Category Archives: Education

The March of Time

When I was a child I attended a number of schools that had outside toilets, dip pens and inkwells. One had central heating that ran through large pipes and Victorian radiators and the others had pot-bellied stoves. They also had school cooks and kitchens that prepared fresh food every day, disposing of the waste in pig bins. In 1978 we finally moved to a school with modern heating and inside toilets. That coincided with a general downturn in the moral fibre of the nation, though I don’t suppose it was caused by the provision of indoor plumbing for children.

However, we’re talking about 1963, and even by the standards of the day it was a bit of a museum piece. It was very much like this. It also had a flogging headmaster (who eventually got 4 years for inappropriate behaviour with girl pupils) and a map of the world. The map is the point of the story – it was mainly coloured red and pre-dated the the partition of India.

Moving on by 50 years, two of the group are going to South Africa on holiday so we did a jigsaw of Africa today. It’s a bit old as it belonged to our kids, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how things had changed.

On the school map (yes, there was a point to that preamble) we had places like Basutoland, Southern Rhodesia and Tanganyika. By the time the jigsaw was made these were Lesotho, Zimbabwe and Tanzania.

However, when we started the jigsaw it became clear that things had changed in Africa, even in the lifetime of my kids. As we pieced together Zaire, Upper Volta and the Somali Republic I realised how dated the puzzle was. When we had used the internet to identify African countries in the morning these had been Democratic Republic of Congo,  Burkina Faso and Somalia. Fortunately nobody noticed the changes.

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Just shows how things change, and how much there is to learn. I’m just hoping nobody goes on holiday to Eastern Europe, because I’ve never been able to catch up with what happened to Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia.

 

 

 

 

Back to school

Last night, when we double-checked everything ready for the school breakfast presentation this morning, we found we’d miscalculated. It wasn’t 300 children, it was 600. As a result we had to go through all the breakfast samples we had and divide them in half. We were still able to feed a multitude without recourse to loaves and fishes, and our outputs are going to look immense this year.

We left 600 happy children behind us, most of whom (according to their answers) have either cereal or waffles for breakfast. It’s a lot  better than a class we asked a couple of years ago who all seemed to have Nutella on toast.

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It could have been worse, I once turned up with a lesson designed for 11-year-olds and gave it to a class of 7-year-olds. According to the teachers, it makes a difference. In my own defence, I didn’t realise they were that young, I just thought they were smaller than usual. Or possibly far away.

Short post today – I’m feeling lazy. We’re on the farm now but after the school stuff, lunch, admin and blog it’s time to weight the polytunnel down again (we have the end of Storm Jonas passing by at the moment) and go home while it’s still light.

I’m using a stock photo because we forgot to organise photographic permission for the school this morning – oh for the simple days when all you needed was a camera.

 

 

 

It’s Breakfast week

I suppose every week is breakfast week for some of us. But 32% of children go to school without breakfast even in a developed country like the UK.

In Wales they have a scheme intended to provide access to school breakfasts for all children. Provision for the rest of the nation relies on individual councils.

It’s tempting to bring some missionary zeal to the idea of breakfast for all children, particularly after seeing projects like Mary’s Meals but it’s expensive and I’m not 100% sure that we should be doing it. Having a family is like having a dog, don’t have one unless you can look after it.

So, eat breakfast because it’s good for you. And make sure you make your kids eat breakfast (though I believe bloggers will already be doing this).

If you aren’t already giving your kids breakfast all you need to do is chuck them a cereal bar – how difficult can it be?

As part of the week’s events we are going to talk to two school assemblies tomorrow. Three hundred children. I don’t like public speaking at the best of times but holding the attention of that many kids is going to be tricky.

I’ve heard people say they would rather die than speak in public. I wouldn’t go that far, even though I really do loathe it, but I’m thinking that if Julia organises anything like this again I might just kill her.

 

 

Community Apple Pressing and an Apple Gadget

Since the intervention of the AA the car hasn’t missed a beat and, in the way of intermittent faults, if the fault won’t show itself the garage can’t correct it. At the moment I’m driving round trusting to luck and hoping this faultless performance continues until I can get back to the garage on Tuesday. It may be more sensible to leave it in the garage until then but the reality is that at £10 each on the bus, or £30 in a taxi, it makes economic sense to drive to work.

It was Community Apple Pressing Day today again, and we had a variety of people discussing apples, neighbours, juicing, pigs, compost, rugby and recycling containers. That’s Community for you – always plenty to talk about.

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By the end we had 55 big bottles and 45 small ones. I make that 52 litres. It isn’t much compared tothe 90 gallon capability claimed for the large press but allowing time for talking and pasteurising it too plenty of time. Producing juice, it must be said, is the easiest bit of the process with an industrial size scratter. Cleaning, sorting, washing equipment, sterilising bottles and pasteurising all seem to be endless tasks compared to the simple act of tipping apples into a machine and pressing the juice from the pulp.

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Juklia bought me an Apple Master – it peels, cores and makes the apple into a spiral all at the same time. I’m not sure what its practical use is but it’s great for engaging people. She is a wonderful woman and I’m lucky to have her. (That’s a voluntary statement – she didn’t tell me to say it!)

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Flintham Ploughing Match – as good as it gets

IMG_5897 IMG_5899 IMG_5888 IMG_5833I’ve just had an unexpected day off, due to the return of an intermittent fault in the car. Thanks to the AA I had a quick check, a diagnosis and an escort to my local garage. They are currently up to their eyes in it so it’s a case of keeping my fingers crossed that they can get me back on the road tomorrow.

This has just highlighted a deficiency in the English language. There don’t seem to be any degrees of intermittency. Mittent does appear in the dictionary but it’s listed as an obsolete term to do with emitting. Ideally I’d be here telling you that I had an intermittent fault of increasing mittency that eventually became almost mittent.

Instead I’ll just have to say that I had an intermittent fault that reappeared this morning, becoming so frequent that at one time we could only limp along 25 yards at a time.

There was a time that I’d have made the most of it, but I now find myself content to avoid the housework and nod off in front of daytime TV. Seems like I’m going to have to face facts – this is “the most of it” these days.

As I was being escorted back to the garage by the AA we left Julia by the side of the road with a pile of bags. She, it seems, is irreplaceable, so they sent a car down from the show to pick her up. They were content to let me have the day off, but I’m trying not to read too much into that.

She had a good day, supported by most of the Quercus group, who always turn out to support us at Flintham and Open Farm Sunday. She was visited all day by schoolkids who remembered their visits to the farm, so we must be doing something right. She also had a number of enquiries from schools wanting to visit next year. All in all it seems to have been a good day.

I spoke too soon, and am served more lemons…

Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.

Proverbs 16:18

Oh yes, it does!

Not only was I wrong in thinking I was done with paperwork for a while (or “paperwork”, I suppose, seeing it is actually on a flash drive) but the task I was given has a distinct tang of citrus about it.

New job – sort out the database. I use the term loosely. It’s nearly 500 addresses. Four hundred are in alphabetical order by forename and the other 100 have merely been written in as we obtained them. I used it last week and found that we had 48 emails returned as undeliverable.

I have removed some, corrected others and after wasting several hours I now have a list of addresses that are probably accurate. They are, however, still sorted in a most peculiar way…

On a more interesting note we have done bark rubbings, picked apples, seen the new Polish bantams (hatched from our own hatching eggs by a local school in July) and carried on the preparations for the Education Tent at Flintham Ploughing Match (though we’re monitoring rainfall in case it gets rained off).

We also have a mystery on our hands, having had three birds delivered on Saturday and only having two in the run by Monday. We’re either looking for fox with opposable thumbs, a bantam with a shovel or a Chicken Rustler. Chicken Rustling is uncommon round here, but as the other two are close to impossible I’m having to follow Conan Doyle ( “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”) and put up a Wanted poster.

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Julia with camera-shy Polish bantam

Cynicism…

According to the stats provided by WordPress, Wednesday at 6 am was my best posting time. This has altered to Tuesday, but 6 am remains the same. It’s 17.55 now, so I’m just about on time. Whether it will make a jot of difference I don’t know, but I just can’t help myself. I blame it on Twitter an the endless quest for more followers (672 @QuercusCommy if anyone is interested).

I made the willow water today, with help from two of the group. It’s now standing next to the comfrey feed (which is now looking distinctly murky). A word to anyone thinking of making willow water – I’m going to try a big knife and cutting board next time as neither scissors nor secateurs seem to work well on soft twiggy material. I’m also going to use a wide necked jar. It’s good to re-use plastic bottles but the effort of loading a bottle with inch long bits of twig into an empty Coke bottle isn’t really worth it.

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That’s two part of the four part plan in action. The bottle is waiting for a suitable courgette. All I need to do now is form some more plans, and let’s face it, that isn’t difficult. Go to any committee meeting in the world and you will find there are always plenty of people with plans, but not many willing to put any work in.

On the school front, I’m getting more efficient and actually looking forward to the Friday visit as I have, for once, tied all the loose ends up. We’ve also had another enquiry from a school that has never visited before, so our marketing seems to be working. I’m quite excited about both these visits, and I’m also happy about the way the Chive Blossom Vinegar has worked out. Now I just need to find out how to use it.

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We just had an email as I was writing this. I suppose it’s a case of pride coming before a fall because I’ve been so happy about new visits and bookings. After spending the best part of four months arranging for a school visit (spread over two days), after spending hours with the teacher and giving her pre-visit materials she has just told us, with two week’s notice, that they aren’t coming. We actually lost a possible three day booking because someone wanted one of the days and we will both be losing two day’s work because we are paid to deliver the sessions. And not paid when we don’t deliver them.

Sound effects of ranting, gnashing, grinding and being told to be quiet by wife…

Such is life. I have better things to do than allow regrets and idiots to rule my life.

Meanwhile, using my 20th Century in a week analogy, we have just reached 1952. The Second World War is receding as a memory, rationing is winding down (though it will still be a factor when my parents marry in this year, my father and father-in-law are both back from Korea (one bringing a Japanese bride and one to marry his childhood sweetheart) and we have a new Queen.

My father-in-law will stay in the Navy to complete his 25 years and my father will leave after completing seven years, apply for a job with Marks & Spencer and be turned down because he is wearing suede shoes.

Suede shoes eh? How times change!

Worms, wrens and Kenyans

Yesterday didn’t seem like a particularly eventful sort of a day until I pressed the “Publish” button. We waved off the 22 six-year-olds. We had an argument about me sighing as they went. (Julia thinks they are delightful at that age: I believe they are a minor manifestation of the chattering imps of Hell). They never stop twittering, they think they are here just to fill the pockets of their friends with gravel (which I then have to sweep out of the building) and people try to make me feel guilty if I attempt to impose discipline. Despite this I do believe that my two orderly queues for the microscope and wormery worked better than the method where they all pile in and the front ones refuse to move. And then (for I must remove myself from this digression) we started on paperwork.

This involved emails, pieces of tatty A4 paper (my contribution), forms, labels and excuses (yes, that would be me again).

Julia, despairing of me ever being useful, went to work in the garden, at which point five newly fledged wrens flew out of one of the less used compost bins. She called me and I went for a look. They were great little things and squeaked a lot instead of giving the normal scolding calls you get from wrens. They flitted about from rhubarb to blackcurrant to hedge and  to fence post. I have a good selection of blurred photos of greenery and some really good studies of fence posts, but apart from a couple of brown blurs I don’t have a picture of a wren. So I suppose not all young squeaky things are bad.

Next we had a visit from Mojatu, picking up some stuff from the weekend. It’s impossible not to feel happy with them around. Even the most serious of them laughs more in an hour than I do in a week.

Finally, just as we were leaving we were called over to rescue a remarkably stupid chicken that has hatched a chick in the pig pens. It’s black so we’re pretty sure who the father is.

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It’s all go.

So, after capturing an escaped sheep and several other jobs, I am finally posting this at 11.00 am on the day after the events occurred. There will be more tonight. I’m beginning to feel like the Laws of Time do not exist for me.

72 hours

In theory I have 114 hours left before we begin Open Farm Sunday. However, as I need to sleep, eat, cook, shop, collect one of the kids from Sheffield and break off to answer queries from members of the public and farm staff  it’s likely that I have only 72 hours, or even less, to produce a stunningly informative display on modern farming. I have a broken printer and a laminator that regularly pleats the paper and things are not looking good.

To add to my general feeling of forthcoming disaster we’ve just had a meeting (and you know what I feel about them) and we’re now doing the Health and Safety stuff. That’s like a meeting but with the additional point that plants become hazards (poison and thorns), animals can give you nasty diseases and even the ground we walk on can leap up and break your ankle. It’s a dangerous old world out there. I hate to think what it would be like if we ever reintroduced wild boar or bears.

You may of course be asking yourself why I’m writing this instead of getting on with work, but the question contains it’s own answer. Most things are better than work, and blogging certainly beats typing up notes on growing wheat. If you ploughed up Wembley Stadium, which wouldn’t be a bad thing in my opinion, you could grow enough wheat to make a sandwich for every member of a capacity crowd. The only problem there is that if you grew wheat on the field you wouldn’t get a capacity crowd. Nobody has spotted that so far.

Now, this is possibly an interesting fact when you first hear it, but I’ve heard it more than once now. I’ve also told them that one of our fields will produce wheat to make two pancakes for every inhabitant of Nottingham and made various other calculations based on the towns and schools that people come from. Using information off the internet I even calculated that the woodland we are planting would absorb the emissions from several thousand cars.

Yes, I did say “using information off the internet”. Some of you will have spotted the flaw there. Garbage in, garbage out, as they say. I repeated an error found in several internet articles and produced a calculation that suggested we could solve the problem of global warming by all planting window boxes. This sounded a bit extreme so I did more research.

It seems I was wrong by a factor of several thousand.

I now have 71 hours left and Tim has just come in to tell me that one of the tents has broken in the wind, specifically the tent I’m supposed to be using at the weekend. Will be back later to put photos on.

Later: one pole is bent and another went through the roof of the tent. It’s fixable but we really could have done without spending the time on it.

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Meanwhile the runner beans are suffering in the wind. I’ll try to save what I can but I’m going to plant replacements in the polytunnel tonight – fortunately I have toilet roll tubes in the back of the car.

That’s probably the oddest closing sentence I’ve ever used.

Lessons all round

We had twenty kids out today to discuss plant growth, plant seeds for cressheads and make butter.

Due to the regulations and fears around taking photos of kids I can’t actually show you a photograph of 29 smiling faces as I didn’t get the right form signed, but believe me – it happened. This was achieved despite the fact that they had been expecting a day out playing on the farm, not the plants growth/sandwich making brief we had been sent.

It’s a shame I was only expecting 20. It meant that we didn’t have enough compressed paper pots for cress heads, so I had to cut some egg boxes up. At that point I was told that Pupil X has an allergy to chickens, which includes eggs and anything that once contained eggs.

Now, allergies are dangerous, and I’ve been taking some training lately so that we don’t kill anyone in the kitchen, but there is a time and place to be told about allergies. The place is not “here” and the time is not “now”.

Time, I think, to reassess our booking procedures, and to look closely at our communication skills!