A helicopter landing on the playing field is a prime learning opportunity but is mixing whirring rotors with a swarm of students really a good idea?

Blade runners

The air ambulance landed on our academy playing field 15 minutes before the lunchbreak. Rumour has it that as Health and Safety Officer, I donned my high-vis jacket, marched out to the field and accosted the pilot with the words, “Sorry, mate, you can’t treat a heart attack here if you don’t have an enhanced DBS.”

Meanwhile, in the classrooms overlooking the playing field, it was rapidly established as firm fact that there had been a catastrophic and gory incident on site involving multiple students, entirely attributable to gross staff negligence.

As usual, the truth was more prosaic.

The air ambulance was on standby to deal with a nearby incident unconnected with the academy. Our playing field is the only green space locally large enough for a safe helicopter landing. I suggested to the pilot that, as 800 students with highly curious and enquiring minds would shortly erupt from the building, it might be prudent for him to relocate his vehicle to a distant part of the field, instead of right by the playground.

Providing enrichment

The pilot embraced the opportunity to provide enrichment. “I don’t need to move”, he declared. “They can all come and look at the helicopter and find out about the work we do.”

Maybe I should have taken his card in order to follow up this offer in a planned, meticulous fashion. Short-term, the challenge of preparing a mental risk assessment in five minutes for 800 students to have orderly access to a helicopter, which might, at any moment, need to provide medical services to an injured patient or take off to deal with another emergency, defeated me.

My colleague put it more cogently. “The students will swarm,” she said.

The pilot took due warning and the helicopter flew to the rear of the field while a high-vis-jacketed cordon of senior leaders, administration, pastoral and site staff prepared to deter any over-curious students from approaching. Other SLT, pastoral and duty staff tried to carry on with lunchtime routines as normal.

As always on the (fortunately rare) occasions when an out-ofthe- ordinary emergency arises, our students distinguished themselves by their maturity, ability to follow instructions and exemplary behaviour. No one tried to dodge the cordon or access the helicopter by creeping round the back of the AstroTurf. Some gathered in the playground area to take pictures on their phones, some preferred to eat their lunch, taking advantage of the shorter than usual queues, and others enjoyed their regular game of football.

After about 10 minutes, the helicopter took off to deal with an incident elsewhere and normal service was resumed.

I added ‘helicopter wrangling’ to the list of duties covered in the all-embracing final clause of my job description and returned to my office, grateful for half an hour’s work in the fresh air on a mild, dry day and for the reminder that, in working in schools, we should always expect the unexpected.

The author is a Regional Finance Director in the South West.

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Last Word always welcomes contributions from members. If you’d like to share your humorous observations of school life, email Permjit Mann at leader@ascl.org.uk ASCL offers a modest honorarium.

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