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- Herausgeber: Crown House Publishing
- Kategorie: Bildung
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
In A School Built on Ethos: Ideas, assemblies and hard-won wisdom, James Handscombe explores how schooling is more than gaining qualifications, how learning is more than exams, and how academic success comes more readily to those who have grasped this idea. Harris Westminster Sixth Form has had enormous success in providing an academic education for students of all socio-economic backgrounds. This success is grounded in the development of a scholarly ethos that guides students and staff into successful habits - driven by a clear vision for the community and communicated through everything that the school says and does. In this book, founding principal James Handscombe takes readers through the school's development and illustrates its journey by sharing a selection of the assemblies that have underpinned and elucidated its ethos. In doing so he offers guidance on how such a staple of school life can be used to shape a community, and shares transferable lessons on how assemblies can be planned and delivered effectively. Furthermore, James discusses the challenges the school faced during its creation and offers an improved understanding of how academic and scholarly learning can be delivered and developed in a school - whether it be newly formed or already established. He also asks the fundamental question of how schools can encourage and enable disadvantaged young people to aspire to and engage in academic enquiry. Suitable for both established and aspiring school leaders, especially those who are thinking about the kind of school they would like to run and how they can shape it.
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Praise for A School Built on Ethos
This inspirational book is much more than a report of building ethos in a publicly funded selective sixth-form school. Don’t dismiss it as a quirk that creates a newly privileged class. Instead it is a model of how school leadership enriched by a deeply human hinterland can transform students, teachers and a community. Poetry, art, music, people, hope, trust: all play a part in founding a fresh culture that turns lives and expectations around. Visionary education can make social change possible – here’s one way.
Anne Watson, Professor Emeritus, Department of Education, University of Oxford
A School Built on Ethos cleverly combines poetry, philosophy and knowledge into a comedic jaunt through the author’s mind as he delivers a wondrous series of captivating assemblies to his student body. The reader cannot help but be swept along with the flow as they meander through each chapter, which conclude with real words of hard-won wisdom. These narrate an insight into how James Handscombe has established success in his school and instilled lifelong values into his students, and these same values will provide acuity for any school leader.
Clive Hill, Lead Practitioner for Science, Archway Learning Trust, and a member of the Chartered College of Teaching Council
Handscombe is the Montaigne of education writers. His book is a beautifully written smorgasbord; a feast of thought spread out before you. Or maybe it would be better thought of as a carefully curated exhibition, the exhibits chosen for the light they shed on each other and, obliquely, on the process of leading a school. Handscombe never tells you what to do. Instead, he provides fleeting glimpses by means of an extraordinary range of assembly topics in which the breadth of his interests and erudition sparkle and glister as he cajoles, exhorts and guides the students who have been privileged – whether they knew it or not – to be present at these addresses in which the very human core of a school is refracted.
David Didau, Senior Lead Practitioner for English, Ormiston Academies Trust, and author of Making Kids ClevererB
This is a book about how an incredibly successful school built its ethos – but it’s not just about this school, as the principles elucidated here can be applied to any school. Through a series of assemblies and commentaries by the founding principal of Harris Westminster Sixth Form, the book outlines the key principles involved in creating excellence through building ethos in a school. These principles – Harris Westminster’s driving ideas of ambition, perseverance and legacy – can be adapted for any context.
A School Built on Ethos is by turns entertaining, thoughtful, stretching and deeply interesting. James Handscombe demonstrates very clearly that while every school leaves a legacy of some kind, a legacy of excellence can indeed be planned for and created with ambition and perseverance.
Sir Dan Moynihan, Chief Executive, Harris Federation
A School Built on Ethos offers a personal take on the world of education via an ingenious idea, whereby head teacher James Handscombe has written each chapter around assemblies delivered at his school over the past few years. That his school is Harris Westminster – a sixth-form school that serves a wide range of students yet is situated right in the centre of Britain’s power and privilege, pomp and circumstance – gives this book a unique edge, too. Handscombe teaches us all a number of lessons from (sometimes literally) his pulpit, yet manages to make the style more conversational than preachy. This is to his credit.
A book that is a joy to dip in and out of, A School Built on Ethos conjures up an array of fascinating situations and characters, but it is the advice drawn from experience that will resonate long after the book has been read that will bring readers to it, safe in the knowledge that they are in the good hands of a thoughtful and empathetic head teacher.
Martin Robinson, education consultant and author of Trivium 21c and Curriculum
An honest, touching and inspirational tale with pearls of wisdom and useful practical ideas.
Katharine Birbalsingh, Head Teacher, Michaela Community School C
Many books about education are purely utilitarian; you open them up in the hope of learning how to do something better. Whilst A School Built on Ethos offers plenty in this regard, it does much more besides too. Furthermore, there are sadly too few education books that work as a piece of literature; however, this book shares a narrative to savour and get lost within as James Handscombe takes you on a fascinating journey of how a school comes into being, in both a physical sense but also as something that transcends its bricks and mortar. It is also a delightfully funny read as James meanders from one digression to another in weaving his captivating story. The scripts of assemblies that pepper the book are particular high points and I turned the page on each one feeling enriched. They also beautifully illustrate the points made in each section of the book and enable you to see the author who walks his talk on a daily basis.
I adore A School Built on Ethos for many reasons. It is wonderful to read about school leadership from someone who clearly loves their job, their school and their students. And as well as giving many practical points on school leadership, James also sets out a clear case that a school is more than a building, a timetable and a budget; it is a community and one that needs an ethos to bring people together and give them a common purpose.
I cannot recommend this book highly enough.
Mark Enser, Head of Geography and Research Lead, Heathfield Community College, and author of Teach Like Nobody’s Watching and Powerful Geography
Harris Westminster is a gem and it has been a privilege to work with and get to know many of their students. James’ book provides a peek behind the door of why this school and the students themselves are such a success. James is an inspiring, passionate and dedicated school leader and educator, and in this book his passion and enthusiasm is infectious and jumps right off the page.
A School Built on Ethos offers an insight into the framework that differentiates this school and enables it to achieve all it does.
Janine Glasenberg, Head of EMEA Graduate Recruiting, Goldman Sachs D
This book charts brilliantly the establishment of a school’s ethos through the use of assemblies, as James Handscombe shares assembly content, purpose and reflections with the reader as thoughtful learning orientations. Harris Westminster’s assemblies provide collective space for the orator to draw upon their intellectual interests to inspire, provoke, encourage and pique the curiosities of the audience that are situated at the threshold of adulthood. This collection of assemblies are bold, at times brave, and are grounded in a collective humanity which seeks to encourage and unite in a common scholarly purpose – that of human flourishing. If Ofsted’s notion of ‘cultural capital’ is to equip children and young people with ‘the essential knowledge that pupils need to be educated citizens, introducing them to the best that has been thought and said and helping to engender an appreciation of human creativity and achievement’ then I am certain this assemblage of content achieves this benchmark. I think the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, often associated with the concept of ‘cultural capital’, would approve too. Having said that, this is not a book whose purpose is to satisfy Ofsted nor, as James opines, one that offers some sort of educational elixir for those that seek to transpose its content word for word in the hope they too can replicate the outcomes of Westminster Harris. If anything, this book gives permission for educators to share not only their knowledge and love of learning but to connect enquiring intellects to the brilliance of humanity. Finally, the ancient Greek philosopher Plato held the view that children should not be exposed to “chance stories” fashioned by “chance teachers”, fearing that such offerings would leave a questionable and indelible imprint on a young mind. However, Harris Westminster’s success is because they did, and do, take a chance. For this is their ethos. And it is one we can all learn from.
Claire Birkenshaw, Lecturer in Childhood and Education, Leeds Beckett University, and former head teacher
E
A School Built on Ethos
Ideas, assemblies and hard-won wisdom
James Handscombe
G
For my Grandparents. H
Contents
Preface
Oswald Bastable says that he never reads prefaces and that there is not much point in writing things just for people to skip.1 But there are some things that, whilst not crucial to the story, may be useful to know before you embark on the book. So, trusting that the sort of people who don’t read prefaces are also the sort of people who are more interested in the action than in the author’s philosophy, I shall attempt to set out here, in this semi-secret chapter, what kind of book this is.
[Pause whilst the author thinks.]
This is more difficult than I had thought, but here goes.
It is a history of a school told through the experiences of its principal using the lens of weekly assemblies to cast light on the ethos and idiom of the community, with the hope that the reader will be encouraged to think about the central role that ethos has in any organisation and, perhaps, absorb some of the author’s ideas on the idioms that work well in an educational setting.
If that sounds rather vague then perhaps you will find this a rather vague book – although I hope not, because I feel quite passionate about the school whose story I am telling, and I absolutely believe that our ethos is both amazing in itself and impressive in how it has carried us from small beginnings to significant success.
What I can’t do is tell you how to set up and run a successful school, because my thesis is that it is in the idiosyncrasy that a school triumphs, it is in being unusual that a community is created, and it is by thinking strategically about the way in which an organisation differs from the norm that a leader shapes its success. The chapters of this book are therefore to be thought of as stories or parables whose characters are not heroes to be copied, but totems to illustrate an idea and from whose mistakes and triumphs lessons can be learned. I thought about ivtrying to distil each chapter into a few bullet points and give you some ‘brass tacks’ to go away with, but even here I found myself pulling away from being too prescriptive. Trying to make the ideas precise and universal was like pinning mist to the wall, and so the ‘Final Thoughts’ sections are more impressionist – brass tacks painted by Monet (in my next book I will channel Dali and have surreal commentaries to terminate each chapter).
I hope, then, that you find the book interesting and inspiring. I hope that there are places where you think, ‘What a great idea!’ but also that you sometimes think, ‘What on earth is he worrying about here?’ or ‘I’d never have fallen into making that mistake.’ I hope that you will find it amusing (and I should warn you that the playful and possibly heavy-handedly literate tone of this preface is one that continues – I enjoy a good literary reference) and thought-provoking. I hope that you will learn something. I hope also that it will make you think about the power of assemblies: that they have a central role in a school, that they are the principal’s set piece – the one moment in the ebb and flow of a school when everything is neatly ordered and everyone is, for a few minutes, listening, and that how they are conducted and what is said sets the tone for everything else.
Oswald says that chapters in which nothing happens are boring, so I should move swiftly on to Chapter 1 in which something does, but before I do, I should make an apology to all those who have worked to make Harris Westminster the place it is but I have failed to give enough credit in this book (particularly those from the Harris Federation and Westminster School who were involved before me and handed over a project that had received a great deal of thought and work and whose marks are etched deeply into the school psyche). Thank you.
1 E. Nesbit, The Story of the Treasure Seekers (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1899), ch. 2. Available at: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/770.
Acknowledgements
Particular thanks go to the leadership team who have supported, developed and enriched the Harris Westminster ethos. From an authorial perspective, I am particularly grateful to those whose assemblies decorate this tome: Fiona, Al, Claire and especially Nic; but in truth the school owes just as much to the ideas, integrity and wisdom of Paul, Tristan, Mark and Kiylee. Assemblies are not just those published here and leadership is far more than assemblies.
In putting this book together I have reflected on how much the development of an ethos is a two-way process; that we put ideas out to the school in what we say, what we do and how we do it, but for it to be absorbed and embedded there needs to be a sympathetic reciprocation from the school community. So thank you to those students and staff who, credited or not, have responded to the assemblies and our other decisions and innovations, who have criticised or applauded or, best of all, who have asked questions and sought clarification and understanding.
As I mentioned in the preface I, and the school, owe a huge debt of gratitude to the Harris Federation and Westminster School for their support. Far too many people have been involved for me to name them all, but special mention should go to Stephen, Gary and particularly Patrick, the headmasters who have supported the project; to Dan for giving me the job; to Carolyn who has repeatedly helped me to believe it was possible when all evidence was against; and to Rodney whose patient liaison work between the two schools was completely vital.
Thank you also to Westminster Abbey, who provided the locations for our assemblies (without which this book would have been much shorter), and to John who provided cups of Earl Grey tea and a sympathetic ear when I needed it.
Thanks go to my wife, Louisa, who has put up with first the school and more recently this book taking up a large proportion of my time, energy and emotional equilibrium. Supportive when I have doubted my direction and challenging when I have got too full of myself, I am vi(as is routinely pointed out by my loving family) lucky to be married to her.
My daughters, Frankie and Zoë, are inspirations. Frankie has provided me with those elements of popular culture that post-date 1990 and a window onto the home life of a sixth-form student that I would otherwise have been trying to recall from my own dim and distant experience. Zoë has refreshed my zest for life with her enthusiasm for all things, her fearless approach to challenges and her surprising (and not justified by the evidence) confidence that whatever the problem, I will be able to fix it just right.
Thank you to my parents, Rob and Meg, for encouraging my approach to assemblies, for reading through and enjoying the jokes – even the ones that the students missed first time round. Thank you for teaching me the lesson that if you practise something enough you get better at it.
Thank you to all those who read through the text in its formative stages and to those who gave advice on how to write it or get it published. Mark, Paul, Anne, Martin, Michelle – your advice has been invaluable.
Rabindranath Tagore says ‘depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance’.1 Thank you to Yaz, Oran, Sean, Fargrim, Corinthia and D.M. for demonstrating this to me through 2020.
Finally, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Crown House for agreeing to publish this manuscript and to the team for turning it from a messy Word file into a veritable book. They have all been magnificent, particularly Emma Tuck, whose editing has been faithful, kind and good-natured.
1 R. Tagore, My Reminiscences (Zhingoora Books, 2012), p. 230.
Chapter 1
Beginning
One of the things that people want to know when they hear about Harris Westminster is how it got started – how do you go from a world in which there is no such thing to one in which 600 students are tucked away behind a bland Westminster façade every day? The idea sprang from an alignment of the interests of the Harris Federation and Westminster School, but the first steps out of discussion and into reality (or, at the very least, into a reality that included me) were taken when a principal was advertised for in the summer of 2013. The process of recruitment was what I would later recognise as very Harris Westminster – one day of pedagogy, processes and ruthless questioning in Crystal Palace followed by a grand interview in a fourteenth century chamber once used by royals to die in (Henry IV) or to become king (Henry V, not coincidentally). That evening was (coincidentally) the Speech Day at my school and so, having been offered the job and finding myself needing to invent an answer to that question of beginning, I sat on the stage in front of a large crowd of parents and students half listening to the guest speaker and half wondering how one could go about creating from scratch the school spirit that had built up over fifty years and now permeated the community that surrounded me.
As I sat there, I found myself reaching for words – words that would encapsulate and communicate, words on which I could build, words that would create direction and allow others (hopefully, eventually) to travel with me, words that could lie at the heart of a school ethos, words that would last. Inspired by the speaker, by the prize-winning students (whose names it was my job to read out) and by a very real sense of the enormity of the task, I settled on three words: ambition, perseverance and legacy. This tricolon summed up how I felt that evening and also (starting a tradition of investing words with multiple meanings) encapsulated the qualities I thought would be most valuable in potential students. For me sitting there that evening, ambition was an excuse to dream big, to think about creating the best school in 2the country, to stoke the fires of self-confidence that had nudged me towards applying for the role in the first place. Legacy was the sense both that I should build for the future, create structures and traditions that could long outlive me, and that the success of the school would be seen in the mark its students made on the world and not just in their grades. And perseverance was the understanding that I had made some big promises and that keeping them would involve keeping on – I couldn’t expect every day to be a celebration of brilliance such as the one I was part of that evening. And then I wanted students who would dream big, set themselves high targets and then, upon meeting them, set higher ones; I wanted students who would go out into the world and make a difference, make it better for others and not just more comfortable for themselves; and I wanted students who would keep going, who would get over setbacks, who would help with the building of the school (metaphorically rather than physically, I hoped – the interview panel had been rather cagey about the location we would be using).
Two things came out of that evening of reflection. The first is the tricolon that still lies at the heart of the school ethos and is proudly displayed on the wall of the entrance corridor: Ambition, Perseverance, Legacy; the second is the idea that Harris Westminster Sixth Form would be a school in which words had power, resounded, were invested with meaning and shared. This is a book about those words, and particularly about the words that were shared with the whole school in assemblies, standing at the front of St Margaret’s Church or in the pulpit of Westminster Abbey, before hundreds of expectant faces – words that built and shared and communicated an ethos. In a chapter on beginnings, it is appropriate to begin with an assembly on the Harris Westminster approach to beginning. Not the very first Harris Westminster Assembly – I am afraid that has been lost in the sands of time. Two very early assemblies follow later in this chapter, but right now we begin in medias res. One of the things about which I hope to interest my readers is the development of the ethos from those three words to something that has the strength and depth to underpin an entire school. This assembly from three years in is a kind of foreshadowing for that development, a glimpse into the future that I would have loved to have had back in 2013. 3
You must imagine me stepping up to the pulpit of Westminster Abbey as the bongs of Big Ben fail to fade into the background (the bell having been silenced for repair), without notes (as will become apparent) and with a worried look on my face.
Beginning – 19 April 2017
Beginning – 19 April 2017
I have left my notes in my office but it is nine o’clock, too late to go back. I will just begin. The beginning of summer, the beginning of a new term and a wonderful time to speak about beginnings, so I will speak to you about beginnings – or I would, but I don’t know where to begin. The sages say to start at the very beginning – it is, apparently, a very good place to start. They go on to explain that when you read you begin with ABC, but they do not, unfortunately, specify how you begin when you deliver an assembly, and so I find myself in the right place, at the right time, needing to start but not knowing where or how.
Maybe I should begin by telling you of the time I explained mechanics and purpose to the principal of Harris Battersea. He listened attentively and then said, ‘Yes – excellent. Of course, purpose is just another kind of mechanics.’ That is an interesting comment and one that is worth developing, but I know how I plan to end this assembly and I am not sure how to get there from that beginning.
I plan to end by quoting four lines from the poem on the whiteboard in my office and so maybe I should begin with some poetry. Maybe I should update you on my progress towards memorising six poems this year, but I have received criticism from one of your number that my assemblies tend to emphasise literature at the expense of maths and science; of course, I have also received criticism that my Twitter feed fetishises mathematics, so perhaps I can’t win. I value all of these areas of learning, but an assembly is fundamentally a wordy creation and it is, therefore, understandable, I hope, that I reach for the geniuses of language in order to felicitate my delivery.
Perhaps, however, and in light of the two poetry-heavy assemblies I have given recently, I should spare you too much this morning and instead begin with the information that on 13 March 1781, William Herschel discovered the planet Uranus – the first planet to be discovered by telescope. But Herschel is buried in Slough of all places and maybe I should reach for one of those memorialised 4in this building – Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel, for example. I suspect I could develop an excellent naval analogy, but too many of you will not have admired his tomb and it is hidden on the south aisle.
So, maybe I should begin with you. I could start by congratulating you on your house drama, by expressing my delight at being able to be part of that celebration of your thespian talents and by linking that celebration to this term and explaining that the exams are to your studies as the opening night is to weeks of rehearsals, and that therefore, if you have studied correctly, exams, as much as the end of exams, are a celebration. That would make this week’s Year 13 mocks a dress rehearsal and I don’t want to give the impression that I think of exams as a bit of fun. I know exams are not fun – they are deadly serious – but that doesn’t stop them from being a celebration of how clever you are.
I don’t know how to begin and now I have wittered away 500 words, so maybe I should take a deep breath, clear my decks and get started.
I love the idea of clearing my decks – a nautical term for the beginning of a combat that resonates pleasingly with the scholarly act of clearing my desk – and so, with a clear desk and cleared decks, I shall leap into a preprepared paragraph on the discovery of Neptune: something I know well and feel confident about and which will illuminate my main point once I get to it. After the discovery of Uranus, the new planet was watched carefully by astronomers who discovered that it wobbled in its orbit from what would be expected based on the laws of gravity. From this, two astronomers – John Couch Adams and Urbain Le Verrier – deduced that there must be another planet out there and were able to use mathematics to calculate its location. Simultaneously, or almost so, they pointed at an area of sky and said, ‘Look there.’ Unfortunately, there the similarities end because as students differ so do scientists, and John Couch Adams was careless in his mechanics, sloppy in his workings and messy in his laying out, whilst Urbain Le Verrier was slightly slower but careful and accurate. Adams pointed first but Le Verrier pointed to where Neptune actually was. The British establishment claimed for many years therefore that they should share the glory, but unfortunately this is not how an exam board would see it and nor, now, does the international community. The glory belongs to Le Verrier alone. They both had excellent purpose in understanding that there was a planet out there, but Le Verrier’s mechanics were better. 5
Le Verrier was excited by this and went on to calculate that Mercury’s orbit was also wobbly. He therefore predicted another planet, Vulcan, between the sun and Mercury. Sadly, no matter how carefully they looked (and after his success with Neptune they looked very carefully), nobody could find a planet where he was pointing. This was due to the disappointing fact that there was no planet there. Le Verrier’s mechanics were fine again – the orbit was wobbly – but his purpose let him down because he didn’t know about general relativity (living, as he did, considerably before Einstein). General relativity explains many things, one of which is the wobbliness of Mercury’s orbit.
And so we hook into the question of whether purpose and mechanics are the same thing: can you learn to do all of your studies by rote? Could a computer be programmed to pass A levels? Well, I suspect it could: I suspect that at a basic C-grade level the questions are routine, the explanations required are straightforward and most of the essays needed could be memorised, but I think that to get full marks, to get an A*, you need to properly understand, you need to be able to think around the question, you need to be able to bring something interesting and original to the analysis. There is no excuse, however, for missing out on those C-grade marks in the manner of John Couch Adams: if the examiners are willing to give you marks for memorising quotes or formulae or dates or essay structures or graphs or techniques, then you should just memorise them. If I can memorise the poems that go on my wall, then you can memorise the things you need to know for your exams. And so we return to the poem currently on my whiteboard.
It is called ‘Invictus’ and was written by William Ernest Henley. The last stanza goes like this:
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
Right now you are masters of your fate as well as captains of your souls, but time is sweeping you on and exams are a celebration of how clever you are, whether you like it or not. Every mark you gain is a testament to the hours of work you have put in, and every one you should have gained but don’t is a sad reflection on your study habits: first nights tend to show up those who haven’t learned their lines. And so we get back to the question of how should one 6begin on a task that seems unmanageably large, where the stakes are scarily high and where there is no obvious starting point. I have a neatly enumerated list of tips on how to begin, garnered from my experience, in this assembly on beginnings. Listen up – you all have exams this term.
■ Clear your decks and your desk. You can’t work in the middle of a mess and you can’t begin with something hanging over you. Do the jobs you have been putting off – throw out the rubbish that you neither know to be useful nor believe to be beautiful – and that is a quote from the third William of the day – William Morris.1
■ Get rid of distractions. Cancel social engagements, put the Xbox in the attic, change your Snapchat password and forget the new one, tell your friends you will see them in a couple of months. You are the captain of your soul, and the admiral will remind you that a distracted captain crashes the ship.
■ Balance mechanics and purpose but know that the quick wins are all mechanics – memorise important things, make as much as you can into a routine you can follow, learn the patterns. This is why, by the way, Year 12s need to be digging as deeply into the purpose of their subjects as they can now: by this time next year it will be too late to get your head round the really hard ideas. Treating purpose like mechanics will get you a C but no further.
■ Learn drop-ins. Like the piece on the discovery of Neptune, you can memorise a paragraph or a proof that you can then drop into an answer and gain some marks for a perfectly constructed section because you haven’t had to work it out on the day. In fact, you will have guessed that this whole assembly was constructed off site and dropped into place this morning.
■ And, finally, just begin. It is easy to put off getting started, to dither, to vacillate, to squander time and to end up being a hostage to fortune, but your ambition is wedged into one of the stones of the abbey. You 7know where you want to end up and you can get there if you start from here – you are the master of your fate.
By 2017, the ethos was up and running, the students had joined the school and so it was possible to have an assembly that played a little with the format (I usually read from a prepared script but, sometimes, as on this occasion, I indulge the urge to show off and commit it to memory). It was also possible to play with the jargon of the school: mechanics, purpose and celebration are all words that we have adopted and developed. At its heart, though, this assembly is a development of the thread that started at the Speech Day in 2013: words being used to educate, amuse and intrigue; words being used to model, support learning and enable the students to get better, to develop the skills that would bring them closer to their ambition.
Back to the beginning, though, and what happened next: what do you do when the euphoria of being appointed to your dream job dies down and you find yourself with a three-word ethos and little else to build a school upon? Obviously, my 2017 self would have cleared my desk, but in 2013 I hadn’t yet come across this excellent piece of advice, and, anyway, I was still employed in my previous school until 1 January 2014 and in the meantime there were plans to be made and students to recruit on top of my existing job.
I spent the summer pondering the kind of school I wanted to create – a place of learning, a sanctuary from ignorance but also a place that would send its graduates out ready to face and change the world. The idea of changing the world, of developing a generation of young people whose diversity, intelligence and passion would create a shift in the social structures of the nation (which, to this day, sounds overblown as an ambition), was in my thinking throughout those months, and it nearly became the tagline: ‘Ambition, perseverance, legacy: changing the world’.
A little reflection showed that this sounded more like voluntary service and less like the academic sixth form I was hoping to create. Our actual unofficial motto came about through an interview I gave for the 8Evening Standard in the autumn.2 This was the first time I had spoken to a newspaper journalist since, I think, I was 16 and in the local press for having a notable collection of GCSEs. Once again, the Harris and Westminster teams had come together to create the opportunity: the Harris communication experts from the mysteriously named 8hwe had set up the interview and it took place in the headmaster’s study at Westminster School. By this point I had gone past the point of no return; there was no mileage in being daunted – the entire experience was beyond anything I had done before. My comfort zone was a dot on the distant horizon, and so I smiled broadly and talked enthusiastically about the wonderful institution we were building.
That interview helped me to understand the ‘we’ in that last phrase: this wasn’t just my school, my idea, my impossible commitment, my inevitable crashing downfall when the impossibility was realised; it was a team with contributions and commitments from the Harris Federation and Westminster School (neither of which are in the business of inevitable crashing downfalls). I also saw that I was bringing something to that partnership, that my experience of being an academic high-flyer in a state school, of being a comprehensive kid at Oxford, of being an Oxford graduate teaching in state schools would be important if we were to pull this off.
