I started teaching whole class trumpet by accident. I hadn't read the job description properly for a teaching role I'd applied for, and then when asked whether I'd be willing to give it a go in the interview, I thought, ‘yeah, why not? Teaching only one-to-one pupils is elitist and music needs to be accessible across the board!’ At this point, I took a lot of pride in how good a teacher I thought I was, and how kindness towards your students seemed to guarantee success. Unsurprisingly, the music service took me up on my offer and I soon found myself alone in a boomy school hall, with 27 Key Stage 2 students looking up at me with dented trumpets in their hands.
Without much consideration for how different it would be working with a group, I blindly pushed on with my usual ‘first trumpet lesson’ routine, but my six years of prior teaching experience soon failed me. I was rendered absolutely speechless at just how loud these kids could honk, and quite how unwilling they were to follow instruction, particularly from this new, cheerful trumpet teacher dressed in dungarees and primary colours. I spent the next six months attempting to learn their names, mostly so that I could make futile attempts at holding their attention. These kids taught me that names hold a lot of power: not only is it impossible to single out and discipline a nameless student, but I also couldn't fully recognise and commend their achievements.
There was a certain relief when the pandemic arrived, as I wouldn't have to shout myself hoarse every Friday morning for the foreseeable future, nor would I have to compete with the clarinet class that was, for some reason, taking place in the same room. However, I also wouldn't get to see the joy on that one eternally-confused kid's face as they nailed our rendition of Signed, sealed, delivered, or as the student who usually struggled with concentration seemed genuinely gripped by the lesson. As per the music service's guidance, I sent the class a video every week to follow during their allotted trumpet time, knowing full well that it was unlikely that any of them had access to their trumpets, let alone the freedom to play loudly at home or the time to be creative in the midst of home-schooling overwhelm.
A year and half later, I readied myself to start back in a different school. I'd never tried affirmations before, but ‘I am in charge’ seemed to become my hopeful mantra. I would learn their names within the first few weeks, I would familiarise myself with their disciplinary system, and I would have a clear-cut plan. Nonetheless, this would be my first time teaching whole class trombone, which made me feel uneasy. I'd always felt moderately annoyed upon hearing about trombonists teaching trumpet, particularly if I felt that I was missing out on work I realistically could have had a shot at. But here I was, for an hour a week, pretending to be a trombone expert. The old cliché of keeping one lesson ahead of the kids proved to be true, and for the first few weeks, I'd take a pBone home to try and figure out how to play the next note. I learnt to fend off questions like ‘how do you play [x note]?’ with ‘we'll learn that later’, emphasis on the ‘we’…
As time went on and I gained the students’ trust, of course I was still having to repeat every sentence multiple times and recap previous lessons for weeks on end, but a sense of coherence and unity in the class developed. Children who seemingly hated each other would agree to play a duet; shy students would stand up and demonstrate a note or a rhythm and take pride in it; and both classes recorded an absolutely chaotic but heart-warming Jingle bells at Christmas. I started to realise that whole class teaching is about the individuals rather than the group, exactly the opposite of the utopian vision I'd had in my head.
I'd wanted to bring music to The People en masse, but it is each child's separate experiences that stick with me, and ultimately what sticks with them too. I recognise that while whole class teaching might not be my fundamental calling in life, providing human beings with a safe space to let loose, make some noise and try something new is certainly a rare thing. In our results-obsessed and cautious society, it seems more valuable than ever.
