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At the chalkface: Grammar schools

I miss that long gone, silly world. I like its pupils. I can still spot a grammar school boy/girl at a thousand paces – like “Billy Liar”, John Lennon, Maxine Peace, Tony Harrison, Alan Bennett or Jarvis Cocker. They are grim, tough, funny and eminently s

Karl Marx? Dave Spart? Michael Rosen? No. Sir Michael Wilshaw. It’s not often one agrees with the formidable Lord of Ofsted, but he does seem to have a point. The NAHT seem to agree. Last week they called for grammar schools to give priority to the “disadvantaged” in their entrance exams.

I might have been one of those in the 1950s. I somehow passed the dread 11-plus. There were seven per cent of us. Off I went to the fancy Grammar. Off went the rest to the wall – well, to the Secondary Moderns. I was alright, Jack. They were not. I can’t pretend I was FSM or “disadvantaged” or rescued from any coal mines, but I got an education my parents never had and went to university. This could not have happened without the grammar school.

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