Hopes and fears on the daunting first day of school

IT DOESN’T seem two minutes since my daughter Lizzie was starting school. I’m looking at the photographs of little Prince George, who enters the classroom for the first time today, and remembering how it feels when you realise that your child is leaving the security of home to take their first independent steps.

His mother, the Duchess of Cambridge, says that she doesn’t think the young prince is going to have “any idea what’s hit him”. She’s right. However, if she reckons he’ll be floored now, wait until he’s 11. School for children is cosy and fuzzy around the edges; school for teenagers is like a different planet.

It’s natural to want to protect your offspring from the slings and arrows of school life. However, it’s a long way from Thomas’s Battersea, an independent school in South London, where fees cost from £17,604 a year, to a secondary academy in South Yorkshire.

That’s where my Lizzie is heading today. I wish I could go with her, just for a few days, to offer reassurance and protection. She’s my youngest child and, although she has grown up with an older brother, now in his final year at the same school, I can’t help but worry.

Above all, I don’t want her to be dismayed or frightened. It’s not a large school. There are less than 1,000 pupils on the roll. This was one of the major reasons why I chose it for her brother four years ago. Jack has always found schoolwork challenging and struggled particularly with literacy. I wanted his secondary education to offer as much close support as possible.

The school has not disappointed. He’s had one-to-one reading tuition under the Lexia intervention programme, which goes right back to the basics of phonics. However, here is not the place to muse on the failings of primary school to help him get this right in the first place.

My immediate concerns are the polar opposite. In stark comparison, his sister achieved some of the highest SATs results in her Year Six class and is a diligent, committed learner. All good, you might think. On paper, yes. Success, however, brings high expectations and fear of future failure.

It’s not helped by the huge demands placed on our young people to achieve under trying circumstances. The whole public examinations system has been in a state of constant churn for years; I don’t want my daughter’s academic chances to be held hostage to political fortunes.

She’s already debating about what options she might take for GCSE. I’ve told her to slow down and concentrate on not forgetting her pencil case.

Lizzie wanted to go to the same school as her brother. And we agreed because we believed that it would be responsive to her learning needs in a different way. Anecdotal evidence proves that those with ability at this school are given every opportunity to shine; one girl we know has recently achieved 11 top grade shooting up her hand to answer questions in class?

And it’s not as if she isn’t familiar with the school already. As well as visiting countless times with Jack, she’s also undergone a two-week “transition” period in July, which culminated in a big production number graduation ceremony from primary school. This was supposed to be reassuring. I’m not sure it was. It simply rammed home the fact that there was no turning back.

At this event, the headteacher talked a lot about “resilience”. It’s the latest buzz-word in education, and it certainly wasn’t around when I was 11.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what it actually means. I guess it’s primarily aimed at youngsters who find any setback so unnerving it throws them off course. It’s also about not losing faith when hopes are shattered, or taking out personal frustrations on other people.

In short, it’s about knowing how to stand on your own two feet even when your legs are shaking with fear. It’s a lesson worth learning, for parents and children alike.