Whether it’s private or state, faith or grammar, where we send our children to
school says more about us than we’d like at the best of times. At the
moment, though, that choice feels even more troubling, as each week there’s
another incendiary headline to set fragile parental hearts racing.
Are we educating our kids too young? A new report suggests we are: a thought
that will make mums and dads of summer babies even more likely to turn to
drink. Are middle-class parents lying to get their kids into a good state
school and avoid the hoodies from the estate? Well, yes, they are, and those
who aren’t are single-handedly keeping the property market afloat in
sought-after catchment areas.
Then there are the rich-as-Croesus tutors, this season’s estate agents,
charging £150 an hour and buying BMWs with the profits from parental
paranoia. It may be extortionate, but it’s cheap at the price if it means
your kid can bypass the social death of the local comp and impress your
friends by getting into a grammar. Some parents are even forming righteous
groups of middle-class warriors, plotting, over lasagne and salad, to
overthrow the state by setting up their own school for little Tristan.
Not even fame and fortune can protect you from the stress of entrance exams or
the guilt of being a working mum. All in all, getting your child into a good
school is a fight for everyone, fraught with frustration and replete with
competition. The result is that parents are increasingly manoeuvring
themselves into entrenched opposing camps. Style presents an irreverent
guide to how to spot the new parental tribes in the playground.
The celebrity-chasers
Schooling philosophy Get into a school favoured by celebs and
Marguerite might score a sleepover at Anais Gallagher’s house. You’re never
too young to make influential friends: today the school gates, tomorrow the
velvet rope.
Spot them in the playground Mummy is thin and groomed — an Elle
Macpherson clone with fur gilet, Marc Jacobs bag, neutral cashmere and, of
course, that Louis Vuitton scarf. Dad? You’ll never see him, except when
it’s time to pick up the kids from a play date chez Elle.
Most likely to feed their children Sugar-free spelt cupcakes (a
recipe from Gwyneth’s Goop).
Kids’ party A private screening of Fantastic Mr Fox in their
“modest” home cinema.
Bedtime reading The Filipino nanny obliges while mummy plans the
catering for the Nativity play with Nigella.
Kept awake by “I changed the date of my caesarian and now Marguerite
isn’t on the list for Gene and Lennon Gallagher’s
naming ceremony.”
Most likely to be heard saying “Apple and Moses just so treat our home
like their own.”
The hot-housers
Schooling philosophy Olympia and Orlando will go to the school with the
highest Oxbridge intake, even if I have to hire 27 tutors to get them in and
another 27 to keep their exam results above 90%.
Spot them in the playground Books, musical-instrument cases,
early-morning visits to harangue the head. Mummy is a public-relations
director in a sharp suit, and a governor, too. Daddy is big in politics.
Most likely to feed their children Organic vegetables and chicken,
cooked by their trilingual post-grad Swiss exchange student, who doubles as
an au pair.
Kids’ party A trip to the British Museum, with a talk by a
curator.
Bedtime reading The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama.
Kept awake by “What if baby Josiah turns out to be dyslexic?”
Most likely to say “We’ve tried to persuade him otherwise, but Orlando
is insisting on taking the baccalaureate as well as A-levels.”
The God squad
Schooling philosophy Just because I only recently converted to
Christianity/Catholicism/Judaism, that does not mean I found God to get into
a good school... honest.
Spot them in the playground They’re not there — they’re at church, in
the back row asleep or feverishly typing on their BlackBerries.
Most likely to feed their children What are the rules of kosher,
exactly?
Kids’ party Star of David cookies and a Noah’s Ark theme
Bedtime reading Officially, Aesop’s Fables or the Usborne Children’s
Bible. Unofficially, Twilight.
Kept awake by “Did I let slip that we don’t have two dishwashers?”
Most likely to say “Of course, our vicar has very liberal views on
wife-swapping.”
The state-school snobs
Schooling philosophy They went to private schools themselves, but
decided to use their expensive education for a “creative career” and
now can’t afford to pay for their own kids. The solution? Cheat the system
by moving to the catchment area.
Spot them in the playground They’re the ones collecting signatures to
object to the low-cost housing round the corner.
Most likely to feed their children Home-made wild salmon fish fingers.
(Got to hone their taste buds early or they’ll turn into McNugget-munching
oiks.)
Kids’ party Entertainer? Check. Sixty kids? Check. Celebrity
guest? Check. Just because Lily goes to state school, it doesn’t mean she
can’t party in style.
Bedtime reading Enid Blyton — especially Malory Towers and the
other boarding-school books. Ahh, the good old days...
Kept awake by Their mega mortgage.
Most likely to say “Lily would have got into St Paul’s, but private
schools perpetuate the divide between the haves and the have-nots.”
The Steiner experimentalists
Schooling philosophy Exams stultify self-expression. Orion and Titania
need the freedom to find out who they really are (and that will never
include joining the Young Conservatives).
Spot them in the playground Birkenstocks, bead necklaces made by their
kids, Fairtrade clothes and packed lunches full of nuts, fruit, organic bars
and recycled tissues.
Most likely to feed their children Quinoa-based vegetarian meals and
freshly baked bread.
Kids’ party Fresh air, no sugar, no entertainer. Our children
know how to make their own fun.
Bedtime reading Under Pressure: Rescuing Our Children from the Culture
of Hyper-Parenting by Carl Honoré.
Kept awake by Global warming.
Most likely to say “The teachers say she’s aurally challenged, but
Titania prefers to express herself through the medium of mime.”
Too cool for school: it's not always easy to fit in, says Pearl Lowe
“We look a bit like the Addams Family next to this lot,” my husband quipped as
he surveyed the PTA meeting at my sons’ prep school in Hampshire. It
was the autumn of 2005. Danny, the drummer with Supergrass, and I had
uprooted our family from London for a fresh start in the country. Settled in
a picturesque village in the commuter belt, we enrolled the boys at one of
the “finer” local schools. But Danny had a point. All the fathers were
smart, in jackets and ties; the mothers had Identikit blonde highlights,
tweed and cashmere. Then there was Danny, in a well-worn T-shirt and jeans,
and me, in a tea dress, a black velvet cape and a pillarbox-red bob. “That
or the Munsters,” I whispered.
Although we had always loved city life, we had decided a country upbringing
would be better for the kids. I was convinced we were doing the right thing,
but concerned about how they would adapt to their new life. That night I
realised Danny and I were the ones finding it hard to fit in.
We’ve never been the most conventional of couples, but when I went to collect
the children from their state primary in Hampstead, I didn’t look that
different from the rest of the mothers at the gates. In Hampshire, heads
turned as soon as we rocked up. “You could try to dress a bit more
normally,” my son Alfie said to me early on. “You could wear jeans and
jumpers instead of those funny flowery dresses.” His younger brother,
Frankie, insisted I wore a hat to cover my hair when I came to collect him.
For their sake, we embraced our new life, accepting every invitation that came
our way. Not having a couple of hundred acres, a Range Rover or “proper”
jobs, we didn’t have a lot in common with the other parents. I don’t
hunt and the only thing Danny has shot in his life is a music video, but we
rubbed along quite well with them. Although I’m not sure they ever really
got us.
At one black-tie charity event, a father turned to Danny and said excitedly: “So
you’re the drummer boy, then?”“That’s right,” he said, relieved that
someone was finally trying to engage him in conversation. “I must say it’s a
pleasure to meet you. I’ve always been a huge fan of Supertramp!”
Five years on we are still happily living in rural bliss, although we have
since moved from Hampshire and set up home in Somerset. The area we live in
is a little less rigid and our neighbours a little more hippie, so more
accepting of the way we look and act. Next year we are enrolling the kids at
a music school nearby. It’s a wonderful establishment and both boys are keen
to go, as are Danny and I — for we know that when we come to fetch them from
the school gates, nobody will bat an eyelid.
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