Peter Inson

In 1997 Tony Blair spent ?97m dismantling the system set up by his predecessors whereby maintained or state schools could opt out of local authority control and receive full funding. He is now talking about setting up independent state schools yet no one seems to have asked him what on earth he is talking about; no one is asking the emperor what he has done with his clothes.

I would have been more impressed had he talked about handing schools to parents as new public schools because I am concerned about schools at the bottom of the heap which will not be able to grab every carrot that is offered and will not enjoy proclaiming their own inadequacies in able to get extra funding, especially when it is attitudes that count as much as material things in education.

Parents choose to bring children into the world and are trusted to feed, clothe clean, house and entertain them. They are required by law to ensure that they are educated and, for most of us, that means using state schools.

Schools started so that parents could use others' expertise in the business of education. In successful schools there is a partnership between parents and teachers to see that parents' long-term commitment is supported as far as education goes. Schools became institutions of some kind, privately owned or supported by a trust or partnership. Then the state took over the provision of schools for most children and kept control of them.

Independent schools however do not have to accept children whose presence would undermine them. You have only to remember the photographs we saw only last week, of Shanni Naylor, whose face was slashed by a classmate, to see the unacceptable face of social inclusion, the policy by which this government want to ensure that no children miss out on a place in a school. The trouble is that that school might be your child's school and you would rightly ask why you are expected to entrust it with your youngster. The recent court case involving a boy expelled from Marlborough made very clear the difference between state and independent schools in this respect.

Tony Blair is right to target local education authorities, which consume a large proportion of the education budget and provide no teaching: they merely interfere. In my three years of state school headship I found them a source of frustration second only to central government. He is also right to challenge teacher unions which have for years complained about changes that, they have claimed, would harm children, only to implement them. Industrial relations in independent schools are generally very much better, largely because staff there are dealing more directly with supportive parents without the intrusion of other bodies.

So how can "independent state schools" ensure that parents are supportive?

Not by obliging parents to send their children, but by being even more radical. Mr. Blair has recently claimed that whenever he looks back on his innovations, he wishes that he had done more. Here is his chance with education, education etc.

Give state schools to local parents, operating as local trusts to run fully- funded public schools. Friends and neighbours would have a salutary effect on parents whose children undermined their local school. To obtain a place, parents would have to be prepared to serve on the governing body, on which places would be allocated by ballot, like jury service.

Reduce the school leaving age to fourteen, not to empty schools, but so that they become more effective and more attractive to youngsters. Many youngsters have part-time jobs. For some of them, a chance to work alongside "real" adults and learn the discipline of work would be much better than being shut up with lots of other disgruntled youngsters. Those that remain out of school and unoccupied should remain the responsibility of parents, who could have their children occupied in school only if they were prepared to support those schools and take responsibility for their children.
Some years ago, I met the head of the Roman Catholic school to which Tony Blair would have sent his children had better places not been available for them elsewhere. He was a very disappointed man, disappointed because this politician would not put his money, or rather his children, where his mouth was. I have long complained that politicians make one set of arrangements for their children and another set for other people's. Diane Abbot has recently sent her son to an independent school.

Here is their opportunity to put matters to rights -public schools for everyone; even Old Labour might look more kindly on this approach. And so long as the Prime Minister is really radical, who knows, his rhetoric might actually come to mean something; we shall have to see whether this particular emperor has a taste for cross-dressing.

October 26th 2005

Return to top of page

Pedestrians and Pedal-power

Published by The Sudbury Times

After a gap of three years I revisited the Grand Union Canal, travelling east from Alperton and cycling for a short distance towards an appointment at Park Royal. I had first discovered this green corridor when training for a marathon. In many ways, it was idyllic, away from the dog-dirt, buses parked on pavements, piles of old litter and trashed bus shelters, away from the four-wheeled homicides jumping lights and mounting the pavements, threatening death and injury and fouling the air we all have to breathe.

For years I have cycled in and around London. A bike provided the fastest journey to school - seven miles away - twenty-five minutes by bike along the A12, or between forty minutes and an hour by bus. Several years later I travelled regularly from Fenchurch Street to Senate House in Bloomsbury: underground forty-five minutes, bike fifteen. More recently, I cycled to work from Sudbury Hill to Ealing, via the Hanger Lane interchange on the North Circular - great fun. Now I was back on the bike - fifteen minutes to the Central Middlesex Hospital.
I turned onto the tow-path and set off. Two hundred yards away a man was walking towards me with a dog by his side. As I got closer I could see that he was controlling the dog with a harness, not a lead; he was visually handicapped. As I slowed right down, preparing to stop, there was the rush of bicycle wheels behind me and another cyclist overtook me and hurtled by. I was alarmed; there had been no warning of his approach. But what then horrified me was the way he ignored the blind man just yards in front. The cyclist was a well built fellow, riding determinedly at something like twenty miles per hour. The blind man stood stock-still. He could hear the cyclist and was clearly aware of the direction of his approach. What he did not see was the cyclist's shoulder miss his by a matter of just a few inches, four at the most. He remained fixed to the spot and was hardly aware of my coming to a halt alongside him.

I asked whether he realised how close the first cyclist had come. He had not, so I explained what I had seen and told him a little of my experience on that tow-path as a sighted runner. Finally, I asked whether he felt safe walking along there and he told me how, only the previous week, he had been struck from behind by a cyclist.

I remember my first encounter with a cyclist when the screech of brakes shook me out of a day-dream. Down by my feet I notice the front wheel of a bike and wonder what a bike is doing there. I pull up. Oh he wants to get past; I step to one side.

"Try using a bell next time."
To my surprise he stops; I expect abuse.
"Sorry if I made you jump," he says.
I catch up with him. He leans over his handlebars.
"People hate me ringing a bell behind them. Think I expect them to jump out of the way."
"You ought to give some sort of warning, even if they don't like it. They could easily step into your path."
"I see what you mean."
"Perhaps fifty yards back - give them time to react. It's bound to upset them if you ring a bell right behind them."
"Good idea, I'll try getting a bell then."
"Sure, see you."
He draws ahead and is soon gone.

Unfortunately, he was the only cyclist to respond to my challenge. Other cyclists fly by, reluctant to reduce speed or deviate from the best course. For pedestrians who are slow or infirm this must be very unpleasant. I did ask myself why these powerful cycle warriors did not go and reclaim the territory stolen by the motor vehicle. But of course they can't.

Back, running along the tow-path, I adopted pre-emptive measures with cyclists. I kept away from the canal so that riders passed between me and the water; had there been contact, the cyclist would have got wet. When a cyclist approached I swung my elbows out wide. I saw cyclists in a new light, no longer as victims, but as aggressors, as bad as the motorists about whom we complain so readily. But then I had adopted aggressive measures in self-defence; what now could a pensioner, armed with a walking stick, do to a passing cyclist? I asked myself why a blind man, or for that matter the old, the infirm and mothers with push chairs and young children have to be frightened like this? Finally, I regret that so often we have to become aggressive in order to defend ourselves when opportunities to hear someone else's point of view would really make a difference?

Now, I must remember a bell for my bike.

August 2005

Return to top of page

Another grotty day in Paradise

Published by Swiss News

At the age of 52, Peter Inson found himself teaching in Switzerland and learnt to ski. Four years later he met a former world downhill champion who took him out for a morning on their local mountain.

We are on the chair-lift on the Horneggli, a popular mountain above Gstaad in Switzerland. It's snowing very gently but the visibility is good and the piste is excellent. We are enjoying our skiing. My companion grins; "Another grotty day in Paradise." Bruno Kernen, the former world downhill ski champion, is giving me a morning's ski lesson. We laugh and get off the lift for our last run.

Rugby, riding, running and social cricket from time to time, but never skiing: too far away from home and too complicated for occasional pleasures. So what am I doing, trying to improve my skiing now, in my late fifties?

Before we start Bruno watches me slip the pole straps over my hands. He shakes his head and steps over. "Like this so that you can't lose the poles and so they can't be knocked out of your hands. Let the other skiers see that you are a pro." He laughs. It makes sense. But there is no comment about my skis or other items of equipment: ex-rental boots and second-hand skis. Perhaps you don't have to spend a fortune on kit.

On the first run Bruno waits two hundred yards below and watches me ski down to him. From one side his ten year-old son, Jan, casts a critical eye. Posture, that of a boxer or a front-row forward. Now then, poles, like this, uphill ski slightly forward, turn rather than slide. Hands in front of the bindings. We set off again.

In 1999 I came to Switzerland to teach at Le Rosey, a school that has a winter sports programme. Skiing was now conveniently on my doorstep - last year I managed a run of thirty consecutive days. At fifty-two I learnt the basics with a group of teenagers and trudged around, uncomfortably and clumsily, as is the lot of middle age. Colleagues helped patiently and told me to make sure I turned up every day for the first ten lessons. A month later I stood in line with the kids I taught in school while an examiner put us through our paces.

We stop again. This time it is upper body contra-rotation. Move the hips, hang the arse out over the mountain, get more control with the skis. I try it. Something is very different and we haven't travelled more than half a mile. Bruno smiles: "I have to exaggerate so that you can understand."

Am I really that bad?

"Already you are better. Jan can tell me that."

It certainly feels much easier. We move on. The piste narrows here and there is a lot of loose snow.

A month earlier, a skiing friend had spent a fortnight in Bruno's hotel, the Bahnhoff in Schonried. Bruno is an excellent host and Ken introduced me as an English teacher who had learnt to ski at an advanced age. Bruno joked that he would exchange ski instruction for English lessons and we shook on the deal - as you do. We met again the following week and I soon discovered that Bruno meant business; a date was agreed. I could not believe my luck.

Round, onto the moguls and we stop. "Stay as you are. Just hold out your poles." Bruno is immediately below me. Jan looks on. "Try to stay where you are." He tugs on the poles and down I go.

"Now, try and position yourself like this." He shows me; knees and rear towards the mountain, then he pulls again on my poles. I don't budge.

It is so clear; I feel it in the legs and understood it in the head. "You can't defy gravity!" He laughs and we ski on.

Back on the lift we talk, about what he is going to make me do next and other things. I explain, apologetically, why I had not skied for most of my life and Bruno talks easily, naturally about his life. He makes me feel like a good friend. Skiing in powder every day at the age of ten, then an apprenticeship as a chef - in Switzerland apprenticeship is a route to the professions - architects serve apprenticeships. Bruno learnt from his apprenticeship. "Working in a kitchen was good for me; everyone, no matter how rich, should learn to do dirty jobs."

Then he was taken into the Swiss ski squad in 1978 and the World Championship followed in 1982. In the squad there was more to learn. A bad injury to a knee and an elbow confined him to plaster for three weeks and he was sidelined. Left to his own devices by team doctors and coaches he learnt to toughen himself and get himself back into form. He had learnt not to rely on others.

This time we are on the black piste, turning wide turns, as many as we can fit in. I fly past the spot where loose snow had pulled me down the day before - it's getting better already. Bruno demonstrates my continuing stiffness and I grin with e embarrassment. He sends me down in front. I'm a pupil again, wondering what the teacher will say when he's caught up with me. The snow continues and there is no sign of anyone else - Jan has returned home, bored, for my skiing has not held his interest for long. Bruno and I have the mountain to ourselves and he watches me skiing more easily; over an hour now and not so much as a twinge in the legs.

We sit back on the lift again and look over to the moguls - a solitary figure moves across and drops below us.

In his early twenties Bruno was called up for military service; the Swiss army required his services for a while. Six weeks basic training followed then a few weeks' service each year. Now he is free of these obligations - not long ago he handed in his rifle and uniform. There were more lessons. One night during basic training he reported back late with other young men after a night out. Half an hour seemed of little importance to them but the army thought otherwise and Bruno and his friends spent ten days locked up. Bruno laughed as he told me, not to dismiss the episode, but at the thought of himself as a young man. "You learn that there is something stronger than you, that there are rules that have to be obeyed."

His approach to the moguls is faster this time and I try to imitate his long easy turn. I fight to stay upright and judder to a halt. Bruno smiles. "You know what you do wrong." I nod. No contra-rotation and I'm back in the loose - the scrum somewhere on a rugby field, not in the snow. I'm fighting to stay upright, but there's no ball to hang onto and my poles were nowhere near the right place. "You have to dance. Watch me." Back down the red and it's easier. I can sense some rhythm now.

Back at the top. "I would like to invite you for a drink." We make our way into the old wooden building. The midday punters have yet to arrive and the staff are having a break. I realise that they are wearing shirts embroidered with Bruno's name.

"Grussi Bruno." Smiles are exchanged - they seem genuinely happy to see the boss. Over coffee we watch a giant slalom on the television - already it makes more sense. A friend of his joins us and there is a brief conversation in Swiss German. I am introduced and the friend climbs onto the rough wooden wall of the restaurant to demonstrate his version of gravity, for rock climbers. It's all physics apparently.

Later, outside, there are a few moments of revision. "I know you have a lot in your head."

Advance the top ski, move your hips and knees towards the mountain, plant your poles and take the weight off the inner ski, throw your chest out to show that you control your skis, rise and fall as you turn - if you stay down you will simply exercise your leg muscles and lose your reserve control - keep your shoulders back, face down the slope, hands in front of your bindings, feel each piece of snow through your feet and your knees and look further ahead.

Bruno grins, an infectious grin. He's enjoying himself. "I can't make you into a champion in two hours, but now you know what to do when you practise on your own." He's still smiling, even after two hours of baby-minding.

I pause for a moment's thought and realise that my enjoyment of the sport so far has involved skiing at the limit of my control. What Bruno has made me realise is that there is much I can still do with my skiing, an enjoyable way to make further progress.

Down at the bottom we shake hands and walk back to our work. There are English essays to correct and it will soon be lunchtime in the Hotel Bahnhoff. I make it clear that I have had an unbelievable morning and thank him for tolerating an old codger. Bruno smiles reassuringly; I have not been wasting his time.

"You see, I don't want to ski with restaurant guides." He explains. "People who make their way from one bar to the next. I'm happy with people who really enjoy skiing." Twenty years on, Bruno still means business on the slopes and I have had some incredible instruction.

Next morning my time down the black is reduced from four minutes to three.

May 2004

Return to top of page

Trusting and Touching

Published by The Times Educational Supplement

In The Times, on Monday July 24th, it was reported that the legislation outlawing corporal punishment in independent schools may be flawed. It is sadly ironic that the report comes while a primary school head awaits sentence having been found guilty of slapping the face of a boy who had flown into a rage and had attempted to push and punch her. The boy had been told that as a punishment for previous bad behaviour he would lose an opportunity to go swimming. His mother has acknowledged that he is a difficult child to control.

Marjorie Evan's conviction for assault was possible because legislation enacted in 1986 effectively removed legal protection for teachers who had previously been deemed to be acting on the part of parents in such situations. Whether parents acknowledge it or not, when they send their children to a school they entrust their children to the head of the school and the staff. It is has to be taken as self-evident that teachers and other staff at the school will act in the best interests of the children in their care. This care will go beyond that of a concerned parent into academic and other areas covered by professional training and experience - this is what parents obtain from schools. This is the point of schools, to extend the powers and abilities of parents in respect of their primary responsibility for the children whom they have brought into world.

As long as we continue to want our cake and eat it, as long as schools are required to accommodate children whose parents have failed to teach the basics of civil behaviour, of co-operation, self-restraint and consideration for others, such cases will arise. As long as teachers feel an obligation to parents who have prepared their children for school and are expected to deal simultaneously with truculent, unruly and threatening behaviour, they will feel very uncertain about their ability to do their job without some considerable risk to themselves and to the children entrusted to them.

Now consider these matters from a child's point of view. Imagine being in the company all day of some one like Frederick . He was described on page 32 of last week's TES, in a teacher's diary. He has committed fourteen serious assaults on his fellow pupils this term. When such children may not be touched or excluded, or at least are seen by their fellow pupils to be unchecked for behaving in ways which would horrify their own parents, underachievement, despair and worse inevitably follow. When those adults to whom pupils are entrusted are seen, not just as unable to protect them, but are themselves criminalised for protecting the good order on which children's safety and education depend, we should weep for shame for we are destroying the basis of trust between the generations upon which so much depends.

August 4th 2000

Return to top of page

Author and Journalist

dunno - His First Novel

Buy dunno Online

Journalism

Teachers have to learn that the interests of pupils must come first

Political correctness as a barrier to helping teenagers

Presentation, not content, is now the key to exams

Politician speaking sense on schools

Lowering the school leaving age

Lucky Break For the Boarder

This is not the way to help state schools

Selective Education and Parents

Stop interfering and set our schools free

Spying in the Classroom?

Work Ethics

New Public Schools

Pedestrians and Pedal-power

Another grotty day in Paradise

Trusting and Touching