By Adi Bloom
Remember Gavin Williamson? He was education secretary last year, so a good five education secretaries ago.
For those with blessedly short memories (or an efficient blank-it-all-out mechanism), a brief recap: there was an algorithm, and then there wasn’t; it was unthinkable to close schools, and then it wasn’t; exams would go ahead as normal, and then they wouldn’t. Above all, you may recall, there was general consensus that Williamson was an overpromoted mediocrity.
So, all things considered, you’d think that people at the DfE would shy away from the term “mediocrity”. Five education secretaries notwithstanding, the word remains a great big “must try harder” on the DfE’s report card.
Perhaps, then, it was a Pavlovian reaction. Perhaps, when current education secretary (one month and counting) Kit Malthouse reached for a word to use in his speech to the Conservative party conference, his brain performed a little subconscious mental-association trick. Education? Cue the instant cerebral reflex: mediocrity! Or perhaps he just wanted to reclaim the term and own his identity.
Either way, he went there. Telling delegates in Birmingham that the school system needs “constant attention and constant pressure” from government to “drive it forward”, Malthouse said: “We need to reflect on the fact that there is nothing quite as persistent as people hanging on to mediocrity.”
Bah, humbug. It may only be October, but the unheated nation is already channelling its inner Bob Cratchit. So perhaps that’s why, as he steps down from the conference stage, Malthouse feels a strange chill in the air. He blinks, and there before him is a ghoulish apparition. He wouldn’t have been that alarmed normally, but he knows that Michael Gove is doing a BBC interview elsewhere.
Yes, Mr Malthouse, here is the spirit of education past: see what it has to show you. Come with it and observe this a class of five and six year olds, gambolling freely in the playground. But look! See the small child stumbling as she struggles painfully through her Oxford reader.
And look even closer: on the noticeboard above her head are pinned this year’s Sats results. New statistics published by the DfE this week show that the proportion of pupils reaching the expected standard in reading, writing, maths and science by the end of key stage 1 has plummeted. Just 58 per cent reached the expected standard in writing this year, compared with 69 per cent in 2019.
Meanwhile, the proportion of pupils meeting the expected standard in the Year 1 phonics check fell from 82 per cent in 2019 to 75 per cent this year – its lowest level since 2014. The results also show that disadvantaged pupils are struggling to keep up with their peers, across all subjects.
What’s that the ghost is saying? That this fall in results is the outcome of the Covid pandemic, and the government’s unwillingness to put anything more substantial than thoughts and prayers behind a catch-up recovery plan?
But onwards, Mr Malthouse: no time to stop. A swirl of phosphorescence and phantasmagorical vapour, and here we are, back at the Conservative party conference. Jonathan Gullis, the new school standards minister, is talking; he’s telling delegates that he is “not opposed…in theory” to the idea of introducing undergraduate teaching apprenticeships. Yes, undergraduates may lack the subject knowledge necessary to teach effectively. But they’re cheap. So, you know, swings and roundabouts. Besides, we can always just stick them in primary schools. That’s just glorified daycare anyway, right?
Malthouse opens his mouth to say something, but a ghoulish hand shuts it for him. “Future,” the ghoul moans, and suddenly they are whisked away to a picket line. Furious teachers are shouting about heating costs and living costs and food banks. Malthouse puts his hands over his ears; the ghost rips them away again.
“But – but this hasn’t happened yet,” Malthouse stammers. “Has it?”
The ghost waves a letter in his face. It is dated this week; its letterhead bears the logo of the NEU teachers’ union. Malthouse catches the words “increase the pay of staff at a rate greater than the rate of inflation”, followed by “trade dispute” and “urgent action”.
A howling begins again, and at first Malthouse thinks it is just the wind. Then he realises that the ghost of education future is speaking again. The howl grows louder and louder and louder, until Malthouse clasps his hands over his ears again. The howling is unbearably loud now; it has formed itself into a single word, repeated over and over again.
Malthouse feels a chill in his spine. He knows that word. He recognised it even before the image of Gavin Williamson, bound in chains, appears before him.
One single word: mediocrity.
It’s all too much; he shuts his eyes. The howling stops; his feet are on solid ground again. Tentatively, he opens his eyes. He knows this place: the corporate swirl of the carpet, the bottles of sparkling mineral water, the biscuits in packs of two. He’s back at the Conservative party conference.
In relief, he looks around at the delegates around him, at his Cabinet colleagues. And then, for the briefest moment, there it is again: that unearthly howl. Mediocrity.
Click here to read Adi Bloom’s This Week In Education column every week.
By Adi Bloom
Remember Gavin Williamson? He was education secretary last year, so a good five education secretaries ago.
For those with blessedly short memories (or an efficient blank-it-all-out mechanism), a brief recap: there was an algorithm, and then there wasn’t; it was unthinkable to close schools, and then it wasn’t; exams would go ahead as normal, and then they wouldn’t. Above all, you may recall, there was general consensus that Williamson was an overpromoted mediocrity.
So, all things considered, you’d think that people at the DfE would shy away from the term “mediocrity”. Five education secretaries notwithstanding, the word remains a great big “must try harder” on the DfE’s report card.
Perhaps, then, it was a Pavlovian reaction. Perhaps, when current education secretary (one month and counting) Kit Malthouse reached for a word to use in his speech to the Conservative party conference, his brain performed a little subconscious mental-association trick. Education? Cue the instant cerebral reflex: mediocrity! Or perhaps he just wanted to reclaim the term and own his identity.
Either way, he went there. Telling delegates in Birmingham that the school system needs “constant attention and constant pressure” from government to “drive it forward”, Malthouse said: “We need to reflect on the fact that there is nothing quite as persistent as people hanging on to mediocrity.”
Bah, humbug. It may only be October, but the unheated nation is already channelling its inner Bob Cratchit. So perhaps that’s why, as he steps down from the conference stage, Malthouse feels a strange chill in the air. He blinks, and there before him is a ghoulish apparition. He wouldn’t have been that alarmed normally, but he knows that Michael Gove is doing a BBC interview elsewhere.
Yes, Mr Malthouse, here is the spirit of education past: see what it has to show you. Come with it and observe this a class of five and six year olds, gambolling freely in the playground. But look! See the small child stumbling as she struggles painfully through her Oxford reader.
And look even closer: on the noticeboard above her head are pinned this year’s Sats results. New statistics published by the DfE this week show that the proportion of pupils reaching the expected standard in reading, writing, maths and science by the end of key stage 1 has plummeted. Just 58 per cent reached the expected standard in writing this year, compared with 69 per cent in 2019.
Meanwhile, the proportion of pupils meeting the expected standard in the Year 1 phonics check fell from 82 per cent in 2019 to 75 per cent this year – its lowest level since 2014. The results also show that disadvantaged pupils are struggling to keep up with their peers, across all subjects.
What’s that the ghost is saying? That this fall in results is the outcome of the Covid pandemic, and the government’s unwillingness to put anything more substantial than thoughts and prayers behind a catch-up recovery plan?
But onwards, Mr Malthouse: no time to stop. A swirl of phosphorescence and phantasmagorical vapour, and here we are, back at the Conservative party conference. Jonathan Gullis, the new school standards minister, is talking; he’s telling delegates that he is “not opposed…in theory” to the idea of introducing undergraduate teaching apprenticeships. Yes, undergraduates may lack the subject knowledge necessary to teach effectively. But they’re cheap. So, you know, swings and roundabouts. Besides, we can always just stick them in primary schools. That’s just glorified daycare anyway, right?
Malthouse opens his mouth to say something, but a ghoulish hand shuts it for him. “Future,” the ghoul moans, and suddenly they are whisked away to a picket line. Furious teachers are shouting about heating costs and living costs and food banks. Malthouse puts his hands over his ears; the ghost rips them away again.
“But – but this hasn’t happened yet,” Malthouse stammers. “Has it?”
The ghost waves a letter in his face. It is dated this week; its letterhead bears the logo of the NEU teachers’ union. Malthouse catches the words “increase the pay of staff at a rate greater than the rate of inflation”, followed by “trade dispute” and “urgent action”.
A howling begins again, and at first Malthouse thinks it is just the wind. Then he realises that the ghost of education future is speaking again. The howl grows louder and louder and louder, until Malthouse clasps his hands over his ears again. The howling is unbearably loud now; it has formed itself into a single word, repeated over and over again.
Malthouse feels a chill in his spine. He knows that word. He recognised it even before the image of Gavin Williamson, bound in chains, appears before him.
One single word: mediocrity.
It’s all too much; he shuts his eyes. The howling stops; his feet are on solid ground again. Tentatively, he opens his eyes. He knows this place: the corporate swirl of the carpet, the bottles of sparkling mineral water, the biscuits in packs of two. He’s back at the Conservative party conference.
In relief, he looks around at the delegates around him, at his Cabinet colleagues. And then, for the briefest moment, there it is again: that unearthly howl. Mediocrity.
Click here to read Adi Bloom’s This Week In Education column every week.
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