Primary School A Rick Midwinter Adventure
Article by Rick Midwinter School cultures don’t usually collapse. They drift. The bell still rings. Lessons begin and end. Staff meetings are held, action points followed, policies updated. Everything works. And that, paradoxically, is the problem. Because somewhere between the early energy of shared purpose and the grind of daily logistics, relationships begin to thin. Collaboration becomes coordination. Trust becomes tolerance. Dialogue becomes exchange. Slowly, imperceptibly, a school can shift from community to efficiency. From alive to functional. By the time someone notices, it’s often already become normal, familiar, accepted. The cool of quiet disconnection is often mistaken for calm. So how do school leaders respond? Not with initiatives. Not with morale-boosting posters or drop-in biscuits. What’s required isn’t
holding space in education. Holding space means pausing long enough to let the things that have been unsaid to surface. It means inviting reflection without rushing to a solution. It’s the work of slowing down in a fast-moving system, not to disrupt it, but to make room for meaning again. Leaders can start by asking questions they don’t already have the answers to ● What does it feel like to work here? ● Where do we come alive, and where do we shrink? ● What conversations are we not having? It doesn’t take a revolution to revive culture. Just a willingness to look, together, at what’s actually happening and to commit, slowly and steadily, to realignment. Not to fix the people, but to remember what they built this place for in the first place.
Located just beyond the edge of a small town, Willow Ridge is a one-form-entry Primary School. The school building is surrounded by low stone walls, mature trees, and the echo of generations of families who’ve passed through its corridors. It’s a school with a kind heart and tired eyes, doing its best, but carrying invisible weight.
Office The late afternoon sun stretches across the desk, catching the dust in the air. The staffroom has quietened. The hallways aren’t echoing with footsteps or unresolved questions, just the soft hum of the heater and the quiet rhythm of Moira tapping her pen against a closed notebook. Reuben sits opposite her, one hand curled around a mug of coffee gone cold. Moira (frowning slightly) “Do you ever get the sense… that we’re missing something?” Reuben (tilting his head) “Like a form we forgot to send? Or a memo we hoped would go away?” Moira smiles, faintly. Moira “No, not like that. Not a task. A… shift. Something happening that we haven’t been naming.”
to wait. Moira (choosing her words) “I’ve had this feeling lately. Like the school’s still running, and we’re still solving problems, and yet, something’s out of step. Not wrong. Just… misaligned. Quietly.” Reuben nods slowly. “I’ve felt it too. We’ve been firefighting for so long, I don’t think we’ve looked up for a while.” Moira “Exactly. It’s all manageable, technically. But I keep wondering what’s happening in the gaps? Between the policies, between the meetings. What are we not seeing?” Reuben sets his mug down, gently. “The worst part is, I don’t think anyone would say anything’s ‘bad’. But that doesn’t mean it’s right, either.” Moira leans back in her chair, looking out the window. The playground is empty, the sun casting long shadows.
“I read something last week. An article by a coach. A short piece about how school cultures don’t collapse, they drift and fade. And by the time someone notices, the relationships have thinned out just enough to be functional, but no longer alive.” Reuben raises an eyebrow. “Bleak.” Moira (quietly) “True.” She opens her drawer, rummages, and pulls out a folded printout. She slides it across the desk. Moira “His name’s Rick Midwinter. From what I gather, he doesn’t do quick fixes. But he listens well, he reflects things back you didn’t even know you were saying.” Reuben reads the first paragraph, then sets the paper down. Reuben “Would you be comfortable reaching out?”
“I think I’d regret it if I didn’t.” Reuben nods once. “Then let’s do it before we talk ourselves out of it.” Moira picks up her pen and flips to a blank page in her notebook. No bullet points. Just a line at the top ‘A Conversation We Might Need.’
First Communication from the School to Rick Subject A Conversation We Might Need From Moira Gellatly m.gellatly@willowridge.sch.uk To Rick Midwinter Date Monday, November 6 Dear Rick, I hope this finds you well. I was recently passed a short excerpt from something you’d written about “holding space in education,” and it stayed with me longer than I expected. Not because it said anything I hadn’t felt before, but because it named something I’d quietly stopped naming. I’m writing from Willow Ridge Primary, a small school just outside town with a steady pulse and a very tired heart. Our staff are dedicated, capable, and deeply invested in our pupils. But
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