That’s radical revolution and riot, which is what normally placid country mums and dads feel like doing after being messed about by county councils and the government over rural primary schools. Whole swathes of schools in many rural counties are threatened with closure, including the last one in this group of parishes. I’ve spend months on this issue since last October. The email traffic is incredible. I’ve briefed, counter-briefed, leaked and circulated. I’ve talked to the press, radio, anyone who’ll listen. I’ve squared up to bishops and diocesan officials in a failed attempt to get them off the fence. The local campaign was slow to start, but is rolling now. It takes a lot to radicalize people round here, but they’re up for it now. The closure list came out three weeks ago, and a protest of over a thousand people (a large number given the size of these communities) went and marched on county hall. And the county withdrew the list – but only for further “consultation”. In the autumn “consultation”, 97% of respondents objected to any closures, but the county went ahead anyway. So now we’ve organized letter-writing campaigns telling them to close the bloody lot; that should make sure they all stay open! (Just kidding!).
Sometimes life is so extraordinarily unbelievable that the only reaction is to laugh. Two days ago the threatened school was hit with a 48 hour notice OFSTED inspection. It took place today, so I’ve been in and out of that, as well as helping get ready for a classic country funeral (highly respected and popular local farmer; four hundred mourners; speaker relay into the churchyard; whole village gridlocked with cars all day). Oh, and someone else died suddenly in the night. And this morning the village held its annual “Snowdrops and Aconites” Coffee Morning and Bring and Buy. I dashed in and out in half an hour and didn’t hardly notice the beds of flowers under the trees and the daffodils getting going in the garden. It looks like we’ll get a good OFSTED. Whether we’ll still be open will not be settled for some time. The exhausted teachers have staggered off for a well-earned half-term break. Nothing ever happens in the countryside.
“What is our life, if full of care, we have no time to stop and stare…?”
I’m off for a couple of days stopping and staring some place else. Here’s a picture of the snowdrops and aconites from last year to keep you going.
Sometimes life is so extraordinarily unbelievable that the only reaction is to laugh. Two days ago the threatened school was hit with a 48 hour notice OFSTED inspection. It took place today, so I’ve been in and out of that, as well as helping get ready for a classic country funeral (highly respected and popular local farmer; four hundred mourners; speaker relay into the churchyard; whole village gridlocked with cars all day). Oh, and someone else died suddenly in the night. And this morning the village held its annual “Snowdrops and Aconites” Coffee Morning and Bring and Buy. I dashed in and out in half an hour and didn’t hardly notice the beds of flowers under the trees and the daffodils getting going in the garden. It looks like we’ll get a good OFSTED. Whether we’ll still be open will not be settled for some time. The exhausted teachers have staggered off for a well-earned half-term break. Nothing ever happens in the countryside.
“What is our life, if full of care, we have no time to stop and stare…?”
I’m off for a couple of days stopping and staring some place else. Here’s a picture of the snowdrops and aconites from last year to keep you going.
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