“I have written a poem,” he said, “Would you like to read it?”    On a sheet of A4 paper, in large letters carefully written in pencil, was Jack’s poem.

“Taps drip silently

Water goes woosh

Trees in the wind

Go swoosh swoosh swoosh.”

That is how Jack Patrick sees his world.   He’s got a good sense of rhythm and meter.  He’s even made his poem rhyme.   I think it’s rather good.    There is a second stanza, but, rather like a band’s difficult second album, it doesn’t quite live up to the freshness of the first.

Tomorrow, after six months travelling around Australia, Jack will go back to his primary school in Gloucestershire.  He’s excited about going and can’t wait to show his teacher what he has written.  I am sure that she will be as impressed and delighted by his creativity as I was – and will praise him, maybe even sharing his poem with others.

Over the next thirteen years or so, Jack’s classmates will work their way through school.   They will gather the knowledge that it has been decided that they should gather.   They will develop skills.   They will sit tests and exams.   They will end up with qualifications.    And that is all good.   As far as it goes.

But many of Jack’s classmates will, at around the age of twelve, or maybe even before, lose their spontaneity of expression and enthusiasm for learning.    One reason for this will simply be because they will be turning into teenagers and coping with the early pangs of adolescence.  But another will be that they will have learned, somehow, that they are not ‘good’ at learning – or at least ‘good’ at learning the things that the education system tells them are important.

In Britain, as in many countries, the pressure of school league tables and diminishing budgets have meant that the curriculum has narrowed much more than it should.      Drama, sport, art, cooking, needlework, motor mechanics and outdoor pursuits are increasingly being sidelined.

It’s time to recognise, as the independent sector always has, that experiences such as these are also not just important, but essential to a young person’s education.     They are as essential as reading, writing and mathematics.   As important as having a basic understanding of the narrative of our history or a knowledge of world geography.    They help to create what used to be known as an ‘all round education’ .   They provide the counterbalance to what is learned in the prescribed curriculum of the classroom.   These are the experiences in which a young person chooses to get immersed; they form the elements of truly individualised learning.   And they are often the way that a young person finds out what they are really ‘good’ at.   An ‘all round’ education keeps a young person engaged, particularly through adolescence.

Kurt Hahn, the teacher whose thinking informed much of the early development of The Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, recognised this.    ”It is culpable neglect,” he wrote, “not to impel young people into experiences.”     All young people have their own stories, motivations and circumstances and as adults we have to connect with them personally. Psychologist Angela Lee Duckworth talks about the importance of encouraging students’ positive attitudes to life and learning – or ‘grit’, as she calls it.

So far, in his young life, Jack Patrick has been impelled into experiences by his parents and encouraged to reflect on them.    At present, the swooshing of wind in the trees is an experience worth recalling.   As he grows, I know that his mum and dad will help him to gain many more experiences, to take calculated risks and to find his place in society.    But what about his classmates in the Forest of Dean?   Will they be given similar opportunities to discover their passions, develop informed attitudes, heighten their aspirations?

Will they, like the trees in the wind, have the chance to go ‘swoosh, swoosh, swoosh’?

I do hope so.

Wycliffe College is an independent school in Gloucestershire.   I started there as a day-boy and ended up boarding for my sixth-form education.     It was never a very smart school, although, when I was there, I think the  governors had aspirations to make it rather smarter than it was.   They wanted it to compete with Stowe and Radley, but it remained steadfastedly a school for the sons (and in the sixth form only, daughters) of farmers, doctors, solicitors and small business owners of the West Country and South Wales.   I remember it as being absolutely ghastly for the first three years that I was there and then enormously fun for the final two.

Pastoral care was haphazard.   I was bullied (in a fairly mild, but nevertheless hurtful way) as a junior by my peers for a variety of reasons – some of my own making and some for which I take no blame; this behaviour was condoned by senior boys in my house and my housemaster either ignored it or was ignorant of it.   In the sixth form, however, I became more confident and developed a network of good friends.  I was made a prefect and am still proud of the fact that a group of us set out to combat bullying and create an environment for the younger pupils that was safe and as enjoyable as a rather Spartan boarding school can be.   And, like many adolescents, this time was one of exploration as I discovered and become comfortable with my own sexual identity; though I did so without any support, advice or guidance from the adults who were tasked with looking after a large group of hormonal teenagers.

Looking back, I realise that some of the teaching was truly excellent – I owe my good ‘A’ level results and getting into Bristol University to three brilliant teachers, Messrs Eagers, Jones and Poulton.    But some of it, particularly to junior classes, was simply appalling.   My interest in Science, which had led me to getting the school prize in prep school, was completely destroyed by one physics teacher, who terrified me so much on my first day in his class that I never dared raise my hand or risk asking a question when I didn’t understand.   This led to me giving up science as quickly as I could.

It was the extra-curricular opportunities that really helped me move from frightened thirteen-year-old to a more self-assured seventeen.   I hated sport – my lack of any eye-to-hand co-ordination meant that I was completely useless at anything that involved a ball.   But twice a week we had Scouts.  You had to choose between joining the Troop or the Combined Cadet Force and I decided that as the former didn’t include marching and being shouted at, it seemed a better option.   In Scouts I learned to cook, canoe and camp; I started my Duke of Edinburgh’s Award journey; as a Patrol Leader, I began to learn about leadership.   In the Sibly Hall, I discovered drama and took part in every play that was staged.   I became Chairman of the Chapel Guild, to the amusement, I suspect, of my Jewish father.  I joined the debating society, known as LitSoc, and represented the school at regional and national public speaking competitions.     And, allowing my inner geek to make its first real appearance, I became actively involved with Hospital Radio and ended up presenting a weekly show for the patients of Standish hospital for a couple of years.

My memories of the school are therefore mixed – and, I guess, are similar to many of those who were educated in a British minor public school in the late seventies and early eighties.   But I realise that it was at Wycliffe that I developed many of the interests and values that have now come to define me.  In working to do something about the culture of bullying, I found a commitment to social justice.  Through Scouting and the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award I discovered the importance of service to others and a love for adventure.   Through debating. radio and drama I began to hone the skills of performance.    And in the chapel, I began to find my own personal relationship with God.

So, as I drove through the gates of the school, I wondered what I would find.    I’m not sure what I expected.   I visit schools regularly as part of my job, so the now wonderful teaching and sports facilities I encountered were no surprise.   Equally, the fact that the pupils today have considerably better food than I had experienced as a child, eaten in much more conducive surroundings, was only to be expected.   But three things did surprise me.

The first was the Head.   Margie Burnet Ward is the first female headteacher that the school has had in its long history.   She is a witty, intelligent and charismatic person.   As we discussed current education policy and a myriad of other topics, I realised that I was meeting a really impressive business leader.   But it was when we had lunch together with a group of students that I was able to see what makes Margie truly special.   She combines the traditional traits of good headship, such as high aspirations for her pupils and that certain presence that cannot really be described, only experienced, with something very 21st century – a relationship with the children of the school that is genuinely and overtly loving and caring (without being soppy.)    She is openly excited by what excites  the teenagers around her.   She is friendly and approachable, in the way that a good parent is.   She cares – and she shows she cares.    Even in the short time that I visited, I could see that her style of leadership is mirrored by many of her staff, to the benefit of the children, who themselves are unaffectedly warm, open and confident.

The second thing that surprised me was that the school seems to have found itself and is comfortable in its own skin.   It is no longer battling to compete with more fashionable schools.   It has a large international intake as well as its pupils from its traditional catchment area.    Learning to live together in a community that is supportive and cohesive seems to be an important part of the school’s ethos.     Competition between houses (in games, drama or music) appears to be exceptionally fierce, but very, very good-natured and even slightly self-mocking.    Service to others is valued.   And success, in whatever sphere, seems to be celebrated widely.   Of course my spectacles may be rose-tinted, but it really doesn’t seem just to be the talented sportsmen and women who are made to feel important.   There is a real desire to find the potential in each student and to help them make the most of it.

And the final surprise was that everywhere I went, I found tiny unexpected reminders of my own experience at the school.   There was the drain cover that I remember stepping over every day; there was the smell in the chapel of polish and burnt dust; on the second floor of Wards House there was my former study bedroom, identically arranged to the way I had organised it thirty years before, though with a laptop on the desk rather than a transistor radio.   Around each corner of the grounds lay a memory, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes joyous.    And, as I encountered each one, I realised that my visit was laying ghosts to rest.

It is not only the school that seems to have found itself.   So have I.

When he gets home at 4 o’clock each day, Babar Ali rings a bell.  At first they came in a trickle, but now 800 children from poor families line up in the yard behind his house, for lessons from Babar Ali and 10 friends from his school.  After singing the National Anthem, the students settle down to their studies.  There is no charge and no trouble.

Babar Ali is called the youngest headteacher in the world.  He knows that without an education these children stand little chance.   He is an extraordinary volunteer.

But perhaps wisdom really does come from real-world experience and maybe it’s relevant to every generation. So I wondered to myself what I would want to tell my twenty year old self. And here’s what I came up with…

If you want to achieve great things, you have to do great work. If your goal is to just skate by in life, you can probably pull that off without much effort. But if you want to accomplish some great things that give your life meaning, you’ll have to do great work. You only get out of this life what you put into it.

Take big risks. Roll the dice. Jump into the deep end of the pool. (I’d like to say “dive”, but I can’t quite bring myself to go head first.). Throw caution to the wind. Be fearless. Success in your career and wider society are a function of your willingness to face your fears and take chances. That simple but powerful truth is probably the most important piece of advice anyone can give you.

Travel. Always seek to broaden your experience. Perhaps the best stroke of luck I ever had was being invited by the UK Scouts to become their International Commissioner. The opportunities I had to travel and meet people from other cultures with vastly different life experiences completely changed the way I viewed the world.

Life is a marathon, not a sprint. There’s a certain time factor related to all goals, strategies, and achievements. The bigger the objective, the bolder the strategy, the more rewarding the accomplishment, the longer it takes, generally speaking. That runs contrary to our attention deficit culture and our growing addiction to instant gratification. You need to fight that real-time tug to achieve long-term results.

There’s a certain balance to the equation of life. In school, you learn that there’s symmetry in the world. Every force has an equal and opposite reaction. Chemical equations must balance. Supply and demand are intimately related. Life is no different. It’s full of tradeoffs and cause and effect relationships. You’ll never get something for nothing. Everything has a price. First you do the work, then you get rewarded. You give, then you get. Those equations appear throughout your career, your life, the business world, everything.

You probably take yourself too seriously. Children have enormous egos. They think everything revolves around them. That self-centered worldview is essential to survival. But in adulthood, it can be a real problem. Maturity is very much about developing empathy for others, about understanding their needs and wants, what drives and motivates them. I am still trying to grow up.

Try not to make self-limiting assumptions based on limited experience. When you’re young, there’s a temptation to be headstrong, to make sweeping decisions based on limited information. For example, it’s popular these days to romanticise entrepreneurship, but it’s not for everyone. Keep your options open.

Don’t confuse freedom with entitlement. You’re actually entitled to very little in life, but it should be enough. The USA’s founding fathers were brilliant. “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” is phrased that way for a reason. With those basic building blocks, you’re free to pursue what you will. The rest is entirely up to you. Your happiness and success are in your hands–and only your hands.

Real success takes real relationships in the real world. The Internet has definitely levelled the playing field. And social networks enable you to connect with virtually anyone. But if you have real aspirations, you’ll need to develop real relationships with real people in real time.

Have faith that things will work out for you. Steve Jobs said it best. “You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something–your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life. The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.”

Or, to put it another way, “Everything will be OK in the end. If it’s not OK, then it isn’t the end…”

I wouldn’t think of depriving any young person of the chance of learning these lessons in their own good time. If they want to throw caution to the wind as I suggested earlier, they should go ahead and hit “delete.” I suspect that the twenty year old me would not have listened to the forty eight year old me with much interest. The young people I spoke to last week listened very politely, but I suspect they were just humouring me.

But there’s an old expression that I think still applies in our information society: “Forewarned is forearmed.” And, after all, you can never go back.

SOCIALISM
You have 2 cows.
You give one to your neighbour

COMMUNISM
You have 2 cows.
The State takes both and gives you some milk

FASCISM
You have 2 cows.
The State takes both and sells you some milk

NAZISM
You have 2 cows.
The State takes both and shoots you

BUREAUCRATISM
You have 2 cows.
The State takes both, shoots one, milks the other, and then throws the milk away

TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM
You have two cows.
You sell one and buy a bull.
Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows.
You sell them and retire on the income

VENTURE CAPITALISM
You have two cows.
You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows.
The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island Company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company.
The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more. You sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States , leaving you with nine cows. No balance sheet provided with the release.
The public then buys your bull.

SURREALISM
You have two giraffes.
The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.

AN AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows.
Later, you hire a consultant to analyse why the cow has dropped dead.

A GREEK CORPORATION
You have two cows. You borrow lots of euros to build barns, milking sheds, hay stores, feed sheds, dairies, cold stores, abattoir, cheese unit and packing sheds.
You still only have two cows.

A FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You go on strike, organise a riot, and block the roads, because you want three cows.

A JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
You then create a clever cow cartoon image called a Cowkimona and market it worldwide.

AN ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows, but you don’t know where they are.
You decide to have lunch.

A SWISS CORPORATION
You have 5000 cows. None of them belongs to you.
You charge the owners for storing them.

A CHINESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You have 300 people milking them.
You claim that you have full employment, and high bovine productivity.
You arrest the newsman who reported the real situation.

AN INDIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You worship them.

A BRITISH CORPORATION
You have two cows.
Both are mad.

AN IRAQI CORPORATION
Everyone thinks you have lots of cows.
You tell them that you have none.
No-one believes you, so they bomb the ** out of you and invade your country.
You still have no cows, but at least you are now a Democracy.

AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
Business seems pretty good.
You close the office and go for a few beers to celebrate.

A NEW ZEALAND CORPORATION
You have two cows.
The one on the left looks very attractive…

For those that don’t know about commuting on Chiltern Railways, I thought it might be helpful to provide some advice on appropriate behaviour for anyone intending to join me on the platform on an icy morning…   I’ve designed these rules after watching my fellow passengers and learning from the excellent role models that they have proved to be.

The golden rule: Think of the train as an extension of your home.

This is probably the core of almost all of the other rules. You’ve paid for this train journey, so you deserve to put your feet up and make yourself at home

Getting on and off the train:

1. The doors

When the train arrives and you wish to get on, it makes sense to position yourself square in front of the nearest set of train doors.  At Bicester, make sure that you cluster around the second lamppost from the front of the platform.  This will mean that the doors of the 7:38 second carriage will end up being in exactly the right place.   Other passengers may wish to get off, but don’t worry.  They’ll find your enthusiasm for the train they’re desperately trying to leave endearing.  And anyway, what sort of people want to get OFF a train at Bicester at 7:38 in the morning?

2. Get a seat

Once you have managed to fight your way past the passengers getting off the train, make sure you sort out your bags and remove any extra layers of clothing you might wish to before you get settled into your seat. There’ll be no time for all that once you’re underway.   In particular, ignore anyone tutting or trying to get past you to the very few empty seats that might still be available.

3. Luggage

Luggage is best kept within reach and thankfully each train seat comes with a seat-shaped table for storage of personal belongings. If you have a lot of luggage, it can be haphazardly tossed into the racks at the ends of the carriage as you get on the train.

During travel:

4. Sprawl

If the train becomes rather busy, make sure you have something to put on the seat-shaped table next to your seat, lest a newcomer to train travel come along and mistake the table for a spare seat.   This is particularly important if the train is due to make an extra stop at Beaconsfield.

5. Tables and four seater areas

The middle of some carriages have extra tables and seat-shaped tables for the lucky  lone traveller who gets there first.

6. Music and video

Some passengers may have forgotten to bring a personal music or video playing device along for the trip, or worse, be too poor to afford one of their own. They’ll doubtlessly be delighted should you choose to share your own music, or even better the sound from a video over a loudspeaker.   This is particularly appreciated in the carriage marked with ‘Quiet Carriage’ signs.

7. Special stops at Wembley Stadium

Travelling on the train out of Marylebone, with an extra call at Wembley Stadium on a weekday evening on a match day is a popular way for many individuals who usually travel by car to spectate at sporting events and also indulge in alcohol. It is only natural that other passengers will be curious about your team allegiance. Loud, inappropriate bellowing will serve to enlighten your curious fellow travellers.

8. Half Term

Other train passengers may not have children of their own and will undoubtedly appreciate the opportunity to experience parenthood as you sit back and let your children climb over them and fight with each other in the aisles. Likewise, nothing helps drown out that nasty engine noise quite as well as forty minutes of a baby crying whilst being ignored by his or her parent.

9. Standing

Should your train run out of seating space, you may have to stand. To make the best of a bad situation, standing passengers squash into the ends of the carriages to form impromptu mosh pits. Standing in the aisles of the carriage is seen as a sign of weakness.

10. Ticket barriers

Marylebone has automated ticket barriers, which have robbed many people of their jobs as station staff.  Naturally passengers are against this and in solidarity shun the many automated ticket barriers in favour of everyone entering and exiting the station through the same solitary staffed barrier which was intended for use by passengers with wheelchairs/crutches/prams/large luggage or bicycles. In addition to this, many passengers express their preference for human staff by asking this lone barrier attendant for timetabling information which is readily available on the many automated screens.

The first time I heard about SOS Children’s Villages was as a child. We raised money at school to support the work of the charity and I hoped that one day I’d get the opportunity to visit a Children’s Village.

Kikiri did not disappoint. For nearly sixty years, SOS Children has developed an approach based on building a community for children who have nobody to turn to. At Kakiri, the charity provides children with a home, a family and a new mother in the purpose-built Village, where they stay until they are ready for independent life.

The children live in houses of ten mixed-age children, looked after by a house mother. They go to a school on site. As teenagers they move into a youth house, where they begin to learn the skills, behaviours and attitudes they’ll need as adults – and that’s when the Award comes into play. Its simple framework allows the young people to receive recognition for their achievements – and to communicate that achievement to their future universities and employers.

The young people I met were truly inspiring. They spoke of the Award as a life affirming educational experience and their pride and feeling of achievement were palpable.

SOS Children’s Villages currently run 518 places like Kikiri around the world, and 392 Youth Homes, caring directly for more than 78,000 children in 125 countries worldwide. I hope that we can develop a relationship that means that the Award can be offered to all the young people being cared for by them who would like to take part.

World Orphan Week runs from the 4th – 11th March 2013. If you’d like to support the amazing work of SOS Children’s Villages, you can find out more by visiting http://www.worldorphanweek.org/

Gove wants to reintroduce to the curriculum the idea that children should understand something of the extended narrative of British history; that our past is better understood if it is seen as a story, rather than discrete chunks, often unlinked.

As a child, I was given a wonderful four volume, leather-bound set of books, called “The romance of the nation”. The books were old, musty and utterly captivating. They had been published before the Second World War and, for them, history stopped in 1910. I devoured them. They were, undoubtedly, politically unsound, presenting history within the context of empire and jingoistic pride in Britain’s place in the world. But I loved the stories of bad King John and Magna Carta, the Wars of the Roses, good Queen Bess, the plague and Fire of London. In my imagination I traveled with Nelson to Trafalgar and fought alongside Wellington at Waterloo. I learned about Florence Nightingale, Kipling and the crossing of the North West Passage. Perhaps that’s why I continue with my affection for the Commonwealth and the importance of its place in the world today.

As a young teacher, I was told, unequivocally, by a government inspector of schools, that primary aged children could not learn history, other than anything they might be able to glean from talking to their grandparents. First hand experience was all. Piaget had decreed that pupils were incapable of grasping the narrative of time before the age of ten.

What rot.

So, I welcome Mr Gove’s plans. I’d like today’s children to learn more about world history than I did – and be encouraged to be a bit more critical of Britain’s place within it than I was. I’d like them to understand what life was like for ordinary people as well as the policy makers, soldiers and pioneers. But some understanding of the glorious narrative of Britain’s past would certainly be welcome too.

https://www.facebook.com/johnccmay/posts/10151499571491420?comment_id=27737123&notif_t=feed_comment

In preparation for my session, I ran a short online survey that delegates took part in before the day – and this afternoon I was able to feed back the results of the survey to promote discussion.   The session was a lively one – and I hope that the conversations that started in working groups this afternoon will continue in Groups and Districts in forthcoming weeks.

I have placed the slide presentation here for you to access if you’d like to do so.

I finished the session with a story about an elephant and a giraffe – and you can find that story here.