蜜芽传媒

It was the winter of 1928 to 9 and my father was eleven, a chorister at King鈥檚 College School in Cambridge. His head master was Cedric Fiddian, affectionately known as Fid; the winter one of the coldest of the century. So Fid cancelled all lessons for a fortnight or so, and all the children learnt to skate on Grantchester Meadows. He was a fresh air fiend: in high summer his class would decamp outside, parsing whilst dodging what the rooks deposited from on high. Eccentric by our standards but not an intellectual lightweight by any, Fid wrote all his own Latin and French text books, and my father left his care at thirteen knowing more Greek than many Classics graduates today.

How different from reports of a primary school in Norfolk, where parents have been complaining that their eight and nine year olds were recently taught in artificial light. A teacher noted 鈥渢hat the heavy snowfall was having an impact upon the learning of the children... so the blinds were closed to ensure that children focused on their tasks in hand.鈥� Such a shame to miss the snowfall! But who can blame the teachers? Don鈥檛 we all want our children to succeed?

I was fortunate in having a two or three really memorable, passionate teachers. It was not that they got us successfully through any particular curriculum. No: they taught what they cared about. Push the desks back, on your feet and enact A Midsummer Night鈥檚 Dream. Come outside and see how many trees you can name, and what poems they appear in. Why is our new membership of Europe so exciting? Because it鈥檚 back to the Middle Ages, a frontier-free continent again.

I recently looked at a part-time post teaching extra-curricular drama. I love Shakespeare and greatly enjoy imparting that love to others. But as soon as I saw the requirements I wondered if it was for me. The pupils do these exams, this syllabus, marked out of ten.

Two ways to teach. We can impart facts and figures, reach benchmarks, score on league tables. Or we can change the way children think.

Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar? Show me a coin, the Teacher said: whose face on it? How do you enter the Kingdom of Heaven? Let me tell you about a gruesome mugging on that nasty stretch of road down to Jericho. Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the sparrows, two for a penny sold at market. There was a farmer, like many of you. Or sneaky steward: you know the type. If your child asks for bread, will you give him a stone? Just stories, opportunistic examples, anecdotes plucked from the air around.

Teaching that changed the world.

Success is not to be sniffed at, and requires us to tick certain boxes. But the truly ambitious parent demands something far more radical: look about you, learn from mistakes, become an examiner yourself of everything you encounter.

I never wanted my children to cover any particular curricula: this date, that sum or the other passing requirement. What I want is that they learn excitement about any subject under the sun, and catch for themselves an irresistible infection for challenging everything.

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