I've done more than my fair share of school visits over the past few years. I've been very lucky, because the Doctor Who connection always gets a lot of interest, especially from primary schools. But sometimes a secondary school has a useful link too - a librarian who is a big fan, or a Science Week or a special open day.
My last blog piece was about how I am contacted for school visits and the background to the whole thing. So, what happens when I get there? Ideally, this.
THE LOVELY EXPERIENCE
I arrive at Lovelyton, having had a superbly relaxing train journey during which I was able to enjoy a cup of coffee and a croissant. At the station, I'm either met by a smiling member of staff - probably the one I have been liaising with by phone and email - or a taxi is very easy to find. When I arrive at school, I'm shown the staff room, offered a cup of coffee and pointed in the direction of the Gents should I need it. I'm informed that the books I ordered have arrived and have been set up on a stand in the hall - or that the bookshop we are liaising with will be sending someone in later. I then have about fifteen minutes to set up my laptop in the hall, ably aided by an IT technician who knows the vagaries of the school projector, computer network configuration and sound levels. The presentation is all ready when the pupils file in, well-behaved but not zombie-like, excited but not too rowdy. They've already been registered, so no time is wasted there. The head, assistant head, librarian or other member of staff gives me a short, enthusiastic introduction, they all clap and I begin forty-five minutes of enthralling presentation, during which all my videos and sound work wonderfully, everyone can hear me, and everyone listens attentively.
After the talk, I answer between ten and twenty original and interesting questions, although I don't mind a few old favourites like 'How long does it take to write a book?', or 'What was the first book you read?' Even though I've answered these hundreds of times, they are still new for this lot, after all! I read a bit from one of my books, to wild applause. After this, I get a coffee-break in the staff-room, during which the oldest member of staff tells me that he/she can remember seeing the first episode, the ones who are about my age reminisce about Tom Baker or Peter Davison, and the one in her mid-20s apologises for not having grown up with it. (This will soon change. Many children who watched Christopher Eccleston regenerate into David Tennant in 2005 are already old enough to be trainee teachers.) They also ask about Shadow Runners, and some of them have even bought it.
If I'm doing the Doctor Who Quiz, it usually happens now - teams are smoothly organised and it provides another forty minutes of entertainment. We then do the book-signing, at which I sign and sell about 20 copies of each book, and everyone is happy.
After a nutritious lunch at the school canteen, I am shown where I will be doing my writing workshops. These go very well, with the children all answering my questions intelligently and creatively, and producing some wonderfully imaginative pieces of writing of which the teachers are very proud. I leave at the end of the day, with the cheque in my pocket and the knowledge of a job well done.
I arrive home, tired but satisfied, to my lovely family and an evening meal with a glass of wine, and get a good evening's rest.
On the other hand - and I stress nothing has ever gone this badly, it's just a conflation of lots of different experiences:
THE HORRORVILLE VISIT
I arrive, sweating and fraught, because my train was delayed and I had to wait ages for a taxi. I have not had my coffee, and I have a headache. I'm greeted by a hassled-looking member of staff to whom I am not introduced. 'I hope you don't mind,' he/she says, 'but we've invited the local infant school in as well. They really wanted to come.' I ask about books, but they don't seem to know what I'm talking about. (I later find out there was a mix-up with the order.) I am thrust into a hall already packed full of expectant children, and have to perform embarrassing technical gymnastics with trailing wires to set my computer up, while they all watch me in gimlet-eyed silence. My computer does not work. Eventually, one of the Year 6 pupils takes pity on me and comes and does it all for me, while the head teacher invites everyone to pray for me before introducing me as David Blythe, or possibly Dan Brown - or simply turns to me and says, 'I'm sorry, what was your name again?'
I manage the best presentation I can do in the circumstances, although my laptop decides to switch itself off and do random updates in the middle. Two of the infants cry, and two older boys start a fight and have to be removed. I finish to muted applause. Questions are coaxed out of the children, most of whom don't watch Doctor Who, have never read Shadow Runners or Emerald Greene and haven't heard of me. I am asked if I am rich, and what kind of car I drive. Afterwards in the staff room, I am ignored and left to find my own coffee. The afternoon workshops don't go very well, because I have a lot of reluctant readers and a large contingent who need extra help with language. I ask what goes at the start of a great story - the usual answers being mystery, suspense, intrigue, questions, whose story is it, where is it set - and the one answer I get is: 'A capital letter.' I realise with a heavy heart - and not without sympathy - that the school is under great pressure to get as many grade Cs as possible at GCSE, and that the dreaded VCOP has been drilled into them (Vocab, Openers, Connectives, Punctuation - I can never remember it, because I hate it, and had to look it up just then). The even more dreaded expression 'wow words' raises its ugly head. In the office at the end of the day, I'm told I can't be paid yet because I didn't produce proof in triplicate that I am self-employed. I bite my tongue to stop myself asking if they would like to see my biscuit bill, my Facebook records or my running score on Ken Bruce's Popmaster.
I find my way back to the station in the rain. It is getting dark and my train is diverted via Crewe. I get home at 8pm to an empty, dark house, because my family have all gone swimming.
THE TRUTH
Well, it obviously lies somewhere in between - and you could argue that a lot of the above could be down to bad planning. I've certainly learnt a few lessons about that over the years.
Most of the time it's Lovelyton, if I'm honest. My school visits have brought me into contact with hundreds of hardworking, dedicated staff and bright, enthusiastic pupils. Even working with the reluctant readers can pay off - the excitement of getting someone to read for pleasure when they would not normally is really very special. (And if things don't go quite to plan - which is inevitable - we normally find a way round it and it doesn't spoil the day.)
The importance of these school visits, which I and hundreds of other writers for children and young people do, cannot be stressed enough. In these days of ever-tighter Government control over the curriculum and frazzled teachers forced, against their will and their natural talents, to 'teach to the exam', it's hugely valuable and enjoyable for children and young people to have a day off the timetable where they do something different, creative and imaginative. When you ask a child later in life what they remember most about 'doing writing' in school, it will be depressing if all they come up with is 'using punctuation'. I'd like to think it might be 'we had that writer in, and he was a bit mad and a bit nerdy about Doctor Who, but I liked him. And we did some stuff we wouldn't normally do, and it made me go away and read some books I'd never heard of before.'
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| South Craven School's fantastic home-made Dalek, displayed at their Science Evening. |
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| TARDIS built by the talented Bruce Sharp, shown here at Wetherby High School to celebrate the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who in November 2013. |
