Firstly, the questions were remarkably unclear and stupid. I'll give you an example. The comprehension text read something like this..."Lucy looked out of her bedroom window across the flat roof of the kitchen beneath which was the water butt, from which she knew she could jump down onto the patio."
The question was, "suggest a reason why Lucy "knew" she could jump down onto the patio."
What answer are they looking for? I couldn't work it out. The best I came up with from looking at the text was that, because the roof is flat, and the water butt is below it, she knew that the architecture of the house was actually a simple staircase. It seemed a little complex to ask an 11 year old to come up with that though so I consulted the answer booklet which informed me that "answers may include - because she has done it before." So the question essentially asks the child to make something up which has nothing to do with the text at all and that the text, in fact, suggests is not the case as the incident is presented as a sudden thought that comes to Lucy.
But this is beside the point as it is not what made me angry, what made me angry was the child I was teaching's innocent responses to the text:
"What's a patio?"
Which was when it struck me. The text, as with many of the other texts, was specifically aimed at a child with some knowledge of the architecture of suburban houses with sculpted gardens. His next question was even worse (as I wasn't sure how accurately I could answer as a city girl)...
"What's a water butt?"
The text was not challenging the child's intelligence but his knowledge of things well beyond his life experience living on the 3rd floor of a tower block in East London. The exam entry tests to schools which are meant to promote a meritocracy where the poorest children can go so long as they are bright was inadvertently (or advertently) putting off such children by choosing such texts.
So what would I do?
How about choosing a text which either alienates all classes of English children in some way or choosing one about a little boy set in a tower block. two examples might be:
Chapter One - John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men
For a moment the place was lifeless, and then two men emerged from the path and came into the opening by the green pool. They had walked in single file down the path, and even in the open
one stayed behind the other. Both were dressed in denim trousers and in denim coats with brass buttons. Both wore black, shapeless hats and both carried tight blanket rolls slung over their shoulders. The first man was small and quick, dark of face, with restless eyes and sharp, strong features. Every part of him was defined: small, strong hands, slender arms, a thin and bony nose. Behind him walked his opposite, a huge man, shapeless of face, with large, pale eyes, and wide, sloping shoulders; and he walked heavily, dragging his feet a little, the way a bear drags his paws. His arms did not swing at his
sides, but hung loosely. The first man stopped short in the clearing, and the follower nearly
ran over him. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat-band with his forefinger and snapped the moisture off. His huge companion dropped his blankets and flung himself down and drank from the surface of the green pool; drank with long gulps, snorting into the water like a horse. The small man stepped nervously beside him.
"Lennie!" he said sharply. "Lennie, for God' sakes don't drink somuch." Lennie continued to snort into the pool. The small man leaned over and shook him by the shoulder. "Lennie. You gonna be sick like
you was last night." Lennie dipped his whole head under, hat and all, and then he sat
up on the bank and his hat dripped down on his blue coat and ran down his back.
"That's good," he said. "You drink some, George. You take a good big drink." He smiled happily.
George unslung his bindle and dropped it gently on the bank. "I ain't sure it's good water," he said. "Looks kinda scummy."
Lennie dabbled his big paw in the water and wiggled his fingers so the water arose in little splashes; rings widened across the pool to the other side and came back again. Lennie watched them go. "Look,
George. Look what I done."
George knelt beside the pool and drank from his hand with quick scoops. "Tastes all right," he admitted. "Don't really seem to be running, though. You never oughta drink water when it ain't running, Lennie," he said hopelessly. "You'd drink out of a gutter if you was thirsty." He threw a scoop of water into his face and rubbed it about with his hand, under his chin and around the back of his neck.
Then he replaced his hat, pushed himself back from the river, drew up his knees and embraced them. Lennie, who had been watching,imitated George exactly. He pushed himself back, drew up his knees,
embraced them, looked over to George to see whether he had it just right. He pulled his hat down a little more over his eyes, the way George's hat was.
Stephen Kelman, Pigeon English
Some people use their balconies for hanging washing or growing plants. I only use mine for watching the helicopters. It's a bit dizzy. You can't stay out there for more than one minute or you'll turn into an icicle. I saw X-Fire painting his name on the wall of Stockholm House. He didn't know I could see him. He was proper quick and the words still came out dope-fine. I want to write my own name that big but the paint in a can is too dangerous, if you get it on yourself it never washes off, even forever.
The baby trees are in a cage. They put a cage around the
tree to stop you stealing it. Asweh, it's very crazy. Who'd
steal a tree anyway? Who'd chook a boy just to get his
Chicken Joe's?
When Mamma puts her phone on speaker it sounds like they're far away. It makes Papa's voice go proper echoey like he's trapped in a submarine at the bottom of the sea. I pretend like he has one hour of air left, if he doesn't get rescued by then it's all over. It always freaks me out.
I'm the man of the house until Papa escapes. He even said it. It's my duty to look after everything. I told him about my pigeon.
Me: 'A pigeon flew in the window. Lydia was even scared.'
Lydia: 'How! No I was not!'
Me: 'She was. She said his wings were making her crazy. I had to catch him.' I put some flour in my hand and the pigeon landed on it. He was only hungry. I tricked him with the flour. You have to walk proper slow, if you go too fast the pigeon will just get scared and fly off again.
Lydia: 'Hurry up! It's going to bite somebody!'
Me: 'Advise yourself! He only wants to get out. Shut up or you'll scare him.' His feet felt scratchy on my hand like a chicken's. It was lovely. I made him my special pigeon. I made a proper good look at him to remember his colours, then I let him out on the balcony and he just flew away. You don't even need to kill them.
Papa: 'Good work.'
And yes these may be difficult and isolating texts but at least they are fair as they alienate everyone!
And yes these may be difficult and isolating texts but at least they are fair as they alienate everyone!
