Kristina Murkett

When it comes to recruiting and retaining teachers, the report cards of successive governments show a litany of failures worthy of a special measures downgrade. In 2015, David Cameron launched the short-lived 'Return to Teaching' programme, which intended to tempt ex-teachers back into service but only managed to recruit 350 teachers at a cost of £600,000. Then in 2016, the Tories launched the 'National Teaching Service', intending to place 1,500 teachers in underperforming schools in disadvantaged areas, but it was scrapped the same year having recruited only 54 staff. The same year the government also trialled the 'Troops to Teachers' scheme, which offered ex-service personnel £40,000 to retrain as teachers, but only managed to recruit 28 veterans.

They say that interests and trends in education come and go in cycles: the faddish focus on ‘learning styles’; the debate between phonics versus whole language reading; the pendulum swing between flipped learning and personalised devices and more traditional, analogue instruction; the endless recurring discussions around diversifying the curriculum or whether to bring back coursework. The latest hot topic seems to be on the importance of ‘oracy’ in schools. In 2023, Keir Starmer promised to make oracy a priority, stating that the ability to speak clearly and argue cogently ‘opens up a lifetime of empowerment’ for students: ‘confident speaking gives you a steely core, and an inner belief to make your case in any environment.’ Now it’s back on Labour’s agenda.

The assumption is an obvious one: if you fine people for bad behaviour, they should stop. But human psychology is much more complicated than that. The reality is that financial penalties often fail because they inadvertently shift human behaviour from a moral framework to a market framework. In other words, the punishable behaviour stops being about right or wrong and instead becomes an economic choice. For example, rather than thinking, 'littering is bad for my community,' people instead ask themselves, 'Is it worth £100 to leave my rubbish rather than take it with me?' A social wrongdoing now becomes a purchasable commodity: people can ‘buy’ the right to break a rule, because the distinction is no longer between illegal and legal, but what is legal for a price.

Since 2014, Oxford University Press has been tracking the Children’s Word of the Year, and the results reveal interesting truths about the emotional landscape young people are growing up in. Children do not choose toys, trends, celebratory events like the Olympics, or, well, anything remotely childish. Instead, they choose weighty words associated with current affairs and adult concerns: refugee, Trump, plastic, Brexit, coronavirus, anxiety, queen, climate change, kindness and peace. Many of the runner-up words – AI, war, conflict, chaos, challenging – also hardly encapsulate childlike wonder and joy. Children and young people are indeed unhappier than ever.

England’s biggest school leaders’ union, The National Association of Head Teachers (NAHT) has called for a halt to graded Ofsted inspections, saying they “pose a real and present danger to the well-being and mental health of school leaders and teachers, and possibly even a risk to life.” The National Association of Head Teachers (NAHT) has called for a halt to graded Ofsted inspections It is true that Ofsted inspections are unnecessarily stressful, and there is lots to criticise.

In recent years, it seems we have become stuck in a state of permacrisis. Headlines are dominated by the cost-of-living crisis, the energy crisis, the climate crisis, the mental health crisis, the small boats crisis, the housing crisis, the student loan crisis, the social care crisis, the maternity care crisis and so on. It’s easy to feel ‘crisis fatigue’: a sense of exhaustion, burnout and apathy from all this prolonged adversity. After all, in the last decade, we have endured Brexit; Covid; wars in Ukraine, Palestine and Iran; seven different prime ministers; skyrocketing interest rates; record levels of debt; record illegal immigration; and now record numbers of disillusioned young people not in education, training or employment.

It seems that good intentions do not just pave the road to hell, but the path to foolishness. The SNP has announced that, from August 2027, every child starting P1 in Scotland (the equivalent of Reception in England Wales) will be given a free school backpack, which will contain essentials such as a pencil case, water bottle and a notebook. This may seem like a generous gesture, but the SNP have been rather reluctant to disclose how much this ‘small’ gift will actually cost (the bags are still apparently in the ‘pre-contract stage’ and a ‘budget will be confirmed once procurement is complete’, although we do know that the materials used to make the rucksacks will be sourced from overseas).

Today is A-level results day – and yet another reminder of how bizarre and backwards our education system still is in so many respects. There are many reasons why England and Wales are international outliers when it comes to education, but one of our strangest anachronisms is that we don’t follow a post-qualifications admissions system. In every other developed nation in the world, university places are awarded to students on the basis of the grades they actually achieve in their exams, rather than what their teachers predict they will achieve.

My 22-month-old son has just started enjoying imaginative play, and it’s a wonder to behold. There is little better than watching him feed his toy monkey a syringe of fake Calpol to make him feel ‘better’, or ‘discovering’ an imaginary bear or dragon when we are walking in the woods, or playing ‘cafe’ in his toy kitchen (even if the service is terrible). Yet imaginative play – whether that’s building a den, exploring outdoors or making up new games and words – increasingly seems to be a thing of the past. New research suggests that four- to nine-year-olds are more likely to ask for a screen than use their imagination.

'We’ll value the hard hat as much as the graduation cap.' These are stirring words from newly incumbent prime minister Andy Burnham, who has announced plans for children as young as 14 to study technical subjects alongside core academic GCSEs such as English, Maths and Science. The idea is that these more vocational subjects would give children a clearer pathway into work and be linked to jobs available in the local area. After 16, they can study practical qualifications while gaining work experience and building connections with local employers. Burnham is right that promoting a greater range of subjects at GCSE would help boost engagement and stop students from skipping school.

Another year, another educational inquiry, another round of soul-searching about the underachievement of white working-class pupils. This time, senior education figures have concluded that high-performing schools should be compelled to take more white working-class pupils, citing the fact that some grammar schools have only three per cent of children on free school meals compared to about 26 per cent across England. White working-class pupils underachieve in spite of other groups’ progress, not because of it It is true that middle-class families and ethnic minorities are disproportionately over-represented in grammar schools. One school in north London, which had nearly 3,000 applicants for its 104 places, took only one white British child in 2024-2025.

In 2023, I wrote an article about the epidemic of bad behaviour plaguing British schools, blaming screen-obsessed kids and tuned-out parents for the rise in persistent low-level disruption since the pandemic. At the time, almost half of pupils said that they felt unsafe each week because of poor behaviour: a worrying but unsurprising statistic given the rise in permissive parenting styles means that behavioural boundaries are never properly established. Too many children never learn to properly respect teachers because their will always overrides the authority of the adults (or, dare I say it, adult) at home. Three years on, and little seems to have changed; in fact, things have worsened.

As a parent of an 18-month-old, the glorious weather last weekend could mean only one thing: a tour of the various playgrounds on offer in Oxford. Amidst the joyful scenes of children digging in sandpits, rocketing down slides and queueing to buy ice creams, there was one particularly depressing image that summed up this strange, screen-obsessed world we live in. On the swings was a child, around 3 or 4-years-old, silently swaying back and forth, eyes glued to an iPad mere inches from his face. He was completely oblivious to the fun, laughter and play going on around him, and his mum? She was on her phone too, of course. This eerie, almost dystopian image of a toddler fixated on a screen, outside on the sunniest day of the year, may seem like an extraordinary exception.