It’s now September, which means back-to-school time for millions of children. So I thought I’d write something with a school theme. And what better school to write about than the first one ever to feature in Doctor Who: Coal Hill School? But I’m not going to talk about An Unearthly Child, I’m here to talk about that episode everyone loves to hate: In the Forest of the Night. Now I feel slightly bad for writing this because In the Forest of the Night has already endured a barrel-load of criticism from fans over the years. Though a fair chunk of it is justified if you ask me. But now I’m going to add another one to the pile. So, brace yourselves.

Actually, before I jump headlong into my main point, I’m going to cast my mind back to 2014. I recall being quite excited by the news that Frank Cottrell-Boyce was writing an episode of Doctor Who. I was a huge fan of his children’s novel, Cosmic. It led to me reading his earlier novels, Millions and Framed, which were also highly enjoyable. He was also the writer of the storyline for Opening Ceremony of the London 2012 Summer Olympic Games, his second collaboration with director Danny Boyle. Cottrell-Boyce and Boyle had previously worked together on the film adaptation of Millions; I believe it remains Boyle’s only PG-rated film. So in summary, my confidence was high for Cottrell-Boyce to deliver something good for the show.

What we ended with was an episode widely considered, I think, to be the weakest of Series 8. I think some of this is due to the attitude, rightly or wrongly, towards the child actors. For me, the main critique is the inability to convince us that we were wandering through a forest in the heart of London. It just looks like someone has moved some trees and bushes into an urban setting. I’m sure we’re given any good reason why we should care about the child characters and their families, which culminates in a girl called Annabel magically appearing… from a bush? Was she hiding within the bush? Had she been turned into a bush? I care so little about this plot point that I’m not even going to look this moment up on iPlayer.

There’s another scene about maths that also struck me a bit too make-believe. Around 12 minutes into the episode, we see a flashback or memory sequence where Danny Pink is trying to teach some maths to Ruby, one of his pupils at Coal Hill School. This is the exchange that occurs between them:

DANNY: And how do we find X? Ruby?

RUBY: It’s there, sir. At the top.

DANNY: No, how do we find X?

RUBY: It’s not lost. It’s there at the top, Look!

DANNY: No, how do we find the value of X?

RUBY: Why are you asking me all the questions? Give someone else a go!

When Danny says to ‘find X’, he means the value that X represents. This is a standard question in algebra, an area of maths where letters are used as an abstract representation of a number we do not know. It’s also useful for writing out useful formulae such as, for example, the area of a triangle. This is calculated by multiplying ½ by the base length of the triangle by the height of the triangle, or ½ x b x h. Assigning letters to represent numbers or variables in a common equation is a useful tool.

Ruby’s response indicates that she doesn’t understand the mathematical context, and responds using a more literal interpretation of the question. She tells Danny that the letter X is at the top of the shape. She’s not wrong. Examiners have reported over the years that candidates for GCSE maths have genuinely circled the letter X on their exam paper as a response to the question “Find X.” I have a funny book of such creative responses to past maths exam questions on my bookshelf right next to my computer.

Danny eventually qualifies what he is asking by the third attempt, but if I was to take him seriously as a fully qualified secondary school maths teacher, I would have expected him not to make this mistake from the outset. Such misconceptions in child learners are well documented and during my brief stint as a maths teacher (I do not hold Qualified Teacher Status, but I still finished my PGCE in Secondary Education) we were at least trained in how to handle and avoid such misconceptions.

The small size of the class, about ten children, suggests this could be a lower-attaining group of children, or ones with additional educational needs. Such lessons for these children would require extra time for planning and preparation and a more considerate delivery of the content. Basically, this is exactly the kind of group you don’t want to make that mistake. Any excuse for them to disengage from the lesson will be taken, as I have witnessed first-hand from my own errors in teaching. Sure enough, Ruby responds in such a way by proclaiming “Why are you asking me all the questions? Give someone else a go!” I don’t think OFSTED would be too pleased to see Danny make such a basic communication error when teaching maths. But mistakes do happen.

What I think this scene is trying to communicate, in a humourous and low-key way, is the variety of creative thinking among the children. As if it’s trying to say, “Just because these kids aren’t the best at schoolwork, doesn’t mean they can’t help the Doctor save the world.” A sort-of defence for the children who feel like they don’t quite fit in at school. But since this scene neither brings me onside with the children, whilst also somewhat undermining Danny’s credibility as a professional maths teacher, it just doesn’t have the desired effect that I believe Cottrell-Boyce intended. And that’s a shame because I know from his books that he writes children really well; I think he can really capture the curiosity and intelligence of a 10-14 year-old. But for whatever reason, it’s not present here.

To summarise then, in order for Danny to become a slightly better maths teacher to these kids he needs to consider what content he is going to deliver, the language he will use to communicate this content and to consider more carefully the audience that he is delivering to. This will help avoid situations like that with Ruby who is struggling to engage with his algebra lesson. There’s still room for improvement in Mr. Pink’s pedagogical practice? I’ve written out these learning points for Mr. Pink and left them on his desk. I’m sure he’ll read them first thing on Monday morning, as long as something truly awful doesn’t happen to him before then.

Oh. Oh dear.

… And to think we’re already struggling to recruit maths teachers as it is?

Next time: Even More Maths Teachers!