Earlier this year I was invited to watch a demonstration maths lesson delivered by a visiting teacher from Shanghai. The lesson was to take place in a Year One classroom. I was interested to see the approach in action, largely because the term “mastery” is bandied around so much these days. It even features in the DfE’s proposed (and highly criticised) changes to the maths ELGs. Whilst the proposed 0-10 focus is warmly welcomed, the focus on automatic recall of abstract number facts and complete removal of Shape, space and measure has been controversial to say the least.
With all this in mind, I was keen to see what this very popular mastery teaching approach looked like in Yr1. I am a trainer and author with a passion for early maths as well as still being a Yr1 teacher myself.
Upon entering the classroom I was greeted by tables in rows, with pencils and worksheets ready. No other resources.
Upon entering the classroom I was greeted by tables in rows, with pencils and worksheets ready. No other resources.
The children came in and sat down ready for their lesson in silence. The teacher demonstrating began a call and response type session based around bonds to 10. This could soon be the national expectation for our 4 year olds. Some children readily recalled the facts, others copied friends, some moved lips to attempt looking like they knew what to say, some desperately searched for answers on the walls and some didn’t say anything.
The lesson focussed on a step by step approach to adding through ten. Lots of questions asked, hands went up and were picked for answers. Sometimes correct. Sometimes not. Many never raising hands. Many never chosen.
I found myself sat next to a young man of 5 and a half who we will name *Robbie. Robbie tried to look interested and do what was expected but clearly didn’t understand.
In the silent classroom I found myself doing what I do in my own (definitely not so silent) classroom. I began teaching *Robbie. Scaffolding. Encouraging. Modelling. Explaining. Demonstrating.
I glanced around the room. Some children stifling yawns (have to say have never seen such young children do this). Others completely switched off. Some were engaged. So this wasn’t for everyone. This wasn’t mastery for all. Just a few.
The instructions kept coming and I continued to talk quietly to Robbie, helping him to understand, drawing pictures, talking and explaining. He told me he was so glad it was Friday as he had football tomorrow. I later discovered from his teacher he was a talented footballer.
More instructions and more steps came. More hands went up and questions were answered sometimes correctly, sometimes not. Some children were picked multiple times to answer, explain and demonstrate. Others never asked.
Pencils were picked up and boxes filled in worksheets as a whole group. Power point slides moved through. I kept supporting *Robbie. Encouraging. Scaffolding. Explaining. Teaching.
Pencils were picked up and boxes filled in worksheets as a whole group. Power point slides moved through. I kept supporting *Robbie. Encouraging. Scaffolding. Explaining. Teaching.
Then it happened. Something clicked. He got it. His face lit up. Eyes wide. “Go on! Put your hand up” I whispered. He did. Almost about to burst. He had got it. He knew it. It had clicked.
The demonstrating teacher who had seen me supporting him, glanced over, past us and picked someone who had been picked before. And so it went on. More questions. His hand shot up. Someone else picked. Again and again. Finally the teacher came to our table... and asked the girl next to him. This girl had been listening to our discussions and learning with us too. I saw his body slouch as she gave the answers he had discovered first in the magical moment. The magical moment learning made sense. The moment that wouldn’t have happened without my teaching, my interaction.
That isn’t to criticise the visiting teacher but how could she possibly scaffold in the way I had when at the front of a class of 30?
That isn’t to criticise the visiting teacher but how could she possibly scaffold in the way I had when at the front of a class of 30?
The lesson continued step by step. Worksheet completed. No checking of work. Just filling the forms.
After an hour- yes an hour-an hour of bums on seats listening and chanting with pencils and worksheets, the lesson ended. The teacher praised the children and told them “Well done. Now you can all do (whatever the learning objective was)”. But could they? How could she really say they could? She’d been at the front. She hadn’t been working with individuals. She’d been at the front talking through a process and engaging with some children. What I had seen had benefitted some. But I fail to see how it made many of those children masters of maths.
Now let me be clear here. I’m not criticising this teacher. I’m not criticising maths mastery for older children. Maybe this works back in Shanghai. But we aren’t in Shanghai. We live in a society where many is us have maths anxiety, many of us feel like failures at this essential subject, and where many will openly say “I’m rubbish at maths” and what I saw did little if anything to tackle this crisis. In fact it may even deepen the crisis as young children quickly learn they too are “rubbish” at maths.
So back to the lesson. The many visitors who had observed the session with me were asked to share their feedback with the visiting teacher. Feedback was overwhelmingly positive from these colleagues, many of whom were ks2 experienced maths leads. The observers thought it was amazing how the children learned the procedure. They said the small steps approach was great and could definitely be taken back to their schools for their Year one children. The engagement was amazing some commented. I’m not sure Dr Ferre Laevers would have agreed to be honest if he’d been there using his well being and involvement scales.
So then it came to me for my feedback.
I asked the teacher a simple question;
“Would you do this lesson back in Shanghai with 5 and 6 year olds?”
She smiled, giggled and replied “Oh no that’s far too young. Probably at 7 or maybe 6 the youngest. But not 5. No.”
So why here?
Why are our government advocating (and investing heavily) in an approach for our young children which wouldn’t be used in the place it was developed in? Is this approach to mastery really the way to inspire young minds, build confidence and a solid understanding of a subject which evokes anxiety in so many?
Why are our government advocating (and investing heavily) in an approach for our young children which wouldn’t be used in the place it was developed in? Is this approach to mastery really the way to inspire young minds, build confidence and a solid understanding of a subject which evokes anxiety in so many?