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The making of an education catastrophe – schools in Knowsley were dubbed 'wacky warehouses'	The making of an education catastrophe – schools in Knowsley were dubbed 'wacky warehouses'
2017-01-29 15:20:16 UTC	2017-01-30 11:35:10 UTC (about 20 hours later)
To the east of Liverpool is a local authority area known as the metropolitan borough of Knowsley. It was created in 1974 and whoever drew its boundaries had a magnificent sense of humour.	To the east of Liverpool is a local authority area known as the metropolitan borough of Knowsley. It was created in 1974 and whoever drew its boundaries had a magnificent sense of humour.
To start with, its shape: in the north, Knowsley begins at the point where the open farmland of south Lancashire gives way to Kirkby, a postwar expanse of social housing and light industry. In the south, it ends at Halewood, where an enormous Jaguar Land Rover factory whirrs and grinds around the clock, rolling out a finished vehicle every 80 seconds. The distance between the two is more than 11 miles. At its narrowest point, however, Knowsley is less than two miles wide. It is a long, thin streak of a place.	To start with, its shape: in the north, Knowsley begins at the point where the open farmland of south Lancashire gives way to Kirkby, a postwar expanse of social housing and light industry. In the south, it ends at Halewood, where an enormous Jaguar Land Rover factory whirrs and grinds around the clock, rolling out a finished vehicle every 80 seconds. The distance between the two is more than 11 miles. At its narrowest point, however, Knowsley is less than two miles wide. It is a long, thin streak of a place.
Its illogicality is not confined to its shape. Within those borders are half-a-dozen places that have no firm connection with each other, historically, geographically or socially.	Its illogicality is not confined to its shape. Within those borders are half-a-dozen places that have no firm connection with each other, historically, geographically or socially.
Almost half the borough is countryside: partly farmland and partly the vast estate of Edward Stanley, the 19th Earl of Derby, including the grand 18th-century pile, Knowsley Hall. The remainder bundles together the old Lancashire towns of Prescot and Whiston, and several unattached areas of housing – most of it social housing – in Huyton, Kirkby and Halewood. These places were developed in the 1930s, and again in the 50s and 60s, as so-called “overspill” from the poorer neighbourhoods of Liverpool.	Almost half the borough is countryside: partly farmland and partly the vast estate of Edward Stanley, the 19th Earl of Derby, including the grand 18th-century pile, Knowsley Hall. The remainder bundles together the old Lancashire towns of Prescot and Whiston, and several unattached areas of housing – most of it social housing – in Huyton, Kirkby and Halewood. These places were developed in the 1930s, and again in the 50s and 60s, as so-called “overspill” from the poorer neighbourhoods of Liverpool.
Today, Knowsley is at the top and the bottom of every British economic and social league table whose top or bottom you would be anxious to avoid.	Today, Knowsley is at the top and the bottom of every British economic and social league table whose top or bottom you would be anxious to avoid.
It is not quite the most deprived area in the country: Middlesbrough is currently winning that race. But Knowsley is close. Around 20% of working age people are receiving some form of out-of-work benefit. Some areas of the borough suffer from the worst income deprivation in the country; more than a third of local children live in these conditions.	It is not quite the most deprived area in the country: Middlesbrough is currently winning that race. But Knowsley is close. Around 20% of working age people are receiving some form of out-of-work benefit. Some areas of the borough suffer from the worst income deprivation in the country; more than a third of local children live in these conditions.
In some households, unemployment has become trans-generational: children are growing up in families where the parents, the grandparents and even, sometimes, the great-grandparents have not worked.	In some households, unemployment has become trans-generational: children are growing up in families where the parents, the grandparents and even, sometimes, the great-grandparents have not worked.
Ethnically, meanwhile, Knowsley is the least diverse corner of Britain. According to the census, around 97% of its population are white. In other words, it is the most white working-class place in the country. At last year’s referendum, its people revealed themselves to be very keen to leave the EU, while most of those living elsewhere in the Liverpool area voted firmly to remain. It is also the area where the greatest proportion of people – some 81% – describe themselves as Christian.	Ethnically, meanwhile, Knowsley is the least diverse corner of Britain. According to the census, around 97% of its population are white. In other words, it is the most white working-class place in the country. At last year’s referendum, its people revealed themselves to be very keen to leave the EU, while most of those living elsewhere in the Liverpool area voted firmly to remain. It is also the area where the greatest proportion of people – some 81% – describe themselves as Christian.
Writing in 1965, shortly after the Labour MP for Huyton, Harold Wilson, had been elected prime minister, the political journalist Anthony Howard described the area as home to thousands of Irish families from the slums of inner-city Liverpool. “The birth rate is said to be the highest outside Red China and the crime rate is one of the highest in Britain,” Howard wrote. “It has fine skyscraper flats and bright new schools; but the telephone boxes are constantly smashed, litter lies thick on the verges and there are frequent fights in the streets.”	Writing in 1965, shortly after the Labour MP for Huyton, Harold Wilson, had been elected prime minister, the political journalist Anthony Howard described the area as home to thousands of Irish families from the slums of inner-city Liverpool. “The birth rate is said to be the highest outside Red China and the crime rate is one of the highest in Britain,” Howard wrote. “It has fine skyscraper flats and bright new schools; but the telephone boxes are constantly smashed, litter lies thick on the verges and there are frequent fights in the streets.”
Today, there is less litter and few telephone boxes. Many adjectives are applied to the tower blocks, but “fine” is rarely heard. And the bright new 60s schools? Well, Knowsley’s problems are at their most acute – and most visible – when it comes to education. Its GCSE results are the worst in the country, and have been for years. The government believes that every education authority should, at an absolute minimum, be able to secure five GCSEs at grades A* to C for 40% of its pupils. Knowsley has failed to hit that target for several years, with just 39.1% of pupils achieving that pass rate.	Today, there is less litter and few telephone boxes. Many adjectives are applied to the tower blocks, but “fine” is rarely heard. And the bright new 60s schools? Well, Knowsley’s problems are at their most acute – and most visible – when it comes to education. Its GCSE results are the worst in the country, and have been for years. The government believes that every education authority should, at an absolute minimum, be able to secure five GCSEs at grades A* to C for 40% of its pupils. Knowsley has failed to hit that target for several years, with just 39.1% of pupils achieving that pass rate.
More than 15% of the working-age population of Knowsley have no educational qualifications, compared with a national average of 8%. And there is worse: in September, Knowsley became the first local authority in the country to cease to offer its young people A-level education. None whatsoever.	More than 15% of the working-age population of Knowsley have no educational qualifications, compared with a national average of 8%. And there is worse: in September, Knowsley became the first local authority in the country to cease to offer its young people A-level education. None whatsoever.
Arriving in Huyton, at the centre of the borough, many visitors are struck by just how vast some of the old council estates are; mile after mile of solidly built prewar terraces, now all managed by housing associations. The colossal pubs that once lined the main roads have mostly been knocked down, and burger bars built in their place. The greengrocers’ shops have been replaced by nail bars, and above them are solicitors’ offices, offering advice on divorce, accident claims and criminal defence.	Arriving in Huyton, at the centre of the borough, many visitors are struck by just how vast some of the old council estates are; mile after mile of solidly built prewar terraces, now all managed by housing associations. The colossal pubs that once lined the main roads have mostly been knocked down, and burger bars built in their place. The greengrocers’ shops have been replaced by nail bars, and above them are solicitors’ offices, offering advice on divorce, accident claims and criminal defence.
Turn right and you pass by the Bluebell estate, where Steven Gerrard, the former England football captain, grew up. This area produces a prodigious number of top professional footballers, and despite the globalisation of the game it is not unusual, when Everton play Liverpool, to see three or four men from Huyton and Kirkby on the pitch. It also produces an unusually high number of playwrights and screenwriters specialising in comedy and social realism: Alan Bleasdale, Phil Redmond, Willy Russell.	Turn right and you pass by the Bluebell estate, where Steven Gerrard, the former England football captain, grew up. This area produces a prodigious number of top professional footballers, and despite the globalisation of the game it is not unusual, when Everton play Liverpool, to see three or four men from Huyton and Kirkby on the pitch. It also produces an unusually high number of playwrights and screenwriters specialising in comedy and social realism: Alan Bleasdale, Phil Redmond, Willy Russell.
At the end of Bluebell Lane, you find yourself facing the seven-storey office block that is the home of Knowsley metropolitan borough council. Like the borough it serves, the council is a place of extremes. Until last May there were 63 seats on Knowsley council. The Labour party held all of them. Knowsley is a one-party state. On occasion, Labour candidates have stood unopposed, meaning that all they have needed to do, in order to be elected, was vote for themselves. In last May’s election the number of seats was reduced to 45 and the Liberal Democrats won three. But there hasn’t been a Tory on Knowsley council since 1995.	At the end of Bluebell Lane, you find yourself facing the seven-storey office block that is the home of Knowsley metropolitan borough council. Like the borough it serves, the council is a place of extremes. Until last May there were 63 seats on Knowsley council. The Labour party held all of them. Knowsley is a one-party state. On occasion, Labour candidates have stood unopposed, meaning that all they have needed to do, in order to be elected, was vote for themselves. In last May’s election the number of seats was reduced to 45 and the Liberal Democrats won three. But there hasn’t been a Tory on Knowsley council since 1995.
Labour councillors brush aside warnings from the Electoral Reform Society that voters are being denied real choice, saying it is not their fault that local political opposition is so weak. But the three Lib Dems say that Labour’s dominance could not have been conducive to good policy-making. Nor is there close media scrutiny: the Liverpool Echo has a reporter spending half their time reporting on the borough but, since the closure many years ago of the local paper, the Prescot and Huyton Reporter, there is no media organisation focused entirely on local affairs.	Labour councillors brush aside warnings from the Electoral Reform Society that voters are being denied real choice, saying it is not their fault that local political opposition is so weak. But the three Lib Dems say that Labour’s dominance could not have been conducive to good policy-making. Nor is there close media scrutiny: the Liverpool Echo has a reporter spending half their time reporting on the borough but, since the closure many years ago of the local paper, the Prescot and Huyton Reporter, there is no media organisation focused entirely on local affairs.
This lack of effective opposition and independent scrutiny may go some way to explain one of the more bizarre episodes in Knowsley’s recent history: one that served to demoralise teachers, bewilder their pupils and drive educational attainment down still further.	This lack of effective opposition and independent scrutiny may go some way to explain one of the more bizarre episodes in Knowsley’s recent history: one that served to demoralise teachers, bewilder their pupils and drive educational attainment down still further.
In 2005, the Labour government launched a programme to invest in secondary school buildings, a venture known as Building Schools for the Future, and intended to ensure that every child would be educated within a 21st-century environment by 2020. By then, the Knowsley schools that Howard had written about were neither new nor bright. Some buildings were no longer fit for purpose; strategically placed buckets collecting dripping rainwater were not unknown.	In 2005, the Labour government launched a programme to invest in secondary school buildings, a venture known as Building Schools for the Future, and intended to ensure that every child would be educated within a 21st-century environment by 2020. By then, the Knowsley schools that Howard had written about were neither new nor bright. Some buildings were no longer fit for purpose; strategically placed buckets collecting dripping rainwater were not unknown.
During the Blair-Brown years, according to some former Knowsley officials, the council would on occasion show an enthusiastic willingness to act as an experimenter for Labour policies. Building Schools for the Future was no exception. Knowsley took the programme to its utmost degree: all 11 secondary schools in the borough were flattened and seven new ones constructed at a cost of £157m. What is more, following an audit of local children’s “learning styles”, the council’s senior education officers had decided that most were “kinaesthetic learners”: rather than sitting behind desks, they needed to use their bodies and senses, and trial and error.	During the Blair-Brown years, according to some former Knowsley officials, the council would on occasion show an enthusiastic willingness to act as an experimenter for Labour policies. Building Schools for the Future was no exception. Knowsley took the programme to its utmost degree: all 11 secondary schools in the borough were flattened and seven new ones constructed at a cost of £157m. What is more, following an audit of local children’s “learning styles”, the council’s senior education officers had decided that most were “kinaesthetic learners”: rather than sitting behind desks, they needed to use their bodies and senses, and trial and error.
The new schools were built accordingly. When they opened in 2009, they were not called schools, however, but centres for learning. The kids, when they walked inside, quickly dubbed them “wacky warehouses”. The teachers – or rather progress leaders, as they had been renamed – were furious that their warnings had been ignored. Instead of classrooms and corridors there were vast open spaces known as base areas, with curtains on runners to create different zones. A child’s misbehaviour would be witnessed not by the rest of the class, but by half the school. Keeping track of pupils’ movement became a major problem, with teachers resorting to the use of walkie-talkies.	The new schools were built accordingly. When they opened in 2009, they were not called schools, however, but centres for learning. The kids, when they walked inside, quickly dubbed them “wacky warehouses”. The teachers – or rather progress leaders, as they had been renamed – were furious that their warnings had been ignored. Instead of classrooms and corridors there were vast open spaces known as base areas, with curtains on runners to create different zones. A child’s misbehaviour would be witnessed not by the rest of the class, but by half the school. Keeping track of pupils’ movement became a major problem, with teachers resorting to the use of walkie-talkies.
And the acoustics were dreadful. The design and technology classes were next to the science laboratories – with no wall in between – with the result that a child who was hammering a nail into a piece of ~~wood,~~ could reach out and touch a child who was trying to learn about the structure of an atom.	And the acoustics were dreadful. The design and technology classes were next to the science laboratories – with no wall in between – with the result that a child who was hammering a nail into a piece of wood could reach out and touch a child who was trying to learn about the structure of an atom.
One headteacher says that when she complained about the acoustics, a council official suggested she instruct her pupils to take off their shoes to keep the noise levels down. The private finance initiative company formed to build the schools even tried to prevent teachers from pinning pupils’ work to the walls.	One headteacher says that when she complained about the acoustics, a council official suggested she instruct her pupils to take off their shoes to keep the noise levels down. The private finance initiative company formed to build the schools even tried to prevent teachers from pinning pupils’ work to the walls.
One of the new schools, Christ the King in Huyton, was hailed as an exciting centre of learning for the future. It was consigned to history after just four years: parents simply did not wish to send their children there, and less than half its 900 places were filled.	One of the new schools, Christ the King in Huyton, was hailed as an exciting centre of learning for the future. It was consigned to history after just four years: parents simply did not wish to send their children there, and less than half its 900 places were filled.
At the other new schools, most headteachers insisted they be given classrooms and corridors. The rebuilding work took place gradually, over several summers. And all the time, the borough’s exam results remained stuck to the foot of the national league tables: thousands of Knowsley children were leaving school with few qualifications, and sometimes with none at all.	At the other new schools, most headteachers insisted they be given classrooms and corridors. The rebuilding work took place gradually, over several summers. And all the time, the borough’s exam results remained stuck to the foot of the national league tables: thousands of Knowsley children were leaving school with few qualifications, and sometimes with none at all.
For the past three years, the executive director of children’s services at Knowsley – the person whose responsibility it is to sort out this mess – has been Paul Boyce, a former social worker and social services manager. That fact that Boyce has never taught raised eyebrows among teachers, but he is clearly a man with a plan and has the support of the council leader, Alan Moorehead.	For the past three years, the executive director of children’s services at Knowsley – the person whose responsibility it is to sort out this mess – has been Paul Boyce, a former social worker and social services manager. That fact that Boyce has never taught raised eyebrows among teachers, but he is clearly a man with a plan and has the support of the council leader, Alan Moorehead.
Boyce could not be more scathing about the way in which Knowsley embraced the concept of kinaesthetic learning. “Education gurus have been in charge of education here, and I think they used that opportunity to experiment rather than to deliver,” he says. Some aspects of the centres for learning fiasco he derides as “spaceships and the internet”. Innovation, as far as Boyce is concerned, must be based upon empirical research, with outcomes that can be measured. His predecessors, he says, were “taking a punt”. They may have done so because they were becoming increasingly desperate, but the experiment failed.	Boyce could not be more scathing about the way in which Knowsley embraced the concept of kinaesthetic learning. “Education gurus have been in charge of education here, and I think they used that opportunity to experiment rather than to deliver,” he says. Some aspects of the centres for learning fiasco he derides as “spaceships and the internet”. Innovation, as far as Boyce is concerned, must be based upon empirical research, with outcomes that can be measured. His predecessors, he says, were “taking a punt”. They may have done so because they were becoming increasingly desperate, but the experiment failed.
Boyce is quite clear about the principal reason why GCSE results are so poor in Knowsley, and why A-level education is no longer being offered: it is because 43% of Knowsley’s children leave to be educated in Liverpool or the neighbouring boroughs to the east, St Helens and Halton, when they are 11 years old.	Boyce is quite clear about the principal reason why GCSE results are so poor in Knowsley, and why A-level education is no longer being offered: it is because 43% of Knowsley’s children leave to be educated in Liverpool or the neighbouring boroughs to the east, St Helens and Halton, when they are 11 years old.
There are three underlying reasons for this. The first lies in the damned geography of the place; it is such a long, thin borough that very often a child’s nearest school – and certainly the nearest good school – will be outside Knowsley. The second is that many parents – particularly, but not exclusively Catholic parents – want to send their children to single-sex schools, and Knowsley has none. And the third is that Knowsley’s schools are now seen as second-rate. If you are an aspiring parent in Knowsley, the first thing you do is push your child out of the borough. Those pupils who remain are from families that are the least mobile, and often among the poorest.	There are three underlying reasons for this. The first lies in the damned geography of the place; it is such a long, thin borough that very often a child’s nearest school – and certainly the nearest good school – will be outside Knowsley. The second is that many parents – particularly, but not exclusively Catholic parents – want to send their children to single-sex schools, and Knowsley has none. And the third is that Knowsley’s schools are now seen as second-rate. If you are an aspiring parent in Knowsley, the first thing you do is push your child out of the borough. Those pupils who remain are from families that are the least mobile, and often among the poorest.
There was a further sieving at the age of 16, with many of those Knowsley children who wished to take A-levels travelling to a sixth-form college outside the borough, particularly the highly regarded Carmel College in St Helens. In 2015, 52% of Knowsley’s 16-year-olds opted to study A-levels, which amounted to 981 young people. But only 29 of them were studying in the borough.	There was a further sieving at the age of 16, with many of those Knowsley children who wished to take A-levels travelling to a sixth-form college outside the borough, particularly the highly regarded Carmel College in St Helens. In 2015, 52% of Knowsley’s 16-year-olds opted to study A-levels, which amounted to 981 young people. But only 29 of them were studying in the borough.
Each year, the disappearance of all these children sucks out tens of millions of pounds of government funding that would otherwise be available for Knowsley’s education budget. It was only a matter of time before sixth-form education became financially unviable.	Each year, the disappearance of all these children sucks out tens of millions of pounds of government funding that would otherwise be available for Knowsley’s education budget. It was only a matter of time before sixth-form education became financially unviable.
Four of Knowsley’s six remaining secondary schools have become academies. The council has encouraged this, wanting to see them take advantage of the expertise that multi-academy trusts can offer. The remaining two are administered jointly by Knowsley and by the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Liverpool.	Four of Knowsley’s six remaining secondary schools have become academies. The council has encouraged this, wanting to see them take advantage of the expertise that multi-academy trusts can offer. The remaining two are administered jointly by Knowsley and by the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Liverpool.
By last year only one of these six schools, Halewood Academy, was offering A-level education. But it estimated that it needed at least 155 sixth-formers to break even, and had only 83. In March it announced that its sixth form would need to close in order to balance its books. Parents were powerless to do little more than set up a protest page on Facebook.	By last year only one of these six schools, Halewood Academy, was offering A-level education. But it estimated that it needed at least 155 sixth-formers to break even, and had only 83. In March it announced that its sixth form would need to close in order to balance its books. Parents were powerless to do little more than set up a protest page on Facebook.
At this point, I should probably declare an interest. I grew up in Huyton, attended my local primary school and, aged 11, won a place at the boys’ grammar school that then existed in the borough. Prescot grammar school had been founded in 1544 and its black-gowned masters maintained its time-honoured ways: a traditional curriculum, lots of sport, and a predilection for corporal punishment.	At this point, I should probably declare an interest. I grew up in Huyton, attended my local primary school and, aged 11, won a place at the boys’ grammar school that then existed in the borough. Prescot grammar school had been founded in 1544 and its black-gowned masters maintained its time-honoured ways: a traditional curriculum, lots of sport, and a predilection for corporal punishment.
We knew we were receiving a good education, however, and this became even clearer once we started studying for our A-levels, when classes became places for inquiry and discourse. The rules became few and far between as we were permitted to explore new boundaries. In one of the sixth-form classrooms we had a record player and were permitted to smoke. We couldn’t light up during the lessons, but we could during the breaks, after which the masters would teach us in a fug of smoke, without batting an eyelid. It seems unthinkable today – but this was the 70s, and the teaching was very effective. I learned a great deal about politics, rather less about economics, and acquired a lifelong love of poetry.	We knew we were receiving a good education, however, and this became even clearer once we started studying for our A-levels, when classes became places for inquiry and discourse. The rules became few and far between as we were permitted to explore new boundaries. In one of the sixth-form classrooms we had a record player and were permitted to smoke. We couldn’t light up during the lessons, but we could during the breaks, after which the masters would teach us in a fug of smoke, without batting an eyelid. It seems unthinkable today – but this was the 70s, and the teaching was very effective. I learned a great deal about politics, rather less about economics, and acquired a lifelong love of poetry.
Had A-levels not been available at Prescot, I’m not sure whether I would have taken them elsewhere. Others who went on from Prescot to enjoy illustrious and useful careers are similarly doubtful. Professor Sir Michael Brady, for example, who has held two chairs at Oxford University – in information engineering and oncology – says: “I’m not sure that I would. The idea of getting on a bus and going all the way into the centre of Liverpool every morning would have been quite a disincentive.”	Had A-levels not been available at Prescot, I’m not sure whether I would have taken them elsewhere. Others who went on from Prescot to enjoy illustrious and useful careers are similarly doubtful. Professor Sir Michael Brady, for example, who has held two chairs at Oxford University – in information engineering and oncology – says: “I’m not sure that I would. The idea of getting on a bus and going all the way into the centre of Liverpool every morning would have been quite a disincentive.”
Andrew Burrows QC, professor of law at Oxford, says he probably would have found a way of taking A-levels elsewhere. “But some of the boys I studied A-levels alongside would not, as travel, and the cost of travel, would have been an issue.” Burrows’ old school friends include teachers, a solicitor, a doctor and a professor of medicine.	Andrew Burrows QC, professor of law at Oxford, says he probably would have found a way of taking A-levels elsewhere. “But some of the boys I studied A-levels alongside would not, as travel, and the cost of travel, would have been an issue.” Burrows’ old school friends include teachers, a solicitor, a doctor and a professor of medicine.
Friends and neighbours who did not pass the 11-plus and attended one of the local secondary moderns have a different story to tell. Most left education at 16, sometimes with few qualifications, and only a handful attended further education college. Some were obliged to return to education much later in life, and a number recall their school days as dark times, best forgotten.	Friends and neighbours who did not pass the 11-plus and attended one of the local secondary moderns have a different story to tell. Most left education at 16, sometimes with few qualifications, and only a handful attended further education college. Some were obliged to return to education much later in life, and a number recall their school days as dark times, best forgotten.
Prescot grammar eventually merged with the girls’ grammar school, became a comprehensive, moved location, merged again, and in time – because councillors could not agree on a shorter name – became the Knowsley Park Centre for Learning, Serving Prescot, Whiston and the Wider Community. The boys’ grammar school building was knocked down years ago and is now a housing estate. On the site of the sixth form where we listened to punk rock while puffing on Players No 6, there now stands Canterbury Close, a cul-de-sac of detached and semi-detached houses.	Prescot grammar eventually merged with the girls’ grammar school, became a comprehensive, moved location, merged again, and in time – because councillors could not agree on a shorter name – became the Knowsley Park Centre for Learning, Serving Prescot, Whiston and the Wider Community. The boys’ grammar school building was knocked down years ago and is now a housing estate. On the site of the sixth form where we listened to punk rock while puffing on Players No 6, there now stands Canterbury Close, a cul-de-sac of detached and semi-detached houses.
By the late 70s, some of the comprehensive schools in Knowsley were enjoying a brief period of great success; Ruffwood in Kirkby, for example, under the leadership of headteacher Alan Barnes, attracted visits by educationalists from across the globe, became a place where teachers queued up to work and sent entire cohorts of working-class pupils off to university.	By the late 70s, some of the comprehensive schools in Knowsley were enjoying a brief period of great success; Ruffwood in Kirkby, for example, under the leadership of headteacher Alan Barnes, attracted visits by educationalists from across the globe, became a place where teachers queued up to work and sent entire cohorts of working-class pupils off to university.