We have just enjoyed the pleasure of some eleven plus
courses. Some of the children were finishing off exercises which they had not
managed to complete. Some were relaxed and confident. One rather `bright spark’
asked why a square number was called square – when it was not a square. No-one
likes to show complete ignorance so I had to confess that I had no idea at all.
There was general pleasure.
Someone from a different table asked why cube numbers were
called cube numbers when a cube had a very different shape. The children looked
to me for an answer. I raised my eyebrows. There was general pleasure.
By now the children in close proximity were `in the zone’. The chatter grew very swiftly. One girl,
however, was writing on a page. She said: “I know!” She wrote:
1 x 1
2 x 2
3 x 3
4 x 4
The girl, and her friend beside her, drew one dot, then four
dots in a two by two array. Of course others took up the challenge with patterns
of three by three and then four by four.
Of course one boy did not join in. He had listened to the
chatter about square numbers but he was trying to prove cube numbers. Now cube
numbers may not be taught to many Year 5 children in the National Curriculum –
but could come up when discussing volumes.
In a few moments there was a group around him. Someone
wrote:
1 x 1 x 1
This was followed by
2 x 2 x 2
And then
3 x 3 x 3
The interest of the children, however, was gone as quickly
as it had arisen. The moment was lost.
As I bent to write: “Good thinking!” beside the work of the children
concerned I wondered why they didn't ask me how the purity of solid can be
proved by finding its melting point. Again I would have had no definitive
answer to this question and would have had to expose my ignorance. How long,
however, would it have taken this very bright group of eleven plus children to
come up with some sensible theories? Why can’t the eleven plus examination leave
room for children to be able to think freely and imaginatively?
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