Month: December 2016

Using Knowledge Organisers in Primary

There is huge variation in the process of planning a unit of work in primary. This post is about how I’ve gone about planning a two (possibly three) week unit on the lunar landing for my year two class. A few people have asked recently about using knowledge organisers in primary and so I thought it worth exploring how I’m going about this. It’s still early days so I’d appreciate feedback.

We have a few guiding principles when planning at my school (Reach Academy, who are recruiting if the following seems like your bag).

First, we backwards plan. This means that we begin by considering what children will need to know and be able to do to lead lives of choice and opportunity; a clutch of fantastic GCSE and A Level results are synonymous with this vision. Second, our lessons are objective and content driven – we start with what we want the children to know and achieve first. Third, we consider the method and resources by which the content will be delivered, ensuring success for all. Fourth, we aim for learning to be joyful and highly motivating for children.

Some more context, at Reach we split literacy into reading and writing lessons, and hour for each. Our reading lessons are guided by the principles of Doug Lemov’s ‘Reading Reconsidered’ which means that we do whole class reading of challenging texts. Each week children read poetry, fiction, non fiction and ‘cold extracts’.

On average, children will read around 750 words a day in these lessons. We read aloud as a class, with the teacher ‘controlling the game’: all children read the text with a ruler and I call student names every sentence or two and they immediately begin reading. Last half term we read The Iron Man by Ted Hughes, The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe and a Times article on the shooting of Harambe the gorilla, amongst other texts.

In our writing sessions, we are guided by the storytelling approach, which encourages children to learn a story by heart before innovating based on that story and ultimately, inventing their own stories based on the theme. Over the next two or three weeks we will be writing an information text, based on the lunar landings. The children have already written stories after learning the story of The Man on the Moon by Simon Bartram, and have been learning about the Solar System in topic.

Writing information texts is hard, and something that children often find difficult. It is my contention that this is often because they know too little about the particular subject. Having a wealth of knowledge about the subject gives children a full cup from which to pour onto the page, and so I began by explicating the minimum of what I expect each child to know by the end of the unit (when they come to write their final draft).

Here is what the knowledge organiser looks like:

Screen Shot 2016-12-30 at 16.57.05.png

If children learn everything on this sheet, by heart, I believe that writing an information text about the moon landing will be a piece of cake. Rather than struggling to think what to write in the next sentence, it will be a case of simply selecting and organising the facts they have at their fingertips, before crafting them into well structured sentences. (Okay so not that simple, but crafting beautiful sentences is surely easier when children already have tons of content to communicate).

Early in the unit, I will also share a model exemplar, sometimes called a WAGOLL (what a good one looks like). It looks like this:

Screen Shot 2016-12-30 at 17.31.21.png

How will the knowledge organiser actually be used?

It’s my belief that assessment and curriculum are inextricably linked. Where I have taught poor units it is because I did not define at the outset exactly what I wanted the children to learn. This made assessment impossible. Writing a knowledge organiser helps me to throw down a gauntlet to myself: if any child in my class hasn’t learnt what’s on this sheet then I haven’t done my job. This also helps to organise my assessment tasks. Clearly, the eventual information text will act as a summative assessment task, but I will also weave more formative tasks throughout the unit.

Multiple choice quizzes will end every lesson, to help crystallise within children precisely what should be remembered from the lesson, as well as strengthening retrieval strength. Do Now tasks at the beginning of lessons will help children revisit these facts and apply them to sentence writing tasks (e.g. Use the term ‘Saturn V’ in a sentence including the subordinating conjunction ‘because’).

Finally, in case this seems like it is lacking in the ‘joy’ mentioned at the start of the post, once the content has been set, the method of delivery can be considered. With the knowledge organiser acting as magnetic north, I can be creative with pedagogy knowing that rigour will not be lost. So, for example, the opening lesson to this unit will feature Dan, a teacher and ex-actor from secondary, visiting our class in character as Neil Armstrong. The Commander will give a full ‘mission debrief’ to year two, whilst I collate the details on a flipchart sheet ready to be displayed for the rest of the unit.

Home Learning

This knowledge organiser will also be sent home to help parents understand exactly what our expectations are in terms of what children need to learn. This will help them to lead conversations with their children and explore other resources such as books and youtube videos of the lunar landing. Children, in my experience, absolutely love learning facts, and so armed with the knowledge organiser will be able to swot up at home ready to share their knowledge in lessons. Also I’ll tell them that they have to do this. By the end of it they will all know exactly what NASA stands for. Do you?


If you would like a copy of the knowledge organiser above, please click knowledge-organiser-apollo-11 to download one.


Bluffer’s Guide to Teaching Key Stage One

This article originally appeared in the magnificent Teach Primary 3-7.

“Hi, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a primary teacher,”

“Oh! What age?”

“I teach year two,”

“That…is…..SOOOO cute. Oh my gosh how old are they? Six? Adorable.”

“Yeah I know…” is what I say.

It’s not what I mean. Look at these grey hairs. Look at them. Does adorable cause that? Any adorableness, I’ve learnt, is in fact a very cunning disguise that these tiny whirlwinds of terror have adopted to lull unsuspecting adults into a spider’s web of carnage. Perhaps they have trapped you too. Perhaps, in a thoughtless and utterly regrettable ‘adventurous’ spirit, you agreed to take charge of a class of very small people.

Fear not! Follow this bluffer’s guide and you might just make it to July with some sort of sanity in tact. I’m kidding, of course, you have no chance of retaining sanity, but follow the steps and you should go the right kind of crazy.

You can’t control the chaos, but you can channel it.

You’ve done everything you can to sculpt your classroom into a bastion of tranquility, with calming colours and Chopin twinkling in the background. But do not kid yourself for one moment that this will provide any sort of defence against the blitzkrieg onslaught of 30 whirlwinds of pure energy and enthusiasm. Any attempt to stabilise and control the mayhem will leave you dashing around the classroom like a clown in a suit, desperately trying to keep dozens of plates spinning in some sort of unison.

Instead, you must embrace the disorder, find your inner zen and masterfully direct small groups into contained activities. Deploy your TA like a platoon commander to the ‘hottest zones’ of the classroom, triage the rest by temporarily distracting them and then focus their glorious curiosity on something resembling a learning intention.

Entertain yourself and your colleagues with high brow reprimands

The luxury of being able to reprimand a child by using logic, reason and an appeal to socially accepted norms is no longer an option for you. Gentle, regular reinforcement of what is and isn’t acceptable can become tiring and dull, so keep it interesting by referring to topical political developments and historical events.

Strike a solemn face and a serious tone as you declare that ‘you’ve walked into this classroom like you have no regard whatsoever for Article 29 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, and I know that’s a document that you really respect.’ Or ‘You can’t just wander around the classroom like Caeser crossing the rubicon because we all know how that story ended. *Shaking your head* What would the senate think?’ They’ll be so confused that they usually just comply with your general instruction of ‘stop that’.   

Don’t touch that liquid.

I just don’t understand how so much snot can emerge from such a tiny person. They must have lost half their body weight with that sneeze. Keep calm, and remember to smile as you remove the thick brown-green sludge from your face, then cheerfully remind them ‘Oh, don’t forget that we put our hand over our mouth before we sneeze(/release the kraken.)’ Snot, unfortunately, will not be the only suspect liquid that you come across. Under no circumstances should you come into physical contact with a UBS (Unidentified Body Spillage), but instead order whoever has joined the staff most recently to mop it up. And if you’ve just joined, pay your dues. Also: alcohol gel, my friend. Bathe in it hourly.

Learn from the masters

It was with a deep sense of embarrassment and helplessness that I was first observed by a senior member of the team whilst in infant school. My classroom could most accurately be imagined by picturing the scene in Fantasia when Mickey Mouse puts on the comically large sorcerer’s hat, and is soon overwhelmed by multitudes of tiny axe-wielding broomsticks reaping devastation on all in their path. Then, like the wizened sorcerer of the story, my headteacher quietly slipped into the room, subtly waved their hand and restored peace and order in seconds. With time, you too will learn this magic. Watch closely and add any technique deployed by your more experienced colleagues to your growing arsenal.

Follow these guidelines and you may just survive your move into the lower end of schools. Sure year six may moan that they have the pressure of SATs, more content to cover and children beginning to understand the true meaning of the word defiant. But anyone who has worked in both knows that teachers of young children are the SAS of primary schools. Welcome to the club.


Bluffer’s Guide to Evidence Based Practice.

This article originally appeared in Teach Primary, a wonderful and intelligent publication to which you can subscribe here.

The quickest way to endear yourself to your primary colleagues and win their respect is to helpfully explain to them that everything they do is wrong and probably educationally damages their children. Whilst a commitment to becoming more informed by evidence might seem both intimidating and time-consuming, you’ll be happy to learn that it’s perfectly possible to bluff your way through this endeavour with little or no extra work.

So read on, brave teacher, and rightly earn your place as the most exasperating and pestiferous charlatan at staff meetings and beyond…

Don’t actually read any research

Just how do all of these teachers manage to read so much academic literature whilst doing the backbreaking job of being a classroom teacher? The answer – and don’t tell anyone – is that, and this really is the clever part, they don’t! Luckily, it’s almost impossible to be wrong about anything in education, because everybody disagrees about everything. Preface all of your pontifications with phrases such as ‘Of course all the evidence shows…’ or ‘I was actually reading an interesting study recently…’ In the unlikely event that someone actually calls you out on your claptrap, promise to ‘dig out the original article’ and then avoid them until they forget.

Take pot-shots at weak targets

 The wide ranging interest in education and lack of formal quality controls means that it’s pretty easy for dodgy initiatives and fads to take hold. A rookie error on the road to becoming an evidence based practitioner is to believe that you should contribute something positive to education; perhaps attempting to discover and share more effective forms of instruction, assessment and school improvement. I mean, fine, but that just sounds like a lot of work. It’s much easier to smarmily denigrate the fresh corpse of learning styles or brain gym. Revel in self-righteousness as you tear down the overlooked multiple intelligences poster, left up in the corner of the staffroom since the 90s. Exclaim sternly, ‘This has been thoroughly debunked!’ as you cast it into the recycling bin from whence it came. Suggest to your colleagues that they start calling you the debunker ‘as a joke’, then change your email signature.

Narrow your world view

Perhaps you may choose the more athentic, but ultimately pointless, path of actually engaging with academic research. Be warned, this can and will lead to depressing levels of cognitive dissonance in which you are regularly faced with the painful realisation that you’ve been doing your job horribly forever. To combat this, only read research which will reinforce your predisposed views and ideas. Psychologists call this ‘confirmation basis’. I’ve tried it and it really is lovely. This handy mental defence will ensure any nasty opposing views are either avoided or instantly dismissed out of hand.

Ignore context and nuance

In strong contention for the most unsurprising axiom of all time, Dylan Wiliam (NB famous educational researcher, drop his name often to boost your evidence credentials) reminds us that ‘everything works somewhere, nothing works everywhere’. This introduction of thoughtful application and reservation around research findings presents a dangerous challenge to your (always humble) ‘I am the WORD, cower before my genius’ understanding of teaching and learning. At face value, it’s blisteringly obvious that a study involving English literature undergraduates may not be applicable to learning maths in year 1. On the other hand, reading up on the methodology and assessing the reliability of results within the context of your school or year group would take up like half your PPA. Don’t do it – read the headline, strap on your blinkers and just plough on.

Grow your audience 

As your confidence in spouting about effect sizes increases, you are likely to find that the staffroom is no longer a large enough audience for your enlightened sermons. It’s time to go national, baby. A twitter account is the quickest way to ‘establish’ yourself as an authority on the school scene. Start referring to yourself as an ‘educationalist’ (for you have transcended mere teacher status now).

Make some dollar

If you have carefully followed the above steps of this guide, you should now be well on your way to delivering your first keynote at least one national conference. And once your twitter follower count has crossed the 10k mark…cha-ching! It’s time to monetise. Set yourself up as a consultant promising to bring an ‘evidence based approach’ to terrified and confused headteachers. Try not to corpse as you assert that this can be done in a two hour CPD twilight at any point in the year.


Armed with this bluffer’s guide (and, if you absolutely must, a cursory google of the EEF toolkit rankings), you can confidently announce yourself as an ‘evidence based practitioner’. And you never know, if you shout that loudly enough, you might even be able to wangle a TLR out of it. You’re welcome.

Bluffer’s Guide to Surviving an Ofsted Inspection

This article originally appeared in Teach Primary, a wonderful and intelligent publication to which you can subscribe here.

Finally, you fully understand what it would feel for the characters in one of those asteroid apocalypse movies. Bruce Willis can’t help you now though, the death-line has already been crossed. It starts with headteacher charging into your classroom just before midday, wild eyed and sweating, manically gesturing a phone-hand-signal before blurting out, “We’ve had the call, everything is okay. EVERYTHING IS OKAY!”

Everything is quite clearly not okay. Everything is very far from okay. But fear not. You have 18 hours until impact, and armed with this trusty guide, you can bluff your way through your Ofsted inspection…

Pile additional pressure on teachers whilst insisting there’s nothing to worry about.

Briefly consider delivering an amended version of the “We will not go silently into the night!” speech from Independence Day, complete with dramatic music. Immediately disregard that plan and tell nobody you even considered it. Instead call a huge, panicked staff meeting like one of the town hall scenes from the Simpsons. Explain that we’ve all been expecting this and all we need to do is show them what we do on a day to day basis. Then don’t let anyone leave until every facet of the school is unrecognisable from its usual self.

Pile additional pressure on children whilst insisting that there’s nothing to worry about.

Primary aged children have an annoying tendency of being completely honest when asked questions by adults, and this is perhaps your biggest threat over the next few days. Embrace your inner Malcom Tucker and ensure that they are all briefed within an inch of their lives. Drill them with the literacy targets that you half-heartedly introduced two months ago, and ‘remind’ them of how they know how to explain their learning objective and success criteria. Prepare them for the fact that you will be wearing a thing called a ‘tie’ tomorrow, and that this is completely normal. Sternly explain that our ‘special visitors’ will be watching their behaviour very closely so it’s very important that they, you know, behave. For once.

Play your best team 

Whilst little Patrick’s refusal to do anything except shout “You smelly head” at the top of his voice has become endearing to the staff of your school, inspectors may not be so understanding. It’s lucky that Patrick has been looking a little peaky recently. In fact, come to think of it, a lot of the children with more ‘lively’ approaches to learning suddenly look a bit under the weather.  Seek out these characters and hold a compassionate hand to their brow, before asking them how they’re feeling. When they reply, puzzled, that they’re absolutely fine, send them to the medical room immediately. Suggest to their parents they stay off for the next 48 hours. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

Buy Red Bull.

Coffee is not going to cut it. Red Bull comes in crates.

The books. My god the books.

Triage, my friend. You cannot mark all of those books in the time available to you. It’s just not possible. You need three piles. First, your ‘show’ books; the trusty high attainers with neat handwriting – strategically place these in areas most likely to be perused by unwelcome hands. Now take books of the middle attainers and randomly highlight in an array of colours. Then have the children ‘edit’ their work in a variety of coloured pencils whilst shouting repeatedly, “You’re responding to feedback, just like always. What are you doing!? Responding to feedback, that’s right. Just like always.” Finally, there are the ‘hopeless cases’, the books that a thousand half terms couldn’t save. These will need to be lost in a series of unfortunate incidents including, but not limited to: accidentally being thrown out with their books from last year; being ruined by spilt tea; insisting the child took it home; and “I’m sure I’ve got it here somewhere” before hiding in the toilet until they go away.

Deprive yourself of everything that makes you an effective teacher.

Since you’ll be in school until midnight, take away pizza is the only viable option, but be sure to supplement this with biscuits, sweets and stockpiled generic junk food. If you absolutely must, you may sleep a total of two hours, but assert loudly the next morning that you didn’t sleep at all. Any sort of recreational activity that brings you joy and well-being is strictly banned. Surely that goes without saying.


Of course, you could disregard all of this advice and just do what you normally do, like some sort of maverick from an 80s cop show. In which case, you’ve only got yourself to blame.

Bluffer’s Guide to Assessment

This article originally appeared in Teach Primary, a wonderful and intelligent publication to which you can subscribe here.


Okay, so assessment in primary is a mess, but let’s get something straight: when we complained that the government should stop interfering and let teachers get on with assessing children however we liked, we didn’t actually expect them to let us do it. So we’ve learnt two things. First, it turns out that the only thing worse than having a bad system is having no system at all, and second: the only thing worse than being told what to do is not being told what to do.

But since we moaned for so long about creating our own systems, we need to muddle something together, and preferably before the end of the academic year. To help guide you through the chaos, I present the bluffer’s guide to assessment:

Re-invent levels (but change the name)

So maybe levels were ‘unhelpfully vague’, ‘statistically flawed’ and ‘encouraged children to progress before ready’, but better the devil you know, am I right? When creating new assessment grids, you should just copy and paste the old level descriptors from APP but, and here’s the clever part, change the name at the top. Something like ‘progress indicators’ or ‘mastery thresholds’ will do. Preferably, you should pay a shady educational company thousands of pounds to do this for you, but instructing your work-wearied Deputy Head to bodge it together over a weekend is also acceptable.

Use the word ‘mastery’. A lot. (Don’t worry about what it means.)

Apparently, we should all now be doing mastery. Don’t worry, nobody really understands what it means, so you can just declare authoritatively that you are definitely doing mastery and shrug if anybody questions you. You can evidence mastery by adding a box to your planning pro forma that says ‘mastery’ and sticking in whatever you’ve decided your more-able students will be doing. If a student gets all of their work correct then smile and say things like “Well done Michelle. You’re doing mastery now.” Using apostrophes correctly is a good example of mastery, I think, but there are others too.

Generate as much data as possible.

Teachers have grown accustomed to spending large portions of their evenings and weekends pointlessly entering data into spreadsheets that nobody looks at. It would be both confusing and dangerously liberating for you to remove this requirement so, whatever you do, make sure that your new policy necessitates a bewilderingly over-burdensome data-entry process. If teachers question the system, respond with a sigh and the timeless cop-out of “I know, but Ofsted require it.” If teachers counter with the new Ofsted guidance, tighten your lips and proclaim that “they don’t really mean that’.

Continue to be terrified by Ofsted.

But, like, really really now.

If a parent asks about assessment, remember the three Cs.

Given the national coverage of the changes to assessment, some parents have unfortunately cottoned on to the fact that nobody knows what the hell we’re doing. They may approach you and say irritating things like “I don’t understand this new assessment system,” or “My child used to be on track but now you’re saying they’re behind,” or “What on earth is any of this supposed to mean. And why do you look so panicked? Hey, where are you going?”

Although such complaints are well-grounded, coherent and reasonable, it’s very important that we maintain the illusion that we know what we’re doing. They must never learn the truth. The government’s guidance of how to respond to a terrorist attack (run, hide, call for help) happily doubles as solid advice for dealing with parents with questions about assessment.

For the trickier customers, remember the three Cs: counter, confuse, confabulate. Start by explaining with conviction that everything is fine and that your new system is robust and reliable. Then throw every piece of educational jargon at your disposal at them, using at least a dozen acronyms, for example: “The APS for EAL and SEN was never comparable to our FMS, and IEPs further complicated matters”. Nod sagely as you do this. Finally, end by thanking them for their interest and allowing you to clear everything up. Promise to email them some documents, but never do.


And finally, keep your head down and wait for the whole thing to blow over.

Following this guide should protect you from ever being called out for not knowing what you’re doing but, more importantly, it will mean that the DfE never call our bluff and actually let us do anything for ourselves again. At which point we can safely go back to moaning about not being listened to.


Educational effectiveness research: I want to believe.

The following constitutes the introduction to an essay recently submitted for a masters that I’m currently undertaking in educational research. In particular I’m interested in the relationship between the body of knowledge known as educational effectiveness research (empirically validated approaches that ‘work’) and practitioners use (or not) of this knowledge to drive improvement at the classroom and school level.


The dynamic approach to school improvement (DASI), claims to provide educational researchers with a “theoretical framework for establishing a theory-driven and evidence-based approach to school improvement,” (Creemers & Kyriakides, 2012, p.4). The approach draws on the knowledge base provided by Educational Effectiveness Research (EER), and proposes a dynamic model which can be applied by practitioners and policy makers to improve schools. Although great progress has been made within the field over its thirty-year history, there remain several challenges.

One of the more contemporary difficulties rests in assumptions of the targets of education. One of the three main assumptions of the dynamic model is that ‘student outcomes’ are defined more broadly than the achievement of basic skills in core subjects such as language and mathematics. More specifically, ‘whole school curriculum aims (cognitive, psychomotor, metacognitive and affective)’ are specified as the important goals by which we now measure ‘effective schools’.

In their state-of-the-art-review on educational effectiveness research, Reynolds et al. (2014) concluded that “At the level of practice, it would… be difficult to find evidence of substantial take-up of the insights of EER at practitioner level in many countries”. Hallinger and Heck (2011) also lament the disconnect between EER (what we know about what makes schools effective) and school improvement (using this knowledge to make lasting improvements to schools and children’s outcomes).

To illustrate the point, the authors concede that they were unable to answer a school principal when asked

“Given what you know about leadership for learning, where would you advise me to put my effort as a school leader in order to gain the greatest improvement in learning for students at my school?’’ (Hallinger and Heck, 2011, pp. 1-2).

This is particularly disappointing given that the Congress of School Effectiveness and Improvement (ICSEI), set up almost 30 years ago in 1988, aims to bridge the gap between researchers and practitioners.

There are many reasons which could explain the fraught relationship between EER and school improvement, several of which are proposed by Reynolds et al. (2014, pp. 217-218): the quantitative orientation of EER; lack of an underlying theory; the static nature of EER analyses; and neglecting core concerns of practitioners. Many of these problems stem from the historic purpose of EER, to refute the charge that “schools make no difference” (Bernstein, 1968). Such an assertion followed from the seminal report Equality of Educational Opportunity in which sociologist James Coleman concluded:

Schools bring little influence to bear on a child’s achievement that is independent of his [sic] background and general social context; and that this very lack of an independent effect means that the inequalities imposed on children by their home, neighbourhood and peer environment are carried along to become the inequalities with which they confront adult life at the end of school. (Coleman et al., 1966, p. 325)

This is not to say that the sub-field of EER has not made positive contributions to the field of education. Perhaps most important has been its refutation of Bernstein’s contention. Reynolds et al. (2012, p. 1) conclude that the “field of EER has had some success in improving the prospects of the world’s children over the last three decades – in combating the pessimistic belief that ‘schools make no difference’.” The authors go on to suggest that EER is even beginning to generate a “reliable knowledge base about ‘what works’ for practitioners to use and develop, and in influencing educational practices and policies positively in many countries”.

Such an assertion is set within a contemporary national context in which there is evidence of a growing appetite for evidence from research informing practice. A prominent example is Educational Endowment Foundation (EEF), an independent charity funded by the government to commission research evaluating the impact of different projects and initiatives in education. In 2013 the EEF was designated a ‘What Works centre’, with the hope that it would provide for state education what the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence offers the NHS. In its 2014-2015 annual report (EEF, 2016) the EEF cites a survey conducted by the National Audit Office, which suggests that 64% of school leaders had accessed its research ‘toolkit’, suggesting that practitioners are increasingly seeking ‘evidence based’ approaches to teaching and learning.

Given the above, it seems a reasonable to assert that we are currently on the precipice of a genuine awakening within education in which practitioners and researchers work symbiotically to help children across the country receive highly effective teaching. Thus, the broad enquiry that I wish to turn my focus toward during the course of my studies and throughout my thesis project is how, given the many criticisms and difficulties alluded to[1], the knowledge base accumulated from EER can be used to help schools improve the outcomes of pupils.

[1] There are a great deal more criticisms, which I do not have space to explore fully here. Chapter 1 of Improving Quality in Education, Dynamic Approaches To School Improvement (Bert Creemers and Leondias Kyriakides, 2012) gives a fairly comprehensive overview of the more difficult historic and present challenges facing the field.



David Reynolds, Pam Sammons, Bieke De Fraine, Jan Van Damme, Tony Townsend, Charles Teddlie & Sam Stringfield (2014) ‘Educational effectiveness research (EER): a state-of-the-art review’. School Effectiveness and School Improvement: An International Journal of Research, Policy and Practice, 25:2, 197-230,

David Reynolds, Christopher Chapman, Anthony Kelly, Daniel Muijs and Pam Sammons (2012) ‘Educational effectiveness: the development of the discipline, the critiques, the defence, and the present debate’. Effective Education. 3:2,1–19

Philip Hallinger & Ronald H. Heck (2011) ‘Exploring the journey of school improvement: classifying and analyzing patterns of change in school improvement processes and learning outcomes’. School Effectiveness and School Improvement, 22:1, 1-27

Leonidas Kyriakides, Bert P. M. Creemers, & Panyiotis Antoniou, (2009) ‘The effects of teacher factors on different outcomes: two studies testing the validity of the dynamic model’. Effective Education, 1: 1, 12-23

Bert P.M. Creemers & Leonidas Kyriakides, (2012) ‘Improving Quality in Education: Dynamic Approaches to School Improvement’, Routledge: NY