In the autumn of 2024, my parents gave me these old school reports. Snapshots of my world between 1978 and 1982. They have been sitting in a keepsake box in their attic ever since.
Even looking at them some 42-46 years later, they made me nervous.
I was catapulted back to a time when I would feel my stomach churn at the thought of having to navigate myself through difficult conversations with my mum and dad at the end of each term…
Once I’d got over those feelings, I sat down and read the lot…what struck me most was the personal style of these reports, along with the fact they were all handwritten. Almost all of them are thoughtful, honest and neat! Having spent decades working with computers and keyboards, it had completely slipped my mind that all of these reports were painstakingly penned by the teachers, some in biro, but others in more stylish ink. I should imagine there is a lot of ‘copy and paste’ going on these days, and stricter limits on what can and can’t be said.
Some of the entries were encouraging and subtle in style, like Mr Friend in 1979, who said, “Lawrence is inclined to mischief and would be wise to curb these tendencies…”, whilst other comments were simply brutal, such as Mrs Collison in 1981 who said “I find him immature, overbearing, and arrogant…” OUCH! Mr Stafford even went on to say that year “This is one of the most disappointing fourth year reports I have ever had to read”. Indeed, over the five years there is hardly a teacher who at some point hadn’t flagged their concerns over my attitude, poor attention, awful behaviour, lack of concentration, effort and so on… There is no denying that I must have been an absolute pain in the proverbial to both teachers and class mates alike.
On the one hand there were multiple references to a boy who clowned about, didn’t take things seriously, was easily distracted, talkative, disruptive, and constantly showing poor attitude but, on the other hand, there were descriptions of a kid who was friendly, lively and capable with obvious talent and ambition.
I guess my first year report was pretty much OK but thereafter, they became increasingly disappointing. The gap between my potential and actual performance was getting larger, and there is a sense of urgency as the real-world loomed ever closer. Prospects were very different back then; few of us at Mellow Lane got to experience university, so getting good grades at school and a good job was a must. However, by the fifth year there was a sense of resignation that I was a lost cause!
My parents, who knew all too well what was going on, did their very best to keep me on the straight and narrow, even joining the PTA in order to get closer to what I was up to, and to prevent a total crash and burn. They used both carrot and stick with me and it’s fair to say that I had no shortage of “groundings” at home.
Unlike the relatively cushy life that I was experiencing in our modern council house in leafy Hillingdon, my parents had been brought up in the post war era of London’s East End. They had left a much harsher world behind, and knew exactly what I was throwing away.
They could see what was around the corner for me, even if I couldn’t.
Reading these reports, it appears that I treated school as somewhere between some sort of grandiose social club and an open prison. Unable to settle, disruptive, and often in trouble. I was obviously not happy with the serious “learning” part of school, particularly as I got older. But I loved sport, being particularly good at running. Perhaps I was on some sort of neurodivergent spectrum, who knows, back then we didn’t have labels or diagnosis for the stuff we’re more familiar with nowadays.
I’ve often thought that schools are designed for, or are ideal for, a certain ‘type’ of pupil; those in the middle of a multifaceted, multidimensional set of bell-curves tend to do well. Those on the ends, or with specific needs tend to struggle. I think was near the end – but luckily not at the extreme.
I was never expelled, but came close to it on a number of occasions, I was suspended once I think, and put “on report” numerous times… I’ve lost count of the times I spent stood in a corridor waiting for the bell to ring, trying to avoid eye contact with other teachers walking past.
Looking back, especially after reading these reports, I can now see that the teachers I despised the most at the time were probably the ones who were trying their hardest to help.
As it turns out, and after predictably screwing up sixth form and, arguably, my first career, I did eventually mature, knuckle down and get serious at work. And, apart from a few hiccups, I eventually became moderately successful in my chosen profession. However, things could have been very different had I ventured down another path, especially in those early years of work… I got lucky I guess.
So, I thought I’d share this collection of reports (but not all of their excruciatingly painful content), along with my thoughts and offer an open apology to the teachers and classmates who had to endure my insufferable behaviour back then.
If you’ve got this far, and fall into either of those categories…
“Sorry”