From Cardiac Research to the Classroom: Griff's Journey into Teaching

You're known as Griff, not Andrew. Why?
There were four Andrews in my school class, so I got fed up being called Andrew Two or Andrew Three, so at some point I just became Griff. It stuck — colleagues, students, everyone. It's a small thing, but in a school, identity matters.

You didn't come to teaching conventionally. What were you doing before?

Eight years of academic research — studying cardiac ion channels activated during heart attacks. It was fascinating and important work, but I was doing it in total darkness, using fluorescent probes that can't function in light. In winter I'd cycle in before dawn, spend all day in the dark, cycle home after sunset. When I turned 30 I thought: this is not sustainable or good for mental health.

So, I went travelling, and the money ran out; I had to sit down and ask myself honestly: what did I actually enjoy about eight years in academia? The answer was communicating — explaining things, making something complicated suddenly clear. I did a PGCE and thought, let's see if I can do that with a room full of 11-year-olds.

Was it what you expected?
Harder, much harder — and more rewarding than I could have predicted. Communicating to adults is one thing. Holding a room of teenagers who may or may not want to be there on a Friday afternoon is a completely different discipline. Twenty-five years of experience has brought me to a place where I can walk into almost any classroom and find my footing. But I'm still learning. Any teacher who tells you they've stopped learning has stopped being a good teacher. You have to be reflective and ask how that could be taught better.

How did Harris come into your story?
I was at Tamworth Manor High School when Harris took it over. What Harris brought wasn't magic — it was clarity. Here are the things that work; everyone does them, consistently. Before that, there were pockets of brilliant teaching and absolute chaos next door. Students were getting an inconsistent experience depending on which room they walked into. Within a year, that changed — and students noticed. "We're actually getting a good deal here. Why make it difficult?"
I went from second-in-charge of science to running the department — told in no uncertain terms that results needed to improve within a year– and they did, dramatically. Two outstanding OFSTEDs later, Sir Dan Moynihan called out of the blue and asked if I'd come in for a chat. That was 15 years ago.

What does a consultant actually do?
It's genuinely varied – this morning I was teaching A-level chemistry covering a staffing gap; this afternoon I'm with Year 11s while a teacher is on long-term sick leave. Other days I'm observing early-career teachers and helping them see things an external pair of eyes picks up that you can't see from the front of your own classroom. I've supported schools through OFSTED; I am a governor at two secondary academies. For the last four years I've been travelling to York to train teachers from outside Harris on A-level chemistry delivery — an opportunity that simply wouldn't exist if I were still a head of department in one school. STEM learning got to know the good that the science consultants do, and reached out and asked us to be facilitators for the courses. There are around 60 consultants on the Harris central team, covering every GCSE subject. The role shapes itself around what schools need, which changes constantly. 

How do you evaluate a teacher's practice – and make it feel safe, not threatening?

Lead the example: I try my strategies and techniques in my own classroom and then share this practice across the Federation. Results matter, but they're not the starting point. What I'm looking for is genuine enthusiasm for the subject — and whether that enthusiasm actually reaches students – those are two different things.
The most powerful tool I have is student voice – take a few pupils to one side and ask: is that a typical lesson? They'll be completely honest. "Sir is always like that — brilliant." Or: "Miss put on a show because you were in the room." You know immediately.
The key is making sure teachers understand why we're there. Not to catch anyone out — but because better teaching means better outcomes for the 30 students in front of you. I get observed myself, and I get uncomfortable feedback sometimes – that's how it should work for all of us.

Is this role a good next step for experienced teachers?
Absolutely — and it's not a cul de sac. What you need is a genuine track record: as a lead practitioner who's shared their skills with peers, or a department head who's turned results around and left something solid behind. Many consultants use this as a springboard and return to schools as assistant principals or vice principals, with a breadth of experience across 55 academies behind them. For me, the appeal is different — I want to teach and to be part of the curriculum development and the outward-facing work. But both paths are real.

What are the moments that remind you why it matters?
Last week I worked through a concept with an A-level class that their teacher hadn't quite landed. One student leapt out of her seat: "Oh my God, I understand it now." Sixty minutes, one student, one thing that clicked. That might be the difference between a B and an A in her exam. You never know how far the ripple goes.
Eight members of staff at Harris Merton alone are former students I taught — they went to university and came back to teaching. I've been stopped in Oxford and Cambridge by ex-pupils now studying there. It never gets old.

Finally — AI. How does it change teaching nowadays?
It's a useful tool in teachers' hands. Differentiating resources used to take hours — now it takes seconds. For planning and preparation, it's genuinely valuable.
But students using it to write essays? That's a problem the sector hasn't solved. My prediction: courses will be redesigned toward oral assessment, more hands-on work – things that require you to actually know something, not just prompt something. As a checking tool, fine; as a ghost-writer – no.
What doesn't change is the moment something clicks for a student who didn't understand it before. No algorithm produces that. That's still entirely human — and that's why teachers will always matter and make a difference!