“Can You Say That Again Please?: My Experience With the UK Education System

When you are young, you expect learning at school to be fun. From your 1, 2, 3’s to A, B, C’s nothing is more exhilarating than finding out new information that will form your mind into anything you want to be, a doctor, scientist, or even a journalist. Funnily enough, that was my childhood - I loved learning even though I was at a disadvantage.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you” or even better “what?” are my key catchphrases in life. I was a quiet, shy girl because communication wasn’t really my cup of tea at 6-year- old. But I was also someone who happened to have bad hearing. A simple ear/nose/throat operation sorted it out for me, but for some time the most I could hear sounded like I was underwater (I still experience it now if someone is walking in front of me or I am in a car.)

There were other things I was bothered about. We had just moved away from my father, who lived in Cyprus and worked in the Armed Forces. We were in England and he was a 7-hour flight away. It wasn’t the best experience, to say the least, but we saw each other as often as we could and school became a positive, new and exciting experience. That slowly faded.

Heading into Mrs. Phillips’s (not her actual name) class changed that for me. She was strict and rude. She was never understanding of the people who struggled, like me. I was easily upset because my life was a little emotional. I desperately missed my father, while witnessing my mother be reintroduced to the single life, and now I lived in a new country.

It was small steps at first. The class slowly split into skill levels, as most do. The brighter children sat on the right, struggling students on the left. It felt weird to not be able to sit with my friends, but I got over it. Then it slowly led to my seat being pushed to the back of the class. The worse I got with my work, the further away I sat. She slowly pushed me further to the back knowing the consequences would be that I wouldn’t be able to understand what she was saying. I knew some lip-reading, but my hearing wasn’t that awful.

There was also a slow decrease in the extra support I would get from the teaching assistant. It felt like a punishment - like it was my fault I couldn’t understand and needed support. Mrs. Phillips would slowly make me more and more nervous - especially with her persistent shouting on one day when we mimicked a ‘victorian class.’ The urge to not cry that day still sticks in my mind.

Write a Story:

It all led to one experience that really changed my thoughts of ‘the teacher’ and the ‘education system’. A simple day where we were writing stories - something of which I had not been taught to do. I vividly remember her passing me the paper, to which I asked her “what shall I do?” She did not reply.

And with no help or support, I sat there clueless. As we headed to break time, she continued to leave me sitting there. The same again at lunchtime. She starved me until we eventually hit the end of the day where I had finally decided something was better than nothing.

I wrote a page of letters and full stops. Understanding the function of the words but not how to spell them. Young Chelsea went home sad but didn’t tell her mum. I remember being hungry but hiding it. And when questioned why I hadn’t eaten my lunch, I burst into tears.

Quickly, I was put into another school. My mother had told Mrs. Philips the trouble she caused, as well as the headteacher. They seemed to not care. Gladly my nan saved me from homeschooling by quickly giving me a place at the school she worked at. And that supported me up until year 6. I remember the work they put into helping me achieve as much as I could. We would read hundreds of books and do extra mathematics sessions. ‘Phonics’ was my least favourite of the school support I had to get me ‘caught up’ again.

The support helped to an extent. Yet to this day, I still can’t pronounce ‘th.’

But still, this was the best school I had attended so far.

Early 2011, before I started secondary school.

After Primary:

Secondary school came and I was now left to fend for myself. Working my arse off, I tried to achieve the best grades I could get after luckily just passing my SATS (Standard Assessment Tests at the end of Key Stage 2 learning) and CATS (Cognitive Abilities Tests at Key Stage 3). But something stuck with me throughout that time. This sudden fear of disappointment by the way this teacher treated me. I still enjoyed education, but I feared someone telling me I had done something wrong.

It meant I had to spend extra time learning more on top of the work I already had to do to ‘catch up.’ I studied as hard as I could to the extent where even today it keeps me up all night and stresses me out. I then get decent grades and repeat. It’s a kind of obsession, and not a good one. I just wanted to be good enough in their minds - and praised for my work. It was ridiculous, and my teachers at secondary took it as me being a hardworking girl. Sometimes still today, I can't take criticism.

How Did That Impact Me?

See, in my mind, what Mrs Philips had done was terrify me about how manipulative a teacher could be. I was 5 years old and from that young age, she forced me to work 10 times harder to achieve something that should be easily obtainable in the educational system - good grades.

I didn’t have many life-altering experiences - so really I should have been fine - I should have had a well-rounded education. By life-altering experiences, it could be anything from a family member passing away to bullying. Or maybe a learning disability. There are so many things that can disrupt a child’s learning which the education never took into consideration.

But she caused this. With teachers or even my university lecturers I sometimes unavoidably let my brain go into overdrive. I make myself feel like I haven’t impressed them enough, or sometimes I feel at odds with my fellow students. I worry they may be angry with me.

University helped make me feel more in place. I noticed I am good at things other people may not be, but still, it affects the way I think from time to time. I, still to this day, have odd experiences with my lecturers. Sometimes when I have to say “I need help” I get quite upset. I know all I would get is support, but something lingers.

Me, a week before my dissertation hand in.

The whole experience was f**ked by one teacher. She had so much power over my future, which I then had to fight back for. That school didn’t know how to deal with a student who just needed the teacher to speak a little louder or let me sit at the front of the class. This carried on for many other people once I left this school. As Mrs Philips kept her job, more problems similar to mine arose until the school shut down. Children were being bullied by the teacher, which is awful for people so young.

It’s a huge problem, and she isn’t the only one who has done something similar. The gatekeepers of education don’t seem to understand when young children hit a limit of help so severe, it ruins their education.

I had 2 years to catch up on. At 5 years old, I was classed as “behind” in my education. Now I am a journalist graduating in September, and the one main thing on my mind is the breath of fresh air it will be.