned and wandered back out again.

Kel bounced over in briefing, “It’s great to see you. Have you filled in the form for the Christmas do?” I hadn’t. I have now. She’d even remembered to ask about gluten free options and written down the information for me.

As I walked over to line-up my form looked faintly pleased to see me. They’re not that demonstrative, so I’m taking that as a major win. Grace quietly asked with a smile if it was OK with me if she moved seats, away from the very recent ex. I already knew what had happened and was prepared, “Of course.” Another smile. This is the girl that hated me a couple of years ago; we’ve made great strides forward. I told her she’d written some good stuff in her Lit mock and we chatted about her next steps on our way down to assembly. Even Dylan asked whether his mock was better than last time (it was, although I can’t tell them marks/grades yet) and then, even better participated in the lesson. I’ve been struggling to get him involved recently, so that was a joy!

My Year 9s regaled me with stories about the supply teacher. Even taking their stories with a large spoonful of salt, things hadn’t gone particularly well. Alice told me that she felt like the teacher had made fun of her when she asked a question, “Not like you miss. You make me feel like I can actually do English.” Freya agreed, “She just told us things. You explain them so we understand.” We talked Jane Eyre and found some of the gaps in their knowledge. I told them we’d be doing some extended writing in the next few lessons, to explore some ideas they’ve missed and they good-naturedly groaned. I feel like we have a plan of attack now … and it seems they’re all on board.

Sal popped in to give me my cupboard key back. “God, it’s good to have you back. I think this is the right key. I’ve still got your poppy wreath in my room.” She talked me through how they used my wreath as part of the Remembrance Day celebrations. Not bad for a paper wreath I made with my form about eight years ago, although I may need to update it soon.

In afternoon line-up, Jasmin handed me a small blue duck, “It’s 3D printed, miss.” He’s joined the duck army in pride of place, next to the one Tori made for me out of modelling foam.

By the end of the day, I had been greeted by so many people, I’d lost count. Maybe I’m not quite as invisible as I sometimes feel. I certainly felt that my absence had been noted and that maybe, just maybe, I’d left a bit of a hole when I wasn’t there. It’s nice to feel seen and appreciated after a few weeks during which I felt very isolated.

For all my frustrations with the place … for all my whinges … for all the little niggles I have … it’s really good to be home.


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Categories : appreciation, belonging, children, connections, education, family, friends, friendship, gratitude, kindness, moments, people, positivity, school, students, teacher, teachers, teaching

Portrait of a Tree: George and Mabel

11 10 2025

“The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?”

– Percy Bysshe Shelley

This introduction is a little delayed; it’s been a few weeks since I took these photos. Back when the days were warm and the leaves were solidly green. Before the slight chill, damp skies, and browning leaves that are gracing our forests now.

To one side of the path, two oak trees lean into one another in a warm embrace, limbs intertwined, leaves fluttering together in the light breeze.

But these aren’t social media personalities; they’re not doing this for a selfie or just to be publically seen together. They’re doing it for themselves. These two are George and Mabel, inhabitants of a different age. They’re not too closely entwined; their feet are kept slightly apart as if to maintain a certain standard of decorum. They’ve been together for an age. So long in fact that they’ve started to become one entity. Branches that have leaned on each other for so long have fused together, their relationship cemented as their very matter combines.

They are so committed to one another that they are literally sharing their life blood, their nutrients, and water.

Like any couple, George and Mabel had their problems at first; they butted heads and chipped chunks out of each other when they fought. Gradually, over the years, they wore each other’s corners down. The wounds were there, but their relationship was strong enough to bring them together and hold them there.

This tree (these trees?) gives me a sense of warmth, comfort, and solidity.

It’s called inosculation, this phenomenon. Caused when the branches of two trees repeatedly rub together; over time, the bark of both wears away leaving wounds, and then when the inner cambrium touches, it fuses together, exactly like a deliberate graft.


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Categories : appreciation, belonging, connections, creativity, family, friendship, imagination, moments, nature, Norfolk, oak, observation, positivity, stories, support, tree, walking, woodland

Portrait of a Tree: The Protector

30 07 2025

“The hugeness of the cedar rose in front of the mountain, its shade was beautiful, full of comfort; mountain and glade were green with brushwood.”

– ‘Epic of Gilgamesh‘

As you drive up through Saham Toney, the road flowing sharply left past St George’s Church and then sharply right again, you drive under one of my favourite trees. It’s a road I follow often, providing a quick route up to King’s Lynn and one of the few sensibly sized exits from Norfolk*.

*For the uninitiated, it’s an absolute bugger to get out of Norfolk going directly west if you have any form of time constraint. There are little roads, sure, but they’re not particularly direct, take time to navigate, and are subject to the whims of any and all kinds of weather; fog, snow, flooding, etc. The quick (and I use this word advisedly in both cases!) exits lead out north-west along the A17 and south-west along the A11.

The road curves to follow along the side of the church, and as it does so, it seems to duck under the low spreading canopy of an old Cedar of Lebanon (Cedrus libani). Branches arch up and across the road, gently cradling and protecting anything passing underneath. The deceptively thick foliage means that these wide branches provide a brief respite from either sun or rain once you’re underneath them.

Despite my fondness for this tree, it seems overly frivolous to assign her a name; her status as a protector is in itself more central to her being than a mere name. There’s a solidity to her, a sense of reliability, of stability that transcends time.

She’s a native of the hot, dry climes of Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey. I wonder how she came here and how she feels about it. It must be strange to come from hot dry heat and sienna hues and find yourself in the damp green of rural Norfolk. Even in a heatwave, the humidity is so higher than she must be used to. Her home is in the Taurus mountains of the south-eastern Mediterranean, and the land here is just so flat. Although the church is at the top of a slight rise, she must wish for the lofty peaks and cooling breezes of her native land. How isolated must she feel in this strange land?

And yet, her branches reach out, striving for a closer connection with the people around her, striving for a concrete link with her environment. But, how many people have walked or driven underneath her without ever noticing her presence as something more than a green backdrop? How many passers by even realise she’s there? How many fewer realise that she’s not a native tree? That she’s a visitor to our land?

Well, I see her. I feel the connection she’s so desperate for. I greet her as I drive by, admire the jaunty upwards curve at the tips of her boughs, her deep, dark green, and the sturdy brown cones starting to appear, scattered through her topmost reaches.

Maybe she does need a name … I think perhaps Maryam might suit. An Arabic version of Mary, bridging the gap between the Arabic language of her homeland and the faith of the church in whose land she stands. I’ll ask her what she thinks next time I’m up that way.


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Categories : appreciation, belonging, caring, cedar-of-lebanon, connections, creativity, friendship, imagination, kindness, knowledge, learning, moments, nature, Norfolk, observation, positivity, stories, tree

Who needs meditation?

2 11 2024

“A fresh sheet of ice, just after the Zamboni’s laid down its final spray of water, presents the purest vision of possibilities they can imagine. Skates being sharpened over and over and over again are a meditation on perfection. The routines and rituals that surround the rink are a language of dedication in need of no translation.”

NHL Hockey is Back advert, 2013

I have so many variations of this picture in my camera reel that to most people, it would be verging on (if not completely into) the ridiculous. But to me, it’s a representation of countless ‘perfect’ moments.

For me, hockey is my ‘happy place’. It’s the place where everything else just melts away, and there is no stress beyond that involving the game itself. I have spent many an hour cheering on the Nottingham Panthers (and Team GB) and shared the game with hundreds of other people over the years. It’s one of the trips I run at least once a year, and, despite how many times I’ve done it, not one single student has ever had a complaint. Most of them come on every reiteration of the same trip for as long as they can. My sister and I are on a mission to visit all of the hockey rinks in both the Elite League and the NIHL, and may have just come up with plans to see a few games in Europe as well (watch this space …)

I love the spectacle of this beautiful game; we have an amazing DJ who is an absolute expert at building the anticipation, getting the crowd going, at keeping us on a knife edge of excitement for the whole match. When we hosted the World Championships a couple of years ago, his energy, even after a full week of matches, was off the charts! Our mascot, the inimitable Paws, is a testament to how much wiggle it’s possible to create while wearing a giant panther costume. Imagine an Energizer bunny in panther form, and you’re probably still falling a long way short of reality. The music is designed to build an atmosphere, and the lighting turns a simple match into a full-scale event.

But, if I’m honest, I also love the pre-game atmosphere. The calm before the storm if you will. I try to always arrive ridiculously early, and while others are crowding the concourse, getting food, drinks, merchandise, photos, and raffle tickets, I head straight into the arena itself. It’s quiet in there; a few rink staff are drilling mooring holes in the ice, wheeling out the nets, setting up first aid provision, lining up drinks bottles along the benches, and carrying gear around. Music is playing softly, usually something peaceful and calm (unless Ken has had a bad day, in which case it can get a little screamy!) A ring of players are kicking a football around at the far end of the rink, underneath the retired jerseys; the pre-warmies warmup routine. A few fans are dotted around the place, the ones who, like me, are enjoying the calm.

As time ticks along, the arena fills up. More and more people stream through the doors and take their seats. The music kicks up a gear, the lights are dimmed, and the noise levels gradually rise. The occasional voice becomes a hum of conversation.

The players take to the ice for warmups. Suddenly, there’s a different sound; the rasp of skate blades over ice, the scrape of sticks, and the echoing knocks of pucks hitting plexi, or the ring of a near miss against the iron of the net. The players shout encouragement, ridicule, and occasional wind-ups to each other. It’s good-natured at this point. There’s a mesmerising dance of bodies circling first this way and then that as they shoot at the net. They change, they pair up, they run defensive drills. The net minders stretch, contorting impossibly large bodies into poses more suitable for gymnasts.

Warmups end, and the players slowly leave the ice, reluctant to cede possession, it seems. Zambonis circle, smoothing the ice, ready for the main event. There’s a growing sense of anticipation bubbling in the air.

Eventually, Paws brings out his flag, and our players are welcomed to the ice; diving through the gates in a spray of coloured light and ice chips, the celebrated heroes of the hour. They circle, stretching out muscles, line up along the blue lines for the anthem, the puck is dropped, and the game begins.

The rink, and it really doesn’t matter which rink, is one of the only places in the world where I feel like I can take a properly deep breath. I mean, literally – there’s something about the dry chill of the air that makes my sinuses behave properly – but also metaphorically. Inside those walls, nothing else matters but the game.

I feel part of something bigger; connected to all the other people around me in some intangible way. Yes, they’re sometimes irritating. Yes, they take up too much room, shout ‘Shoot!’ at the players, giggle loudly, and ask stupid questions. Some of them even have the audacity to support the wrong team! But they’re all part of it. They’re all part of our community. And when it all goes wrong, as it did for the Panthers last year, they all pull together.

And sometimes we even win!


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Categories : appreciation, belonging, friendship, hockey, kindness, moments, observation, positivity, rink


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