The Eleven plus

I watched a programme on the TV about parents of primary school children reactions to their little ones being offered the chance to go through the eleven plus exam. Their reward would be the ability for their child to attend Grammar school.

Well ! the knots some of them got themselves into. There was one woman, working at minimum wage, who spent 300 pounds a month on extra tutoring for her little girl. This had been going on for over a year, She had 2 other younger children. The little girl cried when she did not get in, saying she was scared about her future school. Another woman, who had a bit more money and four kids refused to 'over tutor' her child, also a girl. But they had a close knit family and the TV showed the family

chatting happily around the kitchen table, the mum with a babe in arms.

The elder daughter was already at the Grammar school. Sensibly the mum took her child to look  around the other schools, in case she didn't get into Grammar school. Their attitude was, if you pass and get in , all well and good, if not, that is OK, here is the other school and here is what it can offer.

It was quite a stark contrast to the picture of the first little girl, sat on her own bent over her books.

The second child got in, just. She also cried when she learned, but I think it was a relief of stress. her mum said, its OK to cry. Quite a few of the extra tutored children did not get into grammar school and ostensibly left the parents with a sour taste in their mouths and a big hole in their pockets.

What was obvious was that the children that did not get in were left feeling rejected, which they were, but that they were not good enough. BUT, each child has a different set of talents.

When I was a child and the grammar school and secondary school system was the norm, we were led to believe if you were ‘clever’ enough you got into grammar school, and academia was what you were headed for. Exams would be the order of the day. In contrast to the secondary modern kids who were able to explore other roads to success, via more practical roads, wherever their talents lie. Exams not all that important. Of course that is all changed now.

I went to grammar school so did my elder sister. I was always considered to be a dunce at home, always playing the fool having a laugh wherever the opportunity arose.

My sister, on the other hand was always considered studious, always reading. It was thanks to her that I became a reader too. All her old books came my way, being a curious child I would read them to find out what was so fascinating to her. I doubt I would have bothered had I been on my own.

So it came as no surprise when she passed to eleven plus with flying colours. My mother boasted to everyone, as all mothers do, and she was immediately taken to have her school uniform bought from the school outfitters. Complete with a briefcase ( de riguer at the time) sent over from Germany from grandmother , photos were taken on the lawn of our council flat of her, with hair her tied back in a tight ponytail, ready to study. Everybody got to see those photos.

When it came to my turn, I first heard of the results coming in at the weekend by my friends knocking on the door exclaiming ‘I got in ! Did you get in?’. Then another of my friends the same. I replied I had not heard. By Monday in school, I still had not heard and when my grandparents asked me expectantly, they seem perplexed.

Eventually my mother took me to one side and said ‘ Look Elaine, you passed the eleven plus but you are not as intelligent as your sister, and so I want you to go to the secondary modern down the road, leave at 15, get a job, and help me put your sister through college. When I protested that I wanted to go she replied she could not afford the uniform and that was that. I was down hearted, most of all because I wanted to attend the same school as my sister, not for the kudos.

I sadly told my friends, that my mother would not let me go to the grammar school with them. They looked confused. They did not know the loathing which my mother held me. They couldn’t understand it, I couldn’t understand it. Their mothers loved them, there was nothing I could do.

Until a loud knocking at our door, announced the arrival of my nan and granddad demanding to know the meaning of it all. I heard raised voices and my mother saying ' I can’t afford the uniform for her!’ Both my grandparents were Welsh and held education in the highest esteem, as do all Welsh people, what is more they loved me and my sister equally and could not understand why my mother was being a heartless bitch. I knew why, it was because she was a heartless bitch , I had lived with it all my life.

Anyway, the upshot was I attended the Grammar school, along with my sister. Every time I put on the school uniform my mother seemed to glare at me. But then I was used to that.

Thank goodness for grandparents , thank goodness for love.

As a final note, the dean of a top school churning out students, whose track record was 90% of university attendance , was asked was happened to the other10 %. His reply ? ‘Oh the 90 % (of university graduates) work for them’……... Food for thought eh?