School’s out
Where do excluded pupils learn?
Sharon Donaldson sighs as a boy thrashes at a door and screams. “Why are you so angry today?” she asks. “F--- you,” he shouts back. Sharon shrugs. She’s head teacher of Rosebery, a short-stay school in King’s Lynn, Norfolk, for children who have been permanently excluded. The boy is Harvey. He has been excluded more than 15 times, the last just after his seventh birthday. He is new to Rosebery. Sharon’s seen it all before, and Harvey’s reaction isn’t uncommon.
His story isn’t uncommon either. Figures released last week by the Department for Education show that the number of permanent exclusions have increased in the past year. Some 6,685 children are permanently excluded from school every year – and just under 20 per cent are under 12. A new Channel 4 documentary, Excluded at Seven, follows Rosebery’s students, their behavioural problems, and the gargantuan task the teachers have in trying to correct these problems and make the children fit for school again.
The reasons the pupils – mostly boys – have been excluded from school vary from “I nearly broke a teacher’s back” to “I got the answer wrong and I started hitting everybody”, but they all involve violence to themselves, others or school property. Many involve all three. Sharon and her team work with no more than 14 children at any one time. They’re split into classes of seven, where their behaviour is closely monitored, and each lesson is tailored to their needs. Many of the children who pass through Rosebery have autism or ADHD, so the challenge is to get them to learn their times tables and spelling, as well as to curb their salty language, in the hope that they will find a mainstream school willing to accept them permanently.
One of the major challenges, says Sharon, is the children’s emotional literacy. Getting them to explain how they feel about home and school is much more complicated than it is with other children, and it’s the first step towards getting them to learn. As we tour the two small classrooms, Sharon points out a girl who is terrified of going to senior school next year. By way of bonding, one of the female teachers has been showing her how to style her hair and paint her nails so she won’t feel so isolated at “big school”. During their sessions, the girl has opened up, and the teachers are able to tell her parents what’s bothering her.
At the other end of the age spectrum is a five-year-old boy with severe home problems. “He just can’t explain how he feels. It’s our job to unpick the pieces and put them back together in the right places,” says Sharon. “We do paintings with him. On them we write how he’s feeling.” She shows me one – a bird in purple and green. It says: “I would be happy all the time if I had no worries” and “I would like to be at school more.” It would take some hardness of heart not to feel a tug of sadness.
This is hardly the borstal that some might expect. The astonishing thing about Rosebery is how well-adjusted the pupils seem. As we walk around, a shy child comes and offers fairy cakes as an end-of-term treat, mindful of leaving one for the class teacher.
Teaching empathy and self-control is a core part of the education. “We use reading sessions to chill them out when the class is misbehaving,” says Richard Edmonds, a 6ft 2in man of Churchillian stature who is often used in a kind of bouncer role. What happens when they misbehave? “Sometimes someone has to leave the class, but we’re pretty good at spotting the signs,” he says. Red lights include clenched fists, screwed-up faces or a general sense of momentum gathering. Some like to go outside to cool off, some need to sit in the corner, some on a bean bag.
If they’re behaving really badly they might be sent home, but discipline is consistent and the children know they will be punished for bad behaviour and rewarded for good. This is a key part of the rehabilitation process. “A lot of them feel like the world hasn’t been straight with them, so we’ll always be honest. Anything we do or say has to feel real,” says Sharon. With many of the children suffering from low self-esteem about their work, which the teachers say is often a key component of bad behaviour, it’s all about making them feel safe.
Bespoke packages are provided for the most problematic cases. “There’s a child where domestic violence is involved, and we are moulding the timetable around him,” says Sharon. “Because there are anxieties about leaving mummy, we work round it and also look for the things he’ll succeed in – like cooking. And that way, at the end of the day the child is taking something home for the family.”
One parent who knows how much hard work goes into making these disruptive children behave like choirboys is Mel. Her son, Alfie, is featured in the documentary. Before he arrived at the school he put holes in doors, kicked, punched, and even pulled a family friend down some stairs. “He was a violent, angry, uncontrolled boy,” she explains.
Alfie was seven when he started at the school, and as his ninth birthday nears he is a different boy. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop him having ADHD, but he can now control his feelings. “Society isn’t going to give him any leeway, so I don’t let him use it as an excuse for bad behaviour,” says Mel. In September, he’s starting at a special school. “I don’t know where we would be without Rosebery,” she adds.
Back at the school, the teachers speak warmly of Alfie, emphasising that Mel credits them with making her son feel like himself again. The teachers work long hours to tailor the national curriculum to each child. It’s fairly normal to work a 10-hour day and then do more planning in the evenings, weekends and holidays. But the kind of transformation Alfie underwent makes the job worthwhile. “They’re our pride and joy,” says Julie. “I always cry when they leave.”
The children know that they will have to move on, and departing this familiar environment is seen by the pupils as a mark of growing up. They can decide what kind of leaving party they want, whether it’s a tea party at the school or a trip to Mcdonald’s, and the staff and pupils sing So Long, Farewell as the child leaves. It’s determinedly jolly, and the school is keen to make the transition as exciting as possible, even when people are choking back tears.
As I leave, I ask my taxi driver if Rosebery is well known in the area. “Yeah,” he says. “Those kids all need a good smack.”
Those on the outside may still just see the problem child; but the teachers recognise each pupil’s vulnerability: children with tough exteriors who are shaking like jelly on the inside.
Excluded at Seven is on Channel 4 tonight at 9pm
‘It’s our job to unpick the pieces and put them back together’