Helicopter stories: Bringing every child’s story to life

A glimpse into a child’s mind

“I was a baby and I was getting so little.

I go in this tiny little bed. Now I was bigger.

Now I’m going to be really bigger. One day.”

Andre Age 4

It was just three days after Andre’s fourth birthday when he dictated this Helicopter Story. As I sat by him on the carpet, writing his words verbatim on an A5 sheet of paper, I could almost see his mind whirling with images of himself as a baby and marvelling at how much he had grown.

Later, his teacher told me that on the morning of his birthday, his mum had shown him his baby photos. The Moses basket he slept in when he first came home. How small he looked in her arms. The tiny clothes he once wore. No wonder it found its way into his story.

When we acted the story out, Andre curled up on the floor, sucking his thumb and pretending to lie in his tiny bed. As I read the story aloud, he slowly uncurled, moving from crawling to walking, then stretching up on tiptoes as I read the final words, “Now I am going to be really bigger. One day.” It’s moments like this that make me love Helicopter Stories. They offer a glimpse into a child’s mind and the thoughts they are wrestling with.

What makes this story so powerful is that we get to see Andre working out what growing up means to him. This is higher order thinking. He is holding two ideas together at once. His understanding, from the photos, of what it was like to be tiny, alongside his imagination of the future where he will be “really bigger.”

Why stories matter in early childhood

Stories help children make sense of the world. It’s where they explore and rehearse complex ideas about identity, friendship, family, power, safety, growing up and belonging long before they have the language to articulate these.  

In stories, children learn how to link events together. They practise sequencing and cause and effect. They grow as storytellers, developing narrative thinking as they process the stories in their mind.

When a child takes on a character, they step into that role and get to experience a different version of themselves. In story, they can be louder, bolder or even tinier than they are now. They can pretend to be the baby being cuddled or the mummy being cross. By embodying these characters, they develop emotional intelligence and can express big feelings through a character rather than having to own those feelings directly.

What we learn when children tell stories

When we take the time to scribe children’s stories and act them out, we begin to uncover the depth of thinking that children are capable of. Many of the teachers I know who do Helicopter Stories regularly tell me they know their children far better than they ever did before.

When I first meet a new group of children, I find myself looking out at a sea of faces. But as soon as I start to scribe their stories, I learn what characters they like to play, how they see their world, and the rhythm of their speech. I discover what matters to them.

And the most amazing thing is that stories like Andre’s are happening in classrooms every day. When we scribe and act them out, we are offered a window into a child’s mind that would otherwise be missing.

How Helicopter Stories works in practice

Helicopter Stories is, on the surface, a simple approach. A child dictates their story. The adult writes it down, word for word, exactly as it is spoken. Then the stories are acted out.

Stories can be scribed anywhere. At a table, on the carpet, outside under an umbrella or even sitting in a boat. I always begin by asking the child where they would like to tell their story. Sometimes they stay right where they are, at the paint table or building with blocks. Other times they want to sit beside me, so we move to a quieter corner of the room.

In a typical session, I scribe six to eight stories. Any more and there isn’t enough time to act them out. Each story is written on A5 paper and kept in an individual book made from a card cover held together with a treasury tag. Each child has their own book, and by the end of the year you can see how much their storytelling has grown.

Towards the end of the session the whole class gathers around a masking tape stage and together they bring the stories to life. During the acting out, children take it in turn from where they are sitting. The storyteller chooses which character they will play, and the remaining parts are cast by moving around the circle and inviting each child in turn to join. No one is excluded, and no one is forced to take part. Helicopter Stories offers children the agency to join in or simply watch.

The depth of the approach comes from its roots in the work of Vivian Gussin Paley. Helicopter Stories is entirely child-centred. When we scribe verbatim, we honour the child’s understanding of narrative and show them that their words have value. As they hear their stories read aloud, they begin to make the connection between the spoken and written word. When they act it out, they bring it to life, and sometimes a gesture or movement reveals even more about what they were imagining.

The stories also help children learn what matters to each other. I remember Ronan, who loved dinosaurs. He always told dinosaur stories. One day, as we gathered around the taped-out stage ready to begin, I said, “And now we are going to act out Ronan’s story.” A girl sitting next to me smiled and said, “It’s a dinosaur story.” She had not been there when he dictated it, but she already knew what mattered to him.

This is how we become part of a community. By listening to and knowing the stories of our friends. By caring about things that matter to them.

An approach for all children

 But it is not only confident storytellers like Andre who flourish in this space. Some of the most powerful stories come from children who speak quietly, or rarely, or who are still finding their place. Amina was one of those children.

I once worked in a nursery with a girl called Amina who was a selective mute. If you spoke to her she would look straight through you, then turn and walk away. But I noticed she always stayed close when I was scribing stories for other children. So I made it my purpose to ask her every week if she wanted to tell a story. When she shook her head, I smiled and said, “That’s fine, you can be a story listener.”

I was in the nursery for six weeks. On my final session, as usual, I asked Amina once more. This time she smiled a small smile, looked me in the eye, and, cupping her hand over her mouth, she whispered.

“Princess.”

I wrote her story down.

Princess.

I remember Vivian telling me once about a time when she asked a group of five-year-olds whether one word could be a story. The children thought it could. They reminded her, “It’s not one word, it’s one person.” So yes, a person can be a story, and Amina’s story was Princess.

When we came to the acting out, Amina stood up and walked around the stage, her nose in the air, every bit the haughty princess. The adults in the room were surprised that she had told a story. I could barely contain my elation. But maybe we shouldn’t be surprised. Because story is the language of children. All children. One of the things that always amazes me is how accessible Helicopter Stories is for every child in the room.

A teacher once said to me, “Helicopter Stories is the only thing I do each week that is fully inclusive.” She was right. There is something about the openness of the approach, the way it removes pressure and expectation, that means every child can take part. For me, this is the heart of Helicopter Stories. Every child has a story. And every child deserves to be heard.