Survival school

On the way home this evening the only things I could think about were school-related.

Many rambling thoughts.

Much bizarreness – especially when I calculate that I went to school for a mere dozen years.

I can’t stress enough that I had a great time at school.

Too great, perhaps.

I cruised through it; didn’t do any work, didn’t study, didn’t do homework, didn’t put anything in to it.

Those many school reports that said ‘Could do better’ were so right!

I just wasn’t motivated, it’s that simple.

I failed to see any of it as important.

It didn’t engage me.

I mean, how is a growing up, hormone-riddled, barely-constrained country boy with a sense of adventure larger than the continent (or incontinent) of Asia going to see any kind of benefit in his action-packed, fun-filled universe from the dust-jacketed titles of History, Geography, Science etc.?

This isn’t meant as an indictment of my past teachers; it’s much more a dig at the teaching methods of the day – the ‘sit down, shut up, get your books out at page 25 and read…’ methodology.

And also a gentle criticism that no-one ever took the trouble to explain the relevance – or the links – between those subjects and the real world.

Admittedly my parental upbringing (or abject lack thereof) missed the enormously significant part it should have played in the ‘making things significant in the game of life’ game.

Which is one reason why music played (and continues to play) such a large part in my life – as a singer, a musician and a listener – it was one of my escaping pleasures, it had relevance.

So too with literature.

As a child I was precociously well read, far better than my peers – but only because we had an extensive library in the house and I didn’t really enjoy television and there’s only so much fun to be had building dams, riding ponies, sailing my dingy, designing and making tree-houses, climbing trees, fashioning hides in the woods and (periodically) running away from home.

In fact I read everything in the library.

Everything.

Schools though…

Forge Side Junior School, in the small sub-town of Forge Side, part of the larger industrial town of Blaenavon.

This was my second place of education (after the swiftly left behind St Michael’s Convent), it was an early Victorian gothic monstrosity that occupied the centre of a small mining community (as you’d expect from the town’s name).

It too is no longer a school.

I’m 2 for 0 here!

Llanarth Court Preparatory School, Llanarth – an enormous Grade II listed manor house set in 300 acres.

Llanarth Court was my third visit to the world of education, it was owned and run by an order of Dominican monks.

It is also not a school and not a monastery now.

3 for 0!

In fact it’s now a secure psychiatric hospital, no ironic comments please – I’ve heard them all.

Then came Grofield Secondary Modern, Abergavenny.

Also no longer a school.

4 for 0 and I’m going for a clean sweep!

And finally…

King Henry VIII Abergavenny…

I failed with that one, it’s still rocking on strongly.

4 for 1 – not too bad.

But the distinguishing feature isn’t that King Henry VIII was the place that faced down an independently-minded adolescent

It was the place where I found teachers who made connections; effortlessly tried – and succeeded – in bringing everyday meaning to educational topics.

Bertie Hamer, Doc White, Judge Jefferies, Ray Gravell.

Teachers who achieved what hadn’t been – up until then – attempted; they engaged me, made me think.

I learned scholastic things from these people, but the most important lesson learned was that it is important to put in; the process of getting out is merely a by-product.

The first time I returned to full-time education I was determined to ‘put in’ and not ‘get out’; I wanted to contribute, be an active participant.

When I was described by my tutor at graduation as ‘enjoyably challenging’ I beamed for days.

Not because I’m an awkward sod (though The Lovely Soph may snigger at this because sometimes I might be).

But because I’d got so much out, so effortlessly…

By putting something in.

So I wonder these days – this evening on my way home, to be precise…

Is that why my earlier schooldays were so unproductive?

Because I wasn’t allowed to engage (because that, certainly, was the schooling model of the time – that interaction was not permitted)?

Intriguing questions.

Here’s another intriguing question.

These days interaction and dialogue in schools is encouraged – to the level where it is seen by many pupils as their right, and one which they exercise.

So why does this country now produce a far higher proportion of illiterate children (per capita of population), than it did in the 60s?

Or the 70s?

Answers please, on a used five pound note.

B.