Why don't we ban school reports...

'my schooldays were emphatically NOT the best years of my life.'

When clearing my parents’ house prior to selling, I discovered my old school reports. On reading them, I became very upset. There are a surprising number of negatives, handily forgotten in the intervening years, and in some ways, I feel I haven’t really progressed very far. Then I put them to one side, pulled myself together, and dared to look at them again. This time, I found quite a few positives…

Despite what people always say, my schooldays were emphatically NOT the best years of my life. I had plenty of friends, but there were lots of bullies around and much disruption in the classes. I didn’t thrive in the competitive and academic environment and I hated studying and homework, school lunches and PE, and-and-and!

It was glaringly obvious from my reports which subjects I shone at and which I baffled (sic) my way through. The same comments were repeated: “Clare must learn to apply herself more” and: “Clare gives up far too easily if she doesn’t understand her subject” and: “Clare must overcome her diffidence” and: “Clare would excel at anything to do with horses!”

I well recall my needlework teacher’s waspish and impatient attitude towards me as I tried to remember how to thread the wretched sewing-machine in her classes. I managed to forget this miserable task week in, week out, and always resorted to asking a kind and obliging friend to do it for me. But the teacher’s irritation was as nothing compared to the sheer rage and frustration, I directed towards myself as I struggled with this and my other least favourite subjects: home economics/domestic science, geography, most history, maths, science, biology, chemistry and games/PE. My best subjects were english and art and that was pretty much it. Oh, yes – I enjoyed music and singing and RE (religious education) as well; though I’m not at all religious these days.

“Clare works well and with interest” frequently appears under the subjects I disliked, including craft. I am absolutely rubbish at craft. At anything practical, in fact. So rather unlikely, then, surely? Often, the teacher got the spelling of my name wrong, as well, leading me to wonder if they were even talking about the right Clare/Claire (there were a few of us back then). I suspect they simply didn’t know what else to say.

On the other hand, when my teachers did know exactly what to say, they certainly said it!

“Clare appears to have stopped making any real effort” – economic history.

“Lack of self-confidence in her abilities” – home economics/domestic science.

“She must overcome her fears and diffidence”- maths.

“Works slowly and reluctantly” – also maths.

“She must learn to work harder on her weaker subjects rather than giving up” – surprise, it’s maths again!

The words “lack of confidence” and “diffidence” appear horribly regularly. Also: “Needs to develop her confidence levels”. This saddens me now. HOW? How did others DO that? How does ANYONE do it, when they’re just a child? These things can often be mistaken for laziness, too, but I was never that. In fact, in later life, I was always being told to slow down and not work so hard, with one much older colleague saying I was the most conscientious person he had ever met!

It was made clear I didn’t like joining in with any class activities in every school I attended. Also, public speaking. Did nobody ever put it down to shyness? I also have agoraphobic tendencies, which has definitely held me back all my life. I never liked pushing myself forward and I didn’t like drawing attention to myself in any way, or speaking up in class. You really didn’t want the bullies to notice you and turn on you.

“The study of horses could be considered B+!” some wag had written elsewhere. As a pony-mad child, this was hardly surprising to me, although no doubt my parents were not amused.

Biology: “She is careful and conscientious but oh! dear! (sic) sometimes she finds it very difficult to stop talking.” This, despite my diffidence at speaking up in class and drawing attention to myself! Clearly, I had my moments.

“Clare is obviously not hoping to be captain of a hockey team!” PE. Can’t argue with that one – I absolutely hated the game. In fact, I hated all sports, and still do.

This teacher kindly added: “She does, however, move quietly and gracefully, which is much more important.” Important for what, exactly, though? In any case, these days, I move more like an exhausted hippo, so that didn’t last.

“Clare is hard-working. She is always interested and interesting. (Wonder what she meant by that?) A pleasure to have in the class.” The headmistress of my junior school.

Same teacher, different year: “Interesting and always well-behaved. We are going to miss her very much.” Ah. Must have been when I was leaving to go to the big school just up the road.

I think she liked me. I passed my eleven-plus, first part, but we all knew I wasn’t going to make it through the second (the hated maths, again). I can still recall her walking around the class and, on seeing my very obvious struggles with the exam papers, pressing a kindly, supportive hand down on my shoulder as she passed.

Moving on to the positives, then…

“Outstandingly good in english subjects.”

“Fluent, mature and lively style.”

“Lively, original, imaginative and technically sound.”

“Fluent, imaginative and a pleasure to read.”

“Most pleasant and cooperative.” My form teacher. Thank you, Mr P, even though I hated your biology classes.

“A very likeable, lively girl.” Aaahhh! Can’t read that particular teacher’s signature. (“Lively” though? How did that equate with being shy and not wanting any of the wrong sort of attention? I think I must have had peaks and troughs, as many of my reports seemed to contradict themselves each term.)

“Polite, well-mannered and courteous.”

“A reliable and responsible member of this group.” Science, apparently. Sorry, Mr C – I hated your classes, too.

The headmistress even added, on one of my reports: “Well tried!” Not sure exactly what she was referring to, but cheers anyway, Mrs G!

Oops. “Clare is more interested in fancy than facts.” History - the teacher who told me I had “too much imagination for my own good.” On the other hand, he also wrote: “In her inimitable way, Clare has produced some really delightful work. She is blessed with imagination and excels in this sort of writing. It has been a pleasure to have someone in the class producing such entertaining work.”

In summary:

Oh! Dear! (sic.) I wish someone had waved a magic wand over me back then and blessed me with a shedload more confidence in myself and my abilities. But when you are a mere child, just where exactly are you going to get these things from, without a helping hand? I come from a long line of worriers and anxious, unconfident people. (It didn’t help that my parents’ marriage was hitting the rocks as I was studying for my A-levels, but that’s another story.) Who knows, with a generous helping of self-belief and the ability to put myself forward and stick my head above the parapet a little more, I might be running the country by now?

Passing laws that banned anything anyone didn’t like doing in school and insisting they only did the things they enjoyed and were good at. And definitely banning those wretched, horrible school reports!