‘20 years ago a student gave me a lesson on the value of strictness’

“Discipline, and the need for it at all, is a moot topic in my view. The best teachers I’ve had simply did not need a discipline policy. They were both well educated in their chosen subject and well prepared for their classes, as well as demonstrating infectious levels of commitment and enthusiasm.

“When all of these are in abundance in the teacher, there’s enough for everyone in the room to get their share. And it is from their small individual share that students can start building their own store. Once everyone’s focus is on a shared appreciation of the material, nothing else in the room matters any more.”

Almost 20 years ago a student delivered that as her closing argument in a debate on the value of teacher strictness on student learning. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as eloquent then as in my memory now, but this was her message and I learned as much from her as I have from any course I have attended since.

The value to a teacher of any training is limited by how relevant it is to their current needs, and how easily its content can be implemented in their practice. When I heard Bríd at that debate I was in the early days of my career and I needed the benefit of her insights; after all she represented those I was trying to reach and connect with.

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In relation to basic expectations, I aim to run a tight ship in my classroom in that I give clear instructions and deadlines and demand that the work is done. By and large it is, and I’m confident that when it is not I’m offered genuine reasons rather than excuses. I rarely chastise my students because they rarely give me reason.

When I do, I make a general “we” statement about the behaviour rather than address an individual student. I zoom out and say “hold on a second, that’s not how we do things here”, but move swiftly on knowing that the student is less likely to re-offend if he feels gratitude towards me rather than humiliation within himself. If the problem continues I speak to the individual pupil one to one, and suggest that I’m feeling the need to involve someone else at school or make contact with their home.

We can talk any talk we like, but youngsters are shrewd enough to know that it is how we walk that actually counts

How the student responds always sheds some light on the situation and I rarely need to contact anyone else. And when I do, whether it be parents, guardians, year head or senior management, it is with the student’s knowledge and consent, as students are always very clear on who they do not want me to contact. It pays off to respect their wishes on that. Above all, we teachers are collaborators in our students’ learning.

I generally have mutually respectful interactions with the students in my school, many of whom I never actually teach. This has very little to do with the kind of teacher I am. All of us who work in schools, within and beyond the classrooms, are role models for young people. How we interact as colleagues and co-workers sends clear messages to the students. How we treat each other demonstrates the kind of people we are. We can talk any talk we like, but youngsters are shrewd enough to know that it is how we walk that actually counts.

Schools which value their auxiliary staff teach essential lessons in life and leadership. The more a school values commitment to hearing the diverse voices within its community, the more powerful it is in responding to changing needs. Any school which underestimates the key role played by those who work to maintain it misses rich insights into its students’ conduct. Those who clean up the mess and repair the damage can assist in identifying behaviours which need eliminating. Personnel on the ground clocking up mileage while we teachers are stationary in our classrooms are an asset to a school.

Students are on the lookout when they are where they are not supposed to be, and so they always know who has seen them. In schools where all staff work together, students need to work very hard to go unnoticed in their misdemeanours.

The subtle choices I make around the school help me to avoid discipline issues. When I’m alone on a corridor or staircase and meet a pupil I always greet them. Some volunteer a confident “hello” back, often using my name, others are slower to respond and can’t hide their surprise.

And there are some who can be so shocked that they don’t answer in time. They might wonder if I’ve made a mistake. That greeting acknowledges that at the moment we pass I see us as two members of a shared community. Students are always ready for the hello the next time, many even dare to initiate it.

A school day offers me an average of six class periods and a similar number of learning opportunities such as this. While I can only ever teach about 25 per cent of our school’s population in any given year, I can lay the foundations of respectful relationships with the other 75 per cent.

The lasting legacy of Bríd’s words during that debate testifies to her wisdom beyond her years. She pointed out the importance of knowing where our focus lies, and that where it lies decides a lot of the rest. To focus on discipline makes it about discipline, and to focus on learning makes it about learning. To focus on an individual makes it about him, to focus on respect makes it about respect.

All those years ago Bríd trained my focus on discipline to where it should be. She taught me that teachers stand a better chance of inspiring students through teaching than through banging on about discipline.