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| Happy huddles – the aim in Spain of early years learning | Happy huddles – the aim in Spain of early years learning |
| (8 days later) | |
| It was when my four-year-old clambered on to a coach for a three-day school camp, the head laughing off my worries about non-existent seatbelts, that I realised his education would be very different from mine. Maths, reading, dressing up as Cervantes and handling scissors were to be part of my children's early school experience in Madrid. But a major aim was to turn them into social beings. They must learn to be happy members of big groups, forever at ease as part of a large huddle of (often loud and coach-borne) people. Solitary reading in the playground, I had already noticed, was frowned upon. It was all about forming the group. "To think they will all be friends when they are our age," sighed one mother as we waved them off. | It was when my four-year-old clambered on to a coach for a three-day school camp, the head laughing off my worries about non-existent seatbelts, that I realised his education would be very different from mine. Maths, reading, dressing up as Cervantes and handling scissors were to be part of my children's early school experience in Madrid. But a major aim was to turn them into social beings. They must learn to be happy members of big groups, forever at ease as part of a large huddle of (often loud and coach-borne) people. Solitary reading in the playground, I had already noticed, was frowned upon. It was all about forming the group. "To think they will all be friends when they are our age," sighed one mother as we waved them off. |
| I snickered cynically. In my British concept of schooling, primary was just the first stage of the great race towards individual brilliance – these were all potential future brain surgeons, chief executives, Olympic athletes, concert pianists and first-rate dramatists. Surely we would all have moved on by the time they grew up, changing schools, moving to other cities or countries, pursuing dreams of their (and our) individual greatness. | I snickered cynically. In my British concept of schooling, primary was just the first stage of the great race towards individual brilliance – these were all potential future brain surgeons, chief executives, Olympic athletes, concert pianists and first-rate dramatists. Surely we would all have moved on by the time they grew up, changing schools, moving to other cities or countries, pursuing dreams of their (and our) individual greatness. |
| But, so far, the Spanish mother has been right. My son has changed school but, at 16, has also built a junior league soccer team with four others from that bus. Many of those four-year-olds regularly end up on our spare beds, though their outsized, hairy limbs now barely fit. If turning them into loyal, lifetime friends was an aim, it worked. | But, so far, the Spanish mother has been right. My son has changed school but, at 16, has also built a junior league soccer team with four others from that bus. Many of those four-year-olds regularly end up on our spare beds, though their outsized, hairy limbs now barely fit. If turning them into loyal, lifetime friends was an aim, it worked. |
| Primary education was, apart from the delightful emphasis on social skills, a constant worry about how undemanding the schooling was. Objectives seemed low or vague. There was little pushing or seeking out and nurturing of individual talents. | Primary education was, apart from the delightful emphasis on social skills, a constant worry about how undemanding the schooling was. Objectives seemed low or vague. There was little pushing or seeking out and nurturing of individual talents. |
| Then they moved on to secondary school. Suddenly, it was all the other way around. Demands were extraordinarily high. An 8am to 2pm timetable needed topping up with an hour or two of self-disciplined (and often self-set – tell that to a 14-year-old boy) afternoon study. Cousins visiting from Britain or the US left with their eyes popping out. | Then they moved on to secondary school. Suddenly, it was all the other way around. Demands were extraordinarily high. An 8am to 2pm timetable needed topping up with an hour or two of self-disciplined (and often self-set – tell that to a 14-year-old boy) afternoon study. Cousins visiting from Britain or the US left with their eyes popping out. |
| The level of maths and sciences was notably higher. Much of everything else had to be memorised: dozens of Spanish rivers, mountain ranges, all Europe's capital cities, most of the periodic table, valences included. Literature was not about learning to write – but about dissecting sentences into infinitessimal grammar categories. The leap was huge, and many seem to fall. More than 30% do not complete the 16-year-old's ESO (Educación Secundaria Obligatoria) level. | The level of maths and sciences was notably higher. Much of everything else had to be memorised: dozens of Spanish rivers, mountain ranges, all Europe's capital cities, most of the periodic table, valences included. Literature was not about learning to write – but about dissecting sentences into infinitessimal grammar categories. The leap was huge, and many seem to fall. More than 30% do not complete the 16-year-old's ESO (Educación Secundaria Obligatoria) level. |
| Perhaps the weirdest thing, as my two boys enter the last few years of schooling, is the absence of external exams. The ESO and bachillerato (at 18) grades are handed out by teachers who set and mark exams for their own classes. Different teachers (and schools) inevitably demand different standards. The only external assessment is (for the minority who make it) the university entrance exam (selectividad). | Perhaps the weirdest thing, as my two boys enter the last few years of schooling, is the absence of external exams. The ESO and bachillerato (at 18) grades are handed out by teachers who set and mark exams for their own classes. Different teachers (and schools) inevitably demand different standards. The only external assessment is (for the minority who make it) the university entrance exam (selectividad). |
| Some teachers – unsackable in the public system – take a grim, tyrannical joy in failing their own students. An urban legend from our state secondary school tells of a maths teacher hurled down the Madrid metro stairs by a gang of angry 18-year-olds after failing an entire bachillerato class – so none could sit university exams. After the hours spent testing my children on mountain ranges, rivers and the periodic table, I know how they felt. | Some teachers – unsackable in the public system – take a grim, tyrannical joy in failing their own students. An urban legend from our state secondary school tells of a maths teacher hurled down the Madrid metro stairs by a gang of angry 18-year-olds after failing an entire bachillerato class – so none could sit university exams. After the hours spent testing my children on mountain ranges, rivers and the periodic table, I know how they felt. |
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