School Evaluations/Reviews

Financial pressures in the 1980s and early 1990s led to system-wide evaluations by administrators and consultants who were especially concerned about cost effective achievements in schools. These pressures were very evident for both public and private schools. There have also been increasing concerns about student performance in core subject areas and this has led to system-level  evaluations. Performance testing in literacy at specific age levels as well as testing in core subjects is now common in many countries. In most countries individual schools receive details of their students’ results and so school-level evaluative data are also available.

The development of curriculum frameworks and standards, couched largely as outcome statements, provides a major opportunity for systems to evaluate the performance of their respective schools. Thus, in many systems annual reports have to be submitted by individual schools together with external evaluations over longer periods, usually triennial. It is in the self-interest of many schools to undertake their own school-level evaluations and to use the results to target their market share of students. School-level evaluation, whether defined in terms of accountability or standards of performance, is a major focus for schools in the twenty-first

century.

‘Evaluation’ is a process of collecting and communicating information and evidence for the purpose of informing judgement and ascribing value to a particular programme (Simons, 1987). It can refer to small-scale activities involving a very limited number of clients (such as a teacher and his or her class) or to massive large-scale studies involving many schools and teachers (and other interested parties such as parents and community members). Neve (2001) examines the relative advantages of external school evaluation (for example by OFSTED inspectors in the United Kingdom) where the emphasis is upon accountability, setting standards and benchmarks, and internal school evaluations where the emphasis is upon self-evaluation, empowerment evaluation, reflection and the professionalization of teachers.He argues the case for a combination of external and internal evaluation. Specifically, external evaluation can:

stimulate internal evaluation – to motivate persons and organizations to do internal evaluation;

expand the scope of internal evaluation – by providing benchmarks and comparative data;

legitimize the validity of internal evaluations. Further, internal evaluations can benefit external evaluations by:

expanding the scope and examining unique elements;

improving the interpretation of findings;

increasing the utilization of the evaluation results.

McGehee and Griffith (2001) and Visscher (2001) acknowledge that large scale evaluations are becoming an important part of the education culture. Fullan and Earl (2002) undertook a large-scale evaluation of the National Literacy and Numeracy Strategy in the United Kingdom and noted that it is a prime example of the intricacies of national reform. Ainley et al. (2002) noted the renewed interest in large-scale evaluation in Australia with regard to literacy and numeracy.

School-level evaluation as part of the general field of evaluation can be undertaken as a small-scale or large scale activity. Skilbeck (1982) supports the use of small-scale activities rather than elaborate, comprehensive, managerial evaluations, and suggests that they should be at the level of ‘intelligent forms of reflection on experience, self-appraisal and forward thinking’. In his opinion, educators often amass vast quantities of unmanageable data, and this should be avoided by being quite clear about such questions as:

What do I need to know about this activity?

How can I most economically find out?

How can I use what I know?

What do I need to make known to others?

School evaluation differs from other kinds of educational evaluation in that it focuses upon how teachers and students interact over a particular curriculum or syllabus at one school site. It is not just an analysis of how students perform in a teaching/learning unit, nor is it just an analysis of the lesson plans which teachers use in instruction. Rather, school evaluation involves an examination of the goals, rationale and structure of teachers’ curricula, a study of the context in which the interaction with students occurs (including parent and community inputs) and an analysis of the interests, motivations and achievements of the students’ experiences. School evaluations also focus on the needs and interests of the constituent groups involved in the school community. Particular interest groups operating at the school level, mainly teachers, administrators, students and parents, may have very different views about the purposes of schooling. Consequently,  evaluation studies have to reflect different orientations and not give undue emphasis to single dimensions such as the behaviour of individuals (students), an analysis of materials, or the behaviours of a school as a social institution. Rogers and Badham (1992) suggest that school evaluation is about accountability and development. Accountability is crucial to prove quality – to ensure that standards in a school are rising. Development is also most important because it establishes a positive staff climate – staff are more aware of the data that needs to be collected as an aid to certain developmental goals.

Wilcox (1992) emphasizes the developmental aspect also,along with four other important aspects of curriculum evaluation: 

1. It is based on evidence which is systematically collected.

2. The evidence is seldom unambiguous and therefore needs to be interpreted.

3. Judgements of value are made about the entity being evaluated and its effects.

4. It is action oriented, intended to lead to better practices and policies.

The two fundamental questions to be answered before considering any evaluation are:

1. Why do you want to evaluate?

2. What do you want to evaluate?

In large-scale studies, the purposes of evaluation are usually related to policy concerns at the head offices about the widespread implementation of programmes into an entire school system. At the local school level, evaluation activities may be undertaken for a multitude of highly personal reasons. These could include:

concerns about providing better teaching and learning for students within a particular school community;

the need to examine the impact of a new programme or organizational processes;

. collecting and presenting information from teachers and administrators, students and parents

. analysis of information collected and making judgements

. strategic planning

. development – improving quality

. accountability – proving quality

the need to substantiate the value of a particular programme or organizational structure to parents and/or to local business; 

response to dissatisfaction expressed by individual teachers or a group/ association. When establishing purposes of evaluation at the school level it must be realized that any teaching situation brings about some unintended outcomes. Any comprehensive evaluation study must therefore provide for the collection of data on side effects and unintended learnings. Because evaluations at the school level rely upon conviviality and cooperation, it is essential that disparate motivations such as those listed above are discussed by staff who, in a series of informal and formal meetings, may come to a consensus about what are the most important purposes for them in doing the evaluation (Thornton, 2001). Simons (1987) argues that one of the best ways to develop effective curriculum practices is to grant schools the authority to formally evaluate in addition to external agencies. However, in many cases individual schools cannot avoid external accountability forces – they are the driving force above and beyond the personal needs of a school community.

As an example, all government primary schools operating in Western Australia are required, under the School Accountability Framework: to produce, in partnership with their school community, a school plan setting out their objectives, priorities, major initiatives and evaluation measures;

to assess their performance in terms of standards of student achievement and the effectiveness of the school;

to make available to the public and to the District Director a School Report that describes the school’s performance;

to be accountable for the performance of the school – school staff to the principal and school principals to the District Director (Department of Education, 2002a, p. 5).

Yet, the accompanying documents for schools are couched in the language of ‘self-assessment’ and schools are encouraged ‘to see this document as a resource to augment their existing self-assessment practice’ (Department of Education 2002b, p. 8). Further, there is some scope for schools to select particular themes and a choice of tools. 

In the terms of Schwab (1969) these factors are ‘commonplaces’ of curriculum and consist of ‘learner’, ‘teacher’, ‘subject matter’ (curriculum) and ‘milieu’. Any evaluation activity must necessarily examine the impact and interaction of these elements. The sources of information about these four commonplaces can vary considerably. For example, information about the school milieu might be obtained from parents, community members and employers; information about the subjects taught at school might come from school administrators, external subject specialists, publishers, superintendents and parents. The range and choice of sources of data relates back to the purposes of the evaluation, the scale of the activity, the time and funds available. Once the focus of an evaluation has been determined, it is then possible to plan the kinds of information needed. For example, the evaluators may decide that information about students should include data about their previous academic levels, ongoing information about their class performance and interactions

with the teacher, and information about their achievements. This type of information is obviously collected at different time periods and the examples listed above refer to all three types of data: that is, diagnostic data collected prior to the beginning of a curriculum unit to find out interests and achievement levels of students; formative data collected during the teaching of a unit to pinpoint aspects of the teaching that are mismatched and not being successfully implemented; and summative data, which are collected at the completion of a unit and focus upon specific student outcomes and achievement levels.

Techniques that can be used to collect diagnostic, formative and summative data about students are included . Similar techniques can be used for collecting information about teachers and teacher–student interactions.

Collecting evaluative data about teachers requires considerable support and goodwill. George et al. (1998) highlight some of the problems and issues. They suggest that the ideal situation is for teachers to work in peer panels comprising three to five teachers. The important considerations are that:

they choose each other and there are no superordinate–subordinate relationships;

matters that are discussed are private to them but generally focus upon skill development;

they agree to meet regularly, ideally once a week;

they give low-inference feedback to each other (observe/record/report).

They do not make high-inference judgements as this would interfere with their peer relationships. As  teaching-partner observer or peer panels can use a variety of techniques to collect useful data over the various phases, ranging from informal observations to rating systems to the use of interviews and questionnaires. Self-reflection and analysis are extremely valuable activities for all teachers and especially important for school-level evaluation (Wroe and Halsall, 2001). Schon (1987) refers to the need for teachers to be reflective practitioners. He focuses specifically upon how and why teachers should reflect upon their

experiences.

The evaluative techniques can be used both in terms of self-evaluation and using a teaching-partner or peer panel. However, the most common techniques include some form of written recording sheet (e.g. keeping a diary) and a variety of observational techniques. Diaries represent a ‘shorthand’ method of recording the significant happenings of a teacher’s day. It is recommended that diaries should concentrate on one or two aspects that are considered most important. Points that may be useful as foci for diary entries include such questions:

Is my teaching behaviour having the desired effect in classroom management?

Has a particular seating arrangement encouraged the desired behaviour from the students concerned?

Has a particular teaching strategy improved the performance of a specific group of students?

Is a special project being positively accepted by the class or is there a lack of interest?

Observation is a direct, systematic way of determining what is happening in the classroom. Observations of classrooms can often be very revealing! For example, the literature contains examples of teachers who have complained that certain students in their class do not contribute to their lessons. However, observations by colleagues revealed that these same teachers did not encourage the students in question to participate and in some instances prevented their interaction with other students. There are often massive discrepancies between what teachers state they are teaching compared with what actually occurs in classrooms.

Several alternatives are available for the classroom teacher who wishes to collect his or her own observational data. These include using audiotaping or, if resources are available, videotaping. Student observations can also be sought via informal discussions and interviews or by the use of checklists and questionnaires. It should be clear that self-evaluation techniques for the teacher are fairly limited, and that far more data, including important additional perspectives, are available if colleagues on a school staff assist each other cooperatively with their evaluation activities. However, this requires colleagues to collect data about each other and to submit themselves to self-reflective activities. The challenge may be troublesome for some teachers unless peer panels (as described above) or similar pairings are organized. It is suggested that if teachers are willing from the outset to collect evaluative data about their own activities and their colleagues, then the feedback they obtain will enable them to be more successful and presumably more fulfilled.

There are, of course, many hidden assumptions involved in all this. Not all colleagues will want to submit themselves to all of the types of data collection and to peer and panel procedures. Teachers in a planning group have to be sufficiently empathic toward each other to accept feedback even if it is low-inference feedback. The kinds of evaluative activities, therefore, have to be carefully negotiated with the individuals concerned. Some readers might consider that the types of self-evaluation are too superficial and are likely to

lead to over-concentration upon the frequency of occurrence of activities rather than the quality of the actions. Also, time constraints are often so pressing that it is not always feasible to undertake many, if any, of these evaluative activities.

A combined qualitative/quantitative technique, which is widely used in the USA, in the United Kingdom and in other European countries (Visscher, 2001) is the performance indicator (see Figure 11.4). These can be directed specifically at teacher performance (especially teacher competence tests in the USA), at student performance (e.g. the General Achievement Test in Victoria, Australia) or at school-wide issues. Performance indicators are linked directly to specific objectives or goals for a school programme and are intended to indicate the extent of progress made towards a specific objective. Rogers and Badham (1992) suggest that performance indicators should be capable of being collected on several occasions over a period of time. 

Depending upon the size and scope of school-level evaluation, persons involved may be a team of one or two external experts, the entire school staff (together with selected school council members) or just one classroom teacher taking up the role of an evaluator. The US evaluation scene is normally dominated by the experts who are hired as consultants to evaluate school district programmes and similar large-scale activities. The literature on evaluation contains numerous references to the characteristics of ‘good’ evaluators (Simons, 1987; Popham, 1995; Wood, 1991) and includes such attributes as technical competence, personal integrity and objectivity.

External, full-time professional evaluators are not very evident on the Australian scene. External evaluators, as members of a team to undertake  school evaluations, are found in all states but they are mostly experienced teachers and school principals who serve on evaluation panels for short periods of time, including site visits of one or two days. In the United Kingdom, the Office for Standards in Education (OFSTED) has recruited a wide range of registered inspectors and inspection contractors who are in turn subject to inspection quality audits (OFSTED, 1997). Internal evaluators, by contrast, are persons who are involved in, and responsible for, duties in a specific school. A pair of teachers in a primary school or a small team of teachers from within a subject department at the secondary school level, might undertake small-scale evaluation activities. These individuals may turn to external experts for particular forms of assistance – for instance, in designing the appropriate data-gathering instruments, or in developing appropriate criteria for validating the evidence. On occasions, school staff may be able to obtain small grants to employ external consultants for particular tasks, such as initiating the evaluation exercise, coordinating the diverse activities or collecting some of the data (e.g. observing teachers in the classrooms). Checklists of specific questions are a very useful way of providing evaluators (individual evaluator or a team) with the necessary guidelines.

The management of schools, system wide or individually, brings attention to bear on performance issues and matters of evaluation. Various stakeholders want information about achievements (especially in terms of the students, teachers, subject matter and milieu) to justify the substantial financial expenses. In addition to accountability reasons, participants in a school community need to ‘sample the temperature’ of what is going on so that development plans can be targeted to areas of need. There are a range of techniques available for obtaining evaluative data about teachers, students and the milieu. However, if participants at a school are not committed to regular evaluation activities and are not willing to produce developmental, strategic plans based upon evidence obtained from these evaluations, little can be achieved.

Reflections and Issues

1. ‘Evaluations are designed increasingly to be used, to accompany or initiate changes in schools and central offices’ (Rogers and Badham, 1992). Do you agree? If this is the case what are the implications for the time taken and who initiates the evaluation?

2. ‘‘‘Value-added’’ measures indicate the educational value that a school adds over and above that which could be predicted given the backgrounds and prior attainments of the students within the school’ (Hill, 1995, p. 6). What are some exam ples of value-added measures? Comment on their potential successes and problems.

3. ‘In the last ten years we have witnessed a rapid growth in school self-evaluation models and practices . . . What is least clear and most controversial in this range of activity is who has control of the process, who has access to any product that emerges and whose interests are served’ (Simons, 1987, pp. 319–20). What groups do you consider are controlling school evaluation processes? Are you aware of successful evaluation efforts? What do you consider are some of the major inhibiting factors?

4. ‘Evaluation can be a constructive process leading to stronger professionalism, but only if teachers grasp the opportunity for reflection and growth that it presents.’ (Granheim, 1990, p.1). Do the evaluation approaches with which you are familiar allow teachers to ‘reflect and grow’? What are some important safeguards you would propose to allow this to happen?

5. ‘In the final analysis the evaluator’s role is to assess the educational quality of the curriculum policy or program. But (s)he can still do this democratically through dialogue and discussion with a variety of interest groups, including practitioners. Through such dialogue an evaluator can deepen and extend his or her own understanding of the nature of educational values and how they can be best realised in particular contests’ (Elliott, 1991, p. 231). How important is the dialogue and discussion between interest groups in a school evaluation? What techniques can be used to achieve it? Elaborate upon some of the restrictions.

6. ‘Evaluation is a form of inquiry whose end product is information. Information is power, and evaluation is powerful.’ (Guba and Lincoln, 1989, p. 56). Can school evaluations be powerful? Which stakeholders are most affected by school evaluations? How can their needs be communicated and respected? Use examples to illustrate your point of view.

7. The Education acts be legislated for the local management of schools. ‘Any school which seeks to use management information effectively for planning purposes will need to devise systems for integrating a review of: 

. curriculum delivery and pupil outcomes;

. staff appraisal and development;

. use of finance and other material resources (Rogers and Badham, 1992, p. 85).

Describe how you would plan an integrated evaluation of these elements. What might be some potential constraints?

Curriculum Theorizing

Over the years, curriculum theorizing has not advanced steadily. Over the last decades of the twentieth century, scholars grappled with vexing questions such as: ‘What is curriculum theory?’, ‘How might we obtain one?’, ‘What is one good for?’ (McCutcheon, 1982), ‘Can an example be found?’ (Kliebard, 1977).

The answers to these questions have been many and varied, and they have revealed differences in basic assumptions about what counts as valid curriculum purposes and content. On one hand, Westbury (1999) contends that these are not relevant questions at all, since the day-to-day reality of schools revolves around much less lofty and idealistic questions, such as: ‘What might we want to do in this here-and-now world?’ and ‘How can or might we begin to do it?’ (p. 357). On the other hand, curriculum specialists such as Giroux (1991) and Ornstein and Hunkins (1993) contend that we have to construct new vocabulary and new terms or metaphors if we are to make any advances.

Certainly, new approaches, with new terms and metaphors, began to be developed during the 1970s. Whether they offer increasingly promising insights and directions is problematic. John Dewey’s remark in the 1920s that in curriculum matters we are still ‘groping’ may be equally pertinent today. Jackson (1992) has observed that the curriculum field remains ‘confusing’. Wright (2000) contends that at the beginning of the twenty-first century curriculum theorizing is still highly contested and in a state of flux.

The frustration for curriculum writers is that, although the conceptualizing of curriculum theories still eludes us, the potential use of curriculum theories is very clear. Appropriate curriculum theories (if we had them) could guide the work of teachers, policy-makers, administrators, and anyone else involved in curriculum planning and development. They would help researchers analyse data and provide a much-needed impetus and direction for curriculum research with the benefits flowing on to classroom teachers. One approach is to attempt to establish the key questions that need to be answered by a curriculum theory. For example, Kliebard (1977) suggested that the fundamental question for any curriculum theory is: ‘What should we teach?’ This question then leads us to consider other questions, such as:

Why should we teach this rather than that?

Who should have access to what knowledge?

What rules should govern the teaching of what has been selected?

How should various parts of the curriculum be interrelated in order to create a coherent whole?

Beyer and Apple (1998), Posner (1998) and Ross (2000) extend this list to include broader, more politically sensitive questions:

What should count as knowledge? As knowing? What does not count as legitimate knowledge?

Who defines what counts as legitimate knowledge?

Who shall control the selection and distribution of knowledge?

Another possible approach to curriculum theory is to abandon ambitious plans for producing all-embracing curriculum theories and to concentrate on models of curriculum. Vallance (1982) and Posner (1998) advocate the development of models of curriculum and suggest that models, although they may lack statements of rules and principles that theories include, can identify the basic considerations that must be accounted for in curriculum decisions and can show their interrelationships.

Yet another solution, and one that has been proposed by many recent curriculum writers, is ‘to shift focus from the end product (the curriculum theory) to the process by which a theory is sought (the process of theorizing)’ (Vallance, 1982, p. 8). Although theorizers are apparently involved in activities; the outcome of which is the completion of a theory, their real involvement is actually with the processes of arriving at such an outcome. Theorizing is thus a general process involving individuals in three distinct activities:

being sensitive to emerging patterns in phenomena;

attempting to identify common patterns and issues;

relating patterns to one’s own teaching context.

If theorizing is defined in this way, then it can-and should be undertaken by all persons with an interest in curriculum, including teachers, academics and members of the community (Brady, 1984). Teachers in their daily work attempt to become increasingly sensitive to what is significant in their own classrooms and to establish some appropriate framework or orientation to guide what they do (Schubert, 1992). Academics, even though their primary motive may be to theorize in general rather than to guide teaching specifically, still interpret their experience with specific examples or episodes of teaching and attempt to identify patterns that may prove useful in orienting actions. In this way, the traditional dichotomy of theory–practice disappears since all now become practitioners who theorize about their teaching–learning experiences.

To understand what has been achieved in curriculum theorizing over the decades it is necessary to categorize the contributions. Three broad categories are used here to demonstrate different emphases, namely:

1. Prescriptive theorizers. This group attempts to create models or frameworks for curriculum development that improve school practices. Many members of this group have, in fact, held the belief that finding the best way of designing curricula will lead to the best possible curricula for schools. Ralph Tyler and Hilda Taba are members of this group.

2. Descriptive theorizers. This group attempts to identify how curriculum development actually takes place, especially in school settings. The idea is to understand the various steps and procedures in curriculum development and the relationships among them. Decker Walker and Joseph Schwab are members of this group.

3. Critical-exploratory theorizers. This group attempts to understand deficiencies in past practices of curriculum development and to replace them with more adequate practices, particularly by considering curriculum in the broadest possible intellectual and social contexts. This group looks at curriculum in terms of its diversities and continuities, emphasizing what curriculum has been, is, and might be. Elliot Eisner and William Pinar are members of this group.

Prescriptive Theorizers: Creating the Best Curricula Possible Up until the 1960s nearly all theorizing about curriculum development focused on ways to improve practices in schools. The major problem with most of these prescriptive approaches was that they assumed the characteristics of traditional, bureaucratized schools to be givens. Therefore, they rarely questioned – and thus frequently served to support existing educational, social, and political systems.

Some specialists worked closely with laboratory schools located on university campuses. Others were involved in major studies of schools or with major curriculum development projects. As a consequence, they wrote directly out of their experiences with specific schools. Hlebowitsh (1999) describes the common concern of these specialists for the improvement of school systems as ‘dedicated to offering curriculum development frameworks centred on using the school for the maintenance and improvement of the public interest’. Yet, other commentators have seen these endeavours much less positively, describing them as ‘control mechanisms’ (Perkinson, 1993), ‘traditionalist’ (Pinar, 1978) and ‘quasi-scientific’ (Apple, 1979).

Tyler is often quoted as a major figure of the prescriptive theorizers. In the 1940s, Tyler worked at the University of Chicago and produced an approach to curriculum planning that was subsequently published in 1949 as Basic Principles of Curriculum and Instruction (Tyler, 1949). The book has been widely used over the decades in many countries and is a fine example of common sense and clarity.

Tyler describes in his book a number of principles that have come to be known as the ‘Tyler rationale’. Tyler argues that his book is not a prescriptive approach – it is not a manual for curriculum construction since it does not describe and outline in detail the steps to be taken by a given school or college that seeks to build a curriculum (p. 1). He goes on to state that it is merely ‘one way of viewing an instructional program’, and ‘the student is encouraged to examine other rationales and to develop his own conception of the elements and relationships involved in an effective curriculum’ (p. 1). Yet it is also fair to say that Tyler’s book does describe various steps in some detail and it does have an air of prescription about it. Many educators have used and continue to use it as a manual for curriculum planning (Hlebowitsh, 1992).

Tyler’s model states how to build a curriculum. He argues that there are really four principles or ‘big questions’ that curriculum makers have to ask . These questions are concerned with selecting objectives, selecting learning experiences, organizing learning experiences and evaluating. For Tyler, these questions can be answered systematically, but only if they are posed in this order, for answers to all later questions logically presuppose answers to all prior questions.

Despite certain ambiguities about how to select objectives and how to use some sources of data, the Tyler rationale encompasses most of our basic concerns about curriculum (Walker, 1990; Hlebowitsh, 1992, 1999). Many other approaches have been based on Tyler. The excesses of some of these have been criticized, but there has also been a tendency to criticize – perhaps fairly, perhaps unfairly – the Tyler rationale itself.

In reflecting on curriculum in 1975, nearly 30 years after the publication of his rationale, Tyler summed up what he thought his approach was about:

[Curriculum planning is] a practical enterprise not a theoretical study. It endeavours to design a system to achieve an educational end and is not primarily attempting to explain an existential phenomenon. The system

must be designed to operate effectively in a society where a number of constraints are present and with human beings who all have purposes, preferences, and dynamic mechanisms in operation. (Tyler, 1975, p. 18)

This quotation captures the basic reasons why the Tyler rationale has proved so persuasive to curriculum workers over such a long period of time and also why it has left teachers to deal with the gaps that arise among the planned, the enacted and the experienced curricula. As Tyler suggests, his rationale is primarily a way of simplifying complex situations sufficiently so that plans and procedures can be carried out rationally – that is, in ways that people engaged in the process can understand and, at least potentially, reach agreement about. For the purposes of communication and consensus building, it has had immense practical utility. It is not a way, however, of dealing with the underlying existential complexity that creates the lived character of the experienced curriculum or even with many of the characteristics of individual classrooms that teachers need to take into account in making their decisions about how to flexibly enact curricula that have been planned with precision.

In 1949, Tyler’s rational-linear approach broke new ground in curriculum (see Figure 19.2). It had a relatively liberating effect at that time (Helsby and Saunders, 1993). Curriculum workers had for the first time an approach that appeared both comprehensive and workable. They were advised to concentrate on student behaviours in devising objectives for a unit and to emphasize appropriate learning experiences rather than simply identifying content to be covered. The guidelines for evaluating a curriculum were very different and far more comprehensive than were the summative tests used during the 1940s.

Descriptive theorizers are not concerned – at least not directly – with providing specific answers to questions concerning what a curriculum should be. Rather,  they are concerned with how such answers can be arrived at. To use an analogy, they are concerned with creating a map of the terrain on which curriculum decision-making takes place, not with moving specific plots of earth involved in school construction projects. An accurate map may be essential to a good construction project, but where specific roads and structures are built depends on the beliefs and values of the designers of the project, on budgets and the availability of building materials, and on numerous other practical matters that vary from project to project.

Descriptive theorizers are similar to the prescriptive theorizers of our first category, however, to the extent that both groups view curriculum decision making as taking place primarily in schools or in large curriculum development projects that see schools as givens, thus supporting existing educational, social and political systems. Nonetheless, descriptive theorizers do tend to have a broader vision, primarily because they perceive curriculum problems as being largely indeterminate and open-ended. They understand there are no curriculum development procedures that ensure practical success. They argue that it is futile to search for a single best curriculum because of the diversity of curriculum problems and possible solutions. Therefore, most descriptive theorizers actually hold a wide vision about the organization of schools and the interaction of diverse individuals and groups. Technical, operational procedures are seen to be of less importance than deliberate processes (Reid, 1999a).

Because they view curriculum decision-making broadly, as taking place in the same multiple and complex ways in which people make practical decisions within their own lives, they stress that the procedures of curriculum development also take place through what Schwab (1969, 1970), in working out Dewey’s line of reasoning, has termed ‘practical inquiry’. Schubert (1986)

Advances made by Tyler’s 1949 rationale notes that the practical inquiry approach to curriculum theorizing can be characterized as follows:

It involves everyday problem-solving.

It assumes that every teaching situation is unique.

It focuses more on questions to be asked than on finding answers.

It proceeds through the process of deliberation.

It does not provide general solutions to problems, for each specific situation must be considered separately.

Walker’s naturalistic approach to the processes of curriculum deliberation is one example of mapping how practical inquiry takes place.

Walker (1971) was especially interested in how curriculum planners ‘actually’ went about their task, rather than following Tyler’s advice about how they ‘should’ go about the task. He had an excellent opportunity to find out when he was appointed as participant observer and evaluator for the Kettering Art Project during the late 1960s in California. For a period of 3 years he meticulously recorded the actions, arguments and decisions of the project team. By analysing transcripts of their meetings and other data, Walker was able to isolate important components in the curriculum development process. During the 1960s and 1970s a number of major, national curriculum projects were in operation and so he was able to compare his findings from the

Kettering Art Project with several other projects. He developed his concepts into a process framework, which he termed a ‘naturalistic model’. Walker used the term ‘naturalistic’ because he wanted to portray how curriculum planning actually occurs in practice, compared with other approaches which prescribe how curriculum planning should occur. His three-step sequence of ‘platform-deliberation-design’ has since been used at various levels of curriculum development including small-scale projects with pre-service teachers (Holt, 1990; Kennedy, 1988; Ross, 1993), as well as in large-scale programmes (Ben-Peretz, 1990; Orpwood, 1985). 

Walker (building on the ideas of Schwab, 1969) suggests that any individuals who come together as a group to undertake curriculum development activities approach the task with certain beliefs and values. They will have certain perceptions of the task, ideas about what the chief problems are, assertions about what should be prescribed and certain commitments which they are prepared to pursue and argue about. The preliminary step is therefore to get everyone to join in, to talk, discuss and even argue about what the platform is or should be. Walker used the term ‘platform’ because it provides a benchmark or basis for the future discussions.

Whether a group achieves much or little consensus about their platform, planning eventually moves into the second phase: ‘deliberation’. There is not necessarily a clear separation between these phases, for the process of deliberation is also concerned with consensus, but in deliberation attention turns away from beliefs themselves and towards how they are used is assessing actual states of affairs and possible courses of action – towards what Schwab refers to as ‘the practical’. In general, planners should identify as far as possible what is problematic about the situation in which their curriculum is to implemented and how the curriculum they develop can mitigate problems.

Deliberation finally leads to some decisions for action: planning enters the ‘design’ phase when a group has achieved sufficient consensus about beliefs, problematic circumstances and potential solutions so that particular courses of action can be taken more or less automatically, without further consideration of alternatives. That is, what the travails of the previous phases have made  explicit for the group now forms the implicit basis for the group’s actual curriculum design. Walker argues that the design phase of a curriculum development project typically contains both implicit and explicit considerations.

Even though a project may have passed through the platform and deliberation phases, decisions may still be influenced as much by personal preferences as by rational discussion. The culminating activity for the design phase is the creation of the planned curriculum, which may include whatever specific subjects, instructions, teaching materials or activities that the group believes advisable. Walker’s deliberative approach attempts to accurately portray what actually happens during curriculum planning. Because Walker based his approach on studies of planning that had occurred during actual curriculum projects, he claims that it can be supported on empirical grounds. It can be argued that Walker’s approach is normative as well as descriptive. Donmoyer (1982) suggests that although the specifics within it are empirically based, it ‘resembles in a general way, if not in all important details, Schwab’s normative model of how curriculums ought to be made’ (p. 3).

Certainly, Walker’s approach is of considerable value to teachers and other curriculum planners. Knowing what typically happens during planning – the assertions of personal beliefs in the struggle toward consensus, the use of deliberation in identifying problematic situations and weighing alternative solutions, and the interplay of the implicit and the explicit in designing a curriculum – can at least help identify potential pitfalls and frustration in curriculum development and perhaps even guide planners around them.

Walker’s descriptions of what typically does happen during planning certainly present a highly useful alternative to Tyler’s prescriptions of what should happen. Tyler does not describe what happens when consensus cannot be reached in practice; Walker describes how curriculum planning proceeds even when consensus is not reached.

Critical-Exploratory Theorizers: Understanding Curriculum in Terms of What Has Been, Is, and Might Be Theorizers in the critical-exploratory category are particularly diverse. Nonetheless, there are just two general approaches to how they treat problems of schooling and curriculum. One general approach emphasizes the connections between schooling and the existing social order. This approach provides critical analysis of prevalent social structures and mainstream curriculum practices. These critiques are concerned with such issues as domination, exploitation, resistance, and what constitutes legitimate knowledge. Collectively, this approach tends to use similar technical terms, such as ‘cultural capital’ (the ability of certain groups in society to transform culture into a commodity and to accumulate it) and ‘cultural reproduction’ (the idea that the school’s role is to pass on to succeeding generations the present culture without changing it).

Many of these theorizers maintain – and with some justification – that a new technical language is needed to provide new insights and interpretations about existing social structures. The second general approach within this group is an emphasis on the personal nature of learning and on people, rather than ideas, as the basis for action. In other words, these theorizers’ primary concern is with individual experience itself and with how systematic education can contribute to highquality experiencing. They locate the value of curriculum planning and development in the experienced curriculum, not in the planned curriculum. Although most recognize the importance of the preconscious realm of experience and emphasize that often knowledge is personally constructed by each individual, they believe that teachers, in planning and in enacting what is planned, play a key role in influencing the quality of their students’ experiences. Of course, despite the diversity of the critical-exploratory category, many of its theorizers find ways of linking their analyses of the external social context of curriculum and schooling with the personal experience of individual students and teachers.

We need to consider the term reconceptualist, which has been used as an umbrella term since the 1970s and early 1980s to describe new forms of theorizing that were then emerging. It is still frequently used today, especially to capture the sense of exploration, but its use has created some avoidable confusion. Initially, the term proved useful, for it seemed to suggest that whatever re-conceptualists stood for was new – and probably better – than what had gone before, and re-conceptualists certainly were united in their opposition to the rationalistic and scientific.

However, as theorizers interested in reconceptualizing the field grew in number and in influence, it became increasingly important to clarify what they did – and did not – have in common. For instance, some theorizers

used philosophical analysis and methods drawn from mainstream social science, while others used case studies, biography, psychoanalytical techniques and literacy theory. Perhaps the most successful effort to map the common characteristics of reconceptualists was undertaken by Klohr (1980), who identified nine foci of their efforts:

1. A holistic, organic view is taken of people and their relation to nature.

2. The individual becomes the chief agent in the construction of knowledge; that is, he or she is a culture creator as well as a culture bearer.

3. The curriculum theorists draw heavily on their own experiential base as method.

4. Curriculum theorizing recognizes as major resources the preconscious realms of experience.

5. The foundational roots of this theorizing lie in existential philosophy, phenomenology and radical psychoanalysis; they (reconceptualists) also draw from humanistic reconceptualizations of such cognate fields as sociology, anthropology and political science.

6. Personal liberty and the attainment of higher levels of consciousness become central values in the curriculum process. 

7. Diversity and pluralism are characteristics both of the social ends and of the means proposed to attain these ends.

8. A reconceptualization of supporting political–social operations is basic.

9. New language forms are generated to translate fresh meanings, for example, metaphors. (Klohr, 1980, p.3)

However, a close examination of Klohr’s foci reveals that some are clearly not appropriate to all reconceptualists. For example, a focus on the ‘preconscious realms of experience’ applies to theorists such as Pinar and Grumet, who use psychoanalytical techniques in their theorizing, but it does not apply to Apple. Conversely, a focus on a ‘reconceptualization of supporting politicalsocial operations’ applies to Apple but far less to Pinar or Huebner.

Despite these difficulties with the term reconceptualist, readers should be aware of its history in carrying forward new forms of curriculum theorizing that emerged in the 1970s (see, for example, Pinar et al., 1995). Whether the endeavours over the decades since the 1970s represent a shift in basic thinking about curriculum sufficiently profound to be considered a paradigm shift in Kuhnian terms (Kuhn, 1962) is debatable. Pinar et al. (1995) suggest that there has been such a shift and, along with Rogan and Luckowski (1990), that the work of reconceptualists represents a paradigmatic advancement over the Tyler rationale. Brown (1988) concludes that a first approximation to a paradigm shift has been under way and that the new generation of curriculum scholars, as they gain a firm foothold in universities, will begin to challenge the received wisdom of traditional points of view.

There is certainly nothing finished or final about reconceptualism, for ideas and methods are constantly evolving. Rather, a ‘proliferation of schools’ (Brown, 1988, p. 28) has developed with considerable differences among them. Although these theorizers often write from a neo-Marxist perspective, their critiques have attacked the problems of society and schooling in a variety of ways. Giroux (1982) described traditional educational theorizing as ‘dancing on the surfaces of reality . . . ignoring not only the latent principles that shape the deep grammar of the existing social order, but also those principles underlying the genesis and nature of its own logic’ (p. 1). Apple suggests a number of political questions that should be asked about the legitimacy of the knowledge included in a curriculum. For example:

Why and how are particular aspects of a collective culture represented in schools as objective factual knowledge?

How, concretely, may official knowledge represent the ideological configurations of the dominant interests in a society?

How do schools legitimate these limited and partial standards of knowing as unquestioned truths? (Apple, 1979, p. 7)

There is no doubt that these curriculum theorizers have had a considerable impact on curriculum writings. They have alerted curriculum planners and developers to a number of ingrained problems in the usual – and usually unexamined – relationship between schools and the society in which they are embedded. Their approach has exposed classroom practices that have remained hidden when approached by prescriptive theorizers (Taylor, 1979).

Under this subcategory are scholars whose approach to curriculum theorizing can be exemplified by Eisner’s approach to curriculum planning. In some ways this approach is similar to the deliberate approach of the descriptive theorizers already discussed. The main difference is that the deliberations of curriculum development committees usually lead towards public meanings and group decisions, whereas literacy artists are concerned with personal experience as well (Barone, 1982; Eisner, 1979; Eisner and Vallance, 1974). Indeed, all theorizers in this subcategory emphasize to one degree or another that learning is highly personal.

Essentially, members of this group see themselves, curriculum developers, teachers, students, and virtually every other person as involved in an ongoing process of making meaning in their own lives and conveying meaning to others. This process centers on personal perception and choice. In it, the curriculum is considered a medium through which individuals learn how to deepen.

Writers who do existential and psychoanalytical theorizing begin with individual experience but point to the importance of how schooling influences experience. Schools represent nature (things that exist prior to human intervention, such as physical sites and space) and culture (things that are human creations, such as beliefs and objects), but the culture of schools tends to be taken for granted. Whenever people take culture for granted, they tend to become less aware – hence, less free. Therefore, we need to attend especially to those parts of culture that are not compelled directly by nature and about which we can make decisions. In particular, the task is to transform schooling that constrains human freedom (Grumet, 1981; Miller, 1992; Pinar, 1980).

The autobiographical/biographical approach to theorizing focuses on the centrality of personal experience in the curriculum. In 1972, Pinar first wrote about his interest in the autobiographical method. Subsequently, he formulated the term currere to explain his emphasis. Currere refers to an existential experience of institutional structures. The method of currere is a strategy for self-reflection that enables the individual to encounter an experience more fully and more clearly, as if creating a highly personal autobiography (Pinar and Grumet, 1976).

Pinar et al. (1995) describe a growing interest in theorizing about curriculum as ‘gender text’. Doing so involves analysing the unequal ways in which people are treated because of their gender and sexuality, and how knowledge and values develop under society’s prevailing assumptions about gender. Many different terms may be used in examining how gender and curricula are related. For  example, Kenway and Modra (1992) use the phrase feminist pedagogy to describe the social theory and politics of feminists, explaining several variations of feminism, including liberal feminism (working toward equality with males in access to education), socialist feminism (criticizing educational practices exploitative of females) and radical feminism (seeking a distinctively women’s educational culture). Analysis of schooling in terms of gender points out how it has been organized around different socially perceived roles and status for men and women.

Feminist curriculum theorizers have not been the only scholars exploring the frontier of gender studies. Increasingly, a number of scholars have theorized about male identity. In particular, they have been challenging ‘heteronormativity’. Sears (1992a, b, 1999) has been a major figure in highlighting homosexual issues and supporting the struggle for social justice for gays and lesbians. He uses the term ‘queer’ to signify ‘those who have been defined or have chosen to define themselves as sexual outsiders’ (1999, p. 4). He defines teaching queerly as ‘creating classrooms that challenge categorical thinking, promote interpersonal intelligence, and foster critical consciousness’ (1999, p. 5), contending that such teaching requires a re-examination of taken-for-granted assumptions about diversity, identities, childhood and prejudice.

Race is a ‘complex, dynamic, and changing construct’ (Pinar et al., 1995, p. 316). Race has a powerful influence on schooling in general and the curriculum in particular, yet McCarthy (1988) contends that theorizing about race and racial inequality did not come into its own in curriculum until recent decades. Past neglect has been supplanted, however, by recent theorizers such as Watkins (1993), McCarthy (1988), Villenas and Deyhle (1999) and Pinar (2000). Race can be a powerful, autonomous focal point for theorizers, yet it also intersects with other foci such as gender and postmodernism.

Since the early 1980s the term ‘postmodern’ has been applied to various pursuits or occupations, as in ‘postmodern art’ and ‘postmodern architecture’. Presumably, what is postmodern replaces what is modern as a defining characteristic. Postmodern curriculum theorizing – at least when it is sufficiently farsighted – should be, therefore, on the leading edge of future changes in education. Not only are there numerous interpretations of postmodern, but there are also distinctions that can be made between postmodernism and postmodernity and related terms such as poststructuralism, deconstruction, postcolonialism and postindustrialism.

The examples of theorizing included here should be analysed in the light of history. They illustrate the divergent approaches that have been taken and continue to be developed by curriculum specialists. Some approaches have been more dominant at some times than others. In the last decade, approaches based on the analysis of social structures or personal experience became increasingly common. New classifications of theorizing continue to appear in the literature. These conceptions of curriculum add insights about diversity and directions in theorizing, but further studies of the effects of theorizing at the school level are needed. What is needed more urgently, however, is increasing and continuing dialogue between theorizers at all levels, from teachers to academics, so that we can learn from our history and our diverse perspectives. Walker (1980) claimed that a ‘rich confusion is the right state for curriculum writing’ (p. 81). We believe this is so, but writing is only one of many ways to contribute to the dialogue about the richness of curriculum theorizing in which this chapter has invited readers to participate.

1. ‘Schools persist in using curriculum models grounded in technical rationality (for example, Tyler’s approach) because it fits well with the bureaucratic organization of schools’ (Olson, 1989). Is this the major reason? Consider other reasons why schools might support or reject the Tyler approach.

2. ‘The real world of teaching is messy, indeterminate and problematic situations arise because of conflicting values’ (Carr and Kemmis, 1986, p. 9). To what extent is the Tyler approach or the Walker approach able to accommodate these situations?

3. To what extent is the Tyler model value-free? Do you see this as an advantage or a disadvantage? Give reasons for your answers.

4. The use of technical/rational administrative solutions to complex social issues of equity and access in schools is wrong-headed, superficial and fundamentally flawed, according to Smyth and Shacklock (1998). Critically analyse this statement.

5. ‘It is significant that Tyler’s first question gets more than twice the attention of any of the other three because Tyler’s scheme depends on the careful predetermination of the objectives of the curriculum’ (Kliebard, 1992, p. 81). Present points for and against the issue of predetermining objectives.

6. The naturalistic model explodes the myth that curriculum planning must commence with objectives. Do you support this statement? Are there additional caveats to consider?

7. Until we know a particular value we hold, it holds us – we are not in possession of it; it affects our work and thinking although we are unaware of it. Reflect upon the major explicit and implicit values that have guided your teaching. How do they relate to the values implicit in the theorizing described in this chapter? Try to describe your current value orientation and its influence on how you now theorize about curriculum.

8. ‘Curriculum theorizing has been overtly politicized, it has been variously institutionalized . . . queered, raced, gendered, aestheticized, psychoanalysed, moralized, modernized and postmodernized . . . [so] that it presently demands a high degree of flexibility and tolerance from all involved’ (Wright, 2000, p. 10). Consider the implications of this point of view for the future of curriculum theorizing and school practice.

Learning Environments

The classroom environment is an integral part of the learning process and no teacher or student can be unaffected by it. It is the learning environment for both the teacher and their students (Emmer et al., 2000). In any school, the class teachers and students have to adjust to the building architecture – the overall space, the position and number of doors and windows, the height of the ceiling and the insulation qualities of the walls. Yet, as Bennett (1981) reminds us: ‘This does not indicate architectural determination. Architecture can certainly modify the teaching environment, but teachers determine the curriculum and organization’ (Bennett, 1981, p. 24). Teachers and students have the opportunity to ‘express their ‘‘personalities’’ through the arrangement and de´cor of the environment and the arrangement of space’ (Ross, 1982, pp. 1–2). However, creative arrangements need to be undertaken in the knowledge that specific physical conditions and space allocations can have important consequences on the attitudes, behaviours and even the achievements of students.

How an area of space is used in a teaching/learning situation is clearly important, but often taken for granted. The particular pattern of juxtaposing furniture and spaces within the confines of a classroom (or open teaching area) is done for a variety of purposes. In some instances, the teacher arranges a particular pattern because he or she is convinced that this configuration aids learning. As examples, single rows of desks might be considered to be most useful for students listening to an expository, teacher-directed science lesson; a grouping of desks in clusters of four might be far better for sharing materials in an art lesson; and a circle of chairs with the desks pushed to the sides might be the most appropriate for a literature lesson. However, the teacher may have other reasons in mind that explain a particular pattern. Perhaps the teacher is concerned about a general atmosphere of restlessness in the class and wants convenient aisles and spaces so that ‘seat work’ can be continuously surveyed. In this case, the classroom spaces take on a greater significance than the furniture, because the opportunities for supervising are uppermost in the teacher’s mind. It is impossible to separate these ‘emotional climate’ needs from the physical setting (Konza et al., 2001).

The following guidelines may be helpful in making decisions about the classroom – the teacher’s special learning environment along with thirty or more students!

First, use a room arrangement that facilitates a teaching and learning style and does not impede it. The classroom teacher needs to be aware of whether the physical environment he or she has provided facilitates the student behaviours desired. That is, unless the two are interrelated or congruent (the technical term is synomorphic), then undesirable effects are likely to occur. In broad terms, a teacher may desire to organize the class on the basis of territory or by function; the former focuses on a teacher-dominated purpose while the latter emphasizes a resource specialization, student-initiated focus. In classrooms organized by territory, the major decision is how to allocate and arrange student desks and chairs. It is assumed that each student has his or her own domain or work space and that this is the basis for considering how certain learning activities will occur. Classrooms organized on the basis of function enable students to engage in generative learning (Harris and Bell, 1990). They are commonly found in junior grades in primary schools in specialist subject areas (e.g. media or science) and subjects using computer-based projects (Anderson-Inman and Horney, 1993) in many secondary schools. In this case, the allocation of space is based upon what specialist material/activities can be accommodated in a given area, and the matter of the location of desks is only of minor consideration.

Second, ensure that high-traffic areas are open and not congested. There are always high-traffic areas such as around doorways, the pencil-sharpener, computers, certain bookshelves and the teacher’s desk. According to Emmer et al. (2000), high-traffic areas should be kept away from each other, have plenty of space, and be easily accessible.

There are numerous classroom shapes and sizes but it is possible to highlight the common elements of classrooms. The typical classroom is 12 metres long and 8 metres wide and is designed to accommodate approximately 30 students. One wall is typically taken up with blackboards or whiteboards and another wall often contains several pinboards. The teacher’s table is usually at the front of the room and students’ desks are arranged in four rows of seven or eight. In this relatively formal classroom situation it is likely that the ‘action zone’ (Brophy, 1981) for interaction between the teacher and students will be found in the front and centre. That is, students seated near the front and centre desks facing the teacher are more likely to be the focus of the teacher’s attention, rather than the students seated on the margins or at the rear of the room. Many teachers are able to devise very different, creative patterns of use within the confines of the standard classroom (Cohen et al., 1998). Small-group activities are facilitated by clusters of desks. A common area formed by the combination of five or six desks may be ideal for spreading out documents and charts as well as providing close physical contact between a small group of students. The desks can still be oriented towards the blackboard and the teacher or they can be located at points in the room which maximize space

between groups.

Depending on space available, many different arrangements are possible. In devising the location of students’ desks it is important to remember their needs, including:

1. a need to be seated at points in the classroom where they can comfortably undertake the learning activities;

2. a need for them to be located at desks or tables adjacent to peers with whom they have a close and mutually positive relationship;

3. a need for them to have access to the teacher and to resources in the room.

Large items of furniture such as cupboards can be used as dividers within a room. Pieces of pegboard can be used to cover the sides of a cupboard and thereby provide additional display space. It is also helpful to have one or two large tables in a classroom even though they take up a lot of space. These tables can be used for a multitude of purposes including storing audiovisual materials, storing unfinished work or for displays of completed projects/units. The placement of computers in the room is an additional complication. A single computer might be located in any convenient corner but a pod of five or more computers can cause difficulties in an already crowded room. Some primary schools have all their computers located in a separate computer laboratory.

Learning stations and work centres are areas where a small number of students come to work on a special activity. These areas need to be located so that they do not distract from major learning activities. Learning stations are examples of functional areas which are often established in primary schools. A learning station is simply an area in a room where a group of students can work together at well-defined tasks. Usually, all resource materials are provided at the one location and tasks are included on colour-coded cards so that individuals or groups can involve themselves with minimal supervision by the teacher. In addition to the traditional specialist rooms in secondary schools such as manual arts centres, home economics and science laboratories, it is interesting to note how this has been extended over the last decade to include sophisticated

language laboratories, media centres and micro-computer laboratories (Cohen et al., 1998; de Castell, 2000).

Pin-up boards are a major element in any classroom because they can be used to display various items of interest such as student work, charts, posters, class rules and routines. Primary school students might have class banners, class photographs, birthday charts and monitor charts (Konza et al., 2001). Secondary school

students might prefer posters on media topics, environment and sporting figures (Glickman, 2003).

Plants can add a very positive effect to a classroom and of course students learn to be responsible for their watering. At primary school level, various animals may be kept such as fish, birds, tadpoles and mice. They add novelty and colour and are further opportunities for students to develop responsibilities for the animals’ safety and welfare. The task for each teacher is to work out how to make the best use of available furniture and facilities. It is often amazing how the rearrangement of particular desks or cupboards leads to unforeseen increases in space/access. Mezzanine floors suspended above the tables and chairs, withdrawal areas complete with lounge chairs and occasional tables, are just some of the more adventurous schemes which have been implemented by some teachers.

Winston Churchill once remarked: ‘We shape our buildings, and afterwards our buildings shape us’. This statement underlines the importance of the physical buildings in which we work and play, and especially the environments in which school children spend at least 12 years of their lives. However, Churchill also appears to be attributing a considerable degree of determinism to the physical buildings, and it is far from clear whether this stance can be supported. Research evidence indicates that relationships between the physical environment and students are far from clear. There are some patterns emerging related to crowding, privacy and territoriality, but few conclusive studies relating to specific physical environment factors. In fact, it is very difficult to disentangle the physical from the psychological factors. The research studies that have provided conclusive results are those that have demonstrated particular interrelationships between the two, such as the density of students in a classroom with student attitudes of dissatisfaction. The examples which follow indicate the interrelationships between physical environment factors and affective states of students rather than direct influences on achievement measures.

The communications media are very aware of the use of colour and it is little wonder that colour television, colour inserts in daily newspapers, glossy colour magazines and full-colour computer games and graphics are so popular (Cohen et al., 1998). So it is in classrooms. The list of items that can add colour to a classroom are endless and not limited to those listed above. Newspaper clippings, pamphlets and photographs are an integral part of many classrooms and they can add to the visual impact. So, too, can three-dimensional models (e.g. of landscapes, buildings and animals) and dioramas. Personal computer nooks and cubicles found in many classrooms add to the diversity of colours. However, a variegated assortment of colours, vying for students’ attention in a classroom, needs to be considered in terms of educational purposes (Emmer et al., 2000). Colours may be used by the teacher to gain students’ attention and motivation, but they are also included to provide satisfaction and ‘belongingness’ to the student members of each classroom (Konza et al., 2001). As Field (1980, p. 197) notes, ‘classrooms belong to the children, and teachers need to help them identify with it more readily’. If students are involved in the planning of materials to be displayed and in the regular changing of them, then it is likely that they will identify far more readily with their teacher and the classroom endeavours he or she is trying to pursue.

Despite the many assertions from education writers about the value of colour in classroom environments, there is little research evidence to support or refute its use. At the primary school level, Santrock (1976) studied first- and secondgrade children in a specially designed room, which was decorated alternately with happy, sad and neutral coloured pictures. The results indicated that the type of pictures in the room had a strong influence on the children and that they worked longer at a task when they were in the setting with the happy pictures. Related to colour is the amount of natural light available to students in a classroom. Rosenfeld’s (1999) research demonstrated that primary school students in Seattle, Washington who studied in light-filled schools scored higher in maths and reading tests than those students working in classrooms with least light.

Sounds are all around us but when certain sounds are unwanted it is generally termed ‘noise’. Bell et al. (1976) make this point when emphasizing that noise involves a physical component (by the ear and higher brain structures) but also a psychological component when it is evaluated as unwanted. As far as the classroom in concerned, it is important that the physical environment provides acoustics which enable participants to hold discussions in a normal conversational voice. The level of desirable noise will vary in different settings, such as a manual arts workshop with noisy lathes and electric drills to an extremely quiet library. Each instructional setting has its own noise level requirements to the extent that each person can hear clearly what is needed to be heard and not to be distracted by other noises (Eriksen and Wintermute, 1983).

Research studies on the effects of noise in classrooms have been considerable over the last six decades, but the results are inconclusive and often contradictory. Some of these studies have examined short-term exposure of students to noise within the school while others have monitored long-term exposure to severe noise from external sources. As an example of the former, Slater (1968) examined seventh-grade primary school children’s performance on a standardized reading test under three conditions. The first classroom of students was isolated from surrounding background noise, the second had normal background neighbouring noise of 55–79 decibels (dB), and in the third room additional noise sources were used (lawn mower tape recordings) to maintain a background noise level of 75–90 dB. The results indicated that the students’ performance on the reading test was not affected either positively or negatively by the different levels of noise. In another study of primary school students, Weinstein and Weinstein (1979) compared the reading performance of fourth grade students under quiet (47 dB) and normal background noise (60 dB) and also found that there were no significant differences in performance.

Noise affects all teachers and students but the problem is compounded for students with hearing problems (Anderson, 2001). Ray (1992) noted in his study that 20 to 43 per cent of primary school students had minimal degrees of permanent or fluctuating hearing impairment that could adversely affect listening and learning. The problem is especially acute with special education students, many of whom have significant histories of hearing loss (Reichman and Healey, 1993).

Common sense would indicate that there is a fairly limited temperature range in which school students might be expected to work at their best. High temperatures will tend to make some students irritable and uncomfortable. In extreme cases students can become lethargic and even nauseous. Then again, cold temperatures seem to bring out aggression and negative behaviour in some students.

Judgements about temperature control in schools are typically made at head office, in that decisions about the architectural design of schools and the use of specific building materials are made at this level. The use of particular designs, the siting of buildings and the use of insulating material will clearly affect maximum and minimum temperatures. Having comfortable seating in classrooms is of major importance. If students are confined to uncomfortable seats for extended periods of time they become distracted from the learning task (Gay, 1986). Uncomfortable seating may also lead to negative attitudes about the teacher (Tessmer and Richey, 1997). Mann (1997) reports on a study where students were given modular, modern furniture and noted major changes in attitude.

Lieble (1980, p. 22) states the problem succinctly: ‘the mind can only absorb what the seat can endure’. Of course, interactions between the teacher and students can be increased when class numbers are small. It results in less desk space and therefore more free space is available for informal activities or for specialist equipment. However, research evidence is contradictory on whether class size affects student achievement. For example, Murphy and Rosenberg (1998) and Finn et al. (2001) contend that there is compelling evidence that reducing class size, especially for younger children, will have a positive effect on student achievement. By contrast, Rees and Johnson (2000) and Galton et al. (2003) conclude that there is no evidence that smaller class sizes alone lead to higher student achievement. O’Donnell (2000), commenting on the funding resources in Australian education systems, notes the reluctance of governments to make significant reductions in class size.

Biddle and Berliner (2002, p. 20), in a major synthesis of research studies, form several conclusions:

Small classes in the early grades generate substantial gains for the students and those extra gains are greater the longer the students are exposed to those classes.

Extra gains from small classes in the early grades are larger when the class has fewer than 20 students.

Students who have traditionally been disadvantaged in education carry gains forward into the upper grades.

The extra gains appear to apply equally to boys and girls.

Evidence for the possible advantages of small classes in the upper grades and high school is inconclusive.

A number of studies have been done on students’ perceptions to obtain information on a better personenvironment fit in classrooms (Fraser and Walberg, 1991). At the primary and secondary school levels, students can be surveyed to obtain data on their present levels of personal satisfaction and adjustment, and their respective teachers can then use this information to make changes where appropriate (Griffith, 1997). A number of student inventories have been developed which provide this information. The Classroom Environment Scale (Moos and Trickett, 1974) has been widely used in the USA. This instrument measures nine different dimensions of the classroom environment including students’ interpersonal relationships, personal growth, and teacher control.

My Class Inventory is an instrument developed by the Australian researchers, Fisher and Fraser (1981), and is used to gain information about primary school students’ perceptions of classroom goals and value orientation. The items require students to make ratings on actual classroom environments as well as preferred environments. This information can be of great interest to class teachers who are concerned about providing instructional environments which are more in accord with those preferred by students. More recently, a questionnaire instrument was developed by Fraser et al. (1996), What is Happening in this Class, to measure students’ perceptions of their classroom environment. Items are included which provide data on seven dimensions of student cohesiveness, extent of teacher support, extent of student involvement, investigative activities, task orientation, cooperation and equity.

The school is not the only learning environment for young and older children. There are other non-formal agencies such as the church and youth groups that provide organized, systematic and educational activities. Informal education is a lifelong process by which every individual accumulates knowledge, skills, attitudes and thoughts from a variety of learning environments – from family, friends, travel, reading, listening and viewing (Tuijnman and Bostrom, 2002). Service learning has become an important priority in recent years, whereby students visit other environments (for example senior citizen homes, hostels for disabled persons) and provide caring services to others in need. Doing these community services gives students an opportunity to reflect on their own development (Dinkelman, 2001).

Participation in these community activities enables students to realize the value of life skills – they develop self-confidence and understand more about personal dependability (McLaughan, 2001). Full service youth and community centres provide additional learning environments apart from classrooms. They have family resource centres, health care suite, preschool, before and after school child care, and auditoriums. These sites are open day and night and do capture the spirit of a community school (Dryfoos, 2000).

Descriptions of classroom environments run the full gamut from invective criticism:

Judging from what is said and from what is available as a measuring stick, schools are architecturally and environmentally sterile . . . Their structure is insipid, cavernous and regimented. They are only now and then really creature-comfortable. Their designs maximize economy, surveillance, safety and ‘maybe’ efficiency. (George and McKinley, 1974, p. 141) to unbridled praise:

[Open planned classroom environments] are a liberatory measure capable of emancipating children from the authority of teachers. (Cooper, 1982, p. 168) In this chapter an attempt was made to place judgements about classroom environments on a more substantial footing and not to subscribe to either extreme view. Classroom instruction is affected by different uses of space and physical conditions. It is not possible to have knowledge of all the interrelationships but it would be less than professional to ignore the evidence that is available. Creative arranging of the classroom is one thing, but it must be tempered by careful consideration of the effects of the classroom environment in all its complexities.

1. ‘In my space there must be a wide range of ways to succeed, multiple interests to pursue, a variety of possible contributions to make. This means the room is decentralized and characterised by lively work stations or interest areas, rather than by straight rows’ (Ayers, 1993, p. 60). How achievable is this? Describe how you have developed classrooms in terms of multiple interests.

2. To what extent is it possible to cater for students’ individual learning styles in terms of environmental elements such as noise, temperature and colour? Give examples from your classroom experiences or from classes you have visited.

3. ‘A certain level of adequacy must be attained in seating, acoustics, temperature and lighting for high level learning to occur’ (Tessmer and Richey, 1997). Explain, giving examples from your classroom experiences.

4. ‘Machines change relations within the traditional classroom. Film, video, computer software and web sites act as teachers and partially displace the human teacher’ (De Vaney, 1998, p. 3). Discuss.

5. ‘School is diffusing spatially, merging into the physical backdrop of society. Schools are losing their architectural individuality, becoming increasingly difficult to recognize as places of learning’ (Hopmann and Kunzli, 1997, p. 262). What are  other places of learning? Are schools losing their individuality? If so, what will the impact be in the short and medium term?

6. ‘Children’s attitude and behaviour is determined, to a considerable extent, by the design of school grounds’ (Titman, 1997, p. 2). What messages do school grounds convey to school children? What are positive and negative elements of school grounds for children? How might this affect their behaviour in and out of the  classroom?

7. ‘Teachers have little training in how to arrange a room. Perhaps every new teacher should receive an empty classroom and then plan what they want to do in it and how they want to operate’. If you were given an empty room explain how you would arrange it.

8. ‘The classroom environment is such a potent determinant of student outcomes that it should not be ignored by those wishing to improve the effectiveness of schools’ (Fraser, 1986, p. 1). In what ways does the classroom environment determine student outcomes? What can a class teacher do to maximize the positive elements of a classroom environment?

9. According to Evans (1990), a school is both the temple and the exhibition hall of the modern world. Brightly coloured curtains and carpets are part of the intentions to display desired features to the public. But important aspects of teaching and administration remain hidden. In fact, care is often taken to indicate the ‘official’ way into the school. Do you agree with this statement? To what extent do the physical forms of schools give out messages to the public?