I have huge admiration for teachers in general, particularly because they do some of the most important, emotionally and mentally demanding, work in the world. However my heart sinks when, in arts spaces, I come across one particular breed of teacher whom I have named ‘The Shushing Teachers’
Performing and sharing stories with groups of school children is a very different experience from performing in front of a mixed age audience, families of all types and sizes.
Before a ‘school’s performance’ I can usually hear the excitement and noise of the children long before they enter the auditorium. On stage I’m wondering how many there will be, what ages they are and what their experience will be of the show… sometimes I can hear the shout of the teacher above the enthusiasm of the pupils, this is a warning sign for me. A Shushing Teacher may be approaching.
As the group bursts through the auditorium doors, front of house staff, teachers and helpers spring into action ushering children into their seats; signalling, shouting and ordering. The kids are usually chatty and excited, some gasping at the set or the venue, sharing with each other, perhaps wondering, like me, what experience is ahead of them. By this time I now have a reasonably good idea if there are any ‘Shushing Teachers’ in their midst. These adults can be spotted because they call to the children excessively, barking out orders, shouting out names, humiliating anyone who appears to be getting too boisterous.
Often at this point I’m wandering around the auditorium chatting to kids, warming them up in preparation for the show, getting a feel of who they are and what engages them. I’m in costume and often wearing a ‘head mic’ but Shushing Teachers are unlikely to see me even when I smile and say hello to them. They are focused on ‘keeping order’. I understand that the schools want children to behave in a manner that will reflect well on them, so that the children don’t embarrass the school, but I’ve seen this done wonderfully, in much less aggressive and dominant ways.
Sometimes, as happened to me last week, I am in the audience as usual, chatting to the kids, moments away from beginning the show when a ‘Shushing Teacher’ stands up, oblivious to my presence. They proceed to call across the auditorium to her (or his) pupils, and the other audience members who are present, that she expects them to listen in silence, demands their best behaviour, asking for the same conduct that she expects in her classroom. Silence descends and I experience the heaviness that only this kind of scolding induces.
As the house lights fade, the music and projection begin, I enter onto stage sensing clenched and taut children. There are no tiny whispers or gasps to signal that they’re entering into the space and world with me, preparing to embark on our journey together. I know, from experience, that I will have to work twice as hard as usual to draw them in, break the stiffness. I know it’ll take me longer to engage them, they don’t laugh at the bits which might be funny, or cry out or share a moment with their neighbour. I can’t feel anything coming back from them.
As soon as a child giggles or whispers, even because of something that has happened in the show, I hear the Shushing Teachers, the ‘shush’ carrying further than any other sound, pulling people out of their imaginations and back to the world of the auditorium. Some Shushing Teachers are so alert to their pupils that they don’t engage in the story or relax enough to be taken to any magical places, some even look at their phones so that the glare of the screen lights up their face for me to see on stage, pointing them out to me. I have to work hard at this point not to be really angry, this changes my performance too.
I believe theatre is a magical place where we can expect and demand stimulation, mystery, wonder, joy, intrigue, exploration and excitement. I wonder if ‘Shushing Teachers’ are aware how much they change the atmosphere of a whole theatre, how they dull down the mystery and excitement of the experience? I wonder if they don’t trust me, and the creative team, to do our jobs, to captivate the children (and adults)? I wonder if they don’t trust the children to be able to dissolve into the story? I wonder if they are afraid to let go for an hour and trust the process? I wonder if they would be able to stop if they realised how difficult they make it for me as a performer? ‘Shushing Teachers’ make me wonder a great deal.
As I ponder these questions, I also realise that there are few things worse for me than Shushing Teachers. However one that is worse is the rustling of crisp packets. I console myself in the knowledge that at least it’s unlikely that I will get both at the same performance, as one naturally precluded the other.
I would love to hear your thoughts on this matter, whether you’re a teacher, student, performer or audience member….