As Nicholas heads off for his fourth week in school at the Ecole Paulin Nicoleau in Quillan, I am astounded at just how settled he is – and how much progress he has made already in such a short space of time.
Certainly, after several stints in the French education system over several years, he is familiar with the concept, but every time has been a bit different and this is his first time in the primary school. It must be daunting. Everything is new – school, teacher, classroom, classmates, canteen, spoken and and unspoken rules.
Of course, the first time we came to Quillan, Nicholas was just six months old. Then, we took him to the occasional French playgroup, where I think he picked up the rhythm of the language and a familiarity with the sound of French.
Subsequently, he has had time in the local preschools – twice at Paulin Nicoleau and, last December/January after they merged the pre-schools in town, at Louis Pasteur over on the other side of town. These have been great, play-based classes with wonderful teachers and teacher-aides, and a perfect introduction to the language, the social context and the school environment without particular pressure.
This trip, Nicholas is in CP, the entrance class of primary school, back at Paulin Nicoleau. We are familiar with the school, with our two older boys having gone through CE2 and CM2 at various stages, but this is our (and Nicholas’) first experience with the new entrant class.
Having interacted with the school service half a dozen times, enrolling is now happily straightforward for us – each time we want to drop him back into school, we simply email with our passports and birth certificates and the dates we want to enrol him. We receive the Certificat d’Inscription by return email, meaning we can turn up directly at the school on the nominated start day. I think this is outstanding, and I am grateful for the service.
I am always surprised by the independence expected of the children in entering French school. Day one of Nicholas’ first experience of this school, when he is still a little jet lagged and everything is new for him, we turn up at 8.20am for an 8.30am start. We greet the Directeur, who introduces us to the class teacher, and that’s it – la maitresse takes Nicholas under her wing, asks him to follow her, and he is off, with nothing more than a wave and a ‘see you at lunchtime’.
For me, it’s more paperwork, of course – a form to take away to complete emergency contact and insurance details; and a code of conduct for Nicholas and I to read and sign. And that’s it. He’s off to a standing start. I head for a coffee and a croissant and trust he will be fine.
It’s only a week or so later, with his confidence built up, that Nicholas announces he will show me his classroom. I am a little nervous, as parents don’t usually go in the classroom, but back to the main door we go, where Nicholas greets his teacher. “Yes, of course you can show your Mum the classroom, go on in!” Fantastic.
Unlike in his New Zealand school, where the children typically sit at group tables and move around a lot, in his French classroom, Nicholas has his own desk, where he sits every day, alongside a regular desk mate, and keeps all his books and stationery. In this case, Nicholas is sitting right up the front left, a wise move on the part of the teacher to make sure she can assist him when necessary.
The blackboard is covered in writing and the cahier de lecture Nicholas brings home attests to the reading and writing work the children have been doing. I am astounded when, on day three, Nicholas arrives home, opens his homework book and proceeds to read the short story excerpt almost flawlessly. It seems we have hit a sweet spot between his ability to read (in English) and his growing knowledge of French. He has connected the dots and is off and away reading in his second language, including intonation.
Sitting at the Cafe du Fleuve with a celebratory pre-lunch orangina at the end of the first week, we are spotted by Nicholas’ lovely class teacher, who comes over to greet us on her way home across the square. Nicholas, she says, is a delight in class, and doing very well – reading better than some of the French children. “I won’t let him return to New Zealand at Christmas – he must stay on.” If only!
School runs five days a week, with Wednesday afternoons left free for sporting codes; and Friday afternoons for an independently organised programme of extra-curricular activities. On the three full days, I sign Nicholas up for canteen though I am a little nervous about whether he will be up for it. He’s experienced the canteen before, but this is a different set-up, sharing now with older children, and having to queue and serve himself from the range of options for the first time. With the school day starting at 8.30am and finishing at 4.30pm, including a two-hour lunch break, it makes for a long day – mentally and physically.
At the end of his first full day, he emerges from school grumpy and announces he doesn’t like canteen. Getting to the bottom of it, I discover that he’s gone thirsty, because the water jug was out of his reach, the boy closest to it did not serve any, and Nicholas did not know how to ask for any! Armed with some appropriate vocabulary and phrases, Nicholas heads back reluctantly for a second day, and is full of pride when he emerges from class: “Mum, I asked for more water and he gave me some!” Crisis averted.
I am nonetheless nervous when, mid-way through the second week, as we are getting ready to head to school, Nicholas asks me if it’s a full day today. I ready myself for the inevitable need to jolly him along. “Yes”, (sucks in breath). ‘Great,” Nicholas replies. “I love full days, because I get to go to the canteen!” I let my breath out slowly. I think we might have cracked it.
