Colin White explains how talking to 150 school children proved to be an unnerving but rewarding experience
After 40 years lecturing on physics and technology, you’d think I’d be ready for any classroom challenge thrown at me. Surely, during that time, I’d have covered all the bases? As an academic with a background in designing military communication systems, I’m used to giving in-depth technical lectures to specialists. I’ve delivered PowerPoint presentations to a city mayor and council dignitaries (I’m still not sure why, to be honest). And perhaps most terrifying of all, I’ve even had my mother sit in on one of my classes.
During my retirement, I’ve taken part in outreach events at festivals, where I’ve learned how to do science demonstrations to small groups that have included everyone from babies to great-grandparents. I once even gave a talk about noted local engineers to a meeting of the Women’s Institute in what was basically a shed in a Devon hamlet. But nothing could have prepared me for a series of three talks I gave earlier this year.
I’d been invited to a school to speak to three classes, each with about 50 children aged between six and 11. The remit from the headteacher was simple: talk about “My career as a physicist”. To be honest, most of my working career focused on things like phased-array antennas, ferrite anisotropy and computer modelling of microwave circuits, which isn’t exactly easy to adapt for a young audience.
But for a decade or so my research switched to sports physics and I’ve given talks to more than 200 sports scientists in a single room. I once even wrote a book called Projectile Dynamics in Sport (Routledge, 2011). So I turned up at the school armed with a bag full of balls, shuttlecocks, Frisbees and flying rings. I also had a javelin (in the form of a telescopic screen pointer) and a “secret weapon” for my grand finale.
A decathlon of questions on the physics of sport
Our first game was “guess the sport”. The pupils did well, correctly discriminating the difference between a basketball, softball and a football, and even between an American football and a rugby ball. We discussed the purposes of dimples on a golf ball, the seam on a cricket ball and the “skirt” on a shuttlecock – the feathers, which are always taken from the right wing of a goose. Unless they are plastic.
As physicists, you’re probably wondering why the feathers are taken from its right side – and I’ll leave that as an exercise for the reader. But one pupil was more interested in the poor goose, asking me what happens when its feathers are pulled out. Thinking on my feet, I said the feathers grow back and the bird isn’t hurt. Truth is I have no idea, but I didn’t want to upset her.
Despite the look of abject terror on the teachers’ faces, we did not descend into anarchy
Then: the finale. From my bag I took out a genuine Aboriginal boomerang, complete with authentic religious symbols. Not wanting to delve into Indigenous Australian culture or discuss a boomerang’s return mechanism in terms of gyroscopy and precession, I instead allowed the class to throw around three foam versions of it. Despite the look of abject terror on the teachers’ faces, we did not descend into anarchy but ended each session with five minutes of carefree enjoyment.
Three tips for explaining your science in under three minutes
There is something uniquely joyful about the energy of children when they engage in learning. At this stage, curiosity is all. They ask questions because they genuinely want to know how the world works. And when I asked them a question, hands shot up so fast and arms were waved around so frantically to attract my attention that some pupils’ entire body shook. At one point I picked out an eager firecracker who swiftly realized he didn’t know the answer and shrank into a self-aware ball of discomfort.
Mostly, though, children’s excitement is infectious. I left the school buzzing and on a high. I loved it. In this vibrant environment, learning isn’t just about facts or skills; it’s about puzzle-solving, discovery, imagination, excitement and a growing sense of independence. The enthusiasm of young learners turns the classroom into a place of shared exploration, where every day brings something new to spark their imagination.
How lucky primary teachers are to work in such a setting, and how lucky I was to be invited into their world.
