I do a lot of performing with kids. Well, I used to. It’s all ramping up again, post-COVID. And something I do a LOT with them is practising walking on to the performance place (usually a stage), and walking off again.

It usually goes like this…. The kids line up. Sometimes it’s in height order. Sometimes it’s dependant on what they are playing, or singing. There will be strong musicians at the end of each line. There will be kids that are more confident at the start of a row.

Then we practise lining up outside the space. Holding instruments correctly and quietly. Walking on. With quiet feet. Quickly, but not in a hurry. Silently, if possible.

Then they practise ‘being’ on stage. Where are they looking? They may not wave at the audience. They may not wriggle. They have a way to stand, or sit, or kneel.

Then they practise walking off. And I do this 5 or 6 times. Teachers know what they need to do. It’s run with military precision. (Interestingly, then they tend to perform better too….)

I was talking with someone the other day and they were lamenting that they had seen something where the kids didn’t do this. And it got me wondering…. Would those little people have the best chance of success then? Would they be proud of what they had done? Would they even enjoy it?

It’s not hard getting kids to do line up and walk on and off. It’s time-consuming. You have to be bossy (comes easily to some…!!). But then, as kids get older, they do it well. Their posture is excellent. They are proud. They are confident. And this permeates through in other ways – how they speak in front of people, how they navigate situations on their own…

Isn’t that what we want for our little people? Don’t we want them to be proud and confident? So why is this often forgotten?

I have been wondering whether or not to write about this thing that happened to me. Obviously, because you’re reading this, you’ll realise that I did decide to do it. Otherwise you’d just be reading waffle. And I actually tell a little story. (Okay, I’ll get on with it.)

I’ve just gone on holiday, with Ben (aka long-suffering husband). It’s the first holiday we’ve been on for a very long time. There have been various reasons why we didn’t – COVID (obvs), then having kittens (literally. As in, we got new cats – one that needed quite a lot of care at the start of her little life), then I was workingworkingworking A LOT, needing to practise for live-streams, not really having the spare money to go away.

And all of this was fine. I love our cats (and wouldn’t trade them in for the world). I was so lucky to be able to perform during this crazy time (and help other musicians along the way). We have a beautiful house, and I’m happy to stay in it.

But I was tired at the end of term 2. I’d had the ‘flu (badly). I’d had COVID (not really badly at all). Teaching is hard at the moment (teacher shortages are BAD, but understandable. This makes interesting reading….).

I mentioned the drudge in an email to someone who is now a friend, but I know them because they are a regular audience member and live-stream watcher. I was actually not having a whinge, just saying how pleased I was not to be actually sick any more, but how things were all a bit bad in schools.

And then a fairly large sum of money from this person dropped into my bank account. With the instructions ‘go on holiday’.

I cried. Because it reminded me that in the midst of all this, this strange time we’re all in right now, there are incredibly wonderful people out there, doing incredibly wonderful things. And I was lucky enough to be the recipient of one of those wonderful things. A friend came to cat-sit (and left us with home-cooked meals in the freezer for when we got back. I know, right??!!) and Ben and I went to an amazing retreat. We spent all the money. I had a massage. We ate some amazing food. We relaxed. We were together doing nothing. We listened to a lot of music. We even watched a James Bond film.

I spoke to my holiday fairy and asked why they had done this.

“You have given me so much pleasure. With all the playing. The musical beauty. The jokes. The stories about the kids you teach. And now I can give back to you.”

Never forget the impact you have on others….

Something happened to me a while ago, and it’s taken me a while to process. And I thought I’d write about it, as part of me wondering about it still….

I have been teaching the cello for a long time. I like to think that I’m a good teacher. Because I still love the cello, and the process of playing, I can transmit this love to others. I spend a lot of time thinking about each student. I respect the one-on-one teaching process, and what being an instrumental teacher is. I have had some fabulous instrumental teachers, and I’m constantly wondering how they would have solved a particular problem. Because I am still engaged with the process of playing and teaching, I like to think that I’m doing a pretty good job with each student.

I also enjoy teaching adults. I respect that they are doing something new, and I try and push them enough, give them enough technical stuff to think about – but not too much, so that they can make music too, whatever the level that they are at. I like to think that I’m good at this part of my teaching as well…

Not long ago I ‘inherited’ a student. They had been taught not-very-carefully. There were big holes in their technique – things that should have been covered a long while back. They were clever, and also good at another instrument, so had worked out ways to work around the lack of solid foundations they had on the cello. When they came to me, they told me that they were a particular AMEB grade, which in my opinion, they were most certainly not. They could be, in a while – but they weren’t there yet.

So, very gently, I started the process of telling them what they needed to know. And correcting them. With adults, physical things need to take time – things need to be unlearned, and then relearned. In my opinion, things were going well. This student was progressing, and holes were being fixed.

And then I got an email offering me some ‘feedback’. They wanted to play more pieces – of the standard that they thought they were. When I said I didn’t think they were ready, they then wanted me to submit a syllabus of what I would do with them when (which is actually impossible to do). And when I said I wouldn’t do that, they said they didn’t like being controlled. (They didn’t actually say it like that. There was a lack of politeness.) So I said it was better for us to part ways, thank you very much.

But then I got thinking, and spoke to a few other adults I know who have lessons. Did they felt controlled? Were instrumental teachers just people who liked other people doing what they said? Was I just a cello-teaching-dictator?

A sensible friend of mine wondered this with me. And then we agreed that as an adult you need to trust your teacher. You submitted to their experience, and their care. You, as a student, trusted that they would walk you down a path of learning at the right speed for you, and give you the tools you needed at the right time.

I am thankful to my adult students that they trust me. I am thankful to the parents of my little cello students that they trust me too. So I’ve become more grateful to my students. It’s funny how things that knock you around often make you better, isn’t it?

A little while ago I wrote about stopping performing for a while to reset. Lots has happened since then.

I’ve sat in the studio with a dear friend (and instruments, of course, we weren’t just sitting there) – tracks are being edited – stay tuned. I know. It’s a long process….

I’ve been sick a bit. Actually, I’ve been pretty sick. First with the ‘flu. Then COVID.

I’ve done a lot of gardening.

And I have been practising. Learning things I’ve not played before. And I’ve started to smile again when I’ve been practising. I’ve been experimenting a fair bit – does this sonata sound better when I play it with my baroque bow, or my modern bow? How does this ornament sound? Is it silly? Is it silly enough? Is it too silly? I’ve been taking the time to learn things, to really wonder about phrases, or chunks of music. It’s been wonderful. To remember why I play the cello. This constant exploration of music that has been written that I am playing – some pieces many, many years ago, others just the other day.

I remarked to a friend not so long ago that I seem to have lost my joyfulness. It got buried under stuff. And little by little, the stuff is falling away. And it’s appearing again. It’s an excellent feeling, you know.

So I’m guessing that you can already deduce that I’m not a big supporter of NAPLAN. In fact, I think it’s a total waste of time. Teachers do teach to these tests. Children (I can only speak for primary-aged kids, since that’s where I work) do worry about them and get stressed by them. Children in regional and remote schools are disadvantaged by them. The tests disrupt the entire school community – lots of other lessons have to change around in the weekly timetable, there needs to be silence in the school, and it’s tiring for everyone. The list goes on….

So I’ve been wondering today, and thinking about what I think children should be tested on. Actually, it was quite fun. (Maybe you’d like to add to the list…) Here’s the start of my list – in no particular order:

• How many songs can a child sing, and can they adjust the words to at least one of them to make someone laugh?
• How many pieces of art can they create in a day?
• How can they be kind to someone who looks like they are having a hard time? How many ways can they come up with to make that person feel better?
• Can they create a garden, and care for it?
• Can they devise a game outside, and get someone to play the game with them that isn’t in their friendship group?
• Can they cook a meal using fresh ingredients?
• Can they negotiate a situation that is going a way that they don’t like without using names, or force?
• Can they control their emotions when they lose in a game?

Wouldn’t these skills be better than what are tested at the moment? Maybe?