An open letter to principals and deputy principals

I was clearing out some old memory cards recently and came across some dashcam footage. 5:30am, headlights on, turning through the school gates while the rest of the suburb was still asleep. No students, no staff. Just me, a cold office and a list of gaps to fill before 8:45.

I was Head Teacher Administration at the time. That meant casuals. Every morning I was ringing, texting, rearranging, splitting classes and finding someone to take Period 1 Year 9 Maths. It also meant the timetable, all of it: the construction, the changes, the curriculum conversations, and the "can you just move this one line?" requests that are never just one line.

That 5:30am start wasn't heroic. It was the only way the job fitted into a day.

The hours nobody counts

Ask a timetabler when they work and you'll get an honest answer that should worry you.

They start before the office opens, because the hour before everyone arrives is the only quiet one they get. They stay after the last bell, because that's when the interruptions stop and the real construction can begin. They work through the holidays, because the build has to happen while the school is empty. They answer messages on Sunday night, because Monday's staffing can't wait until Monday.

None of this shows up in a workload document. No allowance reflects it, and no duty statement says "will lose two weeks of January to this". It gets absorbed quietly, year after year, by someone who cares too much to let the first day of term fall over.

Here's the uncomfortable part: the school often doesn't know. The timetable works, the students get their lines, the day runs. Invisible work is, by definition, invisible.

People knew I came in early, because I was always there when they came to my office to sign in. They knew I stayed late, because I was still there when they left. Some would turn up during my "free" periods expecting something done, whatever I had planned for that time.

Did I resent it? No. I loved the school and the people I worked with. But I didn't know any different either. I was young, I wanted to do a good job, and I worried that if I took a day off, nobody would do the covers. I'd trained a few staff to step in if I was too sick to come in, and I still got the phone calls. I still logged on from home to sort out the daily organisation.

Did anyone check in on me? Unfortunately, no. On the surface it looked like I had everything under control.

I didn't.

Who do they actually call?

When a Head of English hits a problem, they talk to other English teachers. There's a faculty, a network, a professional association, a conference, a group chat.

When a timetabler hits a problem at 9pm in the middle of a build, who do they call?

For most, the honest answer is the software helpdesk, if it's open. Maybe one person they met at a training day three years ago. Maybe nobody.

Timetabling is one of the few roles in a school where the expertise sits with one person, the knowledge is largely undocumented, and there's no peer group in the building to check the work. Even where there's a team, there is usually one main timetabler who carries the weight of getting it finished.

That's an isolating place to sit. It's also a significant institutional risk, and I see the same risk in almost every school I walk into.

I felt it then. I still see it now. The tools have improved dramatically. The isolation hasn't.

What it costs your school

This isn't only a wellbeing story, although that would be reason enough.

A timetabler working at the edge of their capacity makes conservative decisions. They protect the structure that worked last year instead of testing one that might serve students better. They avoid the elective line that's harder to build. They don't raise the curriculum question that needs raising, because they know it means another fortnight of work nobody will notice.

Then that person resigns, retires or goes on extended leave, and the school discovers how much of its operating model lived in one head and one file. Timetable software holds a great deal, but it doesn't hold everything about how your school actually runs day to day.

That's usually when schools call their timetable provider. There's no time to train someone new; they need someone to step in, even temporarily, and take over. Most schools simply don't have a backup timetabler.

The software won't do it for you

Much of the software on the market promises the same thing: store all your timetable data in the program, make a few edits, press a button and your timetable is done. Simple, right?

It doesn't really work that way.

Before you get anywhere near that button, there are multiple screens to check that the data is correct and multiple processes to run for different parts of the timetable. The construction button is the last step, not the only one. And once it has run, the real checking begins: making sure the timetable actually works for your staff, your students and your school.

Software is a powerful tool. It isn't a timetabler.

Five things you can do this term

1. Ask the question properly

Not "how's the timetable going?" but "what time did you start this week, and what did you give up to get it done?" Then sit with the answer without rushing to reassure.

2. Separate daily organisation from timetable construction

These are two jobs. When one person carries casual cover, daily changes and the annual build, the build is always the part that gets done out of hours.

Make sure the role has the allowances it needs. If the budget is already allocated, this is where to start next time. The timetable affects everyone in the school and shapes how the school runs. It's worth resourcing properly.

3. Give release time that's actually protected

Release time that disappears the moment someone is away isn't release time. Name the periods, quarantine them, and back that decision when it's tested.

As Head Teacher Administration, I covered more classes than I care to count. Not because I wanted to, but because it was easier than asking another teacher for a favour. It didn't occur to me then, but I was the one doing the school all the favours. That load should be shared across the staff, not carried by a handful of people.

4. Pay for a second set of eyes

An external review, a mentor, a consultant, a colleague from another school: anyone who can look at the build and say, "This line will hurt you if enrolments go up when the new year starts."

It's like editing your own writing. You can read it a dozen times and miss the mistake. Someone else reads it back to you and you hear it before they've finished the sentence. One conversation now can save a lot of grief in Week 1.

5. Write the knowledge down

Insist on documentation, and give your timetabler the time to produce it. Succession planning for this role isn't optional. It's the biggest single point of failure in the school.

A proper handover is ideal. But if, for whatever reason, a handover can't happen, you need something solid to start from.

The part I keep coming back to

I look at that dashcam footage now and I don't feel nostalgic. I feel like I got away with something. It worked because I was young, stubborn and willing to trade my mornings for it. Plenty of people did exactly the same and burnt out, or walked away from a role they were genuinely brilliant at.

Your timetabler is probably doing some version of that right now. They almost certainly won't tell you unless you ask.

So ask. Then do something with the answer.

Need a second set of eyes?

I spent years building timetables and supporting the people who build them. If you'd like an independent review of your timetable structure, help planning for succession, or a conversation about how your timetabling role is resourced, get in touch.

If you're a timetabler: what time did you start today?

If you're a principal: do you know?