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Hilary Hughes · Jill Franz · Jill Willis
Editors

School Spaces for

Student Wellbeing
and Learning
Insights from Research and Practice
School Spaces for Student Wellbeing and Learning
Hilary Hughes Jill Franz
• •

Jill Willis
Editors

School Spaces for Student

Wellbeing and Learning
Insights from Research and Practice

123
Editors
Hilary Hughes Jill Franz
Queensland University of Technology Queensland University of Technology
Kelvin Grove, Brisbane, QLD, Australia Kelvin Grove, Brisbane, QLD, Australia

Jill Willis
Queensland University of Technology
Kelvin Grove, Brisbane, QLD, Australia

ISBN 978-981-13-6091-6 ISBN 978-981-13-6092-3 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-6092-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018967741

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2019

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part
of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations,
recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission
or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar
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The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from
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The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this
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The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721,
Singapore
Foreword

If we may, we will begin with a reflection on processes of school design in our own
setting. The purpose is to illustrate the importance of the underlying assumptions of
this book.
The relationship between design and practice has a contested history, with
suggestions that design alone can change behaviour locked in conflict with those
that it has little or no impact. Neither argument has developed a sophisticated model
of the relationship between them. There has been recognition of the complex nature
of the influences that are brought to bear on design and on the nature of the
knowledge that is needed for design to ‘work’:
The struggles to agree upon what counts as design knowledge and its cultural identity can
therefore be perceived as affecting and being affected by a complex system involving
economy, production, social significance, consumption, use of objects, and so on
(Carvalho, Dong, & Maton 2009, p. 484).

What counts as acceptable design knowledge changes over time, sometimes very
rapidly. In England between 2003 and 2010, there was considerable government
interest and investment in designs that aimed to provide inspiring learning envi-
ronments and exceptional community assets over an extended period. The intention
was to ensure that ‘all young people are being taught in buildings that can enhance
their learning and provide the facilities that they and their teachers need to reach
their full potential’. The design process was to involve ‘proper consultation with the
staff and pupils of the school and the wider community’ (DfES, 2002, p. 63) in
order that ‘authorities and schools will be able to make visionary changes and
enable teaching and learning to be transformed’ (DfES, 2003, p. 7).
The initiative involved the decentralisation of funds to local education partner-
ships that were required to build and improve secondary school buildings as well
co-ordinate and oversee the educational transformation and community regenera-
tion that was envisaged:

v
vi Foreword

The aim is not just to replace crumbling schools with new ones, but to transform the way
we learn. This represents a break with the old way of doing things and should change the
whole idea of ‘school’, from a physical place where children are simply taught to one where
a community of individuals can share learning experiences and activities (CABE,
2006, p. 1).

Aspirations for the outcomes of the programme known as Building Schools for the
Future (BSF) were couched in terms of collaboration between schools, the devel-
opment of new forms of infrastructure, new models of school organisation, an
enhanced teaching force, new patterns of distributed leadership, personalised
approaches to teaching and learning involving significant and novel use of ICT and
new forms of central governance. These new schools were spoken of as ‘new
cathedrals of learning’ that were to be designed through high levels of consultation
with key interest groups including parents and children. The design process was to
involve ‘proper consultation with the staff and pupils of the school and the wider
community’ (DfES, 2002, p. 63) in order that ‘authorities and schools will be able
to make visionary changes and enable teaching and learning to be transformed’
(DfES, 2003, p. 7).
The term ‘personalisation’ was a common feature of many policy documents and
although it was linked to a myriad of meanings, it generally became associated with
shifts in modes of control over learning with students taking more responsibility for
the selection, sequencing and pacing of their work in school. The personalised
approach was to be made feasible through access to new technologies and the
availability of a mixed economy of open and flexible spaces. The argument pro-
moted in favour of this significant investment was couched in terms of transfor-
mation of learning and teaching along with enhanced participation and community
involvement and engagement. Sustainability was a major consideration especially
with respect to energy usage.
Considerable emphasis was also placed on the need for new approaches to
school leadership:
Our determination is to ensure that every Head is able to do more than run a stable school.
Transformation requires leadership which: can frame a clear vision that engages the school
community; can motivate and inspire; pursues change in a consistent and disciplined way;
and understands and leads the professional business of teaching. To achieve their full
potential, teachers need to work in a school that is creative, enabling and flexible. And the
biggest influence is the Head. … Heads must be free to remodel school staffing, the
organisation of the school day, school week and school year and be imaginative in the use
of school space – opening up opportunities for learning in the community, engaging with
business and developing vocational studies (DfES, 2002, p. 26).

However, as Kraftl (2012) points out, there is some doubt as to whether this radical
vision of restructuring was realised in the realities of practice in schools and
communities:
BSF connected with the promise of three further discourses: school (children), community
and architectural practice. It anticipated that new school buildings would instil transfor-
mative change – modernising English schooling, combating social exclusion and leaving an
Foreword vii

architectural ‘legacy’. However, it is argued that BSF constituted an allegorical utopia:

whilst suggesting a ‘radical’ vision for schooling and society, its ultimate effect was to
preserve a conventional (neo-liberal) model of schooling (Kraftl, 2012, p. 847).

More recently, the subject of design quality in schools has come to the fore with
government pronouncements on the wastage of money on architectural fees and
what has been referred to as over-indulgent design within the BSF programme. The
architectural profession has responded that they had been asked to produce higher
quality environments particularly in terms of the acoustic environment, the quality of
daylighting and higher quality ventilation, the provision of ICT and the reduction in
energy costs. Some buildings may prove extremely good value for money in terms
of their impact on the educational achievements of their pupils; others may not.
The policy environment in which the schools we studied were located was one in
which capital investment was made in order to secure radical change in the practices
of schooling. Teaching, learning, management and community participation and
engagement were to be transformed as new schools were designed and built to meet
the envisaged needs of the twenty-first century. More recently, policy on the role of
design in rebuilding the schools estate in England has been through another major
change as attempts are made to achieve good value and efficiency in times of
austerity. In 2010, the Building Schools for the Future programme was scrapped.
The Priority School Building Programme (PSBP) was established in 2011 and
intended to reduce school building costs by approximately a third in comparison
with those incurred during BSF. Project time has also been reduced from 24–36
months to 12 months in order to drive efficiency. This involves limiting consul-
tation with school communities and multiple stakeholders to an initial 6-week
period. So-called Control Options were produced in order to demonstrate how a
very limited number of Baseline Designs should be applied in practice:
Good quality education does not necessarily need sparkling, architect-designed buildings…
Throughout its life [BSF] has been characterised by massive overspends, tragic delays,
botched construction projects and needless bureaucracy (Gove, as cited in Kraftl, 2012,
p. 866).

Some time ago, Earthman (2004) concluded that while inadequate school buildings
cause health problems and lower student morale, and contribute to poor student
performance, he was not convinced that school buildings need necessarily be any
more than adequate, although the notion of adequacy fails to find a satisfactory
definition. A recent review conducted by OECD (2013) sought to identify how
‘investments in the physical learning environment’—that is ‘the physical spaces
(including formal and informal spaces) in which learners, teachers, content,
equipment and technologies interact’—can translate into improved cognitive and
non-cognitive outcomes (p. 1). In order to do this, they explored the ways in which
spatiality, connectivity and temporality mediate pedagogical and other relationships
that can improve student learning. The emphasis here on mediation is important. It
suggests a very different mechanism is at play than one of determination. They
recognised that empirical evidence was far from extensive and agreed with
Woolner, Hall, Higgins, McCaughey, and Wall (2007) that:
viii Foreword

The research indicates that there is an overall lack of empirical evidence about the impact of
individual elements of the physical environment which might inform school design at a
practice level to support student achievement (Woolner et al., 2007, p. 47).

More recently however, Barrett, Zhang, Davies, and Barrett (2015) have suggested
that differences in the physical characteristics of primary school classrooms explain
16% of the variation in learning progress. They claim that this is the first time that
clear evidence of the effect on users of the overall design of the physical learning
space has been isolated in real life situations. Their findings point to a classroom
rather a whole-school design effect:
Surprisingly, whole-school factors (e.g. size, navigation routes, specialist facilities, play
facilities) do not seem to be anywhere near as important as the design of the individual
classrooms. This point is reinforced by clear evidence that it is quite typical to have a mix
of more and less effective classrooms in the same school. The message is that, first and
foremost, each classroom has to be well designed. (Barrett et al., 2015, p. 3).

A more comprehensive view argued by Sailer and Penn (2010, p. 12) is that:
Humans shape their buildings through design practice (social agency affecting spatial
structure); humans shape their organisations through management practice (social agency
affecting social structure); then buildings shape organisations (spatial agency affecting
social structure); both organisations as well as buildings constrain agents in their behaviours
(social structures and spatial structure-agency affecting social agency).

This complex dialectical view of the relationships between buildings, human action
including management, social organisations and social structures informs the way
schools and their designers, constructors and occupiers should be studied.
This is where this book Designing learning spaces for student wellbeing makes
an important contribution. It sets out to include the perspective of wellbeing in the
theory and practice of learning space design. In so doing, the authors bring new
ways of theorising the relationship between design, human action and wellbeing
into play. There is considerable emphasis on conceptualising school spaces as
places of bodily engagement. The authors draw on aspects of recent developments
in social geography, sociocultural theory and sociomaterial theory. Some of the
arguments will provoke responses and disagreements. In our minds that is all to the
good. This is a field that needed a ‘shake’ both in terms of its gaze and theorisation.
This book provides valuable challenges to multiple policy and practitioner fields.

Oxford, UK Harry Daniels

Hau Ming Tse
Department of Education
University of Oxford
Foreword ix

References

Barrett, P., Zhang, Y., Davies, F., & Barrett, L. (2015). Clever classrooms: Summary report of the
HEAD Project (holistic evidence and design). Salford: University of Salford. Retrieved from
https://www.cleverclassroomsdesign.co.uk/reports-guidance.
Carvalho, L., Dong, A., & Maton, K. (2009). Legitimating design: A sociology of knowledge
account of the field. Design Studies, 30(5), 483–502.
Commission for Architecture and the Built Environment (CABE). (2006). Assessing secondary
school design quality. Research Report. London: CABE. Retrieved from: https://www.thenbs.
com/PublicationIndex/documents/details?Pub=CABE&DocID=281242.
Department for Education and Skills (DfES). (2002). Time for standards: Reforming the school
workforce. Ref: DfES/0751/2002. London: DfES.
Department for Education and Skills (DfES). (2003). Classrooms of the future: Innovative designs
for schools. London: DfES.
Earthman, G. I. (2004). Prioritization of 31 criteria for school building adequacy. Baltimore,
MD: American Civil Liberties Union Foundation of Maryland. Retrieved from: http://www.
aclu-md.org/facilities_report.pdf.
Kraftl, P. (2012). Utopian promise or burdensome responsibility? A critical analysis of the UK
Government’s Building Schools for the Future Policy. Antipode, 44(3), 847–870.
OECD. (2013). Innovative learning environments. Paris: OECD. Retrieved from http://www.oecd.
org/education/ceri/innovativelearningenvironmentspublication.htm.
Sailer, K., & Penn, A. (2010). Towards an architectural theory of space and organisations:
Cognitive, affective and conative relations in workplaces. In 2nd Workshop on Architecture
and Social Architecture, EIASM, Brussels, May 2010. Retrieved from: http://discovery.ucl.ac.
uk/1342930.
Woolner, P., Hall, E., Higgins, S., McCaughey, C., & Wall, K. (2007). A sound foundation? What
we know about the impact of environments on learning and the implications for building
schools for the future. Oxford Review of Education, 33, (1), 47–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/
03054980601094693.
Preface

Steven stood on the deck of the old school building.

The breeze rustled through the nearby trees, and brought
snatches of sounds from the playground. The researcher had
asked Steven to identify a space where he could think and
learn. He took a deep breath, opened his arms and gave an
eloquent sigh. The music room was where he could play his
cello to the trees. No words were needed.

This book attempts to put words to Steven’s experience, and inform a vision that
school spaces support wellbeing and learning. Schools are everyday places for
many children. Students learn in school spaces like outdoor decks, playgrounds and
corridors as well as formal classrooms. Yet not all school spaces are comfortable or
conducive for learning. Noise and movement created by many people can fill or
even overwhelm the senses. Spaces can create a sense of social inclusion or
isolation.
This book is an expansive exploration of wellbeing as an integral dimension of
students’ experience of learning spaces at school. By grounding the discussion in
the varied perspectives of researchers, scholarly educators and students, we aim to
advance thinking and practice of learning space design across a wide range of
school settings from early years to secondary school.
The authors present a variety of methods, evidence, theoretical models, creative
ideas and illustrative case studies—with a view to supporting the creation of
inclusive learning environments where students feel safe, supported and inspired to
learn (Fraillon, 2004; Masters, 2012). So in this book, readers can view learning
spaces, design and wellbeing through various theoretical lenses including spatiality,
liminality, sociomateriality, imagination and student voice. Featured methods
include large-scale quantitative survey, qualitative case study, participatory action
research, ethnography and sociomaterial analysis and visual data analysis. The
research findings inform innovative designing through participatory, values-based
approaches.

xi
xii Preface

The concern that inspired us to develop this book is that the wellbeing and
associated needs of learners are generally overlooked in design research and
practice. Therefore, we sought to raise awareness of relationships between learning
space and learner wellbeing, shifting the emphasis from technical aspects of
learning space design and assessing the potential impacts of the physical school
built environment on learning. We also intentionally widened the focus from formal
classrooms to encompass informal learning spaces such as playgrounds whose
importance to students often goes unrecognised (Luz, 2008). In addition, the book
addresses the lack of studies that consider the potential and use of physical school
spaces to support innovative pedagogy (Cleveland & Fisher, 2014).
While the editors and several authors represent the growing body of learning
space research at Queensland University of Technology, this book has provided a
rewarding opportunity for interdisciplinary collaboration with colleagues in
Australia and Great Britain. The contributors range from internationally recognised
researchers to recent doctoral graduates and scholarly practitioners (as indicated by
the authors’ biographies). The authors also share the first-hand perspectives of
students and teachers whose voices are often silent in learning space design policy
and practice (Newton, 2009; Newton & Fisher, 2009).
The following overview of chapters highlights complexity of designing school
spaces that intentionally foster student wellbeing and learning.

Overview of Chapters

The book’s chapters are arranged thematically in four parts which relate to: con-
ceptual understandings of learning spaces and wellbeing; students’ lived experience
and needs of learning spaces; realisation of learning space design theory in practice;
and a new conceptually based model for learning space design that fosters well-
being as flourishing. As a connecting thread, the chapters include a declaration
of the authors’ understanding of wellbeing related to learning space design; and
conclude with a short indication of implications for practice arising from their
research or commentary.
Part I: Conceptual Understandings of School Spaces, Learning and Wellbeing
Part I sets the book’s conceptual context. Jill Franz (Chapter ‘Towards a Spatiality
of Wellbeing’) reviews current research on the relationship between school spaces
and student wellbeing and proposes spatiality of wellbeing as a basis to addressing
the fragmented and underexplored focus on the physical school environment (natural
and built). Lisa Kervin, Barbara Comber and Aspa Baroutsis (Chapter
‘Sociomaterial Dimensions of Early Literacy Learning Spaces: Moving Through
Classrooms with Teacher and Children’) draw on sociocultural theory and ethno-
graphic findings to demonstrate the connectedness of students’ learning and well-
being in classroom environments. Disrupting taken-for-granted definitions, Lyndal
Preface xiii

O’Gorman (Chapter ‘Promoting Children’s Wellbeing and Values Learning in

Risky Learning Spaces’) proposes that risky social and emotional learning spaces
offer children opportunities to explore issues such as social justice and sustainability.
Kerry Mallan’s (Chapter ‘School Design and Wellbeing: Spatial and Literary
Meeting Points’) spatiality-informed analysis of several texts reveals how young
people’s literature gives imaginative form to the spatial practices of school, and how
design and affect impact children’s wellbeing and experience of school life.
Part II: Student Experience of School Spaces for Wellbeing and Learning
Part II presents research findings that reveal the diversity of school students’
experience and needs of learning spaces. Kylie Andrews and Jill Willis (Chapter
‘Imaginings and Representations of High School Learning Spaces: Year 6 Student
Experiences’) highlight how physical, emotional and social wellbeing factors col-
our Year 6 students’ expectations of their future high school spaces, and indicate
students’ need for control, consultation, critique and compromise in the design and
use of learning spaces. A qualitative case study by Hilary Hughes, Jill Franz, Jill
Willis, Derek Bland and Annie Rolfe (Chapter ‘High School Spaces and Student
Transitioning: Designing for Student Wellbeing’) explores Year 7 students’ expe-
rience of transitioning to high school and presents a set of suggestions to inform the
design of high school facilities that support student wellbeing. Seeking to inform
the design of school libraries as learning spaces, Derek Bland, Hilary Hughes and
Jill Willis (Chapter ‘Students Reimagining School Libraries as Spaces of Learning
and Wellbeing’) invited school students to talk about and draw their imagined ideal
library spaces, and then identified spatial characteristics that enhance students’
learning opportunities sense of wellbeing. Beth Saggers and Jill Ashburner’s
(Chapter ‘Creating Learning Spaces that Promote Wellbeing, Participation and
Engagement: Implications for Students on the Autism Spectrum’) extensive liter-
ature review demonstrates the importance of creating learning spaces that promote
participation, engagement and wellbeing for all students, especially those on the
autism spectrum with sensitivities to environmental stimuli. Based on their evalu-
ation of the UK Open Futures programme, Pamela Woolner and Lucy Tiplady
(Chapter ‘Enhancing Wellbeing Through Broadening the Primary Curriculum in
the UK with Open Futures’) argue for altering school space to enable curriculum
broadening and enhance student wellbeing.
Part III: Participatory Designing of School Spaces for Wellbeing and Learning
Part III offers four case studies that illustrate the application of theory to practice
when designing learning spaces that foster student wellbeing. Hilary Hughes and
Raylee Elliott Burns (Chapter ‘Fostering Educator Participation in Learning Space
Designing: Insights from a Master of Education Unit of Study’) outline a post-
graduate unit of study that models participatory values-based designing with a view
to developing teachers’ capacity as learning space designers. Hilary Hughes and
Christopher Nastrom-Smith (Chapter ‘Participatory Principles in Practice:
Designing Learning Spaces that Promote Wellbeing for Young Adolescents
xiv Preface

During the Transition to Secondary School’) report on the designing of a junior

secondary school precinct that fostered the wellbeing of Middle Years students,
through a participatory process that welcomed student voice and benefited from
collaboration between school community members and architects. Adeline Kucks
and Hilary Hughes (Chapter ‘Creating a Sensory Garden for Early Years Learners:
Participatory Designing for Student Wellbeing’) describe a project with early years
students to create a sensory garden that supports play-based pedagogy and creates
opportunities for learners to engage with the natural environment. Highlighting the
potential of the learning environment as ‘third teacher’, Vanessa Miller (Chapter
‘Creating the Third Teacher Through Participatory Learning Environment Design:
Reggio Emilia Principles Support Student Wellbeing’) draws upon Reggio Emilia
principles and findings of her participatory action research to present an evidence
based model for teachers and students to co-create spaces conducive to contem-
porary learning.
Part IV: Reconceptualisation of School Spaces for Wellbeing and Learning
Part IV introduces a new way of thinking about and undertaking learning space
design. Jill Franz (Chapter ‘Designing ‘Space’ for Student Wellbeing as
Flourishing’) proposes a Salutogenic design framework for wellbeing as flourish-
ing. Drawing together the various wellbeing elements explored throughout the
book, the framework offers a theoretically based holistic design approach that
responds to the values, interests and aspirations of students, and supports the
opportunity that education affords in enhancing their capability to live fulfilling
lives. Jill argues that a capabilities approach to wellbeing as flourishing most
vividly reveals the potential of design to open up possibility and facilitate trans-
formative change in students. At its heart, the salutogenic framework recognises
students’ embedded and embodied relationship with the physical environment and
the need for it to be personally comprehensible, manageable and meaningful.

Looking Forwards

For schools seeking to create spaces that are conducive to contemporary learning
and wellbeing, the book offers a selection of transferable student-centred design
approaches that are participatory and values based. It also opens the way for further
research in this field that explores a wider range of school contexts and expands
awareness of the wellbeing dimension of learning space design. We are delighted
that the many voices in this collection will inform a range of professionals who are
interested in school design. Together the contributions in this book illustrate that
designing is an ongoing process of compelling concern for students, teachers,
Preface xv

writers, parents, librarians, therapists, leaders, gardeners and artists as well as

builders, planners and architects. Every school has designers who can take action to
enhance school spaces to be places of wellbeing and learning.

Kelvin Grove, Brisbane, Australia Hilary Hughes

Jill Franz
Jill Willis

References

Cleveland, B., & Fisher, K. (2014). The evaluation of physical learning environments: A critical
review of literature. Learning Environment Research, 17(1), 1–28.
Fraillon, J. (2004). Measuring student well-being in the context of Australian schooling:
Discussion paper. Victoria: ACER/MCEETYA.
Luz, A. (2008). The [design of] educational space: A process-centred built pedagogy. In A. Clarke,
M. Evatt, P. Hogarth, J. Lloveras, & L. Pons, (Eds.), Proceedings of E&PDE 2008:
International Conference on Engineering and Product Design Education (pp. 339–344).
Universitat Politecnica de Catalunya, Barcelona, Spain, 4–5 September, 2008.
Masters, G. (2012). National school improvement tool. Australian Council for Educational
Research (ACER). http://research.acer.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1019&context=tll_
misc.
Newton, C. (2009). Disciplinary dilemmas: Learning spaces as discussion between designers and
educators. Critical and Creative Thinking: The Australian Journal of Philosophy in Education,
17(2), 7–27.
Newton, C., & Fisher, K. (2009). Take 8, learning spaces: The transformation of educational
spaces for the 21st century. Canberra: Australian Institute of Architects.
Acknowledgements

Sincere thanks to the many colleagues, friends and family members who have
encouraged and supported the development of this work, in particular:
Office of Education Research, QUT; Nick Meclchior and Sanjievkumar
Mathiyazhagan, Springer; David Hughes.
Special thanks to all the authors for your thoughtful and timely contributions to
the book, it has been a great pleasure to work collegially with all of you.
We warmly acknowledge the high quality constructive feedback offered to
authors by the following peer reviewers:
Dr. Cherie Allan, Kylie Andrews, Dr. Aspa Baroutsis, Dr. Janet Buchan,
Prof. Suzanne Carrington, Dr. Alison Clark, Prof. Julie Davis, Dr. Raylee Elliott
Burns, Prof. Kenn Fisher, Prof. Val Klenowski, Dr. Carly Lassig, Emeritus Professor
Kerry Mallan, Dr. Melinda Miller, Dr. Vanessa Miller, Dr. Craig Murison,
Dr. Ceridwen Owen, Assoc. Prof. Beth Saggers, Dr. Mary M. Sommerville,
Dr. Maryanne Theobald, Dr. Pamela Woolner.
Also thanks to Denise Frost (QUT Library) for copyediting and referencing
support.
We especially appreciate the insights that many people (adults and young
people) have shared as participants in the research projects featured in this book.

Hilary Hughes
Jill Franz
Jill Willis

xvii
Contents

Part I Conceptual Understandings of School Spaces, Learning

and Wellbeing
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Jill Franz
Sociomaterial Dimensions of Early Literacy Learning Spaces: Moving
Through Classrooms with Teacher and Children . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Lisa Kervin, Barbara Comber and Aspa Baroutsis
Promoting Children’s Wellbeing and Values Learning in Risky
Learning Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Lyndal O’Gorman
School Design and Wellbeing: Spatial and Literary Meeting Points . . . . 55
Kerry Mallan

Part II Student Experience of School Spaces for Wellbeing

and Learning
Imaginings and Representations of High School Learning Spaces:
Year 6 Student Experiences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Kylie Andrews and Jill Willis
High School Spaces and Student Transitioning: Designing for Student
Wellbeing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Hilary Hughes, Jill Franz, Jill Willis, Derek Bland and Annie Rolfe
Students Reimagining School Libraries as Spaces of Learning
and Wellbeing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Jill Willis, Hilary Hughes and Derek Bland

xix
xx Contents

Creating Learning Spaces that Promote Wellbeing, Participation

and Engagement: Implications for Students on the Autism
Spectrum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Beth Saggers and Jill Ashburner
Enhancing Wellbeing Through Broadening the Primary Curriculum
in the UK with Open Futures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Pamela Woolner and Lucy Tiplady

Part III Participatory Designing of School Spaces for Wellbeing

and Learning
Fostering Educator Participation in Learning Space Designing:
Insights from a Master of Education Unit of Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
Hilary Hughes and Raylee Elliott Burns
Participatory Principles in Practice: Designing Learning Spaces
that Promote Wellbeing for Young Adolescents During
the Transition to Secondary School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199
Christopher Nastrom-Smith and Hilary Hughes
Creating a Sensory Garden for Early Years Learners: Participatory
Designing for Student Wellbeing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
Adeline Kucks and Hilary Hughes
Creating the Third Teacher Through Participatory Learning
Environment Design: Reggio Emilia Principles Support Student
Wellbeing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Vanessa Miller

Part IV Reconceptualisation of School Spaces for Wellbeing

and Learning
Designing ‘Space’ for Student Wellbeing as Flourishing . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Jill Franz
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281
Editors, Illustrator and Contributors

About the Editors

Hilary Hughes is Adjunct Associate Professor in the Faculty of Education,

Queensland University of Technology, Australia where from 2005 to 2018, she
taught several units in the Master of Education including Designing Spaces for
Learning. Her research interests include learning space design, information literacy
and informed learning and international student experience. She has been Chief
Investigator for two Australian Research Council (ARC) Linkage projects and has
completed several other funded projects. In her research, she draws on extensive
previous experience as reference librarian and information literacy educator. Her
qualifications include Ph.D. (QUT, Australia), M.A. in Librarianship (Sheffield
University, UK) and B.A. Combined Honours in Spanish and Romance Linguistics
(Birmingham University, UK). In 2010, she was Fulbright Scholar-in-Residence at
University of Colorado Denver, USA. e-mail: [email protected]
Jill Franz is a Professor in the School of Design, Creative Industries Faculty,
Queensland University of Technology (QUT). Her qualifications in architecture,
interior design, education and teaching have contributed to extensive experience as
a design practitioner as well as design educator and researcher. In addition to
teaching and supervising doctoral and other research students, she is involved in a
range of research projects to do with the environment and its potential to enhance
health, wellbeing and social justice. She is currently a chief investigator with Hilary
Hughes on a federally funded ARC Linkage project: Innovative procurement the-
ories to optimise education per cost of school. e-mail: [email protected]
Jill Willis is an assessment researcher and senior lecturer in the Faculty of
Education at Queensland University of Technology. She is committed to supporting
teachers and school systems to rethink how they promote student agency and equity
through their everyday assessment and pedagogy practices. Learning space designs
and collaborative leadership are explored as innovative structures that can support
collective agency. She also researches how self-assessment feedback loops inform

xxi
xxii Editors, Illustrator and Contributors

personal and system change. Her qualifications include Ph.D. (QUT, Australia), M.
Ed. in Educational Leadership (JCU), Graduate Diploma in Education (BCAE) and
B.A. (UQ). e-mail: [email protected]

Illustrator

Derek Bland has been involved in education and social justice since 1980. He
joined Queensland University of Technology (QUT), Brisbane, Australia, in 1991
to establish a special entry and student support initiative to assist people from
socio-economically disadvantaged backgrounds. Completing his Ph.D. in 2006, he
taught and researched inclusive education and ways in which imagination can
engage marginalised people with formal education. He retired in December 2016 to
focus on creative art but is continuing his research and engagement with QUT as a
visiting fellow and is the editor of a recently published book, Imagination for
Inclusion: Diverse contexts of Educational Practice (Routledge). e-mail:
[email protected]

Contributors

Kylie Andrews teaches in primary, secondary and tertiary contexts and her
qualifications include B.A., DipEd, M.Ed. (Research). She has worked as a ses-
sional academic and research assistant at QUT in Brisbane, Australia. Her Masters
research explored Year 6 students’ imaginings of their future high school learning
spaces. This research recognises that learning spaces have the potential to increase
engagement and aid wellbeing. She is concerned that middle years students remain
engaged in their learning and transition smoothly between primary and secondary
school. e-mail: [email protected]
Jill Ashburner has an extensive career in the disability sector spanning 40 years,
including a number of senior occupational therapy positions. Her doctoral study
explored sensory processing and classroom behavioural, emotional and educational
outcomes of children with ASD. As Manager Research and Development at Autism
Queensland since 2007, her research has focused on sensory processing, education
of students with ASD, professional development of clinicians working in the ASD
field, school bullying, written expression and telehealth. She is currently leading
Autism CRC projects on written expression, structured teaching, an evaluation of a
post-school transition program and goal-setting for adults and adolescents with
ASD. e-mail: [email protected]
Aspa Baroutsis is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at Griffith Institute of Education
Research, Griffith University, Australia. She researches in the areas of sociology,
educational policy and social justice with a particular interest in spatial justice. Her
research interests include mediatisation, media constructions and representations of
Editors, Illustrator and Contributors xxiii

identity, children and young people’s voice and teachers’ work. e-mail: a.barout-
sis@griffith.edu.au
Barbara Comber is a Research Professor in the School of Education at the
University of South Australia and Adjunct Professor in the Faculty of Education at
Queensland University of Technology. Her research interests include teachers’
work, critical literacy, place-conscious pedagogy and social justice. Her research
examines the kinds of teaching that make a difference to young people’s literacy
learning trajectories and what gets in the way. Her recent books Literacy, Place and
Pedagogies of Possibility (Comber, 2016) and Literacy, Leading and Learning:
Beyond Pedagogies of Poverty (Hayes, Hattam Comber, Kerkham, Lupton &
Thomson, 2017) explore these issues. e-mail: [email protected]
Harry Daniels is Professor of Education at the University of Oxford. He has
directed research more than 40 projects funded by The Economic and Social
Research Council (ESRC), various UK central and local government sources, The
Lottery, The Nuffield Foundation and the EU. His current research includes Design
matters? The effects of new schools on students’, teachers’ and parents’ actions and
perceptions. This is funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC)
(2012–2016). This project investigates the ways in which a design shapes a practice
and a practice shapes a design. As such it is concerned with the formation of context
in particular settings and the relevance of particular forms of evidence to particular
settings. He has an extensive publications record that includes a series of interna-
tionally acclaimed books on sociocultural psychology. His qualifications include B.
Sc. (Liverpool), M.A. (Oxford), Ph.D. (London), Diploma in Psychology and
Special Needs (London) and PGCE (Leicester). e-mail: harry.daniels@education.
ox.ac.uk
Raylee Elliott Burns is a researcher and education consultant with experience in
program design and implementation, teaching and mentoring in the Master of
Education (Teacher-Librarianship) at Queensland University of Technology. Her
doctoral research developed as a work-in-progress informing the design and
implementation of the QUT MEd unit of study Designing spaces for learning. Her
thesis and continuing interests are outlined in Chapter 9 of The Translational
Design of Schools (2016, Fisher, Ed. pp. 195–213). Her work embraces the ‘small
stories’ and the underpinning values of educators and learners whose lives and work
occupy the spaces of schools. Their ‘voices of experience’ offer multidimensional
potential for participation in designing and redesigning spaces for learning and
teaching in consensus with accredited designers. e-mail: [email protected]
Lisa Kervin is an Associate Professor in Language and Literacy in the Faculty of
Social Sciences at the University of Wollongong where she is an active member
of the Early Start Research Institute. current research interests are focused on young
children and how they engage with literate practices and she is currently involved in
research projects funded by the Australian Research Council focused on young
children and writing, digital play and transition. She has researched her own
xxiv Editors, Illustrator and Contributors

teaching and has collaborative research partnerships with teachers and students in
tertiary and primary classrooms and prior-to-school settings. e-mail: lkervin@uow.
edu.au
Adeline Kucks is a primary school teacher in the Northern Gold Coast region of
Queensland, Australia who has been teaching since 2004. Her qualifications include
M.Ed. (Early Years), B.Ed. (Primary) and ATCL. She has been working in the
‘transition to school’ space for the last 6 years and has a passion for seeing young
learners start school successfully and receive an outstanding early education. Her
work over the last 12 months has seen her develop an inclusive transition program
that works with children who have difficulty or disability begin school successfully.
The outdoor learning environment has played a significant part in the transition
program at her school. e-mail: [email protected]
Kerry Mallan is Emeritus Professor at Queensland University of Technology,
Australia. Her main area of research is in children’s texts and cultures. She has
published extensively on literature for young people, bringing theoretical readings
with respect to gender, sexuality, spatiality and posthumanism. Her most recent sole
authored books are Secrets, Lies and Children’s Literature (2011) and Gender
Dilemmas in Children’s Fiction (2009). She also co-authored New World Orders in
Contemporary Children’s Literature: Utopian Transformations with Clare Bradford,
John Stephens and Robyn McCallum (2008). e-mail: [email protected]
Vanessa Miller is an experienced primary teacher, counsellor and behaviour
specialist who is currently working as the Head of Primary in a Christian school in
New South Wales, Australia. She has a particular interest in learning environment
design and learner-responsive pedagogy, inspired by two study visits to the
municipal schools of Reggio Emilia (Italy). She completed an Education Doctorate
at QUT in 2017 about the nature and potential of a participatory designing process
to create learning environments conducive to contemporary learning approaches. e-
mail: [email protected]
Christopher Nastrom-Smith is Director of Junior Secondary and a member of the
Senior Leadership Team at Cannon Hill Anglican College, in Brisbane, Australia,
where his role focuses on the academic and pastoral welfare of Years 7–9 students.
His qualifications include M.Ed. (LeadMgt), B.Ed., DipBus, AMICDA and
MACEL. His past research has explored how curriculum development, learning
spaces and teacher pedagogy can be customised to enhance the transitional expe-
riences of students as they move from primary school into lower secondary school.
Chris completed his Masters of Education (Leadership and Management) at QUT in
2015 and part of his coursework complemented the design of Cannon Hill Anglican
College’s Junior Secondary Precinct. e-mail: [email protected]
Lyndal O’Gorman is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Early Childhood and
Inclusive Education at Queensland University of Technology. Prior to this, she taught
in Education Queensland primary schools in Brisbane and Far North Queensland.
Editors, Illustrator and Contributors xxv

Her qualifications include Diploma of Teaching (Early Childhood), Bachelor of

Education and Ph.D. Her current teaching and research endeavours at QUT include
the topics of early childhood and primary arts education, education for sustainability,
play pedagogies, interdisciplinary learning and teaching and early childhood
leadership. Lyndal is building a substantial track record of research investigating the
intersection of the arts and education for sustainability. She was co-leader of the 4th
Transnational Dialogues in Early Childhood Education for Sustainability, in Victoria,
British Columbia, in September 2017. e-mail: [email protected]
Annie Rolfe is a sessional academic team member in the School of Design,
Creative Industries Faculty, Queensland University of Technology (QUT) where
she is involved in a range of projects that explore health and wellbeing in designing.
Annie draws on her experience in interior design practice and her previous career in
nursing to designing a range of interiors including health facilities. Annie’s teaching
focuses on theories of wellbeing and spatial justice in Design Psychology and
Design in Society. Her current (2018) M.Phil. research evaluates alternative
approaches to school design and procurement and their impacts on educational
outcomes. This study is associated with the Australian Research Council Linkage
project: Innovative procurement theories to optimise education per cost of school.
e-mail: [email protected]
Beth Saggers is an Associate Professor in the School of Early Childhood and
Inclusive Education at Queensland University of Technology (QUT). She currently
lectures in Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD), catering for diversity, inclusive
practices, and behaviour support. She has over 30 years of experience working with
students on the autism spectrum across a range of age groups and educational settings.
She is an active research participant in the national Autism Cooperative Research
Centre (Autism CRC). Her research interests include developing supportive learning
environments for students with autism, the perspectives of key stakeholders, and
supporting challenging and complex student needs. e-mail: [email protected]
Lucy Tiplady has worked as an academic researcher since 2005 and is a Research
Associate within the Research Centre for Learning and Teaching (CfLaT),
Newcastle University, UK. She has gained B.A. (Hons) English Studies (University
of Nottingham, UK) and Graduate Diploma in Psychology—Distinction (Newcastle
University, UK). She has worked on a diverse range of projects and evaluations
within Education and has developed subject specialisms in the areas of practitioner
enquiry and visual and participatory research methods. Working collaboratively with
schools and the wider education community has led to her interest in how research
methods can be used as tools for enquiry to aid practitioner and student learning. She
has worked with colleagues within CfLaT in exploring the use of visual tools to
mediate and enhance interviews and in collaborative and co-produced research with
a range of stakeholders. e-mail: [email protected]
xxvi Editors, Illustrator and Contributors

Hau Ming Tse is a Research Fellow in the Department of Education, University of

Oxford. She is also Associate Lecturer in the School of Architecture at Oxford
Brookes University. A qualified architect, she was educated at the University of
Bath, the University of Cambridge and the Architectural Association, London.
After graduating, she worked for 9 years at David Chipperfield Architects, where
she was an Associate Director. Her research explores the relationship between
space, perception and the environment, and her work focuses on productive points
of interaction and innovation between theory and practice in learning environments.
Current field research examines the complex relationship between design and
practice in some of the most challenging primary and secondary schools in the UK.
e-mail: [email protected]
Pamela Woolner is CfLaT Co-Director and Senior Lecturer in Education,
Newcastle University. Her has a growing international reputation in understanding
learning environments, with research that includes investigations of underlying
issues for learning space design and research into the use and development of space
in British schools. Her work includes a seminal review, The impact of school
environments, a book about school space aimed at users (the Design of learning
spaces) and an interdisciplinary edited collection, School design together, exploring
participatory design. e-mail: [email protected]
What If …

Derek Bland, 2017

 Part I
Conceptual Understandings of School
Spaces, Learning and Wellbeing
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing

Jill Franz

Abstract Despite increasing attention to designing learning environments that are

conducive to contemporary pedagogy, there is limited understanding about how
physical spaces influence student learning in holistic and existential ways. In addition,
while research shows an association between student wellbeing and learning, the
interrelationship between these concepts and the spatial and material implications
are underexplored. Consequently, this chapter seeks to expand current thinking about
learning spaces to support conceptually informed school design. As a way forward, it
brings together a capability approach to education with an existential understanding
of wellbeing to propose spatiality of wellbeing as an overarching construct that points
to the potential of the physical school environment to have an enduring and profound
influence on student wellbeing and learning.

Introduction

In educational research, there is growing resistance to a prevailing compartmentalised

approach to operationalising wellbeing in schools with several researchers calling
for it to be more relational and embedded. While there is emerging support for this
latter approach, little has been done to explore its spatial and material implications
in the context of school learning environments. This chapter is an initial response to
this situation.
The chapter is in three main parts. The first examines the relationship between
wellbeing and schooling and how it is conceived discursively as well as described
operationally in education literature. It is at the school level where various concep-
tions of wellbeing intersect and where the relational nature of wellbeing, particularly
its nature as embodied and embedded, is most apparent. Unlike the relationship
between learning and the physical school environment, which has been explored
extensively as summarised in the second part of the chapter, there is no research that

J. Franz (B)
Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, Australia
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2019 3

H. Hughes et al. (eds.), School Spaces for Student Wellbeing and Learning,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-6092-3_1
4 J. Franz

coherently considers how a relational understanding of learning and wellbeing con-

nects with the actual material space of the school. This is addressed in the third part
of the chapter. Here, a capability approach to education is considered along with
an existential understanding of wellbeing and our embodied relationship with the
physical world to inform a spatiality of wellbeing. As explained, when the concept
of spatiality is framed in this way, the potential of the physical school environment
to facilitate and support student capability and wellbeing in a holistic and profound
way is revealed.

Wellbeing and Schooling

In this first part of the chapter, I critique current educational discourse and associated
conceptions of wellbeing that are representative of the conceived space of wellbeing
and schooling. As conveyed in Fig. 1, in the school context, this space holds in tension
two conceptions of wellbeing: wellbeing as compartmentalised and detached; and
wellbeing as embodied and embedded. Examining these conceptions at the micro
level of the school reveals the various ways in which wellbeing is operationalised
through the process of schooling. This establishes the conceptual foundation for the
subsequent parts of the chapter and the development of a spatiality of wellbeing
construct. Each of the conceptions is discussed below.

Wellbeing as Compartmentalised and Detached

Current educational discourse to do with wellbeing generally reflects a dominant neo-

liberal agenda. From a neo-liberal point of view, knowledge, skills and attributes,
including wellbeing attributes such as resilience and self-efficacy, are regarded in
terms of their ultimate potential to enhance economic competitiveness and subse-
quently, national economic performance (Spratt, 2017, p. 27). Here, wellbeing is
regarded as what Atkinson (2013) would term a determinant or a significant process
factor (p. 139). There are various educational policies and initiatives internationally
that reflect this primary ideology. In Australia, a notable example is the Melbourne
Declaration on Educational Goals for Young Australians (MCEETYA) which explic-
itly associates wellbeing with ‘the nation’s ongoing economic prosperity and social
cohesion’ (p. 4) and identifies the vital role played by schools in ‘ensuring’ this
occurs. In addition, wellbeing can be used to operationalise policy (Ereaut & Whit-
ing, 2008) as revealed in an international study by Blackmore, Bateman, Loughlin,
O’Mara, and Aranda (2011) where wellbeing is conceptualised as one of several
(learning) attainment indicators.
Emphasising the role of wellbeing in policy and pedagogy, Spratt (2017) brings
together the work of Ereaut and Whiting (2008) on children’s wellbeing with her own
work to identify the compartmentalised and sometimes overlapping discursive areas
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 5

Fig. 1 Space of wellbeing and schooling

of: physical health promotion; social and emotional literacy; sustainability; care; and
flourishing. First, with regard to physical health promotion, there are signs that policy
is helping to shift some of the focus of responsibility from the individual and internal
structural aspects to external structural aspects and the provision of school social
and physical environments that are safe, comfortable and health promoting (Spratt,
2017; Watson, Emery, Bayliss, Boushel, & McInnes, 2012). This also aligns with a
growing focus on supporting mental health. In addition, there is the emerging interest
in the role of furniture and the spatial configuration of learning spaces to minimise
the health impacts of sitting and to encourage incidental exercise. Moves to open
up access to mainstream schooling for children with disabilities and special needs
have also demanded greater attention to the physical environment and its sensory,
spatial (and empowering) qualities. However, on the whole, where there is attention
to the indoor and outdoor physical school environment, it is generally considered
with regard to injury prevention and protection from environmental hazards, such
6 J. Franz

as poor ventilation, sun exposure and play equipment. In this regard, attention to
the physical environment for physical wellbeing remains compartmentalised, highly
selective and minimal.
The compartmentalisation of wellbeing is further evident when it is categorised
as emotional wellbeing, psychological wellbeing, social wellbeing and so on Watson
et al. (2012, pp. 1, 2). This is especially apparent in education through the emergence
of discourse to do with social and emotional literacy. In her review of this discourse,
Spratt (2017) highlights the role of social and emotional competencies in preparing
students to operate effectively in the world, and within the school context; and of
the way in which they support other school goals such as improved behaviour. The
substantial interest in social and emotional literacy has prompted numerous ways
in which it is operationalised. Serious concerns have been expressed by several
scholars, including Ecclestone and Hayes (2009), who question its propensity to
foster a therapy culture and, for students, an increasing sense of vulnerability (Spratt,
2017, p. 45). In addition, Watson et al. (2012) and Spratt (2017) highlight the tendency
for many to regard emotional wellbeing as a universal set of individualised skills.
Discourse on social and emotional literacy also overlaps, in part, with the dis-
course on sustainability, most notably in emerging research validating the positive
effects on children attitudinally, socially and emotionally of outdoor learning and
hands-on experience with nature. Thus, Spratt proposes that ‘human wellbeing is
deeply entangled with the way in which we care for the environment’ (2017, p. 55),
calling attention to school curricula and pedagogical practices that are ‘sustainabil-
ity’ focussed. However, the review of literature suggests that the potential for the
physical school environment to support these initiatives and wellbeing as a whole,
and in a fundamentally transformative way, remains largely unrealised.
Unlike in the previous discursive themes, where wellbeing is treated as incor-
porating discrete components, the discourse on care may appear on the surface to
offer the possibility of a more holistic appreciation of wellbeing, therein addressing
concerns such as highlighted by Ereaut and Whiting (2008) and Atkinson (2013)
that wellbeing cannot be explained by its constituent parts alone. In addition, the dis-
course on care also invites focus and scrutiny on the relationship between the child
and others, including the rights of children to be involved in matters that impact them,
as proclaimed by the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (2009).
Associated considerations include power and agency, and the nature of care when
there are underlying conflicting ideologies. In terms of the latter, the work of Fielding
(2012) on school as a person-centred learning community, as opposed to the school
as an organisation, is particularly insightful. For Fielding, the school as an organ-
isation is exemplified at a very impersonal level through a pragmatic concern for
meeting specific academic targets and benchmarks, or at a more high performance
level where concern for students and their personal development is regarded as a
means of enhancing school performance. So while a school may appear to adopt a
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 7

welfare liberal position by promoting a caring ethos, it can in fact be using this instru-
mentally to address school organisational goals, the performance against which is
externally and/or quantifiably measured. Such situations highlight a concern regard-
ing ‘the potentially coercive nature of “care”’ (Hendricks as cited in Spratt 2017,
p. 63).
Acknowledging a more holistic appreciation of wellbeing within the context
of prevailing neo-liberal ideology (Spratt, 2017, p. 64) regards schools as person-
centred learning communities. Here, while external requirements and benchmarks
are taken seriously, the primary aim is to address these by focussing on individual
personal development and human flourishing within a democratic learning commu-
nity. In this respect, Spratt’s thinking is very much influenced by the contemporary
work of Nussbaum (2006, 2011), Drez and Sen (1995), and Sen (2009), and the
notion that education plays an intrinsic role in developing the capability for students,
as students and later as adults, to lead a life of value to themselves and society. Thus,
wellbeing as flourishing is conceived in this sense as an outcome, with the purpose
of schooling being to ‘enhance the freedoms that children have to achieve wellbeing,
as flourishing, both in the present and in the future’ (Spratt, 2017, p. 123). Note that
this is not primarily a hedonic concern for happiness but rather what Kristjánsson
(2017) would describe as a neo-Aristotelian concern for eudaimonic wellbeing; a
concern that draws attention to human capability and optimal functioning. In school-
ing, Spratt (2017) regards Nussbaum’s capability of senses, imagination and thought
as significant in helping to develop potential. However, she also argues the need for
schooling to consider that although children may have capability, they generally rely
on adults to create or help create the conditions necessary to foster the capability
(p. 53). As revealed further on, this presents opportunities for exploring more fully
the relationship of children and the physical/material environment, and the latter’s
sensorial and aesthetic agency.
In most cases, the approaches to wellbeing just described reflect a particular
understanding of wellbeing in relationship to health. The research reviewed suggests
wide ranging educational endorsement of the World Health Organization (WHO,
1946) understanding that: ‘Health is a state of complete physical, mental and social
wellbeing and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity’. While this conflation of
health and wellbeing helps to move the understanding of health from a clinical deficit
position (Fraillon, 2004), it also perpetuates a components approach to wellbeing
(Atkinson, Fuller, & Painter, 2012; Atkinson, 2013) reflecting and reinforcing a neo-
liberal reliance on performance indicators and measures. As illustrated, wellbeing
can be viewed either as the outcome of policy-making or as part of the process
of policy-making; as an outcome of learning or as a determinant of learning. In
addition, Atkinson (2013) suggests that the dominant framing of wellbeing informed
by neo-liberal ideology casts wellbeing as predominantly individualised, with the
components of wellbeing viewed as commodities that can be acquired or achieved
(p. 139) and that as internalised, are to be self-managed (p. 140). What remains
of fundamental concern for Atkinson (2013), however, is that perpetuating use of
8 J. Franz

wellbeing as a synonym of health restricts an expansive understanding of wellbeing

beyond physical and psychological dimensions to one that is relational in a more
embodied and embedded sense.

Wellbeing as Embodied and Embedded

In the educational research area, there are signs of growing resistance to fine grain
articulation of wellbeing and its associated compartmentalisation. For example,
Watson et al. (2012) instead propose a broader conceptualisation of wellbeing as
‘subjectively experienced, contextual and embedded, and relational’ (p. 224). This
understanding emerges from their problematisation of wellbeing, being well and
children as beings and becomings (p. 38) and their challenging of the Cartesian
mind–body dualism (p. 31). As they explain, the work represents ‘…a relational
and embedded view of wellbeing that acknowledges the phenomenological body in
experiencing and reporting wellbeing; but it is also a deeply social view of the human
body that acknowledges the importance of others in the project of human flourishing’
(p. 223).
While the likes of Watson et al. (2012) and Stevens (2010) argue for an embodied
and embedded view of wellbeing, little has been done in education (or elsewhere) to
explore the consequences of this spatially, despite the claim that:
Framing wellbeing as relational and situated makes explicit that wellbeing can have no
form, expression or enhancement without attention to the spatial dynamics of such effects
(Atkinson, 2013, p. 142).

In this sense, wellbeing is understood by Atkinson ‘to be emergent through situated

and relational effects that are dependent on the mobilisation of resources within
different social and spatial contexts…’ (p. 142). While this reflects an embodied role
of emotions, it is in a dynamic not static sense. Further in terms of its situated and
relational nature, wellbeing is regarded as:
Complex assemblages of relations not only between people, but also between people and
places, material objects and less material constituents of places including atmosphere, his-
tories and values (Panelli and Tipa, 2009). Wellbeing is thus conceptualised as in constant
production and reproduction (Atkinson, 2013, p. 142).

Despite Atkinson recognising the spatiality of wellbeing as described, it remains at

a highly conceptual level, and as such is operationally problematic. The final part
of this chapter suggests a way in which this may be addressed. Before doing so,
however, the interconnection of wellbeing and learning warrants investigation of the
current situation in education and the prevailing forces informing the spatiality of
learning and the design of learning spaces.
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 9

Space, Spatiality and Learning

In the educational literature reviewed, space and spatiality are often used interchange-
ably or in a conflated sense. This is the case even when authors are careful to make
distinctions between the two concepts and is compounded when space and learning
are brought together as learning space, a learning space or, in the collective sense of
learning spaces. With respect to learning spaces, the term is relatively new emerg-
ing in line with the notion of a contemporary society and neo-liberal government
agenda heavily invested politically and economically in preparing a workforce for
the twenty-first century (Ministerial Council on Education Employment Training and
Youth Affairs, 2008; Productivity Commission, 2016). In Australia and many other
countries, this has had widespread impact at a macro policy level as well as at the
more local level of school curricula, pedagogy and resourcing (including built infras-
tructure), from early childhood education through to secondary school and beyond
to post compulsory vocational and tertiary education.
Despite general acceptance of this conceptual shift and its implications for the con-
ceptualisation of learning spaces, research continues to reflect varying paradigmatic
emphases not only in terms of the conceptualisation of learning spaces but also of their
relationship with learning outcomes. An overview of the literature tends to suggest a
dichotomous relationship between research to do with physical learning spaces and
that adopting a socially framed perspective. What I propose, however, is that research
in general tends to sit on a spatiality (relational) spectrum, reflecting in various ways
a dialectic rather than dualistic understanding of the relationship between people
and their environment, albeit one where either social or physical/material aspects are
emphasised. For instance, there appears to be a tendency for policy-directed research
to be situated more towards the social end of the spectrum, and research with a par-
ticular interest in the physical nature of learning environments at the material end.
Meanwhile, research involving the everyday experience of teaching and learning in
the school context is positioned in a very fluid way around the middle of the spectrum.
In this latter respect, there is an implicit belief that ‘space is neither absolute, rela-
tive [n]or relational in itself, but it can become one or all simultaneously depending
on circumstances. [And for teachers] The problem of the proper conceptualisation
of space is resolved through human practice with respect to it’ (Harvey as cited in
Harvey, 2004, p. 5).
For Mulcahy, Cleveland and Aberton (2015) and Mulcahy (2016), adopting a
relational (sociomaterial) approach to conceptualising learning space aligns with the
understanding of it as ‘a product of interrelations and materially embedded practices,
connected in space and time to wider flows of ideas, technologies and discourses in
society’ (McGregor as cited in Mulcahy et al., 2015, p. 591). Unfortunately, in draw-
ing attention to the sociocultural context of schooling, their work overtly dismisses
the notion of absolute (real) space, and in this respect inadvertently downplays the
significance of the physical environment (built and natural). While there appears
to be an attempt to conceive of sociomaterial (written as one word) in a mutually
inclusive sense, the discourse still privileges the social over the (physical) material.
10 J. Franz

An early study that focusses on the school as architectural space, but in an inte-
grative way by drawing on spatial, educational and ecological design theory, is that
by Gislason (2007). For Gislason, a building, such as a school building, is ‘more
than a merely physical structure, as it is also packed with visual and spatial messages
about how to feel and act in a certain location’ (p. 6). As he elaborates, ‘there is not a
strict correspondence, though, between environment and behaviour’ (p. 6). Thus, the
relationship we have with and in buildings is phenomenologically as well as socially
implicated. Therefore, ‘We must be both situated and orientated, if we are to dwell
meaningfully…’ (Gislason, 2007, p. 8).
In a similar vein, although with a greater focus on the relationship between spatial
patterning and social outcomes, is a body of work described as space syntax. The
concept was first articulated by Hillier and Hanson (1984) in their book The Social
Logic of Space where they argue for investigating the space of space in order to then
understand the space of social phenomena (Hillier, 2008, p. 224). Thus:
Space not only behaves lawfully when manipulated, but also these laws are the means
by which it has agency in human affairs (Hillier, 2007)—not agency in the old sense of
spatial determinism, but in the sense that spatial configurations provide the conditions for
the emergence of different kinds of complexity in human affairs (Hillier, 2008, p. 228).

As Hillier notes, space syntax has affinity with the work of Gilles Deleuze, a key
twentieth-century philosopher, in placing emphasis on the material within space.
Such affinity is acknowledged in the work of Dovey and Fisher (2014) to do with
school learning spaces, specifically the use of assemblage theory to analyse the rela-
tionship between spatial configuration and pedagogy. Of central interest for Dovey
and Fisher is the relationship of emerging learning space typologies to issues of
power, control and discipline. In undertaking their study involving middle schools,
their focus was on the adaptability of various spaces to different practices, and spatial
interconnection or assemblage. In line with Deleuze and Guattari (1987), an assem-
blage is conceptualised as ‘a whole that is formed from the interconnectivity and
flows between constituent parts—a sociological cluster of interconnections between
parts wherein the identities and functions of both parts and whole emerge from the
flows between them’ (Dovey & Fisher, 2014, pp. 49, 50).
Bringing together the concept of place with the Deleuzian philosophical notion of
assemblage, Duhn (2012) describes how ‘“place” holds the potential to expand and
challenge understandings of how the self relates to the world, both human and more-
than-human’ (p. 99). Particularly useful here is the notion of place-as-assemblage
(Deleuze & Guattari, 1988) owing its agentic capacity to the vitality of its materiality
[Bennett as cited in Duhn (2012, p. 99)]. Place-as-assemblage with its consideration
of the agency of matter provides conceptual territory for Duhn’s preliminary explo-
ration of pedagogy in the early years’ education in relation to an ethics of flourishing
(p. 102). She argues that thinking of place as an assemblage makes place visible as
a social, material and discursive field whereby:
A pedagogy of places assembles and folds into places of pedagogy…. Pedagogies of places
negotiate flows and create spaces where matter, desire, human and more-than-human come
together to modulate the self in relation to the world (p. 104).
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 11

For Ellis and Goodyear (2016) ‘…connections between place and learning can be
subtle and powerful. To understand them, one needs to understand complex, shift-
ing assemblages involving human beings and things: material, digital and hybrid’
(p. 150).
In this second part of the chapter, I have highlighted how, in contrast to wellbeing,
the spatial implications of learning have received significant attention in policy and
academic discourse. Of particular interest is the way in which emerging initiatives
to do with space, spatiality and learning as just discussed resonate, albeit to varying
levels, with a relational understanding of wellbeing as embodied and embedded.
Unfortunately however, the research fails to address the need, as Boddington and
Boys (2011, p. xix) argue, for a perspective that considers how the relational view
of spatial consciousness connects with actual material spaces, and with individuals
and groups in terms of their embodied perceptions and lived experiences. Such a
perspective, I argue, is possible through a spatiality of wellbeing that recognises the
integral relationship of learning and wellbeing and its existential connection with the
actual material space of the school.

Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing

In introducing this chapter, I drew attention to how the discursive space of education
and schooling is dominated largely by neo-liberal ideology and a view of wellbeing
that, while acknowledging it as relational (involving various interconnecting indi-
vidual, environmental and temporal factors), is fragmented and chiefly driven at the
policy level by broader economic and social government agendas. This contrasts
with welfare liberal ideology and discourse regarding wellbeing as contextual and
situated and which, in the context of education, sees wellbeing as more connected
with and embedded in learning and the ultimate personal, political and educational
goal of human flourishing.
The notion of human flourishing as wellbeing, in the sense of living a life of value,
has experienced a resurgence in areas such as the humanities through increasing
interest in wellbeing and wellness. However, it is really only through the work of the
economist Sen (1985, 1999, 2009) and his collaborator Nussbaum (1993, 1997, 2006,
2011), and their focus on capabilities, that the educational relevance of flourishing as
wellbeing has become more apparent. In this respect, there is work such as Walker
(2005), as well as more recent work including Wilson-Strydom and Walker (2015)
in higher education and Spratt (2017) to do with school education that provides
rich theoretical ground for exploring the interrelationship of wellbeing, learning
and capability, and subsequently its implications for reconceptualising the physical
school environment in a way that highlights its agentic potential.
12 J. Franz

Wellbeing, Learning and Capability

According to Sen (1999), flourishing as wellbeing is the capability to choose a life

a person has reason to value; that is, that comprises what is understood by the per-
son as valuable functionings, which can be many things such as being adequately
nourished or practicing as a doctor. In this sense then, functionings are ‘the various
things a person may value doing or being’ (Sen as cited in Walker, 2005, p. 104).
However, as posed by Walker (2005), while a person may value these things, do
they have the freedom to achieve these things? (p. 104). Herein, freedom plays a
multifaceted role: it is what is required to develop capabilities (such as through the
opportunity to be educated) and also what is involved when one has a capabilities
set that allows for choice (the exercise of agency) of what is considered the most
valued. Unlike Nussbaum, Sen does not stipulate what is to be valued arguing that
it is the freedom to make decisions that is of fundamental importance and that such
decisions can only be made collectively in the context of the time and situation. In
relation to education, Nussbaum, in contrast to Sen, adopts a virtue-based approach.
Nussbaum argues that it is the role of education to help cultivate the capability for
effective democratic citizenship and that such cultivation relies on students develop-
ing certain functionings. In this regard, she highlights as significant critical thinking,
imaginative understanding and world citizenship based on the awareness of being a
human being ‘bound to all other human beings by ties of recognition and concern’
(Nussbaum, 2006, p. 389). More recently in higher education discourse, and in line
with Nussbaum, educators Merridy Wilson-Strydom and Melanie Walker argue that
the conceptualisation of flourishing should be extended to include a moral impera-
tive. For them, ‘to flourish and act in a moral way would be to live, act and reason
with others’ according to human values such as equity, diversity, empowerment, par-
ticipation and sustainability. It is ‘being a certain kind of person and behaving in
certain ways that makes a human being a good human being’ (Wilson-Strydom &
Walker, 2015, p. 311).
Examination of a capabilities approach to understanding wellbeing as flourishing
(and acting in a moral way) invariably leads to the conclusion that education has a
significant and fundamental role to play, not only at the higher education level as
argued by Walker (2005) and Wilson-Strydom and Walker (2015) but also at the pre-
tertiary level of schooling. In this respect, formal education from early childhood
through to the tertiary level itself is a basic capability that can have a profound
impact on the development of other capabilities, functionings and opportunities for
continuing development in school and beyond. This begs the question, though, as to
what are the valuable capabilities that enable and allow students as diverse beings
‘to flourish in education and through education to flourish in the future?’ (Wilson-
Strydom & Walker, 2015, p. 310).
First of all, it is important to clarify that a capabilities approach does not replace or
devalue the development of knowledge or skills normally associated with schooling
such as acquiring basic numeracy or literacy skills. Rather, as highlighted by Walker
(2005), these are regarded in terms of their potential for a student to develop more
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 13

complex abilities, in the process opening up a range of career possibilities. In this

sense, then, literacy can be both a functioning as well as a capability. An additional
example is a current focus in education on team work which can enable the develop-
ment of a range of skills and predispositions, including a sense of fairness. According
to Walker (2005), ‘learning fairness in working and playing with others makes it pos-
sible to develop more complex capabilities of deliberation, respect and empathy, all
of which expands the opportunities open to a young person to choose a life he or
she has reason to value’ (pp. 107, 108). And, in terms of informing and enhancing a
more socially democratic model of schooling as endorsed by Spratt (2017, p. 122),
Walker (2005) argues that in ‘doing and making social justice, agency and autonomy
are both desired functionings and valuable capabilities’ (p. 108), and as such demand
attention in and through schooling.
Developing desired functionings and capabilities, however, relies on being able to
participate in and engage with schooling; that is, on factors that facilitate the conver-
sion of an opportunity such as education into a functioning such as learning (Spratt,
2017, p. 123). For Spratt (2017), amongst the factors that will affect participation
and engagement is a student’s current state of wellbeing, demanding that:
…teachers adopt caring pedagogical approaches that account for affective aspects of learning
and value the dignity of individuals within the community of the classroom, in order that all
children can engage with the learning (p. 126).

Consequently, in line with both Nussbaum (2006) and Macmurray (2012), Spratt
(2017) regards the creative arts and affective sense experience, and narrative imag-
ining they afford, as crucial to the development of meaningful engagement, critical
thinking, empathy and ultimately democratic citizenship. As stated in Macmurray
(2012), education of the emotions and ‘its attendant emphasis on spontaneity, imag-
ination and creativity’ is one of the factors ‘central to the nexus between formal
schooling and our capacity to live good lives together’ (p. 663).
Given this recognition of the value of the body, senses and emotions in learning for
flourishing, it is somewhat surprising that none of the contemporary work reviewed,
including the seminal work just discussed, considers the physical environment of the
school, particularly its materiality, as a significant condition or conversion factor. This
I propose may be due to the tendency to regard the collective notion of wellbeing at
an abstract level rather than as a functioning experience involving the person in their
own individualised dialectic relationship with the environment, physical as well as
social. Also absent is any substantial discussion of wellbeing in existential terms or, in
future oriented terms, as potential and possibility. In this regard, a phenomenological
appreciation of wellbeing that attends to individual experience in embodied and
embedded ways offers promise. As revealed in the following section, it opens up
multiple existential possibilities that help articulate the spatiality of wellbeing.
14 J. Franz

Wellbeing as Existential Possibility

In the context of this chapter, existential is used with reference to:

…the experience of existence; our human condition. It engages our human concerns relating
to life, ageing and death, being and becoming, embodiment and identity, choice and mean-
ingfulness, belonging and needs, sense of time and space, freedom and oppression, and so
on (Finlay, 2011, p. 19).

An existential theory of wellbeing as proposed by Todres and Galvin (2010) envis-

ages a juxtaposition of existential dwelling (offering connectedness and peace) and
existential mobility (and qualities of flow and possibility), and in later work (Galvin
& Todres, 2011), their integration as existential dwelling/mobility. In this respect,
‘well-being is about access to one’s existential possibilities in time and space, with
one’s body and with others’ (Todres & Galvin, 2010, p. 3). As conveyed in Fig. 2,
these possibilities can emphasise different aspects of this interrelationship, includ-
ing: spatial, temporal, intersubjective, embodied, mood related aspects and personal
identity. In addition, these existential possibilities can be affected in various ways
depending on the dialectic dimensions of relatedness, which are described as mobility
(a creative restlessness that moves us forward—becoming) and dwelling (a ground-
ing in the present moment that affords peacefulness—being). Informed by this work
(Todres & Galvin, 2010; Galvin & Todres, 2011), in terms of spatial dwelling in
the context of schooling and school life one could ask: what is there in the physical
school environment that offers a sense of ‘being at home’ and associated feelings of
stillness and peace?
While the previous description of wellbeing as existential possibility reminds us
that it is embedded through experience, being an inherently relational structure the
conceptualisation can also accommodate current categorisation of wellbeing as social
wellbeing, physical wellbeing, and so on, but in a holistic way. For instance, men-
tal wellbeing (Khawaja, Ibrahim, & Schweitzer, 2017) is often associated with the
presence of a positive mood and state of relaxation and personal relatedness, which
Todres and Galvin (2010) might conceptualise respectively as mooded dwelling and
personal identity dwelling. Similarly, seeking out new challenges encouraged by
the capacities of problem solving, critical thinking and creativity (Kuhn, Black,
Keselman, & Kaplan, 2000) suggests adventure and spatial mobility. In addition,
the conceptualisation of wellbeing as existential possibility addresses the concerns
regarding current definitions that conflate it with health. Existentially, for Todres and
Galvin (2010), wellbeing in relation to health is ‘a positive possibility that is inde-
pendent of health and illness, but is a resource for both. In other words, well-being
can be found within illness and well-being is more than health’ (p. 5).
While the discussion thus far argues that wellbeing as existential possibility
responds to the need for a more holistic and cohesive appreciation of wellbeing as a
phenomenon, from an architectural perspective its relevance and application rely on
a deeper appreciation of what Johnson (2015) calls ‘the embodied meaning of archi-
tecture’ (p. 48), informed by emerging cross-disciplinary research in neuroscience
and architecture.
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 15

Fig. 2 Wellbeing as existential possibility. Based on Todres and Galvin (2010)

Embodied Meaning of Architecture

For Johnson (2015), architecture stands at the intersection of supporting our basic
survival needs as well as ‘a deep desire for meaning as part of our attempts to grow
and flourish’ (p. 33). It should be within our expectations of buildings ‘to inspire and
excite us, to promote mental states that lead us to discover, understand and create, to
heal and find our way, to summon the better angels of our nature’ (Albright, 2015,
p. 198). Fundamental to this notion is the materiality and arrangement of spaces
and physical structures and their relationship to our bodies and their multisensory
capacity to engage the world emotionally through affect (Mallgrave, 2015, p. 19). As
increasingly supported in emerging research in neuroscience, the role of emotions is
significant in conditioning our responses in a precognitive or pre-reflective way, as:
‘Emotions are embodied within our perceptions, and it is only later that we reflect
upon our “feelings” toward some event’ (Mallgrave, 2015, p. 19). Further, Mallgrave
describes how it is the ambience or atmosphere of a space that, through its qualities,
people first encounter, and they do this initially in a pre-reflective way, largely through
their peripheral vision. Even when awareness and thought are involved, these too
16 J. Franz

involve the sensorimotor areas related to movement and corporeal awareness, and it
is in this respect that our responses to physical, social and cultural environments are
embodied (p. 20).
A focus on wellbeing, then, naturally draws attention to the human body and its
sensorimotor characteristics. Our biology forces us to acknowledge a fundamental
connection to our physical as well as social world, whereby:
In the everyday world our bodies spontaneously express our moods; others directly pick
them up and respond to them. Merleau-Ponty calls this phenomenon ‘intercorporeality’
(Pérez-Gómez, 2015, p. 228).

In this respect, wellbeing as existential possibility permits, indeed demands greater

attention by designers and educators to spatiality in the atmospheric sense. When this
is considered in relation to the Deleuzian notion of assemblage and flow-of -affects,
we see a conceptualisation of wellbeing as a situated yet dynamic assemblage of
relations involving a range of elements that comprise our environment, including
ephemeral conditions such as atmosphere. A phenomenological understanding com-
plements this situated and relational notion of wellbeing. While it recognises that our
social situatedness is a foundational element of the phenomenon of intercorporeal-
ity, it also draws attention to the body, and its sensory and aesthetic capabilities and
our embodied relationship to the world, particularly the spatial and material world.

Conclusion

Spatiality is generally regarded as ‘the relationship between different kinds of space

and place, including the network space of relations and objects’ (McGregor, 2004,
p. 347). While recognising wellbeing as spatial in the relational sense, this chapter
proposes that such understanding, on its own, is insufficient for appreciating the
potential of the physical environment to have an enduring and profound influence on
student wellbeing. As argued in this chapter, the potential only becomes apparent by
adopting a capabilities approach to wellbeing as flourishing. When this is considered
in terms of existential possibility, learning and wellbeing are integrally connected
through embodied engagement. Being initially affective in a pre-reflective way, this
demands specific attention to the spatial, material and atmospheric qualities of the
physical school environment and their role in enhancing student learning, capability
and wellbeing.
In conclusion, the spatiality of wellbeing developed in this chapter starts to close
the gap between learning, wellbeing and the physical school environment providing
the basis for:
• Philosophically as well as theoretically contextualising current and emerging
research on student wellbeing;
• Inspiring and guiding future research in terms of the spatiality of wellbeing;
• Prompting educators as well as designers to capitalise further on the creative and
empowering potential of design, its process as well as its outcome; and
Towards a Spatiality of Wellbeing 17

• Challenging approaches to school design that tend to focus exclusively on material,

structural and functional performance neglecting the elements and qualities of
environments that are experientially and existentially significant to wellbeing in
an everyday teaching and learning sense.

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Sociomaterial Dimensions of Early
Literacy Learning Spaces: Moving
Through Classrooms with Teacher
and Children

Lisa Kervin, Barbara Comber and Aspa Baroutsis

Abstract Classroom spaces are complex social worlds where people interact in mul-
tifaceted ways with spaces and materials. Classrooms are carefully designed agents
for socialisation; however, the complexity and richness of learning experiences are
partly determined by the teacher. This chapter draws from sociocultural perspectives
to consider processes of thinking and learning as distributed and mediated across
people and resources within the learning space. We argue that learning and well-
being cannot be separated as students activate their social and emotional literacies
when navigating the classroom environment. Drawing on data drawn from an ethno-
graphic study of classrooms located in a community of high poverty, we critique
how teachers describe their classroom spaces and selection of resources to facilitate
their teaching of writing. We illustrate how geographies of place, movement and
resources, interact with, and expand the social dimensions of classroom spaces.

Introduction

Classrooms are taken for granted as sites of learning; yet school built environments
are often interpreted and reinterpreted in ways which are contingent upon context
and the availability of financial resources (Blackmore, Bateman, O’Mara, Loughlin,
& Aranda, 2011). Current education reforms in Australia tend to focus on increasing
teacher accountability and transparency so as to improve literacy standards. In an
education climate focused on results, the social and material dimensions of schooling
and of different school communities are often overlooked. In this context, it is perhaps
less surprising that in 2017, 24% of Australian children reported feeling like outsiders
in their schools and 28% feeling like they do not belong (OECD, 2017, p. 345). This

L. Kervin (B)
University of Wollongong, Wollongong, NSW, Australia
e-mail: [email protected]
B. Comber
University of South Australia, Adelaide, SA, Australia
A. Baroutsis
Griffith University, Nathan, QLD, Australia
© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2019 21
H. Hughes et al. (eds.), School Spaces for Student Wellbeing and Learning,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-6092-3_2
22 L. Kervin et al.

represents an increase of approximately 16% from 2003, emphasising the importance

of a focus on the sociomaterial dimensions of schooling.
Classroom spaces are complex social worlds where people interact in multifaceted
ways with spaces and materials. This highlights the complexity and dynamism of
learning spaces and the experiences enacted within, which are in part determined by
the teachers’ and schools’ philosophies of education in interplay with the lives of
children. As such, classrooms are spaces where events unfold and ultimately shape
the social and academic experiences of the learner (Warf & Arias, 2009).
This chapter investigates the social and material dimensions of learning spaces;
that is, we undertake a sociomaterial analysis and argue that the geographies of place,
movement and resources, interact with, and expand classroom spaces. Therefore, the
classroom becomes the object of our study, an active element of belonging and learn-
ing. The chapter starts by outlining our theoretical understandings of wellbeing, space
and literacy. Here, we take Leander’s (2004) argument that space organises individ-
uals, hence we look to the ways that teachers and students interact, or appropriate,
classroom spaces to facilitate teaching and learning (Gee, 2008). We acknowledge
that learning and wellbeing are intertwined (OECD, 2017); that is, children activate
social and emotional literacies as they navigate the classroom environment. Next,
we discuss our research methods, outlining our data sets and illustrate how a socio-
material analysis allows us to explore the social, material, spatial and pedagogical
relationships in a writing classroom. Specifically, we look to how materials, ideas,
practices and pedagogies are brought together in ways that are always active and
interrelated to investigate everyday teaching and learning practices. We then discuss
our findings, drawing on a video analysis of a teacher’s tour of his classroom, chil-
dren’s perceptions of writing as expressed in their drawing and talking, and researcher
observations. Combined, these data form the basis of our discussion demonstrating
a classroom in action. We conclude by summarising the importance of the social,
material, spatial and pedagogical dimensions of learning.

Theoretical Understandings of Space, Wellbeing

and Literacy

Critical scholars of architecture and urban planning argue that buildings, cities, malls
and all built environments need to be understood not as empty containers that just any-
one can inhabit for any purpose at any time (Lefebvre, 1991; Soja, 2010). Rather, such
structures, including schools, playgrounds, universities and so on are designed and
constructed in particular places to house specific populations and to enable and con-
strain activities therein (Foucault, 1979). Hence, the spatial politics of purpose-built
institutions always require negotiation and interrogation in terms of the occupants
for whom they were designed.
Sociomaterial Dimensions of Early Literacy Learning Spaces … 23

Intertwined with the elements of the spatial dimension of classrooms is children’s

sense of wellbeing. While wellbeing is a ubiquitous term that has variable inter-
pretations (Anderson & Graham, 2016; Gillett-Swan & Sargeant, 2015; McLeod &
Wright, 2015), it is frequently identified as a significant concept in education systems
(McLeod & Wright, 2015; OECD, 2017). While we acknowledge that both the teach-
ers’ and the children’s wellbeing are important, this chapter focuses only on children’s
wellbeing. In Australia, the Melbourne Declaration (MCEETYA, 2008) states that,
‘Schools play a vital role in promoting the intellectual, physical, social, emotional,
moral, spiritual and aesthetic development and wellbeing of young Australians’ (p. 4).
Drawing on this statement and our understandings of wellbeing (McLeod, 2015), we
seek to refine wellbeing in terms of two specific concepts that are derived from
these broader understandings. We draw on the notions of belonging and affect. We
argue that as children in the early school years work towards developing their writing
and learning identities, their sense of belonging during writing and their affective
experiences are linked to wellbeing. We consider the notion of place-belongingness
(Antonsich, 2010), where children are able to feel positive about their learning expe-
riences. For example, this could include experiences of safety related to their material
environment or experiences of success in relation to their pedagogical environment.
Therefore, as we explore belonging we also intertwine affect. Here, we draw on
understandings of children’s emotions being embodied and performed in relation to
others in social and pedagogical spaces (Kuby, 2014).
Wellbeing is not something that can be designed once and for all, even in optimal
classroom spaces; rather, it needs to be co-constructed in situ, between the teacher,
the children, the placement of furniture, bodies, technologies, tools and so on. If
particular children become regularly associated with spaces of trouble, extra surveil-
lance or restricted access, their sense of belonging may be challenged. For example,
they may come to associate writing time with either pleasure or fear or time with
friends. The sociospatial practice of writing is what comes to count (Dyson, 2016).
On the other hand, children may negotiate safe and creative spaces in early years
school settings where their imaginations and stories thrive (Dyson, 2016; Marsh,
2016).
In literacy education studies, the sociospatial nature of the classroom became
a key focus of attention following Leander and Sheehy’s (2004) edited collection,
Spatializing literacy research and practice. Classrooms are not voids simply to be
designed and filled with the requisite numbers of teachers, students, tools, technolo-
gies, texts and so on. Instead, spaces are always under construction and always under
negotiation. We look to the classroom as an example of a material culture through
which the types of experiences it comprises, resources it offers and the physical
space itself are acknowledged and examined. This then reveals the interrelationships
between the time, scale, space, resources, people and interactions that contribute to
the classroom experience. Understanding the dynamic nature of social spaces and
what is being negotiated and accomplished through the interactions of different peo-
ple with the everyday stuff therein and beyond the walls is crucial. Teachers’ and
24 L. Kervin et al.

children’s sense of wellbeing and belonging is contingent on the extent to which they
can productively and positively deal with being ‘thrown together’ (Massey, 2005).
How different people enact social and learner identities within classrooms is worked
through, over time. This suggests that positionings have complex spatial histories.
As the classroom is a social space, a negotiated space, (Comber, 2016; Dyson,
2016), young children need to learn to navigate this unfamiliar territory and they
need to learn to read classroom life as a dynamic phenomenon. For example, the
child seated near the teacher’s desk comes to realise that s/he is often the subject
of teacher attention, sometimes to be helped, sometimes to be scolded (Baroutsis,
Kervin, Woods, & Comber, 2017). In the process, learning identities are constructed
(Marsh, 2016). In early years of school, a major dimension of that learning identity is
one’s capability with reading and writing. As literacy researchers have observed, early
literacy instruction can be seen as subjecting the child to the discipline of schooling
such as practicing the bodily habitus associated with handwriting letters in the proper
ways. Early writing in the spaces of classrooms is often a highly public act, given
that writing is visible to peers and teacher (Dixon, 2010; Luke, 1992). Luke (1992)
has described this inculcation as training in ‘the body literate’ (p. 107). Classrooms
are typically regulated environs, where children learn to confine their bodies in space
and time, where children learn the discipline of early literacy simultaneously with
the discipline of early schooling (Dixon, 2010).

Site and Participants

This chapter draws on data collected as part of a federally funded Australian two-
school ethnography where teachers, researchers and children have worked together
to provide a fresh understanding of how the teaching of writing is enacted across
schools at this time. Here, we focus on data from one composite class of 6- to 8-
year-old children and their teacher from one of the participating schools.
The school is situated in an urban suburb of a large seaside city of New South
Wales, Australia in a community of high poverty, with families from diverse cultural
and linguistic backgrounds. This suburb was formerly a hub for heavy industry that
provided employment for the local population. The school is a coeducational gov-
ernment funded school with a student population of approximately 180. This figure
represents a 19% drop in enrolment since 2008. Currently, 12 teachers and four
non-teaching staff work with children across kindergarten to Year 6 (Australian Cur-
riculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority, 2016). The participants represented
in this chapter include one teacher and 25 students in a Grade 1/2 composite class.
The teacher was in his third year of teaching and the children were in their second
or third year of schooling. Together, the teacher and students embraced a wide range
of literacy learning opportunities in their classroom.
Education institutions uphold and reproduce educational arrangements and
knowledge traditions which shape educational practice. Understanding the school
context is important to contextualise processes teachers and students enact in
Sociomaterial Dimensions of Early Literacy Learning Spaces … 25

classrooms. Proximity to and engagement with particular practices and bodies influ-
ence a sense of belonging for children as these established processes orientate bodies
in specific directions, affecting who has access to and experiences a sense of belong-
ing within educational sites. While others have shown how belonging relates to race,
class, gender and ethnicity (Ahmed, 2012; Kustatscher, 2017), the scope of this
chapter is limited to the ways in which children are constituted as learner writers and
how they are positioned in relation to the classroom space, materials and time. Our
intent is to explore the interplay between the teacher and the children in terms of the
pedagogy of writing as a sociomaterial accomplishment.

Methods

The chapter draws from three data sets produced in one classroom extracted from
a larger data set from multiple classrooms in two schools. First, we examine how
the teacher describes his classroom spaces and selects resources to facilitate the
teaching of writing through the analysis of the teacher’s video tour of the classroom.
He filmed and annotated key decisions he made about the organisation of spaces and
the inclusion of resources. Second, we draw on the children’s perspectives of their
experiences of their classroom spaces during the processes of learning to write. This is
observed through children drawing and talking about their writing experiences during
a survey that was administered during an individual interview with a researcher.
These data were analysed using a descriptive content analysis where the theoretical
framework informed coding categories. Finally, we share key observations taken from
70 min of classroom writing time. In all, analysis of these data provides examples for
discussion in this chapter as we identify various perspectives around the sociospatial
dimensions of the classroom.
Our study focuses on the sociomaterial aspects of the classroom and the ways the
teacher and children represent social, material and pedagogical dimensions of class-
rooms. We interpret the classroom as a site of material culture (Miller, 1987) through
which the types of experiences it comprises, the resources it offers and the physical
environment itself can be examined. This view of ‘material culture’ acknowledges
the interrelationships between the time, space, resources, people and interactions. A
sociomaterial approach allows for the careful examination of interplay between the
physical, temporal and spatial elements that contribute to young children’s experi-
ences within this classroom context.
Engaging with experiences within the classroom is a complex process for both the
teacher and children, and is affected by a range of assemblages (Fenwick, 2014). The
term assemblage describes how things and people are gathered together in classrooms
in complex and fluid ways that are both locally relevant but also influential in more
extended social configurations such as the school, the community, and education.
The sociomaterial approach perceives pedagogy as a collection of uncertain and het-
erogeneous relational practices which are not the exclusive concern of the individual
teacher, rather a collective responsibility. Those responsible are the many players,
26 L. Kervin et al.

webs and non-coherences embedded within the pedagogical act. This approach offers
our research a ‘method by which to recognise and trace the multifarious struggles,
negotiations and accommodations whose effects constitute the things in education’
(Fenwick & Landri, 2012, p. 2). In addition, our approach incorporates children’s
bodily experiences in and with the sociomateriality of classroom life as intrinsically
related to their sense of wellbeing.
Our research acknowledges that literacy is culturally specific (Heath, 1983)
because it is not only ‘situated within material culture… it is in itself a material, cul-
tural practice‘ (Rowsell & Pahl, 2011, p. 178). Literacy practices are learned within
classrooms, which we consider as dynamic cultural systems. Classrooms structure
and promote roles, activities and tools through which literacy practices are enabled.
In this chapter, we focus on the intricacies of classroom writing as we examine the
assemblage of materials, ideas, practices and pedagogies that are always active and
interrelated. Our objective is to ‘understand how things come together, and manage
to hold together’ (Fenwick & Edwards, 2011, p. 2) to produce knowledge about
writing pedagogy, through careful examination of the situatedness (Fenwick, 2014)
of learning processes and their many interrelations. Importantly, we are interested in
the ways in which literacy and learning literacy always involve sociomaterial rela-
tionships; relationships in early years classrooms that can profoundly affect young
children’s sense of belonging and competence at school.

Perspectives of Writing

In outlining and analysing our findings, we focus on the writing classroom space as
the third teacher. Particularly, we foreground the sociomaterial dimensions of this
space, that is, the human collaborations and material interactions that occur within
the classroom and the potential affective consequences on children. We provide three
accounts of the classroom space, each adding a subsequent layer of understanding.
The teacher’s account outlines how the classroom is imagined (Appadurai, 1996),
identifying the carefully constructed spaces, and the artefacts that are created in antic-
ipation of children learning to write. The children’s accounts represent instances of
how the prepared space was taken up; the junctures and disjunctures between the
imagined and the actual. Finally, the researchers’ perspectives, drawn from class-
room observations, generate a discussion about the classroom in action. That is, we
identify the lived and negotiated spaces, both imagined and experienced, material
and discursive, that operate to ensure children’s wellbeing through the fostering of a
sense of belonging.
Sociomaterial Dimensions of Early Literacy Learning Spaces … 27

Fig. 1 Floor plan of the classroom space

The Classroom Space

This classroom space is a large double classroom, occupied by the teacher and 25
students in the Grade 1/2 composite class. The teacher identified spaces in his class-
room designated for different curriculum areas and learning opportunities. Children’s
writing and artworks are displayed on the walls and on lines suspended across the
room.
The classroom floor plan (see Fig. 1) shows that on the western end of the class-
room (top, left hand side of Fig. 1), there is a floor area in front of a whiteboard
and an Interactive Whiteboard (IWB) for the purposes of whole class teaching. The
teacher’s desk is in the corner of this space, housing the computer that operates the
IWB. Set back from this space are table groupings where the children work during
writing times. At the other end of the room, he has a reading corner (complete with a
range of children’s literature, cushions, low chairs and bean bags) where the children
gather for story time. To the side of this space are other tables where the children
complete their numeracy studies. Between these spaces is an engine table; this is
a blue semicircular table, slightly removed from the other table groups, which pro-
vides an intimate space for the teacher to engage small groups of children in explicit
teaching of writing skills and strategies.
28 L. Kervin et al.

Designing Classroom Spaces: A Teacher’s Perspective

We now consider the imagined classroom from the teacher’s perspective. Drawing
on a video tour of the teacher’s classroom, we were able to identify the teacher’s
intent that goes into the design of classroom spaces. Children engage with materials
as resources within their environment, and as they become more proficient with
literate practices, they talk, handle materials and participate in activities in ways
that are expected of them by teachers and school (Rogers, 2003). Teachers make
pedagogical decisions as they implement routines and interactions with the intention
of facilitating student learning. Leander (2004) describes this as ‘…a set of discursive
and material practices and resources that actively engages in the production of power
relations and ideology’ (p. 127).
In the video tour of his classroom, the teacher highlights specific spaces, resources,
and practices for the children during writing time. He named specific spaces and
resources, and identified practices he expected his students to engage with. In his one
minute and twelve second video accompanied by a 130-word commentary annotating
the visual dimension of the tour, he drew our attention to:
• The writing wall, which contained spelling words for the week, the developmen-
tal groups the children were organised into and a visual representation of the
writing process. The spelling words were printed in a list format and served as
a visual reminder to the children about specific words for study. The identifica-
tion of developmental groups for the children acted as an organisational structure
for that period of time as both the teacher and children could identify who was
working with whom and their planned focus. These groups were fluid and were
updated every week by the teacher, informed by his observations and assessment
of the children during writing time. The visual representation of the writing pro-
cess was covered with self-adhesive strips and individual names so the children
could each position their name with the part of the writing process they were up
to (that is, planning, drafting, revising and publishing). The teacher indicated in
his commentary that this helped him know where the children ‘were at’.
• The word wall contained a laminated sheet for each letter of the alphabet. Words
were written onto these sheets using a whiteboard marker. The children could
remove individual sheets during writing time. Children were expected to use and
return these so all the class could use the resource.
• Individual learning goals were handwritten by the teacher and hung onto the wall.
It was the teacher’s intention that each child would remove their learning goal
prior to writing and have this on their desk during writing time as a reminder of
their specific focus.
• The punctuation area displayed punctuation marks the children were expected to
know and use. Alongside it was a ladder that provided a hierarchy of the punctua-
tion marks and children’s names were arranged alongside this to show individual
competence with the punctuation form.
• The writing centre ran across the wall near the entrance to the classroom. It pro-
vided writing samples that were rated (one star to five star, with five star being the
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
sharks, dolphins, dugong, turtle, boomerangs, waddies, shields,
woomerahs, pigs, dogs, birds, jelly-fish, etc. There was one well-
defined sketch of a medusa, showing the position of the radiating
canals and eight marginal tentacles. Trochus shells in great profusion
were strewn about the old camping places, as well as bones of the
dugong and turtle, the pursuit of the latter having been probably the
main inducement to visit the island.
A careful hunting of the holes and crevices in the face of the cliff
resulted in the acquisition of some portable specimens of native art
in the shape of drawings on old pieces of driftwood, on Melo shells,
turtle skulls, and tortoise shell. These luckily afforded us good
examples of the style of art, and were accordingly, and without
many conscientious scruples as to the sacred rights of ownership,
carried off in triumph and deposited on board.
After leaving Flinders Island, we continued our voyage northward,
anchoring each of the three following nights successively at
Clairmont Island No. 6, Clairmont Island No. 10, and Bird Island. On
each occasion we dredged to a small extent, and collected
specimens from the reefs and beaches. On the evening of the 2nd of
June we entered the narrow strait which separates Albany Island
from the mainland of north-east Australia, having the small
settlement of Somerset on our port hand, and on our starboard side
a pearl-shell station known as Port Albany. The anchorage at
Somerset being of bad repute on account of the strong currents
which sweep through it, we steamed on to the northern extremity of
Albany Island, where at about 4 o'clock in the evening we dropped
our anchor in six fathoms. A party of officers landed at once on the
shore of the mainland, and while some wandered through the woods
in search of birds, the boat was employed in dredging over the
bottom of mud and sand in depths varying from three to five
fathoms. Among the contents of several hauls were a large number
of Comatulas, a few Ophiurids, several examples of a Pentaceros, a
Goniocidaris, a spider-crab of the genus "Egeria," an Alpheus, a
Galathea clinging to the feathered arms of a purple Comatula, and
many specimens of an Isopod adhering to the oral surfaces of the
comatula discs. There were also a few shrimps, two species of
Murex, and a volute. Some small fishes were also brought up—
apparently a species of Platycephalus.

FACSIMILE OF DRAWINGS BY AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINES.

1. Medusæ. 2. Lizard. 3. Steamship. 4. (?). 5. (?). 6. Gourd. 7. Turtle. 8. Bird on

branch of tree.

On the following morning some of the boats were employed in

searching for an uncharted rock which was reported by the pearl
fishermen as existing somewhere near our anchorage, while Haswell
and I had the use of a whaleboat for a couple of hours' dredging.
We worked across the channel towards the mainland in eight
fathoms over a bottom of mud and sand, obtaining a quantity of
Comatulas and Gorgonias, a large grotesque Murex, several small
Synapta, and a large flat sponge.
 CHAPTER X.

TORRES STRAITS ISLANDS.

W
E remained for nearly four months anchored at or in the
neighbourhood of Thursday Island. During this period our
boats were employed in making a survey of the Prince of
Wales Channel, which is now the route almost invariably used by
steamers and sailing ships in passing through Torres Straits. There is
a small settlement at Thursday Island consisting of about dozen
houses, wooden built, which are occupied by white families and their
coloured domestics. There is a police magistrate, whose jurisdiction,
as an official of the Queensland government, extends over all the
islands in Torres Straits; an officer of customs, through whose hands
passes all the trade of the Straits; a staff of white policemen to
enforce the Queensland law; a prison for the incarceration of the
refractory pearl shellers; a store for the supply of tinned provisions
and all the miscellaneous requirements of the pearl shell trade; and,
finally, there are two public-houses which do a flourishing business
and supply ample material for the official ministration of the police.
The entire population, white and coloured, does not exceed a
hundred.
Thursday Island owes its importance to being the shipping port for
the produce of all the pearl shell fisheries in Torres Straits. It is
visited monthly by steamers of the "British India" and "Eastern and
Australian" Steamship Companies, and also by a small coasting
steamer, the Corea, belonging to an Australian firm. The latter plies
regularly and constantly between Thursday Island and Sydney, and
does most of the business in connection with the fisheries,
conveying the shell to Sydney, and returning with a cargo of tinned
provisions, slops, and other stores for the use of the pearl shellers.
The inhabitants of Thursday Island, and those belonging to the
various pearl shell stations scattered through the group of islands,
are dependent for support upon extraneous supplies of provisions.
Cattle will not thrive on the islands, owing to the poisonous nature of
the grass, and as yet all attempts at growing fruit and vegetables
have in most cases proved unsuccessful.
The native inhabitants of the Torres Straits Islands are a small tribe
of Papuan origin, who lead a wandering life, and show little
inclination to hold intercourse with either white or coloured colonists.
They have the frizzled hair, the aquiline hooked nose, and the wide
curved lips of the Papuans; and among their implements are the
long "hour-glass" drum, headed with lizard skin, the tortoise-shell
mask worn at corroborees, and the pearl shell ornaments dangling
from the neck; but their intercourse with the North Australian
aborigines is shown by their having acquired the practice of using
the "throwing sticks" for their spears. Their food being almost solely
of marine origin, their camps are only found on the shores of the
islands. At certain seasons in the year they catch the turtle and
dugong, and apparently in great numbers, if one can judge by the
quantity of bones of these animals seen by us in the midden-heaps.
Fish they obtain in abundance by means of the hook and line, and
the shore molluscs also supply them with food; so that it is not to be
wondered at that we generally found them to be in a well-nourished
condition, and not at all anxious to barter their fish for such a
commodity as ship's biscuit. Their boats are long dug-out canoes,
fitted with double outriggers, and very rudely constructed. Whether
under sail or paddle, they manœuvred very badly, and were on the
whole very poor specimens of naval architecture, even for a tribe of
savages.
In 1879 the population of the shelling stations amounted to 720,
while that of the settlement at Thursday Island was only 80. In 1880
the shelling population amounted to 815, showing an increase of
nearly a hundred on that of the previous year. As far as I could
ascertain, any change that has taken place during the last two years
has been indicative of the increasing prosperity of the pearl shell
industry. Indeed I was informed by a resident gentleman connected
with the fisheries, that the shareholders in one of the stations had
that year received a dividend of seventy per cent. on the capital
invested. I made the acquaintance of several of the managers (or
"bosses" as they are commonly called) of the pearl shell
establishments, and through their civility had opportunities of visiting
many stations within a range of twenty-five miles from our
anchorage at Thursday Island. They are all constructed more or less
on the same general model; consisting usually of one white-washed
house,—the residence of the white manager,—a store-house, and a
couple of sheds for the stowage of boat appliances and pearl shell,
and a few large grass built huts in which the labourers employed at
the depôt are housed. These men, who are spoken of under the
comprehensive term of "Kanakas," are for the most part Malays: the
remainder being a motley collection of Manila men, Fijians, natives
of New Hebrides, and brown-skinned Polynesians from various
Pacific Islands. There is usually but one white man to each station,
viz., the manager. The shelling boats—called "apparatus boats"—are
entirely under the control of Kanakas. They are each of between five
and eight tons burden, are rigged with standing lugsails, and are
provided with the most approved air pump diving apparatus. The
crew of one of these boats usually consists of five men, one of
whom is the diver; another steers, and the remaining three look
after the air pump and signal rope. The time selected for diving
operations is usually when there is a "weather tide"; the vessel is
then hove-to under easy canvas, so that she may drift slowly to
windward, while the diver, following her movements, gropes about
the bottom in search of pearl shell. The work is carried on at depths
varying between five and sixteen fathoms, and in order to provide
against accidents from inequalities in the bottom, as well as to allow
the diver greater freedom in his movements, the length of the pipes
connecting his dress with the air pump is usually twice the mean
depth of the water in which he is working. The signal rope is of a
similar length, so that it may be used for hauling up the shell-bag
which the diver fills from time to time, without his having to release
the end attached to his body, or to make use of a second line. The
bag is therefore attached about the middle of the line.
When diving apparatus was first used in Torres Straits, white divers
were exclusively employed, and at the same time the Kanakas
continued to work as "swimming divers" in the tedious old-fashioned
way. As soon, however, as the Kanakas were tried in the diving
dresses, it was found that they were far superior to any professional
white divers, for not only could they remain much longer under
water, but they were also able to move about on the bottom more
independently, and to dispense altogether with the weighted rope
ladder which the white divers used to look upon as essential. Since
the introduction of boats fitted with diving apparatus, the pearl shell
trade of Torres Straits has become highly remunerative, and the
export of shells has increased enormously.
The shells obtained are classified into two qualities: firstly, young
shells, known to the trade as "chicken shell," which are the most
valuable, and average about 2,000 to the ton; and secondly, adult
shells, about 700 of which weigh one ton. It is calculated that the
annual take of a single boat is about seven tons, of which five tons
cover the outlay, and two tons may be reckoned as clear profit. The
value per ton has a wide range, varying according to the state of the
home market, and may be estimated at from £100 to £300. The
number of boats employed last year was 100. In the year 1878,
shells to the weight of 449 tons, and valued at £53,021, were
exported; and during the same year pearls to the value of £230.
Most of the pearls taken are of poor quality, and are so few as to be
comparatively valueless; although a fairly good one, without a flaw,
and about the size of a pea, is said to be worth £5. Coarse ones of
extraordinary size are sometimes obtained. A proprietor and
manager (Captain Tucker), who was considered exceptionally
fortunate in obtaining pearls, once showed me the proceeds of nine
tons of shell which he had just brought in from the fishing-ground.
The pearls were of all sorts and sizes; one was as big as a large
hazel nut, others were like millet seeds. Altogether they were just
sufficient to fill a common matchbox, in which indeed he carried
them. Official statistics regarding the take of pearls are only to a
small extent reliable, as many—probably most—never reach the
hands of the proprietors, but are retained as perquisites by the
Kanaka divers, who dispose of them secretly.
Most of the shell is sent to Sydney by the steamship Corea, where it
is purchased by merchants, who send it to Europe for manufacture.
Since the establishment of the Queensland Royal Mail-steamers,
which traverse Torres Straits, some of the shell has been by them
conveyed direct to England, where it is consigned to the
manufacturers, to the greater profit of the pearl shellers. Most of the
shelling establishments in Torres Straits are the property of
companies consisting of two or more capitalists, who for the most
part reside in Sydney, and it is indeed a rather odd anomaly that a
lucrative industry subject to the jurisdiction of the Queensland
government should be worked by capital from New South Wales.
Much of my time was occupied in giving medical aid to the people of
Thursday Island, and to the employés of the pearl-shell stations. My
spare time, as opportunities offered, I spent in exploring the group
of islands within reach, viz., Horn Island, Prince of Wales Island,
Hammond Island, Fitzroy Island, Goode Island, Thursday Island,
Possession Island, West Island, and Booby Island. In geological
formation they are all much alike, a quartzite or quartz porphyry
being the prevailing form of rock. The land is covered with rank
grass, and is for the most part lightly timbered with gum-trees. On
the latter a parasitic plant, resembling mistletoe, is commonly met
with. Water is scarce, and during a great part of the year some of
the islands are practically without any. In searching for water-holes
or for damp spots, where water has at some period of the year been
present, Pandanus trees are in many instances considered to be a
safe guide. The rule, however, seems to be that where moisture
habitually collects, Pandanus trees will be found growing, and not
the converse. Attached to rocky surfaces, and to the bark of trees in
shady places, the eye is frequently arrested by the sight of most
beautiful orchids, principally of the genus Dendrobium. These
orchids are objects of much concern to the more enterprising
colonists, as there is an oft-repeated story that some years ago a
white-flowered Dendrobium was found on Goode Island, and on
being sent to England was sold for £200. Consequently everyone
collecting orchids is supposed to be in quest of the famous white
species.
Lizards are abundant, especially a large Monitor, which, when
disturbed, astonishes one by the noise which it makes in scampering
over the stones and dead twigs to its burrow, or if this be not at
hand, to seek the protection of some friendly tree, up which it climbs
with extraordinary facility. They are easily shot. When first I saw
their burrows, I considered them to be the work of some burrowing
marsupial, and accordingly set a cage-trap opposite the entrance of
one. On returning next day, I found, to my surprise, a large Monitor
coiled up inside the trap, whose dimensions were so small in
proportion to the size of the reptile, that the wonder was how he
ever managed to stow himself inside. We encountered few snakes,
and from inquiries were led to believe that few, if any, poisonous
ones existed. However, they are said not to show themselves much
during the dry season, which among these islands is supposed to be
their time for hybernating.
One day, when exploring in company with Haswell, we found
portions of the carapace and pincer-claw of a land-crab (most likely
a species of Geograpsus), an animal not previously recorded from
the islands. On examining the beds of dry mountain gullies, and
digging into sand-choked crevices between spurs of rock, where a
certain amount of moisture existed, I subsequently obtained several
live specimens. No doubt, during the wet season they might be more
easily obtained.
Thursday Island possesses six species of land-shells. They are Helix
kreffti, H. delessertiana, H. spaldingi, H. buxtoni, Bulimus beddomei,
and Helicina reticulata. During our stay the island was fired, in order
to remove the "spear-grass," which is so destructive to cattle. The
fire spread over the whole island, and continued to rage for several
days, consuming not only all the grass, but also a great quantity of
scrub, and laying bare a vast extent of arid stony surface. It was
now an easy matter to collect land-shells, for they lay dead in
prodigious numbers on the bare summits of the hills as well as in the
hollows, gullies, and other more likely places.
This fire was a great blow to my hopes of collecting plants, almost
all the herbaceous ones and many of the creepers having been
consumed or shrivelled up by the heat of the conflagration. After
much trouble I succeeded in obtaining five species of ferns, which I
fancy is not far short of the entire number. Among these were the
Nephrolepis acuta, Pulæa nitida, Polypodium quercifolium, Lindsaya
ensifolia, and the common Australian form, Lygodium scandens.
The avifauna of the different islands is, as might be expected, of a
similar character to, and differs very little, if at all, from that of the
adjoining part of the mainland of Australia. The list of birds includes
species of the genera Campephaga, Ptilotis, Pachycephala,
Myzomela, Nectarinia, Dicæum, Trichoglossus, Artamus, Mimeta,
Halcyon, Nycticorax, Plictolophus, Chalcophaps, Erythrauchena,
Geopelia, Ptilinopus, Myiagra, Sauloprocta, Sphecotheres, Chibia,
Centropus, Graucalus, Grallina, Donacola, Tropidorhynchus,
Climacteris, Megapodius, Œdicnemus, Ægialitis, Merops, Dacelo,
Bruchigavia, Sterna, Pelicanus, Hæmatopus, and others. At Booby
Island, a small rocky islet in mid-channel, affording no cover beyond
a few bushes growing in a cleft in the rocks, we found no less than
twelve species of land-birds. These were the Ptilinopus superbus, P.
swainsoni, Myiagra plumbea, Nectarinia australis, Megapodius
tumulus, Porphyrio melanotus, Halcyon sanctus, Nycticorax
caledonicus, a Zosterops, a yellow-breasted flycatcher, a landrail,
and a quail. From the discrepancies between the different records of
the birds found on this island, there is reason to believe that it is
mainly used as a temporary resting-place for birds of passage. The
"mound bird" (Megapodius tumulus) is probably, however, a regular
inhabitant.
In examining the cliffs of this island, in quest of sea-birds' nests, I
noticed, considerably above the reach of the highest tide, some
smooth basin-shaped cavities in the rock containing rounded water-
worn stones, such as one sees in the rock pools between tide marks.
This circumstance would point to an upheaval of the island during
recent geological times.
We sailed from Torres Straits on October 1st, and proceeded under
steam towards Port Darwin, in North-West Australia, sounding and
dredging on our way, and eventually coming to an anchor in Port
Darwin on October 20th. The settlement of Palmerston, off which we
lay, is the seat of government for the northern territory of the colony
of South Australia, whose capital, Adelaide, is about 1,800 miles
away on the south coast, and is separated from Port Darwin by an
enormous patch of uncivilized country extending for about 1,500
miles in a north and south direction.
The foundation of a settlement at Port Darwin, which took place
about ten years ago (1872), was practically due to the completion of
the submarine cable and land telegraph lines, which have each got
terminal stations at Port Darwin, where the "through" messages are
transferred. Its subsequent progress, such as it has been, was
encouraged and fostered by the trade in provisions and gold induced
by the workers at the northern territory gold-fields. There are now
two submarine cables connecting Port Darwin with Singapore, viâ
Java, and thence with Europe. The first was laid in 1872, and was
found most difficult to maintain on account of the ravages made in it
by a boring mollusc, a species of Teredo, which in an amazingly
short space of time pierced the galvanized iron-wire sheathing of the
cable, and destroyed the insulation of the copper core. The repairs
of this cable necessitated an outlay of £20,000 per annum, a
circumstance contrasting strangely with the condition of a similar
cable in the China and India seas, which is not attacked by the
Teredo. Recently a duplicate cable has been laid, in the construction
of which a tape of muntz metal was wound round in a spiral fashion
between the insulating material and the twisted wire sheathing. By
this provision the new cable has been rendered proof against the
boring effects of the Teredo, and has hitherto worked successfully
without the slightest hitch.
The land telegraph line stretches directly from Port Darwin to
Adelaide, a distance of about 1,800 miles, and thus serves to
connect all the principal towns of Australia with the station of the
Cable Company at Port Darwin. It was at one time thought that
there would have been much difficulty in inducing the aborigines to
abstain from meddling with the overland wire, but experience has
not justified this impression. It appears that the black fellows hold it
sacred, looking on it as a sort of boundary mark to separate the
white man's territory from theirs.
Palmerston contains a police magistrate, who is the chief executive
authority in the northern territory; a lands department, with its staff
of surveyors; a police inspector, with a detachment of white
troopers; a government doctor; the two telegraph stations, with
their separate staffs of telegraphists; and, of necessity, a jail.
Our acquaintances on shore spoke in sanguine terms of the
prospects of the settlement, and the future greatness which is in
store for the northern territory; but to us strangers the appearance
of Port Darwin and the surrounding country was by no means
indicative of progress, or suggestive of a superabundance of the
elements of greatness. Indeed, although the settlement has been in
existence since 1872, yet the white population of the whole northern
territory does not exceed two hundred; and if it were not for the
Chinamen, who have been attracted thither by the "gold-rush," and
whose numbers—including those at Port Darwin, Southport, and the
gold-fields—amount to 6,000, there would be almost no manual
labour available for the white colonists.
The auriferous quartz reefs, which here constitute what are called
the "gold-fields," are situated on the side of a range of hills
beginning at a distance of about one hundred miles from Port
Darwin, in a southerly direction. The usual route thither is by
steamboat for twenty-five miles to Southport, a small settlement at
the southern extremity of one of the arms of the inlet, and thence
by cart track for eighty miles. Unfortunately, during the wet season
this track is almost impassable. The gold is obtained from the ore by
crushing and amalgamating with mercury in the usual way. In this
country the crushing or stamping machines are known as
"batteries," and I believe in the northern territory they are worked
entirely by steam power. The average yield of gold from the reefs
ranges from one and a quarter to one and a half ounces per ton of
crushed material, although rock has been met with containing no
less than twenty ounces per ton. The latter, however, is altogether
exceptional. There are in the same localities alluvial diggings worked
in a small way by Chinamen, but the yield of gold is insignificant
compared with that from the reefs. I find it stated in the returns
furnished by the customs officer at Port Darwin that during the year
ending 31st of March, 1881, the northern territory exported
10,1071⁄2 ounces, valued at £36,227.

I was told that at the time of our visit there were only two genuine
squatters in the whole northern territory. From their stations is
drawn the beef supply for the people living at Port Darwin,
Southport, and the gold-fields, and it would seem that the supply
was quite equal to the demand. Most of the land in the territory is
now held on lease by speculators, who pay to the South Australian
Government an annual rental of sixpence per square mile, which
gives them, under certain conditions, a right of pre-emption, and
these speculators now hold on to the land with a view to ultimately
disposing of their interest to bonâ fide settlers at a large profit to
themselves. But until the Colonial Government takes the initiative in
affording facilities for the conveyance of produce from the interior to
Port Darwin, there seems little likelihood of the land being taken up
for either agricultural or pastoral purposes.
The aboriginal inhabitants are numerous in this part of Australia.
Those in the vicinity of Port Darwin are of the tribe of "Larikias." In
company with Dr. Morice, the government medical officer, I visited
two native encampments, which were situated a few hundred yards
apart, and at a distance of about half-a-mile from the settlement.
One of the camps was on an elevated plateau, covered with thin
grass and a sprinkling of scraggy bushes, while the other was at the
foot of a high cliff, and immediately adjoining the beach. We found
in camp a large number of men, women, and children, most of
whom were lolling about on the ground, smoking short wooden
pipes, polishing their skins with red ochre, and producing a rude
burlesque of music out of pieces of hollow reed about four feet long,
which they blew like cow-horns. The stature of the men was much
superior to that of the natives we had seen previously on the east
coast; but although strong and active, they presented a slim lanky
appearance, especially as regards their lower extremities. Their
features were regular, and for the most part pleasing; the hair was
long, black, and wavy, sometimes hanging in ringlets; the nose was
aquiline, with broad alæ nasi, and having the septum perforated for
the reception of a white stick like a pipe-stem; the upper lip, cheek,
and chin were furnished with a moderate growth of hair; the teeth
were regular—no incisors removed; trunk and extremities almost
devoid of hair; the skin of the arms, chest, and abdomen was
decorated with cicatrices which stood out from the skin in bold relief,
having the form and consistency of cords. On the arms these scars
were disposed in parallel vertical lines, while on the chest and
abdomen they were in horizontal curves. Dr. Morice informed me
that these ghastly decorations were produced in some way unknown
by means of a sharp cutting instrument, and that no foreign
substance is introduced into the wound. He had been unsuccessful
in all his efforts to ascertain how the peculiar raised and indurated
character of the sore is produced. The women had fewer scar
decorations than the men, but had the same nasal perforation, in
which they also wore sticks. All seemed cheerful, happy, and
contented with their lot. Their huts were of the usual unsubstantial
character, but were, however, an improvement on the "shelter-
screens" of the eastern aborigines. They were constructed of boughs
of trees supplemented with stray bits of iron sheeting, and other
scraps of wood and iron gleaned from the settlement, and they were
provided with an arched roof, so that the whole structure was of the
shape of a half cylinder lying on its side. Many, however, were little
more than "shelter screens," to protect them from the prevailing
winds.

ABORIGINES OF NORTH-WEST AUSTRALIA.

Their weapons consisted of spears and clubs. The spears were of

different shapes and sizes, some being provided with two or three
long slender tapering points of hard wood, deeply serrated along
one side, while others were tipped with rudely chipped pieces of
sandstone. The former is used for spearing fish, the latter for
fighting purposes. The "woomerahs," or throwing sticks, which they
always use in propelling their spears, are of two kinds. The most
common is about four feet in length, flat and lathlike, and is peculiar
in having the angular hook, which engages the butt of the spear,
projecting in a plane at right angles to the flat surface of the stick.
The other is a light cylindrical stick tapering from the handle end,
and its hook consists of a conical-shaped piece of wood, which is
secured at an oblique angle to the distal end by means of gum and
fibre lashings. The clubs are about four feet long, are made of a
hard heavy wood of a red colour, and are fashioned with double
trenchant edges towards the striking end, so that a moderate blow
from one of these formidable weapons would effectually cleave open
any ordinary skull. The boomerang is not used in this part of
Australia.
Small-pox has made sad ravages among this tribe of natives, and
accounts for the large proportion whom we found to be wholly or
partially blind.
The season of the north-east monsoon had just come to a close, and
with it the drought and intermittent fever which render Port Darwin
an undesirable residence for six months of the year. Calms usually
prevail during the month of November, and in December the N.W.
monsoon is ushered in by copious showers of rain, an event looked
forward to with much satisfaction by the inhabitants of Port Darwin.
The annual rainfall during the last half-a-dozen years has ranged
from fifty-six to seventy-seven inches, nearly all of which is
precipitated during the months of December, January, February,
March, and April. Strange to say, during the rainy season the
settlement is healthy and entirely free from malarial fever. But
shortly before our arrival there had been an epidemic of beriberi—a
disease not indigenous to Australia—which had probably been
introduced by the Chinese immigrants.
I devoted one forenoon during low-water springtides to an
inspection of the beach between tide marks, but excepting a few
sponges obtained nothing of particular interest. The beaches in the
immediate vicinity of our anchorage were smothered with a thick
coating of slimy mud, and were consequently not favourable to
marine life. With the dredge I was more successful. About the centre
of the harbour, in eleven fathoms, the bottom is of sand, and here
the fauna is abundant. Of Polyzoa I obtained representatives of
several genera, including Retepora, Eschara, Crisia, Idmonea,
Cellepora, and Lepralia; among Crustaceans the genera Myra,
Phlyxia, Hiastemis, and Lambrus afforded many specimens. Many
silicious Sponges were also found; among Shells, Murex and Ranella
were the principal genera observed; and in hauling the dredge over
some muddy ground I got a Virgularia about eight inches long.
The commonest bird about the settlement was a brown kite
(Haliastur sp.?), which hovered about the refuse heaps on the look-
out for garbage, or, perched on the leafless branch of some dying
tree, remained huddled up in a lazy and unconcerned attitude,
taking no more notice of passers-by than do the hideous Turkey-
buzzards which act as scavengers in the towns of Central America.
Our ship was all day long surrounded by a flock of these kites, who
occupied themselves in picking up with their talons the morsels of
food which from time to time were, amid other refuse, cast
overboard. The thinly-wooded hollows in the immediate vicinity of
the settlement were thronged with numbers of a black and white
Grallina (Grallina picata) of about the size of a magpie, which, on
being disturbed, rose from the ground in flocks to perch on the
lower branches of the gum trees, and in company with them I saw
many examples of the Drongo (Chibia bracteata). Amidst the foliage
of the low bushes, a large black Shrike was frequently seen, also a
Zosterops, a flycatcher (Piezorhynchus nitidus), and examples of a
small finch-like bird (Donacola castaneothorax). The latter were
congregated in dense flocks, which shifted frequently from tree to
tree, making a loud whirring noise with the rapid vibrations of so
many tiny wings. When walking through the short grass, numbers of
small ground doves (Geopelia placida) would start up from almost
under one's feet, and alight again on the nearest tree, allowing one
to approach them within a few yards. Along the inner or landward
edge of the mangrove fringe I saw perched on the summits of the
trees a large oriole (Mimeta), of which I obtained two female
specimens in full plumage; and among some low prickly bushes
which grew over the shell heaps of the inner beach, I had a long,
and finally successful, chase of a goat-sucker, which had been
dodging about under the bushes, without rising on the wing. Large
flocks of the New Holland paroquet (Trichoglossus novæhollandiæ)
flew about the topmost branches of the large gum trees, screaming
shrilly. I also saw and obtained a specimen of T. rubritorquis, just
now a scarce bird, but at other times of the year said to be tolerably
abundant. One day I joined a party on a shooting excursion to a
fresh-water lagoon about twelve miles from the settlement. We were
driven to the ground by Mr. Gott, the superintendent of the British
and Australian telegraph station, who not only afforded us a pleasant
day's shooting, but on this and other occasions evinced the greatest
kindness and hospitality. A large black and white goose (Anseranas
melanoleuca) was met with in immense flocks in the lagoon; and
when started from their feeding ground, these birds, to our surprise,
betook themselves to the neighbouring gum trees, where they
perched with an apparent ease which was astonishing in such great
and unwieldy creatures. Although thus so easily circumstanced for
pot-shots, it was no easy matter to bring them down, as they
required very hard shooting to make any impression on them; so
that, notwithstanding a liberal expenditure of ammunition, our
united efforts did not produce at all so large a bag as we had at first
anticipated. The country through which we drove on our way to and
from the lagoon was of an extremely uninteresting nature, being flat
and arid, and thinly wooded with stunted gums.
 CHAPTER XI.

SEYCHELLE AND AMIRANTE ISLANDS.

O
UR voyage from Port Darwin to Singapore took place during the
interval of calms which separates the north-west and the south-
east monsoons, so that we were enabled to steam the entire
distance of 2,000 miles in smooth water. Our course lay among the
islands of the Eastern Archipelago. On the 5th of November we
sighted Timor Island, and on the following morning passed to the
northward of its eastern extremity, and then steered westward,
having Timor on our port hand, and the small island of Wetter to
starboard. From that date, the chain of islands which extends in a
north-west direction from Timor right up to the Malay Peninsula was
continually in sight. After dusk on the 7th, we saw away on our port
beam, and towering up into the blue and starlit sky, the conical
mountain which forms the island of Komba. On the 10th, as we
passed to the northward of Sumbawa, we had a fine view of
Tambora, a great volcanic pile 9,040 feet in height. On the same day
a handsome bird of the Gallinula tribe flew on board, and came into
my possession. On the following day a large swift of the genus
Chætura shared the same fate. On the morning of the 12th we
passed through the strait which separates the islands of Sapodie and
Madura, and as we emerged from its northern outlet found ourselves
in the midst of a large fleet of Malay fishing boats, of which no less
than seventy were in sight at one time. These boats were long
narrow crafts, fitted with double outriggers, and having lofty curved
bows and sterns. They carried a huge triangular sail, which, when
going before the wind, is set right athwart-ships with the apex
downwards, and when beating seemed to be used like a reversible
Fiji sail. On November 17th we passed through the long strait which
lays between the islands of Banka and Sumatra, and on the
afternoon of the following day dropped our anchor in the roadstead
of Singapore.
We made a stay of two and a half months at the great commercial
city of Singapore, and for the greater part of the time our ship lay at
the Tanjon Paggar dockyard, where she underwent a thorough
overhaul, while officers and men had abundant opportunities for
relaxation and amusements.
On February 5th, 1882, we again got under way, and quitting the
eastern Archipelago by the Straits of Malacca, steered for Ceylon. On
the 10th of February, in latitude 6° 15′ N., longitude 93° 30′ E., we
passed through several remarkable patches of broken water,
resembling "tiderips." There was a light northerly breeze, and the
general surface of the sea was smooth, so that these curious
patches could be distinctly seen when a couple of miles ahead of us,
and as we entered each one the noise of tumbling foaming waters
was so loud as to attract one's attention forcibly, even when sitting
down below in the ward-room. The patches were for the most part
disposed in curves and more or less complete circles of half-a-mile in
diameter, so that at a distance they bore a strong resemblance to
lines of breakers. Soundings were taken, but no inequality in the
sea-bed was observed sufficient to account for them. They were
most probably due to circular currents revolving in opposite
directions, and producing the broken water at their points of contact.
We stopped for two days, February the 17th and 18th, at Colombo,
the capital of Ceylon, and then steered for the "Eighth Degree
Channel," north of the Maldive Islands, after passing through which
we shaped a straight course for the Seychelle Islands.
On the morning of the 4th of March land was reported right ahead;
but as we soon found out with our glasses, all that was really visible
above the horizon was a big tree, which by an optical delusion
appeared to be of a prodigious size, and on account of the absence
of the usual appearance of land was thought by some of us to be
only a sail. We were at this time about ten miles to the north-east of
Bird Island, the most northerly of the Seychelle Group. About midday
we anchored in seven fathoms off the western end of the island,
some dozen or so large gannets coming off to meet us, and hovering
inquisitively about the ship.
 "TRAVELLERS' TREES" IN GARDENS AT SINGAPORE.

Soon after, a party of officers, including myself, proceeded to land.

On touching the beach we were met by a pair of negroes, who, we
learned, formed the entire human population of the island. They
occupied some wretched huts which had been hitherto screened
from our view by a dense thicket of bushes, which forms a fringe
around the margin of the island, and gives it, from the anchorage,
the delusive appearance of being well wooded.
Their occupation consisted in catching and drying fish, and in
salting, for consumption at Mahé, the bodies of sea-birds, which
breed on the island in vast numbers, and which are easily taken on
their nests during the breeding season—now just coming to an end.
The negroes spoke a French dialect, and, whether owing to their
habitual taciturnity, or to linguistic difficulties on our part, we could
not succeed in extracting much information from them. We
gathered, however, that turtle visited the island for breeding
purposes, but not at this time of the year.
Bird Island is half-a-mile long, and a quarter of a mile in width, being
thus more or less oval in outline. It is formed entirely of coral, and is
margined all round with white glistening beaches of calcareous sand.
Outside this extends a fringing reef, which forms a submerged
platform, on which there is some three or four fathoms of water, and
which has a mean width radially of about a quarter of a mile. There
is no encircling barrier reef, while the soundings are so regular as to
exclude the existence of coral knolls. The general surface of the
island is quite flat, and has a mean elevation above the sea-level of
about eight feet. Immediately within the sandy beach above
mentioned is a raised inner beach composed of blown sand and
lumps of coral, on which flourishes a belt of low green Tournefortia
bushes. After traversing this, one walks over a rugged plain of
honeycombed coral rock, the interstices of which are in some places
filled with sand and vegetable mould, which supports a more or less
general mantle of scrubby grass, interspersed with several
introduced plants gone wild. Among these were cotton, sugarcane,
papaws, yams, gourds, cocoa-nuts, and perhaps a few others. It
appeared that none of these had been found to thrive, which no
doubt accounts for their present neglected state. We now
ascertained that the large tree which had attracted our attention
from the offing was a Casuarina, of which there were altogether two
or perhaps three on the island.
There were no land-birds. Sea-birds, however, were very abundant,
and seemed in many ways to have partially adapted themselves to
the habits of their terrestrial congeners. The sand and light soil,
which in some places occupied the cavities in the coral rock, were
everywhere excavated by the burrows of petrels, so that within an
area of four square yards one might count as many as a dozen.
There were also smaller burrows—not admitting the hand—in one of
which I captured a land-crab. Walking over the island—small as it
was—proved to be very fatiguing and aggravating, for after one had
extracted a bruised ankle from some treacherous hole in the coral,
which the long grass concealed, the next step, taken with misplaced
confidence on an inviting-looking patch of sand, would probably put
the other foot through the frail roof of a petrel burrow, into which it
would descend, to the alarm and indignation of its proper tenant, no
less than to the mortification of the explorer.
Many gannets were breeding on the island. I approached a large
brown bird as it sat on its nest, and, being anxious to obtain a
specimen of the egg, endeavoured to frighten it off by going within a
couple of yards and shouting riotously. The bird, however, did not
seem to heed me. I then tried stones, but with no better result.
Eventually I had to resort to sterner measures, which I forbear to
mention, but which proved satisfactory. The nest consisted of a few
twigs and pieces of withered grass, placed on the surface of the
hard coral.
The terns, of which there were great numbers, either standing
quietly on the ground in flocks or perched singly on the low bushes,
had just concluded their breeding labours, and I found a few
abandoned eggs. Their nests were similar to those of the gannet
above mentioned. Consorting with the terns and gannets were
multitudes of white egrets, stalking about unconcernedly in the long
dry grass, or perching in a dreamy sort of way on the topmost twigs
of the bushes. All these birds, terns, gannets, and egrets, seemed to
be quite as much at home when perching on the bushes or standing
in the grass as in their usual attitude on the wing. They seemed
indeed very loth to fly, and after being rudely disturbed soon settled
down again. The beaches of the weather or east side of the island
were studded with great flocks of turnstones and curlews, with
which were a few oyster-catchers, and soaring high overhead was a
great flock of frigate birds.
At an early hour on the following morning (March 5th) we were
again under way, and steering towards Port Mahé, which lies sixty
miles to the southward of Bird Island. The dredge had been laid out
from the stern of the ship soon after anchoring, and on hauling it up
just before weighing, one of the tangles was found to have attached
to it a large slab of dead coral, which contained a great variety of
forms of life. There were on its surface several detached masses of
growing Corals, comprising five or six different species, and an equal
number of Polyzoa, besides some Nullipores and Millepores. In the
interstices were several species of shells, worms, and Ophiurids, and
two or three species of sponge.
At three o'clock in the afternoon we anchored at Mahé, the chief
island of the Seychelle Group.
Seychelles, a term which is used to comprise the group of eighty
islands, has been a British colony since the year 1794, when it was
taken from the French by force of arms. Most of the land is in the
possession of descendants of the old French settlers, men who have
the reputation of being devoid of enterprise, and of squandering the
produce of their land in habits of dissipation. We were told that
among the upper classes there were only about six Englishmen in
the group, including the governor, secretary, and doctor, etc. By a
census taken in 1880, the total population was 14,035, of which
2,029 was represented by African negroes. The population of the
chief island, Mahé, alone amounted to 11,393, so that there remains
less than 3,000 to be divided among the remaining islands of the
Group. The total has since been increasing, owing to a stream of
immigration having set in from Mauritius, where there exists a
commercial depression; so that at the time of our visit it was said to
amount to 18,000.
I think that to most people Seychelles is principally known as the
home of that eccentric palm, the double cocoa-nut, or "Coco de
Mer." Its range is indeed very restricted, being, in fact, limited to
Praslin,—one of the smaller islands of the Group,—and even there it
only grows in one particular valley. A few have been introduced into
Mahé, and great care is now being taken in order to promote their
extension. There was a handsome specimen of the female tree
growing in the grounds of Government House, which was shown to
me by Mr. Brodie, the courteous Secretary to the Council. The tree
being unisexual, isolated specimens can only be made fruitful by
artificial means. In the present instance, the tree being over thirty
years old, and in the proper condition for impregnation, Mr. Brodie
had taken the trouble to obtain from Praslin the reproductive portion
of a male plant, which he had placed over the immature fruits on the
female tree. The male tree bears a long thick spike, studded with
minute flowers, the pollen from which must be shaken over the
female flowers, in order to insure impregnation. The tree at Mahé
was about twenty feet high, but I was informed by Mr. Brodie that
fully grown trees in the island of Praslin attain a height of a hundred
feet. The mature nuts if left on the ground readily germinate. The
outer hard covering splits at the sulcus of the nut, and from thence
shoots out a rhizome, which after extending underground for a few
feet gives origin to the future stem and rootlets, which proceed
respectively upwards and downwards from the termination of the
rhizome. The Coco de Mer is an article of trade, a good many being
brought over annually to Mahé, where some are sold to visitors as
curiosities, while the remainder are shipped to the Red Sea ports to
be sold to the Arabs, who have a profound belief in their medicinal
properties.
In the gardens of Government House were also two fine examples of
the celebrated Land Tortoise of Aldabra, an animal which, although
indigenous in Aldabra Island alone, has of late years been introduced
into many of the neighbouring islands. The pair at Mahé were male
and female, and weighed respectively about four hundred and five
hundred pounds. The male seemed to have no difficulty in bearing a
man upon his back. At the time of our visit the female had just
commenced to lay, depositing her eggs in holes which she excavated
in the damp soil, and carefully filled in.
From a commercial point of view, the Seychelle Islands are now in a
transition state. The cocoa-nut industry has of late years been
unprosperous, mainly owing to the ravages of a worm which invades
the roots and stem of the cocoa-nut trees, and causes them to
dwindle and perish. The produce of oil has consequently been so
reduced, and the freight charges continue to be so high, on account
of the absence of steamship competition, that only a small margin of
profit is left to the planter. This failure of the cocoa-nuts has led to a
revival of the old spice industry, which, under the early French
settlers, was at one time deemed likely to vie with that of the
Moluccas. On looking over the Blue Book Report, I find that in the
year 1880 there were 12,000 acres of land planted with cocoa-nuts,
which in spite of the recent blight continue to be the staple product
of the Group. In the same year there were one hundred and fifty
acres devoted to the growth of vanilla; a hundred acres were
planted with cacao bushes, and a hundred and fifty were producing
cloves; besides a large extent of land bearing coffee plantations.
Both the Liberian and the common coffee plants have been
introduced, and found to grow remarkably well. Vanilla, in particular,
seems to find a congenial home in the Seychelle Islands, and, during
our short visit to the colony, we gathered that the future hopes of
the settlers were mainly centred upon the successful cultivation of
this plant. It grows rapidly, and although the flowers require to be
fertilized by hand, yet this process is so readily performed that beans
of large size and excellent quality are produced. It is as yet only
grown in a small way, most of the vanilleries, as these plantations
are called, covering only an extent of about five acres. It is
estimated that each plantation of this size represents an annual
produce of two hundred and fifty pounds' weight of vanilla beans.
We inspected some plants in the garden of Dr. Brookes, an old
resident, and noticed that the beans averaged eight inches in length,
and were otherwise well formed. He told us that he had been most
successful in the curing of these beans, and expected that when
they became well known they would command a large price in the
European markets, and that eventually vanilla would become the
staple produce of the Seychelle Islands.
The method employed at Seychelles for the expression of the oil
from the internal white lining of the cocoa-nut struck me as being
novel and primitive; and as it is said to be very efficient, I shall try to
give an intelligible description of a crushing mill and its mode of
construction. In principle it is a sort of gigantic pestle and mortar, in
which the pestle is made to perform a movement of circumduction,
and whilst doing so to rotate against the sides of the mortar, where
the crushing process is effected. A large-stemmed tree of very hard
wood having been cut down, so as to leave about three feet of the
trunk projecting above the ground, a bucket-shaped cavity is
excavated in the stump. A heavy round spar about ten feet in length
is stepped into this cavity, and is made to incline forcibly to one side
by means of a wooden outrigger, which is supported by a rope
attached to the head of the spar, and is weighted with heavy stones
placed at its outer extremity. The inner end of the outrigger is fitted
with wide U-shaped jaws, which engage in a collar scored in the tree
stump just above its point of emergence from the ground, while the
rope-lift which supports its outer extremity is so attached to the
head of the upright spar that the outrigger may be free to move
radially about the stump at the same time that the upright spar rolls
round on its long axis, as it presses heavily against the sides of the
trough. Finally a small hole is bored laterally, so as to reach the
bottom of the cavity in the tree stump, and into this is thrust a short
bamboo tube to act as an oil-tap. The broken-up copra is thrown in
around the lower extremity of the upright spar, and a bullock is set
to work to drag round the outrigger arrangement. The only
attendance required is that of a small boy to feed the wooden
trough with copra, and occasionally to throw stones so as to
accelerate the otherwise lazy motion of the bullock. In the mill which
I examined the oil was flowing steadily from the bamboo tap in a
clear limpid stream.
We dredged several times with the steam-cutter in the channel
between Mahé and St. Anne's Island, and also in St. Anne's Channel.
The depth of water in these channels ranged from four to twelve
fathoms, and the bottom consisted of sand and coral. The fauna was
abundant, and comprised Shells of the genera Murex, Arca; large
grey Holothurians; Echinoderms of four or five species; Crustacea of
the genera Thalamita, Galathea, Porcellana, Atergatis, Scylla,
Alpheus, etc., and a large variety of Corals and Polyzoa.
One of the most conspicuous objects about the foreshore at Port
Mahé is a curious fish of the genus Periophthalmus, which may be
seen not only jumping about the dry mud flats at low water, but also
climbing up the rugged vertical faces of the blocks of granite of
which the sea-wall and pier are formed. It is very difficult indeed to
catch one, as I have good reason to know. Associated with them
were several species of crabs, among which I recognized
representatives of the genera Macrophthalmus, Gelasimus, Grapsus,
and Ocypoda.
The Seychelles are peculiar in being the only small tropical oceanic
islands of granitic structure. All the others, excepting St. Paul's
Rocks, are either of volcanic or coral formation. The rock about Port
Mahé is a syenitic granite, in which the mica of ordinary granite is
replaced by hornblende. In some cases the felspar is coloured blue,
in others reddish, and in every instance it occurred in large coarse
crystals. The soilcap was a reddish pasty clay, of great thickness. In
one of the road cuttings near the settlement a section of this clay
fully ten feet in depth was exposed.
We left Mahé on the 14th of March, and on the following day
anchored off a small coral islet, the northernmost of the Amirante
Group. This, with another similar islet adjoining, constitute the
African Islands. A party of surveyors immediately landed in order to
fix on a suitable place for taking midnight observations of the stars,
and I had soon afterwards an opportunity of landing to explore. The
islet is two hundred yards long, by about sixty yards in width, is
more or less elliptical in outline, low, and flat, and for about three-
fourths of its circumference is girt by a smooth beach of coral sand,
on the surface of which I noticed a prodigious number of Orbitolites
discs. The northern end of the islet is composed of upraised coral
sandstone, which has been grooved and honeycombed into various
fantastic shapes, so that for walking over it presents quite as
unsatisfactory a surface as volcanic clinker. All the central part of the
islet within the inner drift beach is covered with scrubby grass and
low bushes of the same character as those at Bird Island. There
were one or two young shoots of a Barringtonia; but nothing else in
the shape of an arborescent plant. Among the dead shells, light
driftwood, and bleached sponges and coral blown up on the inner
beach, I noticed some of the familiar rhomboidal fruits of a
Barringtonia.

"COPRA" CRUSHING-MILL IN USE AT SEYCHELLES (p. 217).

There were no land-birds. The sea-birds were identical with those of

Bird Island. Young unfledged gannets were waddling about among
the bushes, and as regards the other birds, their nesting season also
seemed to be over. I did not notice any petrel burrows, but
everywhere near the beach were the burrows of a littoral crab, a
species of the genus Ocypoda. On the rocks at the northern
extremity were multitudes of the widely distributed Grapsus
variegatus. When chasing them over the rocks of the foreshore, I
observed that they were reluctant to take to the water, but preferred
to keep clear of me by scampering away over the coral further
inshore. The cause of this strange behaviour on their part soon
became apparent; for the rock-pools about the foreshore were
tenanted by savage grey eels, ranging in length from two to three
feet, and I saw that the moment an unlucky crab was forced to
enter one of these pools, he was immediately snapped up and
devoured. I was surprised to see the coolness with which an eel
would every now and then raise its head above the water in which it
lay, and look about over the adjacent rocks to see if any crabs were
near. On starting an eel from its hiding place, it would scuttle with
astonishing rapidity over the low rocks which separated it from the
water's edge, so that it was no easy matter to secure one without
the aid of a gun. Shooting them, as they wriggled off in this way,
was rather good sport.
The island is evidently visited by turtle during the breeding season,
for we saw several of the excavations in which they were in the habit
of depositing their eggs.
We got under way at seven o'clock in the morning, and after running
several lines of soundings over the outer edge of the Amirante bank,
steamed over to Eagle Island, which lies about thirteen miles to the
southward of African Islands, and again dropped anchor.
Eagle Island is somewhat oval in shape, and is a quarter of a mile
long by one-eighth in breadth. It is entirely of coral formation, is low
and flat, is covered with a thick growth of stunted bushes, and in
other physical features is much the same as the African Islands.
There was, however, an increase in the fauna in the shape of a small
red-legged partridge, which was very abundant, and afforded us
some good shooting. Owing to the thickness of the scrub, and
weedy undergrowth of grasses, ill-conditioned gourds and
calabashes, it was found very difficult to recover the dead birds, so
that I fear there were a good many shot which were never bagged.
The only other land-birds on the island were domestic fowls gone
wild. Of these we saw an old cock and hen, and some three or four
chickens, which, on being disturbed, rose and took to flight like
pheasants.
In the interior of the island, among a tangled scrub of bushes, we
found the remains of an old stone-built hut, which from the solidity
of its four walls would seem to have been originally intended as a
permanent dwelling for Europeans.
I took several specimens of a small species of lizard, and also some
of the tiny spherical eggs of the same. I stowed away the eggs in a
matchbox with some sand, and left it open on the table of the
deckhouse on board. After a day or two the young lizards began to
break out of their eggs, and to wander about among the materials
on my work-table. I broke open one egg, and found that the
youngster was at once able to run about. After it had wandered
about the table, and up and down the sides of some bottles standing
near, it returned to the matchbox and remained for a long time
hovering about it, as if terrified at the immensity of the world, and
loth to venture away from its former narrow dwelling.
In some small holes about the centre of the islet we found a land-
crab, apparently similar to that of Bird Island; and from some large
burrows issued the peculiar groaning sounds made by the night
petrel.
One of the most singular features in the zoology of the islet was the
abundance of a hermit crab,—occupying a Neritina shell,—which was
to be seen and heard creeping over the stems and branches of the
bushes in all directions. They seemed for the time to have entirely
adopted terrestrial habits.
We got under way again on the morning of the 20th of March, and,
after spending the day in sounding from the ship, steamed up to
Darros Island, and again anchored.
This island is somewhat circular in shape, and has a maximum
diameter of three-quarters of a mile. It is inhabited by a Frenchman
and his wife, who are assisted by nine negro labourers from Mahé.
Adjoining are nine small islets, bearing a rich crop of cocoa-nuts.
Darros Island itself as yet produces next to nothing, but it contains a
large plantation of young cocoa-nuts, which in five or six years will
doubtless be productive. Immediately behind the Frenchman's
house, and affording an agreeable shade, was a handsome grove of
Casuarinas about eighty feet in height. They were nineteen years
old, as we subsequently ascertained. Many introduced plants—such
as papaws, cotton, pumpkin, etc.—were growing in a neglected state
over the island.
We dredged from the ship as she lay at anchor in twenty-one to
twenty-two fathoms, over a bottom which was mainly composed of
coral débris, and among the living organisms brought up were three
species of stony corals. This circumstance is of interest as regards
the bathymetrical distribution of corals, inasmuch as Dana, judging
from the results of observations made by various authorities,
considers that twenty fathoms may be regarded as the limit in depth
at which reef-forming corals live. Polyzoa were numerous. I noticed
representatives of the genera Retepora, Crisia, Eschara, Cellepora,
Lepralia, and Myriozoum. There were also some examples of
Sertularia and other flexible hydroids.
Our gropings over the platform of fringing reef, which formed the
foreshore at low water, resulted in the acquisition of several species
of holothurians. Among these was a large Synapta, which was
abundant, and a very tough-skinned holothurian—of the genus
Moliria—provided with organs resembling teeth at its posterior
extremity.
On March 23rd we moved over to Poivre Island—a few miles distant
—where we anchored, and remained for part of two days.
Poivre Island was colonized for the first time in the year 1820. It is
now the property of a Frenchman residing at Paris, and is managed
by his agent, a Monsieur Bertaut, who, with his wife and family, and
some twenty negroes and their wives, form the population of the
island, altogether amounting to twenty-seven. Of course the staple
produce is cocoa-nut oil, and the island having been planted with
cocoa-nuts at an early period in its history, the trees are in good
condition for bearing, and cover every available spot of ground.
Among the other trees on the island I noticed a Casuarina and a
Ficus. Two shrubs were common; one, called the "Bois d'Aimanthe"
(Suriana maritima), formed a sort of hedge around the island, and
the other was a Tournefortia, which seems to be the first plant to
establish itself on these islands. The fauna included a black-and-
white rabbit—of course introduced—which was very abundant, and
some pigeons of a dark-brown plumage. Pigs and domestic poultry
seemed to be largely favoured by the colonists, and were indeed in a
thriving state.
Like all the Amirantes, Poivre Island is low and flat, and is only
exceptional in being the most prosperous island of the group, for
which it is indebted to the zeal of the earlier colonists who planted
its splendid grove of cocoa-nuts. The island is oval in shape, about
two miles in circumference, and it has a broad fringing reef
composed of drift coral and sand, but exhibiting no live corals and
very few shells.
We cast anchor off the north-west side of Isle des Roches on the
evening of the 25th of March, and stayed there for four days. This is
the largest island of the Amirante Group, being three and a half
miles long, and having an average width of half-a-mile. It is visible
for a long distance off, on account of its possessing several large
groves of tall Casuarina trees, many of which are one hundred and
eleven feet in height. On the shore, immediately opposite to our
anchorage, was the settlement, which then exhibited a rather
desolate appearance, as many of the houses were in an abandoned
condition, most of the inhabitants having recently gone back to
Seychelles. Only two individuals remained, French creoles, who
seemed to have acquired, from their solitary situation, habits of
taciturnity, which they found it difficult to break through. At all
events, we could not succeed in extracting much information from
them. They were well off for supplies, having a large stock of pigs
and poultry, besides fruit and vegetables. Cocoa-nuts had been
planted extensively, but as yet few of these trees were old enough to
bear fruit. At the time of our visit, the natives were engaged in
planting vanilla cuttings about the bases of the casuarina trees,
which furnished excellent supports for the creeper to attach itself to.
The flora was more extensive than that of the other islands. There
was a large-leafed shrub with thick branches like cabbage-stalks, the
Scævola kœnigii, which over ran the island. There were also
herbaceous plants of the families Malvaceæ, Solanaceæ,
Cinchonaceæ, and Convolvulaceæ. Among the trees I noticed a
Ficus, which, however, may have been introduced; and here I
obtained the only fern met with among the Amirantes, the
Nephrolepis exaltata; it was growing near the sea beach at the
eastern end of the island.
There were six land-birds: viz., a red-legged partridge, a pigeon, a
large brown finch, and a small yellow-breasted finch, a red-capped
weaver-bird, and a waxbill (?). Of these I could only obtain
specimens of the small finch and the weaver-bird. The yellow-
breasted finch is gregarious, and mostly frequents the tops of the
cocoa-nut trees and the upper branches of the tall casuarinas, where
it keeps up an incessant melody of song, pleasant to the ear in the
variety and succession of the notes, and somewhat resembling the
song of the canary. In the large casuarina grove, near the western
end of the island, I succeeded, but with much difficulty, in procuring
some male specimens of the weaver-bird (Foudia madagascariensis).
The females were nesting. I observed one of the latter flying away
from the tree in which its nest was constructed, and from which I
had disturbed it. It differed from the male in having the red-coloured
feathers confined to the head, the rest of the plumage being of a
dull brown. The nest was an oblong affair, having a lateral opening,
and was constructed of a parasitic plant of creeping habit, which the
creoles use for making a substitute for tea. The nest hung from the
extremity of a casuarina branch which projected horizontally. The
male bird was to be seen perched singly on the summits of the large
casuarinas, where it made its presence known by a peculiar and
characteristic twittering note which it emits about four times in a
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