A Concert for Kwame*
The bell was delayed by ten meenits because the snaw had drapped heavier than expected. Thankfully, it wisnae ma turn tae bring in the lines; turn your back oan the wee cherubs oot there an’ ye were askin’ for a snowbaw aimed at your heid. Corridor duty wis bad enough that mornin’, the pupils breengin’ in wae their over-excited voices stoatin’ aff the bare brick wa’s.
‘Let it snaw, let it snaw, let it snaw’, I thocht. This was ma best day of the week, and I would enjoy it: a double period of the Highers before the interval, a promising second year class, a non-contact period, twa wee first year classes efter lunch then hame before the roads froze up.
Come the interval, the snaw was getting deeper and the weans mair hysterical. Then in came ma second years — boisterous, drookit and burstin’ tae tell me something: ‘Sur! Sur! Please Sur!
‘Wait a minute’, I ordered — ‘sit doon and calm doon.’ And they did. ‘Now, hands up please — Joe, you go first.’
‘Sur, this is the furst time Kwame has seen snaw — EVER!’
Kwame was fairly new tae the class. A pupil in the school for nearly a year, he was wan of the asylum seekers welcomed tae the city jist before the millennium. Efter a spell in the English as a Second Language unit, he was being gradually introduced tae the wider curriculum. Polite but subdued in class, he struggled tae keep up wae the ithers when they were singing, and I was concerned that — understandably — he might be lonely. But I saw a different Kwame when he came in fae the snaw that day: he was grinnin’ fae lug tae lug!
By now the class was becoming a free-for-all:
‘Aa showed him how tae catch snowflakes in yur haun an’ watch them melt’
‘Aa telt him that every snowflake is different’
‘We showed him how tae make snowbaws’
‘Aa telt him that makin’ snowbaws is easier when ye wear gloves.’
I had tae raise ma voice again. ‘Thank you, class! I’ve learned a few things masell there,’ I said in a tone that indicated ‘discussion over.’
I had planned a lesson oan major, minor and pentatonic scales, but assessing the situation, I hesitated. The troops were never slow tae pick up oan this, and sure enough, wan of the girls raised her haun and asked, ‘Sur, can we sing?’ That request was aye hard tae resist, and I gave in — but pretending I was da’en the class a big favour.
‘OK’, I said slowly, trying tae think of a song in a minor key that might address ma topic, but before I got there, wan of the boys reminded me that they had learned The Snowman before Christmas. That was in a minor key, so I persuaded massell that I was justified in lettin’ them perform it. Sorted!
The arrangement I used involved everybody: singers, glocks, keyboards, bass and acoustic guitars. It would take ten meenits tae set up the room, but the kids were weel drilled, and by the time I had designated the performers, got the parts oot the cupboard and haunded them roon, we were ready for a run-through. Then wan of the boys mentioned that Kwame widnae ken the song because he didnae jine the class till efter Christmas, and anither suggested, ‘Sur, mebbe he could be the audience?’ Before I could intervene, Kwame — slightly bamboozled — had been seated like a wee prince in front of the performance area.
Expectin’ the weans tae be a bit rusty, I went through the instrumental parts wan at a time, reminding them of the foutery key changes in the middle eight, then waarmed up the singers and reminded them tae watch their speed; ‘the wee boy and the snowman in the film were floating in the clouds, no’ runnin’ for a bus’, I telt them. Finally, I clapped ma hauns three times and we were guid tae go.
I played the opening arpeggios on the piano tae set the tempo, then the glocks, keyboard and guitars played the melody through wance before the singers came in:
‘We’re walking in the air …’
It was a special moment for the class. Singing and playing before an audience creates a sense of occasion, and I could sense that the weans were making an effort tae impress their ‘guest’. And they sailed through it! Efter the last few notes had floated away, there was a hush, and every heid turned tae Kwame. The boy looked flummoxed, but soon smiled and said, quietly, ‘beautiful’. And the performers let oot wan big, collective sigh.
At some point in whit was left of the period, I would have waffled oan aboot minor keys, the instruments would have been put away, the parts collected in and the class dismissed. But it wisnae as easy tae dismiss that lesson fae my mind; like a guid tune, it steyed wae me for the rest of the day.
When the final bell had rung and I was driving hame, I passed a bunch of weans building a snowman, and thocht again aboot ma second years and the ‘beautiful’ Snowman they had created thegither that mornin’. It wis then, when I had time tae think aboot it, that I felt a surge of pride in ma pupils, remembering how they had looked efter Kwame in the playground, reassured him aboot the snaw and shown him how it could be fun. But mair than that, I was impressed wae how they had brocht their goodwill intae the classroom, and how keen they were tae share their music wae him; wae their innocent acts of kindness towards Kwame, they had made him feel part of the class.
Mebbe nane of this would have happened if it hadnae been for the weather, but I knew that Kwame’s new freens would still be there for him long efter the snaw had melted.
*‘Kwame’s’ name has been changed.