Clarissa et al.

What constitutes valid criticism?

We have just received feedback (teachers are always given evaluation sheets to fill in so that we can improve our workshops) on one of our new workshops which has made me rather cross. No, it wasn't because it criticised me because it didn't. It was that it covered things wholly outside our control like the fact that it was very hot. The whole of Europe was very hot. It was hot playing football in Germany. It was hot hunting bugs in the park. It was hot being ancient Egyptians in the museum. So what? It was hot.

It's a variant on what I call the apple pie criticism fallacy.

By all means mention that the crust is soggy or hard, or that the apple has pips and stalk left in - that is valid criticism of an apple pie that wasn't up to standard. Say if you think your helping was too large or too small - your apple pie should be value for money. Mention that you realise it is a matter of taste, but you would have preferred it sweeter or less sweet, shortcrust rather than puff pastry, or would like the addition of some spices or another fruit such as blackberries - any of these may be things that the cook might want to change next time or offer as an alternative. Even mention in passing that you would have liked a bowl rather than a plate, but accept that this may not suit other people who prefer the plate. But don't go on about the fact that you would rather it had been treacle sponge (apple pie was the pudding you ordered), or that you arrived late and had to eat too fast, or that you were already full when you sat down to eat or that you would rather the restaurant was somewhere else or built in a different style - those are all problems outside the cook's remit and have nothing to do with the apple pie.

One particular teacher also citicised the mummifying activity as "Too undemanding"! Every group (including hers) has loved the mummifying activity, but it is worth remembering what has to be covered in devising any workshop before criticising part of it for being too easy for a particular group.

We have to devise the activities for a wide range of children and, although we adjust our delivery to the age of the class, the props and the content have to remain pretty constant. This particular workshop is for Key Stage 2 (Juniors aged 7 to 11) so it has to suit the least academically inclined year 3 whose class (in an inner-city school where less than 50% of children have English as a first language) is using the workshop as an introduction to the subject, to the brightest and most enthusiastic year 6 historian just completing a term's intensive work on every aspect of the subject. (This applies to every workshop we do except that for some we substitute naturalist for historian, some are KS1 and some cover the full range of primary education with only minor variations between KS1 and KS2 versions)

In the Victorian Laundry which covers the widest range of ages we all have our own extra information which we give to the older groups. For example I go from washing clothes to sanitation in general, while Hilary deals with the change from natural to synthetic fabrics.

One of the things I find particularly fascinating with the Victorian School is that from dip pens to corporal punishment how much was still unchanged when the older teachers and I were at school in the 1960s, and how totally foreign it is to most of the younger teachers and all of the children.

Today we had our Group of Parishes Summer Fete. This usually raises about £1,000 to share among the seven parishes. But it always seems to me a dull way to spend an afternoon, and a poor financial return for everyone's efforts.

On this occasion the sun shone, and everybody did what they had said they would do. The plants on sale were healthy. The cakes were good. The raffle prizes were mostly worth the winning. The games were traditional. The band played the sort of tunes everyone knows and can hum in a lightly jazz style. It was, in short, a success.

Maybe it's just me, but I really do dislike these communal social-cum-fund-raising events and would gladly never go to another garden fete, gala, coffee morning or village barbecue ever again. My mother claimed that her year as mayoress spoiled her for this kind of thing and that they weren't so bad if you could turn up (with a big hat and a big smile), say a few words, be presented with a big bunch of flowers, graciously buy a book of raffle tickets and a cake, and go straight off to your next engagement or home. Well, I've never been a mayoress and never will be, and I certainly couldn't cope with the hats because every hat I have ever worn made me look like either a toadstool or Paddington Bear, or (in winter) an extra in a bad amateur production of Fiddler on the Roof. However, I think I would be a lot happier if I could breeze in and breeze out again in the space of half-an-hour, with absolutely no responsibility for anything.

What was I doing? I was organising this year's variant on Fancy Dress - THE MAYOR'S HAT competitions. First the contest for the best hat prepared in advance, then the contest for the best hat made from two sheets of newspaper in the space of ten minutes. The first was won by a topical football supporter's hat trimmed with beer cans, flags and red and yellow cards, and the second by an equally topical Queen's Birthday crown. At least I didn't have to do the judging - that honour was left to the mayor - or rather ex-mayor - of Caistor.

By the way, I can now shower away - in a wonderful shower - the ravages of a hot, dull afternoon.

We are living in a state of marginal chaos having the boiler replaced with something newer, greener and cheaper to run. The kitchen is upside down, we have no hot water for three days and, because a new shower which we are promised will gush rather than dribble is part of the deal, we are also without baths and showers!!! I don't respond well to strip washes with a kettle in the handbasin after years of civilisation with showers night and morning - even cold would be good, though tepid would be better. (I don't fancy hot at this time of the year.)

Tonight Jacob came round, saw that the old boiler had gone and that the new one hangs on a wall in the alcove rather than standing on a hearth sticking out from the chimney breast, and asked if we were planning to remove the ugly brick and concrete hearth. "Yes," I said "but we'll probably need a builder to get deal with all that concrete." "I'll just take out one or two bricks" he said, "and see how hard it's going to be." So he goes out to the garage and gets a chisel, a crowbar and a lump hammer, and does that . . . only to discover that this huge structure was built on top of the lino tiles! Within an hour he had cleared the whole thing and wheelbarrowed all the rubble up to the top of the garden where we can save it until we need some hardcore for laying a path or something. Cleaning up all the dust takes longer.

As if indoor disruption were not enough, the minor road which runs past our house is closed for a couple of weeks for patching and resurfacing. It's still open for access, but a certain number of people are giving up and going away.

Yesterday there was an accident on the A18 at Limber - after waiting long enough to realise that we just weren't moving, I turned round in a gateway and set off for work by the scenic route. When I got there I found that nobody had unlocked the Farm Museum where I was doing my workshop, so having set up as much as I could in the Education Room (for which I had a key) I set out to find somebody who could let me into the rest of the building and turn off the alarm. I was ready in time, but it was a close call. Driffield School's children were, as ever, a delight to teach - sensible, polite and interested; what more can anyone ask?

Half way through the afternoon - the very hot afternoon - the heating came on and only Bill (who is on holiday, hence the locked museum) understands the system! The children drank gallons of water and all of us were at least hot and sticky and mostly dripping with sweat.

I drove home through a fairly spectacular thunderstorm to a house with no fuctional bath or shower!

Today I went to Alkborough School to spend an archaeology, art and drama day with the infants. To be honest I was rather nervous about the whole thing as I felt less than fully briefed and prepared.

Rachel (last minute substitute for Vicky who had a hospital appointment) and I started with a walk down to the maze where we talked about its history and the fact that there is lots more we don't know about it than we do. We field walked for archaeology and found palaeontology in the form of 'devil's toenails' (probably just as well since it is a scheduled site and we would have had to put back any archaeology, but as it was we could take our finds back to school with impunity). Then the children went in to assembly followed by playtime while Rachel and I set up for an archaeology session with a whole collection of Roman artefacts - mostly original, but some reproduction - for them to handle, identify, draw and label. Next we read through the ballad play I had written about Lady Julian who was captured by the guardian of the maze when she walked widdershins around it - her brother tries to fight the guardian, and her sister is seduced by sweets, but finally John the simple country lad who loves her from afar rescues her and the others. Most of the children had just a couple of lines and everyone had something, but the narrator had most to read. I had thought I would have to do this myself, but there was Tom, a seven year old boy - a masterly child who could read not only fluently , but also audibly and expressively - who did the job superbly.

In the afternoon they all made masks - the faeries were going to wear theirs in the play - decorated with leaves, and scraped together the costumes I had brought from my dressing up box (Yes, Liz, the same ones you and I played in over forty years ago!), two boys learned a simple sword fight and we tried out some movement in the classroom. After playtime we went into the hall, managed a quick rehearsal, and performed the play for Reception and Juniors.

Some of them were reading their lines, but I think many experienced adult actors would be hard-pressed to put on a play from scratch in less than a day. The narrator was excellent, and overjoyed when I gave him my master copy of the play to take home together with copies of my source material - The Story of Childe Rowland and Burd Helen (Jacobs', not Browning's difficult version) and Allingham's "The Fairies" which we had talked about earlier in our discussion of wicked fairies rather than fairy godmothers and tooth fairies who are a) good and b) real, unlike our baddies.

It was a lovely day and a very nice school with some of the friendliest and politest children I have ever encountered - not just the little ones I was with, but the big ones I met in passing. I wish I had the slightest hope that some of their parents might stumble on this blog.

I got home to learn that while everyone was out next door, Joe's television had caught fire and Jacob, coming up from the stable yard, had heard the smoke alarm, rushed in, grabbed the kitchen fire-extinguisher, and saved the rest of the house though part of Joe's room is badly damaged and the rest of it is smoke, water and powder damaged. Joe hotly denies that he had gone out leaving the television on stand-by, but it does show that, even with modern TVs, my father's rule about unplugging the television at night and when out still makes sense. If he did leave it, the loss of his huge collection of British film and TV comedy classics on video is a pretty severe punishment for a moment's carelessness.

Today I delivered a new workshop for the first time (having seen it only once) about Ancient Egypt.

First I talk about archaeology in general and Egypt in particular.

Then we divide the children into two groups - the scribes go to one end of the room with their teacher to make reed pens and copy symbols to make charms, and to look at, discuss and draw a variety of Egyptian objcts.

The priests (we females have had to take a step down and become honorary men for this) come with me to the other end of the room (or into an Ibu - sacred tent by the Nile)to embalm a Pharoah (40 days in the space of 20 minutes) while I try to remember Duamutef, Qebensebuef, Hapi and Umseti and their functions, as well as the composition and use of Natron, and the placing and purpose of a whole raft of amulets. Our Pharoah is a childsize fabric dummy with a velcroed slit up his abdomen with felt organs inside which the "priests" will remove, before binding him in linen bandages.

Then we swap over.

Finally there is a summary of what we have learned, questions and answers and a selection of grave goods chosen by the children.

It all went surprisingly well despite the group having 25% of children with special educational needs including one with aspergers.

After this, the children and their teachers go to look at the Egyptian exhibition. (Very good - I thoroughly recommend a vist to Scunthorpe Museum to see it this summer and enjoy the hands on stuff with or without the children) Meanwhile I clear up.

Today I had to rush off to do a previsit on the Walled Garden for some teachers at Normanby Hall (telling them what to expect when they bring their class), then back to Scunthorpe to do another previsit on Egyptians.

It was very, very hot in the museum and very hot in the garden. I'm not good at heat.

The Weeds are as high as an elephant's eye following prolonged rain and now hot sun . . . so, having eaten breakfast in the garden, I weeded precisely one bed and am now cooling off with home-made lemonade and the computer. Father is still mowing the lawn, and will not come in until it is time for the match on TV. I really ought to be cleaning out the swimming pool - and before anyone gets the wrong idea, I should point out that it is 12 foot diameter, 3 feet deep, above ground, unheated, bought in 1988 for about £200, so only just qualifies as a swimming rather than a paddling pool. Instead I'm going to find a nice bit of shade and read a detective story, or possibly go in and watch the match.

Later
Good match - not the greatest opposition, but I liked the scoreline 6 - 0!

Later Still
Josh is very upset as his ferret has died. Inge saw him at a Pony Club Rally, asked him what was wrong and he burst into tears in front of everyone which, at a few days short of fifteen, is a real measure of how bad he must feel.

I know that several family members are reading my blogs because they e-mail me and mention that they have seen them. However only Liz - oldest friend and recently discovered to be 5th cousin - puts her comments in openly.

What I would really like is for people (especially those who are kin) to press the comment button and add something for all of us to read. Someday someone is going to get round to setting up a proper Family Website to which we can all add photos, anecdotes and history, but until Neil, Kurt or whoever has his arm twisted sufficiently to set up exactly the right website that even his most aged, time-stressed, klutzy auntie (not me) can use with ease we are going to have to make do with my blog. Some of the things you tell me are really interesting, but I am always nervous about copying things from e-mails just in case you wanted them to stay private. (Hence my going all around the houses about 'someone who was there' at Shelagh's wedding and then I drop Emma right in it by leaving her name in, but not her mother's!!!) I'm particularly cautious about small children's names and photographs.

So come on cousins (in the old sense of all relatives) and friends leave a comment! Prove that you have visited.