As one watches the four- and five-year-olds sitting in a circle on the carpet at Rushey Green primary school enthusiastically describing picture cards, gang violence is one of the last things that comes to mind.
Yet these children are part of a project funded by the mayor of London’s Violence Reduction Unit, which was set up to tackle the number of teenagers dying as a result of knife crime.
The boys and girls, all of whom started at the Lewisham school unable to talk properly, are being taught how to use language and communicate more clearly. Research shows that the path to getting excluded from school, then being exploited by criminals or caught up in a gang, often starts here in reception, with children who are left behind coming to feel they don’t belong in school because of their problems with language.
The statistics are stark. Two-thirds of children at risk of being excluded from secondary school have problems with speech, language and communication which may be unidentified, according to the Royal College of Speech and Language Therapists.
The same is true of 60% of those accessing youth justice services. Further up the chain, communication and language problems are far more prevalent in the prison population than the national average.
The Violence Reduction Unit (VRU) was created in 2019 and modelled on a unit in Glasgow, which is credited with dramatically reducing murders by treating violence as a preventable public health issue. It brings together young people, police, health professionals, teachers and youth workers to tackle the root causes of violence. About 90% of London boroughs have now signed up to its inclusive education charter, which commits to reducing exclusions and suspensions to keep young people safe in school.
Lib Peck, director of the VRU, describes helping four-year-olds to communicate as a “no brainer”. She says: “We know that kids are safer in school, and we know the ones who are most likely to be excluded, so it makes sense to flip it round and intervene right at the beginning.”
Rushey Green was one of 70 primaries to receive the VRU’s pilot funding for teacher training and resources to help those who are behind on talking, across seven boroughs where youth violence is a particular problem. This morning’s group is practising talking about the things we all do in the morning when we get up.
Each child is keen to take their turn pointing at a picture and describing what is happening. They are learning to talk about sequencing: doing things “first”, “next” and “last”.
Headteacher Lisa Williams explains that this language may be missing, partly because they aren’t used to set routines at home. She says: “We have a lot of parents with two or three jobs. A mum might work in the day then have a cleaning job in the evening. The routine of bath, storytime and sleep can be impossible.”
Even bathtime is not a given, as some families can’t afford hot water.
The teacher prompts a boy to talk about the final picture, in which the person is getting dressed.
“What does he do last?”
The boy is ready with his answer, beaming: “He scratches his armpit!”
More than half the children in reception here struggled with speaking when they started school. Williams says: “Many of our children can’t even tell you how they are feeling when they get here.”
She explains that if a young child can’t talk properly, they will struggle throughout the day, not only in keeping up with learning, but also making friends and negotiating things such as sharing and taking turns.
“As a parent you understand your child’s body language so well that you often know what they need just by looking at them,” Williams says. “But another child won’t.”
Young children are powered by a constant sense of injustice, she says: “‘That’s mine.’ ‘I want to sit there.’ ‘It’s my go.’” Early on they need to learn that, instead of crying or becoming angry, they can take practical steps to resolve issues. “But the only way they can really do that is if they can talk.”
Early data from the VRU on young children who completed its oracy interventions last year showed that 98% had narrowed the communication gap with their peers, with 60% now meeting expected standards in understanding and using vocabulary.
However, Lily Bearfoot, the reception teacher who co-runs the programme at Rushey Green, says a key success has also been a marked reduction in children expressing their frustration by hitting or kicking.
“Sometimes you see a situation that looks like it will really go wrong, but then they resolve it themselves, saying ‘I didn’t like that you took my pen’,” she says. “I always tell them I’m so proud that they’ve used their words to sort it out.”
The children in her class are Covid babies, born into a world of lockdowns where normal social contact couldn’t happen. Yet the school is clear that mushrooming speech and language problems are also a product of poverty and years of cuts under the Conservatives to the public services that supported families.
Speech therapists say talking to your baby or toddler is one of the single most important things a parent can do, and Williams says it is clear when this hasn’t happened enough. But she is quick to point out that these parents are struggling, not lazy. She says: “They care so much about their children, but their priority is meeting their basic needs. They are working incredibly hard just to keep them clothed and fed and safe.”
When they arrive in school many children won’t have ever seen a health visitor who could have picked up that their communication wasn’t at the expected level. Bearfoot is determined to turn around these disadvantages, saying: “It’s really important to me that I give them the best start they can get. If they get left behind now the gap will only widen as they go up through school.”
Pupils are sent home with word board games that many families can’t afford so parents can be involved. Some parents whose first language isn’t English often learn along with their children. These games come with lots of little letter tiles but in more than a year not a single piece has been lost. Bearfoot says: “Parents are really grateful.”
The school also sets up playdates so children can practise social talking. They offer the school as a venue, lending scooters and providing cake.
“If a mum is just managing to afford one meal a day, she doesn’t want to worry about feeding another child on a play date,” Williams says.
They try to give the children as many new experiences as possible, from forest school to a trip to a museum, to broaden their vocabulary. Williams notes that, like many London schools, they have children from both ends of the privilege scale. A third of each class regularly go to restaurants, to the theatre and into central London with their families. But the majority have none of these experiences.
“We take children to the science museum and some of them have never even been on a train before,” she says. “Trips out just don’t come anywhere near the list of basic priorities.”
In the nursery the children are sitting on the mat waiting for a snack and the teaching assistant reminds them about the language they need to use first. “You say: ‘Please may I have a bagel or an orange’. I don’t want to hear ‘I want an orange’.”
Dionne Phillips, the nursery teacher, says when children arrive who can’t talk, she starts with lots of gestures, getting down on their level for maximum eye contact. She is firm about not using ‘baby’ words as they learn. “We don’t say doggy or mama. We use proper words,” she says.
To illustrate the point, she holds up two plastic boxes, each with a different picture book in.
“What’s the word we use about these two boxes?” she asks the children.
There is an immediate chorus from all the three- and four-year-olds. “Democracy!”
“And what does that mean?” she asks.
“It’s when you choose!”
Williams saysshe wants all pupils to be able to make choices, to ask questions and have an opinion, and the oracy project empowers them to do that.
“The statistics about the literacy levels of young offenders are real,” she adds. “Improving speech and language is a foundation for everything.”
