Hugh Reilly: Teacher scrappage scheme a way out on road to retirement

Published on Tuesday 16 June 2009 19:25

WHEN I turn the ignition key of my 1998 Rover, the blue puffs of smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe and the pounding diesel knock of the engine gives me insight to what it must have been like driving a second-hand Soviet tractor across the nationalised wheat fields of the steppes.

Gordon Brown would like me to scrap my British banger but, frankly, I do not wish to be the proud owner of a brand new, depreciating vehicle.

I do, however, wish to be considered for the teacher scrappage scheme proposed by Tony Finn, the chief executive of the General Teaching Council for Scotland. Speaking at a GTCS conference on professionalism, he suggested an exit route scheme for older teachers that would allow the profession "to grant a bus pass to some of our own tired models and to replace them with fresh new ones who are currently waiting patiently to be used (on the journey to excellence)".

Perhaps we can put his ageist comments down to a "senior moment". After all, Tony is 59, on the cusp of qualifying for concessionary travel and a target for cold-calling sales pitches from thrusting Saga representatives. Being almost three score years, he is of an age where life assurance adverts featuring Michael Parkinson suddenly appear interesting.

The mighty Finn said the new curriculum reform was "a welcome professional opportunity for some teachers; for others, it appears to be a bridge too far".

Having sat through two in-service days of Curriculum for Ignorance, I place myself firmly in the latter category. By standing in front of a class, I'm condoning an education system that considers knowledge somewhat pass.

Mr Gradgrind was wrong: it's not about facts, it's about learning skills. Imbuing a kid with knowledge is no longer a teacher's role. Sir's job is to offer experiences and outcomes that will lead to children becoming effective contributors, successful learners, responsible citizens and confident dolts, sorry, individuals.

The architects of the new curriculum envisage classrooms morphing into episodes of The South Bank Show where Sir arranges his young charges in circle time fashion and stimulates debate regarding current geopolitical events. Wullie strokes his imaginary beard as he questions Netanyahu's endgame, while Senga critically evaluates North Korea's nuclear weapon strategy. All the while, Erchie draws a poster of what he claims is a ballistic missile but eerily resembles a male appendage (not to scale).

But hey, the new curriculum is about kids having fun. A fiftysomething, burned-out dominie may possess a degree awarded by a traditional university at a time when less than 10 per cent of the population went on to Higher education, but he is nothing if not a team player, and thus slips seamlessly into his new role of classroom CEO – Childrens' Entertainments Officer. Putting his rather cynical view to one side, he agrees to attend the book-burning festivals that will be part of the new school calendar, the tomes replaced by pupil-friendly coloured pencils and interactive whiteboard games.

To enhance the entertainment value, there are to be no pesky external assessments for kids deemed to be non-academic. The visionary plan is they leave the state school system after 11 years of education clutching the results of cost-free, wee tests marked by their class teacher.

Admittedly I'm speculating, but it must surely be only a matter of time before the countries of the new economic order – India, China, Brazil – ditch their antiquated knowledge-based systems and copy Scotland's revolutionary curriculum.

Thank God I'm on the highway to retirement. In my opinion, the Curriculum for Excellence is the road to oblivion, a journey into madness. I confidently predict that this faddish mismash will be abandoned within a decade and replaced by a curriculum with a modicum of integrity.