Why It Pays to Listen to Student Voice when Creating School Policies
If students aren’t allowed blue hair, the same should apply to Ofsted inspectors, reckons Nigel Mountford…
I have a story. I know the reminiscences of retired headteachers are likely to be met with groans from a captive audience – but I want to share one episode that, to me, encompasses so much that is great, ironic, sad, frustrating and funny about our education system.
After many years at the only secondary school in town, I had been thrust into the position of acting headteacher following an especially turbulent time and the departure of the previous head.
The school was at rock bottom and in meltdown, with results placing us near the bottom in the county. So we set about turning the school around, creating pride and boosting results to bring us in line with the national average (an impressive achievement for our students, whose starting points were generally way below their peers).
A colourful compromise
I passionately believe in the power of the student voice and so our young people became involved in most aspects of school. We adjusted its policies, we changed its name – and the last part of the jigsaw was to move over to a smart, new uniform, designed by the learners.
Like it or not, people do judge a book by its cover, and we needed to raise our reputation in the town.
We paid careful attention to all the fine details, even providing a photographic guide for such important questions as, when, exactly, does a ‘shoe’ become a ‘trainer’? We bought stockpiles of spare uniform.
We’d thought of everything.
Or so we thought.
Because September arrived, and in walked a small number of students wearing the smart, new uniform, correct in every detail – and accessorised with carefully styled hair in various vibrant shades of red, blue and green.
How could we have missed this detail? With Ofsted expected any day, a standoff between a few learners and their parents (alongside a groundswell of support from the student body more generally), and the school, ensued.
The local press picked up the story, swiftly followed by the good old Daily Mail.
Overnight I became an expert on hair dye, spending hours talking with staff in our own salon, where students can study for vocational qualifications. Then one day I was having (yet another) conversation about the issue with a marvellous Year 11 student, who sadly passed away a few years later.
“Sir,” she said, firmly. “It’s the students who need to solve this one, not you.”
She was right. Humbled, we brought together some of the learners who had championed rainbow-coloured hair, along with student leaders and some highly respected governors.
And it turned out that the solution was simple: with the help of the salon, we produced a clear swatch sheet of ‘acceptable’ hair shades. It was a decision reached through consultation, and amazingly, instantly, accepted by all.
You’re kidding?
We were now ready in every possible way for Ofsted. When we received the dreaded call, the late, great Paul Ginnis was working with us, and said just three words to me: “Stand your ground.” Easy, I thought – after all, we had already overcome just about every challenge including overturning enforced academy take over.
But at 8.30am on the day of inspection, a deputation of angry students arrived outside my office. “Sir, it’s out of order, it’s unfair, it’s wrong!” they exploded. “One of the inspectors has got coloured hair!”
And as I turned to look down the school path, sure enough, there was one of the individuals arriving to pass judgement on us, sporting bright blue and purple hair.
Our young people had an acute sense of justice, fair play, rights and responsibilities; from their point of view this must have felt like a deliberate attempt to undermine them. Expletives were flowing through my head (and probably out of my mouth in the confines of my office); what, really were the chances?
I stood my ground. I spoke to the lead inspector, and his rainbow-coiffed colleague soon left. Leadership was judged, ‘good’; and to this day, I wonder whether that was because of the hair colour tȇte à tȇte – or in spite of it.
Nigel Mountford was headteacher of a large 11-18 mixed comprehensive for seven years, before reluctantly taking early retirement on medical grounds.
