Research School Network: Inclusion for a Mixed Bag What does a more inclusive classroom actually look like?

Stepping into my first Business Studies lessons over a decade ago, I was met with a group that really did define mixed attainment. Starting points covered the full range and pupils brought with them a variety of different needs. I had been presented with the reality of an options classroom – hence the ​‘mixed bag’ in the title of this blog.

Throughout my teaching, I have returned to one deceptively simple question: what does a more inclusive classroom actually look like?

To unpick this, I first had to challenge some of my own thinking around inclusion. Who was I actually including? Was I thinking about pupils with SEND? And did that mean pupils with an EHCP? What about pupils eligible for Free School Meals? Most pupils recorded as EAL in my classroom were fluent English speakers, so what did they need from me?

Engaging with the EEF’s Guide to Inclusive Teaching made me reconsider the question itself. Inclusion isn’t demonstrated by the number of additional resources on a desk, different coloured sheets or task stickers. That isn’t to say these things don’t have a place. The problem was that I had started to mistake the visible evidence of adaptation for adaptation itself.

Instead, I needed to think about the classroom in front of me: not a classroom, not even my classroom, but that classroom, on that day, learning that content. One element of the EEF’s Five-a-Day approach particularly challenged my thinking: using scaffolding appropriately.

As teachers, we are rather good at packaging complicated ideas into techniques and resources. I was certainly guilty of doing the same with inclusion. My thinking around scaffolding had become focused more on the tool, than the barrier it was supposed to overcome. ​“Supporting every child to participate and succeed in school…and recognising that many pupils face multiple barriers to learning.”EEF 2026 (Guide to Inclusive Teaching)

So, I started with one of those particularly ​‘mixed’ groups. You know the ones – the groups where thinking about meeting every individual need can become overwhelming before you have even started planning the lesson.

I listed everything I was doing: writing frames, differentiated support, additional resources and the planning I was undertaking for individual pupils’ needs. On paper, there was plenty of evidence of inclusion.

But the research prompted a much more uncomfortable question: How did I know these things were helping rather than hindering learning?

I realised that I had become so focused on choosing the ​‘right’ strategy that I wasn’t always asking the most important question: what does this pupil need from me, right now? So, I asked them.

Through pupil voice and informal conversations, I discovered that some of the strategies absolutely did support pupils – but not necessarily all the time. More importantly, pupils helped remind me that responsive teaching relies upon what happens during the lesson: questioning, checking understanding, noticing misconceptions as well as deciding when to intervene and when to step away.

Perhaps what I had previously called ​‘teacher intuition’ was actually something more deliberate: professional judgement informed by continual assessment of the pupil in front of me.

I decided to test this thinking through one small aspect of Business: Cash Flow Forecasts.

Cash Flow is a tricky beast. The basic calculations can be mastered relatively quickly, but genuine understanding requires much more depth. Pupils need to understand inflows and outflows, timing, prediction and uncertainty before eventually analysing what the figures might mean for a business.

Traditionally, my scaffolding had been effective at helping pupils complete the forecast. Model the layout. Demonstrate the calculation. Provide the steps. Practise. Repeat. And pupils became quite good at completing them.

The problem came when I spoke to older pupils. I realised that some had learned the shortcuts so well that they had missed the underlying theory. Their mental model was strong enough to complete the task, but not necessarily to explain why they were doing it. but not necessarily to explain why they were doing it.

They could calculate a closing balance, but could they explain why it mattered? Could they identify why a business might experience a cash-flow problem? Could they use the forecast to recommend what the owner should do next?
My scaffolding had helped pupils produce the answer. But had it helped them understand the concept?

Previously, when introducing Cash Flow Forecasts, I would focus heavily on the process: modelling the layout, demonstrating the calculations and giving pupils a clear method for reaching the answer. In many ways, the scaffold worked – pupils could complete the forecast. However, I realised I was building a mental model centred on how to complete the task, rather than helping pupils understand why the tool was needed in the first place. The scaffold was supporting task completion but not necessarily securing the deeper understanding I wanted.

Changing my approach meant moving the scaffold away from simply supporting the method and towards supporting pupils’ understanding of the concept. Before pupils even saw a Cash Flow Forecast, we spent time exploring why businesses need to predict what might happen to their money, why the timing of money coming in and going out matters, and how financial information can help an owner make decisions. Pupils could begin to identify the need for a cash-flow tool before I introduced the tool itself. When the forecast eventually appeared, it had a purpose: it was no longer just a table to complete. This also changed how I thought about scaffolding for individual pupils. Rather than deciding in advance who needed a writing frame, a partially completed table or step-by-step instructions, I could use questioning and checks for understanding to identify where the barrier really was. One pupil might need support with the calculation; another might understand the calculation but struggle to interpret what a negative closing balance meant. Another might need no additional scaffold at all. The scaffold became a response to the barrier, rather than something attached to the pupil.

Rather than beginning with the scaffold, I was beginning with the barrier: What do pupils truly find difficult here? What knowledge is missing? How do I know? 

Only then could I ask: what is the least amount of support I can provide to move them forward?

For me, good scaffolding is ultimately about developing confidence and independence. I wore swimming armbands until I was twelve. My son had abandoned them by three. The purpose of the support was identical; the point at which we no longer needed it clearly wasn’t. Classroom scaffolding should surely work in much the same way. The challenge isn’t simply deciding which scaffold to provide. It is noticing when it is needed, checking whether it is working and, crucially, recognising when it can be removed. My ​‘mixed bag’ hasn’t become any less mixed – nor should it. What has changed however, is the question I ask when planning for it.
Rather than starting with ​“What support does this pupil get?”, I increasingly find myself asking:

“What is stopping the pupil learning this, at this moment, and what is the least support I can provide to help them overcome it?”

For me, that is what a more inclusive classroom has started to look like.

In considering my approach I have some key takeaways that now underpin my thoughts on scaffolding:

• Start with the barrier, not the scaffold. Identify what is preventing learning first, then provide the least amount of support needed to help the pupil move forward.
• Scaffolding should build understanding, not just task completion. Effective support helps pupils understand the why behind the learning, rather than simply giving them a process for reaching the correct answer.
• Inclusion is responsive, not fixed. Use questioning, assessment and professional judgement to decide when support is needed, whether it is working, and when it can be reduced or removed to build independence.