I might moan a lot before leaving to adjudicating eisteddfods. I’m away
from home, by myself, working long hours and generally I have a headache most of
the time from concentrating for long periods at a time. However, the pay is good and when I’m there I give it my all because I know the value of eisteddfods. I feel
that eisteddfods are important for kids to learn. And not specifically for the
kids who want to become actors or study drama. For those kids eisteddfods are a
chance to learn new skills. Get different feedback, a fresh set of eyes, a new
point of view on their work and how they can improve. Those kids are a lot of
fun for me to watch and help them grow as performers. For me eisteddfods are
important for the kids who struggle to get through a ten line poem because they
are so nervous. The kids that rush, forget to breathe properly and have never
been on a stage before. For those kids eisteddfods are important as they learn
public speaking skills. They learn how to speak to audience one day when they
are presenting projects, or pitches. Or how to speak in a job interview.
Needless to stay, I take adjudication very seriously.
When I was the kid who competed in dance and drama eisteddfods the
rules were very strict. The adjudicator’s decision was final, and no one was
allowed to speak to or make contact with the adjudicator. If only the rules
were still followed.
You grow a thick skin after an eisteddfod or two. Despite
being asked to be there as an expert there will always be parents, teachers,
and the odd high school student who doubts that you know your poetry from your dramatized
prose. Although you get used to it, it is always surprising where someone’s
anger comes from. What they think you did or didn’t do. What you saw, or didn’t
see. I’m human, so sometimes I still get a bit angry, but mostly I find it
amusing.
I had had a good week and a half. There had been no specific
incidents, I been fed good food, it was my second year adjudicating at the
same venue and I knew the ropes and the people working with me. On my second
last day I walked into the school 15 minutes earlier than planned. I was accommodating
students who couldn’t attend the eisteddfod at their designated time, so I was
putting in extra time to help them out. As I readied myself with a cup of green
tea one of my aids walked in with a photocopy of a report I had written the day
before stapled to a poem and a letter from the drama teacher. When I had
adjudicated the child the day before she had performed poetry in the dramatized
monologue section. I had written in her report that she had done really well,
but I had to be strict about the sections. I am always strict about the sections in which
children are entered in whether I’m adjudicating drama or dance. I can’t
compare beginner tap to advanced ballet and it helps the kids learn the different
forms and what they entail. A part of me wasn’t surprised by the letter as I had seen the family
congregate around my report after the section. According the letter:
“Although I respect the adjudicator’s decision I would like
her to reconsider”
Apparently she had performed the piece before at some other
eisteddfod, also in the monologue section and had done very well:
“She received a diploma for the same piece”
The url at the top of the page didn’t help
their cause much as “www.poetry4kids.com” was emblazoned across the top of the
page.
Thankfully the chairperson of the eisteddfod was on my
side, especially as I refused to reconsider a mark I had already given. This
incident was, however, just the first for day.
At this particular eisteddfod the setup is great for me. I
have an aid next to me who not only does all the admin, she has each child’s
poem with her and prompts them if they get stuck. She also marks where they
forget words, so I can double check with her if I think a stanza or a line has
been left out by a performer. Although, after hearing the same 2 poems about 40
times I knew them by heart too. The second performer of that section of Grade 7
girls dropped a whole stanza from the 5 stanza
poem. When I turned to my aid she had already marked on the page where
the stanza had been left out, so I wrote my report, adding in that the mark was
lower due to the fifth of the poem that had been omitted. Roughly 21
performances later a teacher in a beautiful blue shirt stormed down on me
through the isle between the chairs which divided the hall in half:
“You made a mistake” she claimed.
I looked at her blankly. Without at least the child with her
I had no idea of who or what she was talking about.
“You claimed that my student left out a stanza”
I considered starting by explaining what a stanza was but
thought better of it.
“Let me see the report” which I thankfully recognised immediately.
“I didn’t make a mistake. Both my aid and myself noted the
stanza which was left out” my aid showed the sheet of paper with the marked
stanza.
“You made a mistake. I was following her performance”
“So was I. And she left out an entire stanza”
I returned to sharpening my pencils before the next section
started.
“I’m not going to reconsider, I’m sure of what I heard and
my aid agrees with me”
The teacher stormed back out of the hall flapping the
certificate and report as she went and claiming loudly for all to hear:
“She made a mistake. The adjudicator is wrong. She made a
mistake.”
But my fun afternoon didn’t stop there. As I mentioned
before you get used to all kinds of things, but there’s always something that
surprises you.
Roughly the second boy in my Grade 7 section started with the
Grade 6 poem. He got about halfway through before saying the last rhyming
couplet and walking triumphantly off the stage. When he started I paged back to
the Grade 6 poem to follow what he was doing. I wrote out his report and the
next Grade 7 boy walked on stage. Who
also started with the Grade 6 poem. A great many different scenarios started
running though my head. Had the poem been labelled incorrectly, had teachers
not been specific? And then the boy fumbled, and picked up again on the second
stanza of the Grade 7 poem. When he finished and walked off the stage I looked
at my aid without saying a word:
“You heard correctly. He started with the Grade 6 poem and
finished with the Grade 7 poem.”
The calligrapher on the other side of the aid chimed in too.
“In all my years that’s the first time I’ve heard that
happen. I couldn’t believe it”
Apparently neither could his mother. Who marched up to me
after she had read the report. What ensued was a play ground round of “He did” “No
he didn’t”. I wasn’t going to play that game.
“I’m really sorry, but three of us agree that that is what
happened. I’m not making this up.”
“No he didn’t”
I shrugged my shoulders.
She tried the phrase again as if it would change something,
and then walked out of the hall.
So I close with an open statement to parents:
I don’t know your children, or you. I adjudicate purely on
what I see on stage, and I always try my best to be positive and uplifting with
every sentence I write. I want your kids to do well. I want them to come back
and perform again and to enjoy being on stage. Eisteddfods create audiences who
appreciate theatre. And quite frankly I want to come back again next year. The
pay is good.
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