THE INFANT SCHOOL OF TO-DAY
Taking neither the best nor the worst, but the average school of to-day,
it will be profitable to review shortly where it stands, to consider how
far it has learnt the lessons of experience, and what kind of ideal it
has set before itself.
In externals there have been many improvements. Modern buildings are
better in many ways; there is more space and light, and the surroundings
are more attractive. Most of the galleries have disappeared, but the
furniture consists chiefly of dual desks, fixed and heavy, so that the
arrangement of the room cannot be changed. The impression given to a
visitor is that it is planned for listening and answering, except in the
Baby Room, where there are generally light tables and chairs, and
consequently no monotonous rows of children, unless a teacher arranges
them thus from sheer habit. In each room is a high narrow cupboard about
one quarter of the necessary size for all that education demands; most
education authorities provide some good pictures, but the best are
usually hung on the class-room wall behind the children, and all are
above the children's eye level. "Oh, teacher, my neck do ache!" was the
only appreciative remark made by a child after a tour made of the school
pictures, which were really beautiful.
As a rule the windows are too high for the children to see from, and
the lower part is generally frosted. In a new school which had a view up
one of the loveliest valleys in Great Britain, the windows were of this
description; the head of the school explained that it was a precaution
in case the children might see what was outside; in other words, they
might make the mistake of seeing a real river valley instead of
listening to a description of it.
In country schools of the older type the accommodation is not so good,
but the newer ones are often very attractive in appearance, and have
both space and light. The school garden is a common feature in the
country, and it is to be regretted so few even of the plot description
are to be found in town schools.
Of late years the apparatus has improved, though there is still much to
be done in this direction. Instead of the original tiny boxes of gifts
we have frequently real nursery bricks of a larger and more varied
character, and many other nursery toys. One of the best signs of a
progressive policy is that large numbers of _little_ toys have taken the
place of the big expensive ones that only an occasional child could use.
It is a pity that the use of toys comes to so sudden an end, and that
learning by this method does not follow the babies after they have
officially ceased to be babies, as is the custom in real life.
One of the most striking changes for the better is the evidence of care
of the children's health, of which some of the external signs are
doctor, nurse and care committee. A sense of responsibility in this
respect is gradually growing in the schools; a fair number provide for
sleep, a few try to train the children to eat lunch slowly and
carefully, and some try to arrange for milk or cod-liver oil in the case
of very delicate children. Though these instances are very much in the
minority, they represent a change of spirit. This is one of the striking
characteristics of the new Education Bill. A legacy from the old
formalism lies in the fact that every room has a highly organised
time-table, except perhaps in the Babies' Room, where the children's
actual needs are sometimes considered first. The morning in most classes
is occupied with Scripture, Reading, Arithmetic, Writing, and some less
formal work, such as Nature lesson or Recitation; some form of Physical
Exercise is always taken. The afternoons are mostly devoted to Games,
Stories, Handwork and Singing: this order is not universal, but the
general principle holds, of taking the more difficult and formal
subjects in the morning. In the Babies' Room some preparation for
reading is still too frequent. The lessons are short and the order
varied, but in one single morning or afternoon there is a bewildering
number of changes. Some years ago the unfortunate principle was laid
down in the Code, that fifteen minutes was sufficient time for a lesson
in an Infant School, and though this is not strictly followed the
lessons are short and numerous, giving an unsettled character to the
work; children appear to be swung at a moment's notice from topic to
topic without an apparent link or reason: for example, the day's work
may begin with the story of a little boy sent by train to the country,
settled at a farm and taken out to see the _cow_ and the _sow_: soon
this is found to be a reading lesson on words ending in "ow," but after
a short time the whole class is told quite suddenly, that one shilling
is to be spent at a shop in town, and while they are still interested in
calculating the change, paints are distributed, and the children are
painting the bluebell. The whole day is apt to be of this broken
character, which certainly does not make for training in mental
concentration, or for a realisation of the unity of life. Some teachers
still aim at correlation, but in a rather half-hearted way: others have
entirely discarded it because of its strained applications, but nothing
very definite has taken its place.
The curriculum which has been given is varied in character, and
sometimes includes a "free period." Except in the Babies' Class the
three R's occupy a prominent place, and children under six spend
relatively a great deal of time in formal subjects, while children
between six and seven, if they are still in the Infant School, are
taught to put down sums on paper, which they could nearly always
calculate without such help. As soon as a child can read well, and work
a fair number of sums on paper, he is considered fit for promotion, and
the question of whether he understands the method of working such sums,
is not considered so important as accuracy and quickness. The test of
so-called intelligence for promotion is reading and number, but it is
really the test of convenience, so that large numbers of children may be
taught together and brought, against the laws of nature, to a uniform
standard.
This poison of the promotion and uniformity test works down through the
Infant School: it can be seen when the babies are diverted from their
natural activities to learn reading, or when they are "examined": it can
be seen when a teacher yields up her "bright" children to fill a few
empty desks, it can be seen in the grind at reading and formal
arithmetic of the children under six, when weary and useless hours are
spent in working against nature, and precious time is wasted that will
never come back. Yet we _say_ we believe that "Children have their youth
that they may play," and that "Play is the purest, most spiritual
activity of man at this stage" [childhood].
The lack of any clear aim shows itself in the fluid nature of the term
"results"; to some teachers it signifies readiness for promotion, or a
piece of work that presents a satisfactory external appearance, such as
good writing, neat handwork, an orderly game, fluent reading. To others
it means something deeper, which they discover in some chance remark of
a child's that marks the growth of the spirit, or the awakening of the
interest of a child whose development is late, or the quickened power of
a child to express; or evidence of independent thought and the power to
use it, in some piece of handwork, or appreciation of music or
literature. According to the meaning attached to the term "results" so
the method of the teacher must vary; but one gets the general impression
that in this respect matters are in a transitional state; the first kind
of teacher is always a little uncertain of her ground and a little
fearful that she is not quite "up-to-date," while the second class of
teacher is sometimes a little timid, and not quite sure that she is
prepared to account for the rather subtle and intangible outcome of her
work.
The same transitional character holds in the case of discipline: while
what is known as "military" discipline still prevails in many schools,
there are a very fair number with whom the grip has relaxed; but it is a
courageous teacher that will admit the term "free discipline" which has
nearly as bad a reputation as "free thought" used to have, and few are
prepared to go all the way. Probably the reason lies in the vagueness of
the meaning of the term, and the fact that its value is not clearly
realised because it is not clearly understood. Teachers have not faced
the question squarely: "What am I aiming at in promoting free
discipline."
Taking a general view of the present school, one gets the impression of
a constant change of activity on the part of the children, but very
little change of position, a good deal of provision for general class
interest, but little for individual interest; of less demand than
formerly for uniformity of results, but the existence of a good deal of
uniformity of method, arresting the teacher's own initiative; of very
constant teaching on the part of the teacher and a good deal of
listening and oral expression on the part of the children, of many
lessons and little independent individual work. Below all this there is
evident a very friendly relationship between the teacher and the
children, a good deal of personal knowledge of the children on the part
of the teacher, and a good deal of affection on both sides. There is
less fear and more love than in the earlier days, less government and
more training, less restraint and more freedom. And the children are
greatly attached to their school.
From consideration of the foregoing summary it will be seen that
education in the Infant School is a thing of curious patches, of
strength and weakness, of light and shade; perhaps the greatest weakness
is its lack of cohesion, of unification: on the one hand we find much
provision for the children's real needs, much singleness of purpose in
the teacher's work, such a genuine spirit of whole-hearted desire for
their education: on the other hand, an unreasoning sense of haste, of
pushing on, of introducing prematurely work for which the children
admittedly are unready; an acceptance of new things on popular report,
without scientific basis, and a lack of courage to maintain the truth
for its own sake, in the face of so-called authority, and a craving to
be modern. At the root of all this inconsistency and possibly its cause,
is the lack of a guiding policy or aim, the lack of belief in the
scientific or psychological basis of education, and consequently the
want of that strong belief in absolute truth which helps the teacher to
pass all barriers.