Triumph Over Adversity 3-in-1 Collection. Casey Watson

it created a cosy, square-shaped area in a previously unused corner and, with the addition of a square of old carpet and a selection of bean bags and cushions, a place where children like Gavin could have a separate and solitary place to calm down.

      ‘I was only messing, Miss!’ he protested, as he invariably did. ‘I don’t want to sit on my own!’

      ‘Well, you should have thought about that, shouldn’t you?’ I said, pointing back towards a gloomy-looking Imogen. ‘Ten minutes, then you can come back out and apologise to Imogen for being so thoughtless towards her.’

      Gavin scowled. ‘Why should I, Miss? What’s the point?’ he huffed. ‘She never speaks to me, so why should I be made to speak to her?’

      I was expecting the usual giggles – Gavin always liked to work an audience – but on this occasion, perhaps because they’d noticed my expression, they refrained and looked on silently while I pointed again to the corner, and Gavin, knowing the game was up, slunk behind the shelves out of sight.

      I went back to my desk. Of course, there could be another reason for his classmates’ silence. It could equally be that he was beginning to get on their nerves, just as he had in his mainstream classes. I made a mental note to speak to his parents about his medication. He was supposed to be with me for just a term, while he got used to it, but it was crucial that he took it at the same time each morning, as well as early enough for it to have kicked in by the time he arrived in school.

      There would seem to be no such practical solutions for Imogen, however, who I decided to keep a close eye on throughout the day, in preparation for my visit to her home later. With Shona really her only anchor among her eccentric little bunch of classmates, I noticed she was following her almost every move, so it would be interesting to see how she approached the task I had planned for the morning – whether she’d come up with her own ideas or just do what she mostly had being doing: letting someone else be the one who led the way.

      We were working, as we often did, on conflict resolution. And having first resolved the earlier conflict between Imogen and Gavin (up to a point, anyway; he mumbled a sorry and she said nothing), it seemed the perfect time. Conflict resolution was a big part of what we did in the Unit, and not only as a consequence of day-to-day squabbles. We actively included it in the curriculum as well, because it was a big part of the reason why the kids we worked with needed to be with us; they had insufficient strategies to deal with the many conflicts an average day in a child’s life could throw up. It was drama based, and required teamwork, which meant collaboration and discussion – again, things that we worked hard to encourage.

      The activity took the form of a comic strip, which had the normal run of pictures, but no dialogue; it was the children’s job to decide who said what and when. The scene was classroom-based, starting with a frustrated-looking teacher standing at a blackboard, glowering as two of her pupils were obviously arguing with one another, while the rest of the class all looked on.

      The idea was that the children had to decide what was happening and plan two short plays around it, one with what they considered to be a ‘good’ outcome, and one where the outcome was ‘bad’. They would then perform both plays, and I’d film as they were doing so, in order that we could all watch and discuss the plays afterwards.

      This sort of exercise was helpful for two reasons. It was obviously a good way for them to practise skills such as listening and negotiating, as well as making them think about such concepts as a ‘moral code’. But it was also helpful for me, being a chance to get to know what made their minds work; seeing what they’d come up with in terms of solutions without any influence from me.

      I got them started, then went over to my desk, ostensibly to do some paperwork but partly so that I could watch them discreetly. I was particularly interested in how Imogen might be allocated a part in the finished plays.

      And I was looking forward to seeing what they came up with. What I hadn’t figured on, however, was that Shona might be having a bad day.

      With the children planning quietly, and mostly harmoniously, I was browsing the internet for Shakespeare quotes when I heard Shona’s raised voice. ‘No!’ she snapped. ‘Why does it have to be that?’

      I looked up to see her looking daggers at Henry.

      ‘Because, Miss Bossy Boots, that’s what we chose!’ he shouted back.

      I noticed Imogen, who’d seemed reasonably engaged up to that point, shrink back into her ‘closed’ posture and hang her head. It was a very clear gesture. She was keeping well out of it. Ironic that it was meant to be a lesson on conflict resolution, I thought, as I watched and waited to see what would happen. Hang your head, shut your mouth. Don’t get involved.

      ‘Well, if I’m meant to be the teacher,’ Shona shot back, ‘I should be allowed to pick what lesson I’m teaching! And I’m not doing a stupid “boys” lesson! There’s no such thing, anyway! No one has lessons about cars, you idiot!’

      Henry, another strong personality, wasn’t about to give in, though. ‘We can say it’s a project!’ he retaliated, sneering at her as if to say that anyone with half a brain would have known that. ‘And anyway, it’s three against two, so that’s what we’re doing. You can’t always have it your own way, Shona. It’s not fair!’

      Things were definitely escalating, but I think everyone in the room was taken aback when Shona leapt from her chair, knocking it back onto the floor, and lunged for a startled Henry, fists flying.

      She was already hammering at him, swinging punches, by the time I’d got up and come round from the other side of my desk, sobbing and calling him names as she did so.

      ‘What the hell?’ Henry yelled as he tried to protect himself from Shona’s blows. ‘Miss, she’s mental! Miss! Get her off me!’

      ‘Shona,’ I said firmly, rushing to get to her and pull her away, ‘what on earth is the matter? What’s brought this on?’

      I had to keep a firm grip on her wrists to keep her from wriggling from my grasp. She was surprisingly strong, and very, very angry. ‘Let me go!’ she screamed. ‘I’m going to kill him! I swear I am, Miss – I hate him!’ And I didn’t doubt she’d have inflicted damage had I not been able to keep that grip on her, before twisting her around so that she was facing me and bending down to be more at her level. ‘Shh,’ I soothed. ‘Shh, Shona. Calm down a minute, will you? What’s wrong? What’s made you so angry?’

      She stopped struggling then. Went limp, in fact. She wasn’t the sort of child who regularly flew into uncontrollable rages, I didn’t think, and having just done so it was as if she had shocked herself more than anyone. She certainly seemed to mentally gather herself together. I felt her relax under my grip and risked letting her go. She didn’t move. ‘Well?’ I asked her gently.

      She looked at me, her eyes full of tears as yet unshed. ‘I don’t know, Miss,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I don’t feel very well. Could I go and sit in the corner with books for a bit?’

      She was certainly red in the face. I felt her forehead. It was a little warm, though that might have just been the physical exertion. ‘Do you want to go to the medical room for a bit instead?’ I suggested. ‘Or shall I have someone go and tell the office to call home for you?’

      The tears welled in her eyes and I could have kicked myself as soon as I’d spoken. Why had I said ‘home’? What an idiot! That word would have been such an emotive one for her. Since the death of her parents in a road accident, she had no ‘home’, did she? She was currently billeted with her aunt and uncle and cousins. So, yes, their home, but not the home she’d always known. It all seemed so obvious, then. Of course she didn’t want to make the lesson about cars.

      I quickly put my arm around her and steered her to the place she wanted to go; the place where she could compose herself in private. ‘That’s fine, love,’ I said briskly, knowing that to sympathise too much would only make things worse for her. ‘You go ahead. Have a sit down and read a book. You can skip this lesson if