Teach Primary Issue 19.6

www.teachwire.ne t | 23 A llow me to share with you a true story; one that still haunts me every time I hear the breathy Mancunian accent of a certain songwriting legend on the radio... It happened during the late 2000s; I was the relatively new headteacher of a large primary school in Manchester, heading to London with a group of Year 6s. We stopped (again!) at a service station (because, apparently, coach toilets are merely decorative), and I offered to fetch coffee while my colleagues herded the kids to the loos. While paying for said caffeine, I heard a familiar voice behind me and, without turning, I knew right away... it was my hero, Guy Garvey. Now, for the uninitiated, Guy Garvey is the poetic powerhouse behind the band Elbow. Their music had become the soundtrack to my life – and my office. I’d even used their lyrics to teach poetry. So, unusually for me, I was awestruck. I said I was a fan; he was gracious. I told him I used his songs in school to teach poetry. Becoming genuinely intrigued, he leaned in, arms folded, and asked, “Really, which ones?” and, in that moment, two things happened simultaneously. First, a spectacular scenario emerged in my imagination; I could see it all: Guy visiting our school, inspiring children, laughing at my jokes, maybe inviting me round for tea... And, at the very same time, my memory performed a full system shutdown. Instead of being able to name a single song, I stammered, “Erm... that one where the phone rings...” “Oh, ‘The Bones of You’?” he offered gently. “No, it’s not called that!” I shouted (It was – of COURSE it was.). Panicked, I ventured; “It’s from your second album!!” He tried again: “Oh, that is from our second album.” Me: “No, it’s not!” (It is. Oh, the shame!). At this point, he began backing away. He graciously shook my (now very clammy) hand and made his escape, leaving me standing there, robbed of my dignity, my credibility, and a potentially amazing opportunity. So, what went wrong? I knew the songs; I loved the songs. But I’d been listening to them almost exclusively via a streaming service. I’d ‘liked’ tracks, shuffled albums, and rarely looked at the titles or covers. I could sing almost every lyric, but in that moment of high stress, I couldn’t remember a single track title. The knowledge I needed in that moment wasn’t secure; when I needed it most, it just wasn’t there. This, I believe, is a good metaphor for why a knowledge-rich curriculum really matters. We talk a lot about ‘cultural capital’ in education, but this experience brought it home in a very real (very sweaty) way. Cultural capital isn’t just about exposure, it is about secure, retrievable knowledge; about being able to confidently contribute to a conversation, to assert an opinion, to not see your apparent knowledge crumble when your hero asks a simple question. When children are equipped with a solid foundation of knowledge, they’re not just better prepared for exams, they’re better w .teachwire.net | 17 A letter to... This cringeworthy true story will convince you just how important knowledge-rich learning really is, says Iain Lindsell ... Each issueweaskacontributor to penanote theywould love to send Bridget Phillipson and Becky Francis Iain Linsdell is a former headteacher, now a leadership consultant and part-time teacher. VO I C E S prepared for life. They can engage, debate, and grow. They can walk into a room (or a motorway newsagent’s!) and feel like they belong there. This is especially vital for children who haven’t had the benefit of culturally rich upbringings. For them, school might be the only place where they encounter poetry, classical music, or the works of Shakespeare. If we don’t give them this knowledge, we risk leaving them floundering in moments that matter. Guy Garvey once spoke about how his youth was spent in record shops and music venues, places that nurtured his passion and built his knowledge. That immersion gave him confidence, identity, and ultimately, contributed to his career. Our job is to create similar opportunities for our pupils, through a curriculum that doesn’t just skim the surface but dives much more deeply. So, as you complete the curriculum and assessment review, I urge you to remember this: knowledge isn’t elitist, it’s empowering. It is the difference between a child shrinking in silence and one who speaks up with certainty; the difference between a flustered headteacher and one who confidently invites Guy Garvey to school and doesn’t argue with him about his own discography (oh the pain!). Let’s give our children the tools to be confident, curious, and culturally literate. Let’s build a curriculum that sticks – not just streams. Yours, still cringing, Iain