Narrative in classroom history

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Narrative in classroom history Kate Hawkey

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Department of Education, University of Bath Version of record first published: 04 Jun 2010.

To cite this article: Kate Hawkey (2004): Narrative in classroom history, Curriculum Journal, 15:1, 35-44 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1026716032000189461

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04 RCJO15-1 Hawkey (JB/D).fm Page 35 Thursday, April 15, 2004 10:51 AM

The Curriculum Journal,Vol. 15, No. 1, Spring 2004

Narrative in classroom history Kate Hawkey* Department of Education, University of Bath

As spiders make webs and beavers build dams, so we tell stories. (Lodge, 2002, 15)

Downloaded by [University of Bristol] at 04:05 08 March 2013

Narrative as ‘the depreciated legacy of Cervantes’. (Kundera, 1988) The article presents initial and small-scale empirical research looking at different approaches used by children to organize historical information. It examines the extent to which children organize information into narrative forms. The findings are located in a wider discussion about the changing status of narrative in the teaching of history in Britain.

Keywords: narrative; story; history education; teaching and learning Introduction The telling and recounting of stories is older than history. The past has always been organized and shaped through stories, but the relationship between history and story is a difficult one, as Husbands explains: ‘Stories have always been an important way of rendering the past intelligible in most cultures, but their status in 19th and 20th century historical thinking, and in classroom history, has become ambiguous: narrative is usually counterposed to “analysis”, “story” to “essay”’ (Husbands, 1996, 44), with narrative denigrated as a low-order skill (Lang, 2003, p. 13). The reasons for such caution and mistrust of ‘mere’ story (Husbands, 1996, 46) are not difficult to identify. Story and narrative have been associated with the ‘great tradition’ (Sylvester, 1994) of history teaching, an approach which privileged the stories of great men in the nation’s cherished heritage (Unstead, 1956), a self-satisfied and colourful ‘pageant of man’ (Worts, 1935). The past was selectively quarried for stories with moral purpose, stories of progress, heroism and triumph over adversity, and the model of teaching and learning was a simple transmission from teacher to passive pupil. The assault on this approach came from various quarters (see, for example, Phillips, 1998, 14) and resulted, by the 1970s, in the creation of the influential ‘new history’ of the Schools Council History 13–16 Project (SCHP, then SHP) (1976). SHP courses were characterized by ‘prioritizing content less and *Department of Education, University of Bath, Claverton Down, Bath, BA2 7AY, UK. Email: [email protected] ISSN 0958-5176 (print)/ISSN 1469-3704 (online)/04/010035-10 © 2004 British Curriculum Foundation DOI: 10.1080/0958517042000189461



36 K. Hawkey process more, basing selection of matter on objectives to be achieved and skills to be acquired, and teaching and learning on enquiry methods’ (Marsden, 2001, p. 47). The division between content and skills of the ‘new history’ is well illustrated by the (now abandoned) skills paper of the SHP qualification at GCSE. In this exam, pupils were asked to read and answer skills-based questions founded on documents, largely probing the status of accounts. The documents in the exam, however, were not part of the content curriculum of the GCSE and there was no expectation that pupils would deploy existing content knowledge in such ‘content-free’ papers; instead they would deploy their knowledge of the procedures of history in the context of these unfamiliar sources. Despite the redressing of such extremes to the point that most teachers today would say that both content and skills are important, as recently as 1996 one teacher in Knight’s (1996) research commented, ‘It is not the body of knowledge that’s important, it’s the skills that the children develop’ (Knight, 1996, p. 49). The oncecelebrated, latterly infamous, ‘skills paper’ has gone although, for some, its legacy of a skills orientation is still apparent. Shemilt, who conducted the evaluation of SHP, has stated that although school history has come to be regarded as more ‘a thinking’ and less ‘a rotelearning’ subject, and while many adolescents are better equipped to make rational sense of the past and perhaps even to bring historical perspective to bear upon the analysis of contemporary events and options, few possess the knowledge or even the sense of the past necessary to exploit this understanding. The logical and methodological apparatus of historical enquiry can be applied to fragments and episodes in the past, but not to the past as a whole. This remains shadowy, mysterious, and, in its broader aspects, given. It is as if odd scenes of a play could be variously interpreted and even, with benefit of scholarship, new lines substituted here and there, but the plot as a whole remains both unknown and immutable. (Shemilt, 2000, p. 85)

The focus on skills left a gap in children’s understanding of an overview narrative. More recently, Lang (2003, p. 15) complains of ‘our heavy over-reliance on the detailed, almost agonizing, evaluation of sources at the expense (not just) of narrative’ and is disappointed in his observation that ‘it is difficult to think of any subject which so consistently and illogically denigrates its own central activity in the way that school history disregards and even penalizes the writing of narrative’ (Lang, 2003, p. 8). In recent years, however, there has been an upsurge of interest in narrative and a ‘storied’ past (Husbands, 1996, p. 46). Such interest is evident in academic historiography (see, for example, Burke, 1991), popular history (see, for example, Schama’s TV and book series, 2000) and, to some extent, in classroom history (see, for example, the series, Think through history edited by Counsell & Riley, 1997; Wrenn, 1998, 2002) and in discussions about classroom history (see, for example, Bage, 1999; Hunt, 2003; Lang, 2003). There is, however, something of a continuing reserve with the use of stories in classroom history. In Rob Phillips’s recent and very useful book, for example, there are only two index references to stories. Phillips first suggests story can be an excellent way to arouse curiosity (2002, p. 63). He later considers Bage’s book summarizing the benefits of story in history classrooms as follows (199, p. 95):


Narrative in classroom history 37 • • • •

story motivates pupils to use more sophisticated language (Fines, 1983); story makes interpretations more meaningful to pupils (Little & John, 1990); story improves pupils’ capacity to learn factual information (Perera, 1986); story ‘socializes children into wider worlds, offering youngsters access to the values and experiences of their elders’ (Bage, 1999, p. 24); • story promotes literacy and reading in particular.


This is an impressive list of ‘uses’ of story in the study of history. There is, however, an overriding emphasis on ‘utility’ in the list. The emphasis is perhaps associated with the wider current educational culture where transferable skills and wider usefulness determine value and associated status.

Research background The project reported here is a small-scale initial examination of how children organize historical information. The research sample comprised 53 pupils who were all 11–12 year olds and it was based in two secondary schools in the south-west of England. The exercise examines if children spontaneously, after instruction, arrange a set of cards using story or chronological narrative forms, or whether they use some other ideas in their organization. In so doing, the project sets out to test one of the hypotheses generated by the CHATA1 project. At a research level, the CHATA project has carried out work looking at cognition and how children learn in history. The project, based in Britain, has looked at concepts of history and teaching approaches for pupils between the ages of 7 and 14 (see Lee et al., 1995, p. 50), and has examined children’s understanding of concepts such as causation, explanation and evidence. The project has used a range of different instruments to elicit children’s understanding in these areas and has offered tentative levels which describe how children make progress in their understanding of such concepts. One element of the CHATA project’s research focused on children’s understanding of causal explanation. In one research instrument used, pupils were asked to explain why the Romans were able to take over most of Britain (see Lee et al., 1995, p. 78). Analysis of these pupils’ responses to this task suggested that pupils were operating at one of three different levels. At one level pupils created rather haphazard lists of causal factors, behaving as if causes are ‘discrete and additive’ (Lee et al., 1995, p. 73). At another level, the pupils tended to ‘narrativize’ the factors, ordering, arranging and sequencing them, which included taking due account of their chronological order. At another level, the pupils tended to employ an analytical schema towards the causal factors, recognizing complex webs of causation and constructing arguments from this. The research reported here was interested to test the hypothesis that children operate at these three levels. The methodology employed in the CHATA instrument, however, proved to be somewhat inappropriate to the research reported here. First, the CHATA task on the Romans includes two clearly temporal and chronological events in the boxes which



38 K. Hawkey begin ‘first clash . . .’ and ‘second clash . . .’. This may have influenced pupils to think in terms of the chronological order of events, which in turn might have encouraged a ‘narrativizing’ approach towards the whole task. Second, pupils were invited to put arrows on their charts in order to demonstrate causal relations. Arguably, arrows might also have encouraged pupils to think in temporal terms, i.e. ‘this happened, then that happened’. Since the CHATA project was investigating causal relations, the instrument used invited children to make sequential links (this caused that). In the research described in this article, however, the focus on how children organize historical information is slightly different and warrants a different approach. Research by Pomson and Hoz (1998) into adolescents’ historical conceptions uses a different methodology and one which is more appropriate to this study. In this research, they were looking at how children’s conceptions of the past can be characterized and their methodology employed concept mapping. Pupils (who were 18 year olds) were presented with some known concepts relating to Jewish history recorded on pieces of card; they were then asked to arrange the card concepts into a ‘map’ on a piece of paper to reflect the relations between the concepts. Finally they were asked to express what the relations between the concepts were. In analysing the pupils’ conceptual maps, although there were clear differences in the characterizations, the pupils did not create linear concept maps. The authors conclude by noting the interesting paradox in their findings between ‘the seemingly linear character of historical knowledge and its spacial non-linear representation’ (Pomson & Hoz, 1998, p. 333). Clearly the comparison between these two pieces of contrasting research raises a lot of questions, not least about the impact of different ages and likely levels of maturity between the respondents in each research project. As a methodology, however, concept maps appear to offer the potential of being neutral and open-ended instruments for eliciting pupils’ ways of thinking. The instrument for the research reported here, therefore, has drawn from both the work of the CHATA project and the work of Pomson and Hoz. Pupils were invited to arrange a set of cards in such a way as to show the connections between the cards (see Appendix). Pupils were asked to record what the connections between the cards were; finally pupils were asked to include a title for their completed work. The cards included information about the Norman Conquest of England, covering aspects of history with which all the pupils should have been familiar (they had all recently finished studying this period in history). Some of the cards listed people, places, events and developments and arguably might implicitly have invited a chronological ordering (for example, the order of succession of the three kings). Other cards were of a more abstract nature, with topics such as feudalism (although the terms were also explained on the cards). Yet other cards were of a more historiographical nature, and included the cards ‘Historians’, ‘Bayeux Tapestry’, and ‘AngloSaxon Chronicle’. The inclusion of these cards was an attempt to elicit the extent to which pupils’ conceptions included an explicit awareness of the historiography that underpins the subject.


Narrative in classroom history 39 Findings The findings of this research reveal that pupils approached the task in a range of ways. Some pupils did no more than make simple information links between individual cards, where the links did not provide any additional explanation between cards. Examples of these links include:


between ‘William of Normandy’ and ‘Domesday’ ‘William ordered it to be written’; between ‘Historians’ and ‘Bayeux Tapestry’ ‘They found it’; between ‘Domesday Book’ and ‘Anglo-Saxon Chronicle’ ‘They were both books’. Such responses can be characterized as haphazard, without any overview of connections demonstrated. Such an understanding of the context might well have been present in the minds of pupils (they had recently studied this period) but the understanding remained implicit. That the pupils did record links between cards, however, does suggest some level of basic ordering and organization of ideas. It was noteworthy, for example, that quite a number of pupils commented on Domesday Book and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle both being books; although not the most historically significant connection to draw between these two cards, this does show clear attempts by pupils to bring some order to their list of cards. Other pupils linked the cards together into a narrative. Such pupils used devices such as numbering the cards into a sequence, or linking cards with arrows. In several cases, pupils arranged their cards into two columns, separating the Norman and the Anglo-Saxon cards, with ‘historians’ spanning the two. For some pupils, the links between people, places, events or developments and the more abstract cards remained at a simple level. Thus for one pupil, for example, the link between ‘William builds castles’ and ‘Feudalism’ is ‘The knights lived in them’. For some pupils, who still pursued a broadly narrative approach, it was clear that they had settled for one main ‘story’ around which all their links were made to coalesce. For one pupil, the knights, mentioned only in the ‘Feudalism’ card, appeared central to his arrangement, as these links suggest: between ‘William’ and ‘Feudalism’ ‘The knights helped him’; between ‘Harold’ and ‘Feudalism’ ‘Some of the knights helped to defeat Harold’; between ‘Feudalism’ and ‘William builds castles’ ‘Knights lived in the castles’; between ‘Feudalism’ and ‘Domesday Book’ ‘The knights went round houses to see how much they should be taxed’. Where pupils had settled for a main ‘story’ this was, in most cases, the story of the Battle of Hastings. Those cards which related more to the subsequent conquest of England were often ignored altogether, or included at the end but not commented upon, or commented upon in ways that added no additional explanation. Some pupils, albeit a minority, approached the task in a clearly analytical manner and arranged their cards to show not only the story of the Battle of Hastings but also the subsequent Norman Conquest. One pupil, for example, linked together three cards, ‘William builds castles’, ‘Feudalism’ and ‘Domesday Book’, with this



40 K. Hawkey statement: ‘William was crafty and did these things because he didn’t want the English to rebel’. At these highest levels, where children demonstrate skills of analysis, this results in a more developed narrative, a narrative that can be seen as presenting a case, an argument (Lang, 2003, p. 14). Another set of responses, again in the minority, showed some interesting perspectives on the cards relating more to historiography. Some, although the story of the Battle of Hastings was paramount, also included pertinent comments about the historiography, acknowledging the biases in the two main historiographical sources mentioned. For several, their arrangement of cards put historians right at the centre, thus perhaps favouring a view of history as the construction of historians rather than simply the story of what happened. The findings of this small-scale initial study lend support to the hypothesis from the CHATA project that organizing ideas into a narrative form is a popular approach adopted by many pupils at this age. In this study many pupils opted to organize their map into a chronological narrative. The study also suggests that historiographical angles on the subject being studied can be understood and integrated by some pupils. Clearly curriculum content and pedagogy can have a profound impact on understanding, and how and what the pupils were taught may well have been a key influence on the maps that they produced. In this particular research, while some were able to integrate historiographical aspects, all attempted to bring some order and coherence to their maps and most demonstrated the ability to organize their map into a narrative. Despite the small-scale nature of the study, it does point to the centrality of narrative as a preferred organizing form that children use in their study of history. Philosophical status of narrative White has argued that we ‘give our lives meaning by retrospectively casting them in the form of stories’ (1987, p. 90). Narratives, from this stance, are unfaithful to life, or even defensive strategies for convincing ourselves that our lives have some semblance of meaning (Freeman, 2001, p. 294). Against this view there are others who argue that our experience is from the very beginning organized in an inherently narrative fashion (Brockmeier & Carbaugh, 2001, p. 14). Carr (1986), for example, argues that as far as all human reality is inherently temporal, it is also inherently narrative. According to this view, the ‘grids of sense and meaning’ (Brockmeier & Carbaugh, 2001, p. 15) do not have to be imposed ‘from the outside’. A study of one child’s after-bedtime soliloquies between the ages of 18 months and 3 years (Nelson, 1989) revealed how self-construction begins very early and is a process enmeshed in the acquisition of language – not just its syntax and lexicon, but also its rhetoric and rules for constructing narrative. Some recent scientific work on consciousness has stressed its essentially narrative character. Demasio, for example, discussing what happens when an organism interacts with an object describes it as ‘a simple narrative without words. It has characters. It unfolds in time. And it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The end is made up of



Narrative in classroom history 41 reactions that result in a modified state of the organism’ (Demasio, 1999, p. 168). He continues, ‘Telling stories is probably a brain obsession. . . . I believe the brain’s pervasive “aboutness” is rooted in the brain’s storytelling attitude’ (1999, p. 189). Evolutionary psychologists have suggested that the ability to imagine what another person, such as an enemy, might be thinking in a given situation, by considering various scenarios, was a crucial survival skill for early man and might explain the storytelling instinct that seems to be part of all human cultures (Lodge, 2002, p. 41). Within the history curriculum, despite its fairly obvious narrative character, there has been some reluctance to embrace such approaches. Lang suggests that the objections to narrative by examiners is not to narrative itself but to its ‘reproduction and repetition’ where pupils merely regurgitate the same narrative as that presented by the teacher. Certainly there are dangers of a sort of ossification in narrative and stories whereby ‘as soon as a story is well known, to follow the story is not so much to enclose its surprises or discoveries within our recognition of the meaning attached to the story, as to apprehend the episodes which are themselves well known as leading to this end’ (Ricoeur, 1984, p. 67). Any place for narrative, therefore, needs to avoid a single canonical narrative, always cognisant of the provisional and constructed nature of all narratives. Psychological status of narrative Interestingly, while history remains uneasy with its narrative roots, some other subjects have moved towards taking up more narrative approaches. Within education, science, not perhaps an obvious contender for narrative approaches, has looked to narrative modes of presentation. Solomon’s (2002) exploration of the place that stories might take in science education ranges from increasing the understanding of the nature of science to taking part in discussions about ethical issues. She looks at the empathetic quality of stories and suggests that stories can thus help pupils to understand how scientists have carried out their investigations. Gilbert (2001) has looked at stories which serve to give pupils access to, and ways to engage with, current controversies in science. Her work draws from Bruner’s theory (1986) of there being two main modes of understanding the world which he describes as paradigmatic and narrative modes. Gilbert suggests that narrative approaches are more readily accessible to pupils and can thus be used as a route through to the paradigmatic. If the paradigmatic mode is less readily accessible to pupils in science, it appears that the same may be true for history. Counsell, in an important paper attacking the false dichotomy between skills and content, redirects this discourse into one with more pedagogical concerns with plainspeaking questions along the lines of ‘What do pupils find most difficult in history? What kinds of activities might equip pupils to overcome some of their difficulties’ (Counsell, 2000, p. 71). While high-order analytical skills may well be what pupils find most difficult in history there is, as Counsell suggests, ‘much more to learning about causal analysis than merely doing causal analysis’ (2000, p. 70). ‘The assumption that by “doing” the various skills of history pupils will necessarily get better at



42 K. Hawkey them is . . . likely to be flawed’ (2000, p. 55). Her own work leads to the suggestion that ‘a useful first step is to view the shapes and patterns of historical knowledge as a quarry for structural and linguistic activities’ (2000, p. 71). In practice this means the employment of sorting and arranging activities, organizing and labelling tasks, in a similar vein to the research activity presented here. Such activities enable pupils to feel secure in a basic narrative, a foundation on which other activities can build. The pioneering work by Riley (1997, 2000) on the use of overviews in the history classroom can be seen as practical approaches to achieve this end which also go some way to bridging the ‘confrontation between narrators and analysts’ (Burke, 1991, p. 237). Once pupils are secure in the basic narrative then exposure to other narratives, including competing narratives, or different styles of narrative, enables them to begin to develop their wider historical understanding and analysis. Counsell illustrates this well when she writes that ‘becoming secure in the language and structure of a “rebellion story” or a “social change story” requires both acquaintance with the detail as singularities and with the generalizing concepts that helped us to talk about them’ (2000, p. 56). Thus knowledge and narratives become enablers, foundations on which further historical study can build. Narrative, then, may be the initial organizing form by which we gain access to history. Lang, in describing the process of working on his own doctoral thesis in history, demonstrates how this applies even at high levels of study, when he comments ‘as the story—the narrative—took shape, so I began to take full notes on what I now perceived as relevant and useful, and skipped the things which I would not need. There is, in other words, a close and intrinsic link between historical research and the construction of narrative’ (Lang, 2003, p. 15). In conclusion, Counsell cautions that ‘we have scarcely begun to examine how, exactly, it [knowledge] can be harnessed to enable those pupils who find history hard’ (2000, p. 71). She also identifies the need to ‘build a stronger professional body of knowledge about the analytical facility that greater knowledge can bring’ (2000, p. 66). Any such research needs to enquire further into the role that narrative plays in providing access to history, in enabling pupils to feel secure and confident in the material being studied, and facilitating the development of higher-order skills. At whatever level of study, narrative is a central construct (White, 1987) in the study and communication of history. It is time for narrative to be fully reinstated into the language, the aims, the norms and the expectations of the history school curriculum.

Note 1.

CHATA refers to concepts of history and teaching approaches.

References Bage, G. (1999) Narrative matters: teaching and learning history through story (London, Routledge). Brockmeier, J. & Carbaugh, D. (2001) Narrative and identity: studies in autobiography, self and culture (Amsterdam, John Benjamins Publishing Company).



Narrative in classroom history 43 Bruner, J. (1986) Actual minds, possible worlds (Cambridge, Mass, Harvard University Press). Burke, P. (1991) History of events and revival of narrative, in: P. Burke (Ed.) New perspectives on historical writing (London, Polity Press). Carr, D. (1986) Time, narrative, and history (Bloomington, Indiana University Press). Counsell, C. (2000) Historical knowledge and skills: a distracting dichotomy, in: J. Arthur & R. Phillips (Eds) Issues in history teaching (London, Routledge), 54–71. Counsell, C. & Riley, M. (1997) Think through history (London, Longman). Demasio, A. (1999) The feeling of what happens: body, emotion, and the making of consciousness (New York, Harcourt Brace). Dennett, D. (1993) Consciousness explained (London, Penguin). Department for Education and Employment (1999) History: the National Curriculum for England (London, DfEE and QCA). Department of Education and Science (1990) National Curriculum History Working Group: final report (London, HMSO). Fines, J. (1983) Teaching history (Edinburgh, Holmes MacDougall). Freeman, M. (1993) Rewriting the self: history, memory, narrative (London, Routledge). Freeman, M. (2001) From substance to story, in: J. Brockmeier & D. Carbaugh (Eds) Narrative and identity: studies in autobiography, self and culture (Amsterdam, John Benjamins Publishing Company), 283–98 Gilbert, J. (2001) Developing narrative-based approaches to science education: re-thinking an ‘old’ discipline for the ‘knowledge age’, in: B. Cope & M. Kalantsis (Eds) Learning Conference Papers. Available online at http://LearningConference.Publisher-site.com/Productshop Hunt, T. (2003, 2 February) The lost prince, The Observer. Husbands, C. (1996) What is history teaching? (Buckingham, Open University Press). Knight, P. (1996) The National Curriculum is excellent: secondary history teachers, teacher educators and the National Curriculum, in: D. Kerr (Ed.) Current change and future practice: fresh perspectives on history teacher education, history and history teaching (Leicester, University of Leicester School of Education / Standing Conference of History Teacher Educators). Kundera, M. (1988) The art of the novel (New York, Grove Press). Lang, S. (2003) Narrative: the under-rated skill, Teaching History, 110, 8–17. Lee, P. & Ashby, R. (2000) Progression in historical understanding among students aged 7 to 14, in: P. N. Stearns, P. Seixas & S. Wineburg (Eds) Knowing, teaching and learning history (New York, New York University Press), 199–222. Lee, P., Ashby, R. & Dickinson, A. (1995) Progression in children’s ideas about history, in: M. Hughes (Ed.) Progression in learning (Clevedon, Multilingual Matters), 50–81. Little, V. & John, T. (1990) Historical fiction in the classroom (London, Historical Association). Lodge, D. (2002) Consciousness and the novel (London, Secker & Warburg). Marsden, W. (2001) The school textbook: geography, history and social studies (London, Woburn Press). Nelson, K. (1989) Narratives from the crib (Cambridge, Mass, Harvard University Press). Perera, K. (1986) Some linguistic difficulties in school textbooks, in: B. Gilham (Ed.) The language of school textbooks (London, Heinemann). Phillips, R. (1998) History teaching, nationhood and the state: a study in educational politics (London, Cassell). Phillips, R. (2002) Reflective teaching of history 11–18 (London, Continuum). Pomson, A. D. M. & Hoz, R. (1998) Sought and found: adolescents’ ‘ideal’ historical conceptions as unveiled by concept mapping, Journal of Curriculum Studies, 30(3), 319–37. Ricoeur, P. (1984) Narrative and time (Chicago, University of Chicago Press). Riley, M. (1997) Big stories and big pictures: making outlines and overviews interesting, Teaching History, 88, 20–2. Riley, M. (2000) Into the Key Stage 3 history garden: choosing and planting your enquiry questions, Teaching History, 99, 8–13. Schama, S. (2000) A history of Britain (London, BBC Worldwide).



44 K. Hawkey Schools Council History 13–16 Project (1976) A new look at history (Edinburgh, Holmes McDougall). Shemilt, D. (2000) The Caliph’s coin: the currency of narrative frameworks in history teaching, in: P. N. Stearns, P. Seixas & S. Wineburg (Eds) Knowing, teaching and learning history (New York, New York University Press), 83–101. Solomon, J. (2002) Science stories and science texts: what can they do for our students?, Studies in Science Education, 37, 85–106. Sylvester, D. (1994) Change and continuity in history teaching, 1900–1993, in: H. Bourdillon (Ed.) Teaching history (London, Routledge), 9–25. Unstead, J. F. (1956) Teaching history in the junior school (London, A. & C. Black). White, H. (1973) Metahistory: the historical imagination in nineteenth-century Europe (Baltimore & London, Johns Hopkins University Press). White, H. (1987) The content of the form: narrative discourse and historical representation (Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins University Press). Williams, B. (2002) Truth and truthfulness: an essay in genealogy (Princeton, Princeton University Press). Worts, F. R. (1935) The teaching of history in schools: a new approach (London, Heinemann). Wrenn, A. (1998) Emotional response or objective enquiry? Using shared stories and a sense of place in the study of interpretations for GCSE, Teaching History, 91, 25–30. Wrenn, A. (2002) Equiano – voice of silent slaves?, Teaching History, 107, 13–19.

Appendix Instructions to pupils: 1. Arrange these cards in a way which shows how the cards link with the others. When you are happy with the way you have arranged them, stick them down on paper in that arrangement. 2. Join the boxes with lines to show the links between the cards. Use as many joins as you need. You can have more than one join to or from a card. 3. Write in what you think the important links are between the cards. Write this along the lines you have drawn or on a separate piece of paper. 4. Write down any other words which you think are important in understanding this topic. You can do this on the paper with the cards or on a separate sheet of paper. 5. Now give your piece of work a title. William of Normandy

Edward the Confessor

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

Hastings

Bayeux Tapestry

William builds castles

Historians

Harold Godwinson

The Domesday Book: William found out what everyone in England owned so he could tax them

Feudalism: Knights and barons promised to fight for William; in return William gave them land