I get that feeling a lot at the moment. It comes on me in a rush, like an instant cold sweat, every time I read about proposed changes to the education system in this country.

This morning, I read the latest idea touted by Ofsted, to test two year olds in numeracy and literacy, to make them “better prepared for primary school” and I had to pinch myself.

I thought I was dreaming and had somehow transported myself back to Victorian Britain, where children sat in cold classrooms, chalking letters on a piece of slate. Where a stern teacher paced up and down, rapping children on the knuckles if they weren’t concentrating.

My daughter is three and three quarters. She currently goes to a pre-school – a lovely pre-school – where she plays with other children, paints, does gardening club, Forest School, reads stories and takes part in plays. She also has a weekly French lesson (mainly involving singing) and a daily circle time activity, where they look at numbers and phonics in a group setting. It couldn’t be further from the Victorian model of tiny children sitting in rows.

And here’s the thing – most of her day at pre-school is about playing. Even when she’s doing teacher-led activities she’s playing. They’re singing or talking about ideas, or reading stories. She’s having fun. Because, at the tender age of three – or any age come to think of it – education SHOULD be fun. It shouldn’t be about forcing a tiny child to hold a pencil and write out letters they don’t understand. To me, that seems like the perfect way to encourage a future hatred of education.

Most of the education policies I hear about at the moment appear to hark back to a (mythical) “golden age” of learning. An age where children were regularly tested, where Maths and English were considered the only subjects worth knowing, where subjects like Art, Dance and Drama were looked upon with scorn (they’re not “proper subjects” are they?!). Where children learned by rote and were force-fed numbers and letters.

I imagine these children as the geese in a traditional Fois Gras factory. They’re encouraged to open their mouths wide while lessons are poured down their necks. They leave school at the end of the day, uncomfortably gorged and exhausted, with not much understanding of what they’ve actually learned. Enjoyment of lessons is neither here nor there. In this “golden age”, education is about preparing children to be future workers, not about stimulating a love of learning.

Funny really. My own experience of education couldn’t have been more different to this “golden age”, and I’ve turned out OK. By Gove standards, you might even say I’ve turned out a “success” – if you measure success in terms of earning money, having a mortgage, being married and not claiming benefits, that is.

Of course you could argue that this is because I had two parents who loved me and showed an active interest in my education – they were teachers after all. But I’m sure that my experience at nursery, primary and secondary school also played a big part in who I am and what I’m doing today.

I had engaged, motivated, inspirational teachers at both primary and secondary school. My love of Art, Drama, English and Music was actively encouraged. I wasn’t made to feel like a failure because I hated Maths. I had lots of time to play with other kids and, as a teenager, to do extra-curricular activities like learning musical instruments and doing dance clubs. I also had time to just hang out with my mates.

I always studied the subjects I loved and never felt under pressure to perform for anyone other than myself. I learned and studied because I WANTED to learn and study. I stayed away from Maths and Science because I preferred other subjects, and that was fine.

I’m scared for my daughter’s education.

If all these proposals and plans and ideas get put into action, then I fear her experience of school will be very different to mine.

She’ll face regular tests, from the age of 5. If she shows aptitude for creative subjects but doesn’t enjoy the likes of Maths and Science, then I’m worried she’ll be branded a failure. What she likes and dislikes will be of no regard, because she’ll just be another number on a sheet or a league table, a future worker whose main purpose in life is to earn lots of money and “contribute effectively” to society. She’ll be trained in long working hours, having had years of experience of a 9am – 6pm school day.

The baby currently growing in my belly will start a school education at two years old. He or she will be tested at the age of two, to measure his or her progress in literacy and numeracy. Then he or she will go on to experience a similar education to his or her big sister. Long days. A focus on “core” subjects. All with an underlying aim to mould him or her into a good worker, someone who can earn lots of money and “contribute effectively” to society. (Because everyone knows people who don’t earn lots of money don’t contribute effectively to society, obviously.)

I see these plans being put into place and think, “What a load of chumps”. I wonder if the people in charge are speaking to teachers, the real experts in education. I wonder if they’re not just putting forward grand ideas to make a political statement, to win votes from people who blame teachers and education for every problem this country has ever had.

I wonder, and I pinch myself again. Surely this isn’t happening? It must be a dream. No one could be that stupid… surely?

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PS. If you’re interested in the whole issue of education and education policy then this post at Parentshaped and this post at Lulastic may be of interest.

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In just over seven months my daughter will begin her school career. I already have qualms about my only-just-four year old starting full time education at such a tender age, but that’s for another post. I also have fears about the increasing use of data and statistics to measure children’s attainment, with much emphasis being placed on league tables and numbers that don’t show the whole picture. But I digress. What I’m really worried about, beyond any of that stuff, is the fact my daughter may end up in an education system on the cusp of being perfectly ruined. 

I have read numerous articles today about a former Conservative advisor who thinks he has the ideal Election promise for 2015. In his blog post on the subject Paul Kirby boasts that his idea is a guaranteed vote winner. Apparently, it is so dripping with brilliance that the Party to take it on will also win the General Election in 2020.

His idea? “From September 2016, all state funded schools will, by law, provide 45 hours of education per week for 45 weeks of the year”.

That’s right. Kirby wants kids to be in school from 9am to 6pm – or 8.30am until 5.30pm – for 45 weeks of the year. He wants longer days and shorter holidays. His argument is a long one, but the main thrust of it (the one he uses to open with, anyway) hinges on the economy. In short, longer school days will equal cheaper childcare meaning more parents will work full time. Kirby says this plan will, “Capture the imagination of women voters, especially those aged 30-45″.

Well, hang on a minute Paul. With that one sentence you’ve captured something, but it’s not my imagination.

The thought of my daughter sitting in lessons between 9am and 6pm, for five days a week terrifies me. I can already see it: the rushed tea in the evening, no time to see her parents before bed, later bedtime, exhaustion the following day… and that’s just the week. Imagine the weekends. Saturdays would be a write-off, as she’d be tired, still catching up from the week before. And Sundays would, inevitably, turn to preparing for another long week ahead. She’d have to power on through for far longer, because there wouldn’t be the regular holidays. So life would, basically, consist of school, school and more school.

Where’s the time to play, Paul?

Yes I know this grand plan allows for “creating a lot of space in the day for play, creativity, relaxation, exploration and exercise”. Supposedly. But all of that would have to take place at school, wouldn’t it? Where’s the time for play at home? Trips to the park with friends? Sunny afternoons in the garden after school? Of course these activities may not contribute to my daughter’s academic learning and they may not give her that extra grade which would lead to another point on a league table, but they’d make her happy. Content. Free to grow and, well, be a child and enjoy her childhood. Playing – outside of the confines of school – it’s what kids are naturally good at, you know?

I know it’s tricky for parents to juggle school hours with work. I have many friends who have children at school and already do battle with organising holiday childcare and pre and post-school pick-up. But school is not about offering free childcare. Schools aren’t there to make it easier for companies to demand their workers put in the hours. As convenient as longer compulsory school hours may be to the heads of these companies, if we really want to address the issue of getting more women into work, why don’t we look at creating more options for flexible working?

Then there’s the issue of the teachers. I want my child to be taught by enthusiastic, valued professionals who feel appreciated in their job and motivated to inspire their students. It’s no secret that a happy workforce does a better job. I can’t help but think that sentences like “[this plan] gives teachers the same sort of working week and annual holidays as other hard working professionals” suggests something I’ve been suspicious of for a while: that many politicians and political advisers a) don’t appreciate what a tough job teaching actually is, and b) think all teachers are lazy. Way to motivate your work-force and make them feel all warm and valued.

I happen to be married to a teacher. I was raised by teachers. I know how hard they work. My husband, like my parents before him, leaves the house at 7am Monday to Friday. He doesn’t get home until 6pm. When he’s home, he has half an hour for something to eat (he doesn’t have time to eat at school) and then he regularly works anything between four to six hours in the evening. He also works much of Sunday. So it’s not like he’s work shy.

But I said I wasn’t writing this from the point of view of a teacher, so let’s not allow my husband’s job to bias me against this brilliant Paul Kirby plan.

Instead, I’m going to imagine my daughter is taught by an equally hard working teacher. My daughter’s teacher is keen for her students to do well, feels the pressure to push up levels of attainment, wants to stay true to her original reasons for going into the profession in the first place – to inspire children and make a difference to young lives.

But my daughter’s teacher is exhausted. She’s teaching (albeit in a more “relaxed” environment with less “stressful” lessons) all day. She doesn’t get home until gone 7pm and then she has to plan another full day of classes, with the time until her next holiday stretching out before her like an acre of forever.

I can’t help but imagine my daughter’s teacher isn’t going to feel motivated, valued and enthusiastic. I think she’ll feel knackered. That’s not what I want for the person who is going to be with my child for nine hours every day, playing such a huge part in shaping her future.

It’s not what I want for the journey into education that my daughter is about to embark on. I want her to love school as much as I did. I want her to enjoy it without being exhausted. I want her to have time away from school to play and grow and learn skills that can’t be picked up in a classroom or a playing field.

I want my daughter to have time to enjoy her childhood, not be robbed of it, which is what this Grand Plan would inevitably do.

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Her favourite past-time is to sit in her Baby Diva Seat (not the actual name of the toy, although I do think it is a far better name than the real one) and to spin the decks. She also chunters into the microphone and bangs the keyboard. Not far removed from my attempts at musicality actually.

Babies are so lucky.

Because, while Frog pretends to be the next Fatboy Slim or Britney Spears, she is learning.  So, therefore, it is a perfectly valid activity. She’s got it so good.

I keep telling her to make the most of it. By the time she’s 27, any pop star impressions will have to be done under wraps. Unless she’s drunk of course. I don’t suppose she’ll have the excuse that singing into a hairbrush is actually educational.  It hasn’t worked for me at any rate.

So this leads me onto my entry for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers this week. The theme is Education. And I’ve chosen a picture taken less than half an hour ago of Frog spinning the decks.  The big yellow thing is supposed to be a microphone, not a block of cheese.

Frog's mash-up

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Not just any Gypsy, you understand. A Gypsy from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.

What a fascinating programme (on Channel Four, if you missed it). It gives a real insight into how the Traveller community live – and the role of Traveller women. Which seems, to me, to be a much simpler one than “country” women like me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I want to live in a caravan and be taken out of school at thirteen. But the women interviewed on this programme didn’t seem to struggle with any of the issues myself and other mums I know are currently grappling with. They have a clearly defined role. Their job is to stay at home and look after the babies while the men go out to work.

Now, I realise this could get me a lot of stick with Women’s Lib types. And I am all for female independence as much as the next person. Before I had baby Frog I never dreamed I would want to give up full time work in a fast-paced exciting job. But now I’m considering doing just that. And it’s making me feel really torn. Am I a second-class citizen if I choose to spend more time at home with my baby? Am I just being a wet new mum? Isn’t it a waste of those two expensive degrees (get me!)?

Traveller women don’t have any of these concerns. Going back to work isn’t an option, because they never left for work in the first place.

But then we meet Bridget. She is in a huge minority in that she left a violent husband to bring her children up solo. And we discover this just isn’t an option for many other women in the travelling community. They can’t leave abusive relationships because if they do, they can’t provide for their children. Many of them can’t even read and write.

And we also meet Lizzie and her twelve year old sister Margaret. Lizzie hasn’t gone to school since she was eleven. Now she’s getting married and it’s Margaret’s turn to stay at home.

And it all seems so incredibly sad. These girls have never been given the option to go out to work. They weren’t even allowed to stay on at school.

So I suppose I don’t really want to be a Gypsy after all. But having lots of money and the option to go part-time would be rather nice.

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