Maureen Haddock, headteacher at Eustace Street Primary School in Oldham, Greater Manchester, made a journey of discovery to Bangladesh to learn more about the cultural background of her pupils.
As I stand facing the Himalayas, I wonder what a middle-aged, middle-class headteacher is doing in the middle of Bangladesh, one of the poorest nations on Earth.
I've been at my current school in Oldham for over six years. It's a school in which 90% of the children are Bangladeshi and over a fifth still regularly return there on 'extended holidays'. Almost all enter school with little or no English and nearly half of the mothers speak no English.
Maureen Haddock found great hospitality and great hardship in Bangladesh
My school is, in Ofsted speak, a good school. The children are happy, lively and inquisitive, but one of our major problems is that as the percentage of Bangla-speaking pupils rises, the English-speaking minority who provide role models decreases. The only English our children hear is from the teachers at school.
I love this community, and would not wish to work anywhere else, but my over-riding aim and commitment is to raise attainment so that our children can take their rightful place in British society and will not be doomed to restaurant work and unemployment like the majority of their parents.
But, and here lies the rub , why do the Bangladeshi community insist in taking their children to Bangladesh at the most inappropriate times for 'extended holidays'? And why don't they help their children to become bi-lingual, even when parents speak English?
'Now I feel embarrassed'
These were the questions I wanted answered. I had in my time taught Pakistani children whose parents seemed more aware of the children's educational needs. Now I feel somewhat embarrassed and naive, but I truly wanted and still want the absolute best for the school's children.
In my own life, being one of the post-war, working-class babies, education has been the key to my own relative success and my personal fulfilment - so the answers to these questions became my quest.
When an opportunity arose to join a mixed professional party of workers going to Bangladesh from Oldham, I approached my staff and my governors indicating my interest. After some negotiation and with the full support of the staff, three teachers came with me.
The school's children thought it hilarious and gave plenty of tips and advice - "Everyone will stare at you Miss", "Watch out for snakes" and "You can buy Nike jackets for £3".
So, on a grey November day our great adventure began - and after spending just one day at Dhaka, I felt the journey had been worthwhile. The poverty was unspeakable, the dirt and pollution, the crowds, the colour, the chaos, the noise and the traffic.
As we moved onto Sylhet by road on a 12-hour journey the beauty of the country unfolded. Wherever you looked there was something of beauty and wherever there was beauty there was also something indescribably poor.
'All human life was here': Margaret Haddock felt overwhelmed by the intensity of her experiences in Bangladesh
To walk down the streets in Sylhet one felt alive. All human life was here - beggars, traders, rickshaws, the blind, the disabled, the young and the old. I was incredulous.
With 90% of the Bangladeshi community originating from Sylhet, I could safely say that this is where our families' roots are. I also suddenly realised why our parents seem to hustle and bustle and to shout at each other and to call out as they stand in our hall waiting for their children.
We found very few people who spoke English, and those who did rushed up to us to try out their skills. We were offered food and drink everywhere we went, even when they had so little for themselves.
I quickly learnt how important Bangla is as a language to the people. The Bangladeshi are a very political people and they fought for the right to be a separate nation in 1972 when three million people died. They fought and died to speak their own language and hence our parents pride and resolute determination to keep their language alive in their adopted country.
School under the skies
What also made sense was the reasoning why the British Bangladeshi send so much of their earnings home. As 'Londis', they have made it. They have warmth, shelter, food and clothes.
We visited a project in Khasdobir, which is part of the Toc H charity, which works with the poorest children in 13 small villages close to Sylhet town. These children would not normally go to school. Here they learnt under the sky, standing in rows doing their PE.
The Bangladeshis know the importance of education - how could I ever have thought differently? I was privileged to visit the tea plantation schools, where the Khasdobir project also runs an adult class for the Hindu workers. These people were brought over as cheap labour some 300 year ago and still live and work on the plantations. They are the poorest of the poor.
We visited an evening class where one woman had given up her small but clean home. She and all the young women, some as young as 12, had worked all day in the plantations. We felt so proud to be women and so humble in the face of such courage. Every little gift of pencils or books we gave was taken with thanks and photographs were arranged.
Shortage of English teachers
The dearth of English-speaking teachers is a real problem. They desperately need teachers to teach English to their teachers and teachers who can improve the pedagogical practices in many of the schools.
We visited village schools which were much as you imagine - benches and wooden desks. Boys on one side, girls the other. As feminists on the party we expected to have many of our stereotypes confirmed, but there were many contradictions which we did have to acknowledge.
For instance, girls are allowed to go to school free, whilst the boys pay, and non-governmental organisations lend money to train women to educate others.
As people we came back changed. We were spiritually enriched, bombed with confusion, anger, hope and so many overwhelming feelings. We learnt that the Bangladeshi are a people who are hardworking, full of pride and who adore politics and poetry.
How does this relate to our school? To begin with, the relationships with the parents were always good, now they are extremely close. I think they almost trust me. I have learnt some Bangla and have renewed my own vocation. I also feel I have found a small way of understanding where they come from in more ways than one.
Where is their future? I am still tormented by this question, but I still believe that our job is to help them to achieve their potential no matter what the odds and to find every way we can to supplement their education. Does anyone want to start an outreach class in Sylhet?
It takes all sorts to make an education system. This is our space for those involved to sit back and reflect on how it is going from their corner of the world
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