I was only vaguely aware of the name Ted Wragg when his death was announced a week or so ago. Education is a subject I write about only when something bizarre is going on. As a parent with a child of school age, I’m quite aware that us parents are an element to be patronised, barely tolerated and, wherever possible, ignored by the school establishment and that any contribution I have to make is about as welcome as Jonathan King offering to open the School Fayre, whatever New Labour’s spurious notions of “Parent Power” might say.

I would probably have never discovered Wragg’s writing if I hadn’t been on the train to London yesterday on a jolly and, having exhausted the rest of my Guardian, I turned to the education section and read the “best of” collection of Wragg’s columns on Britain’s education system. What a brilliant writer, with a turn of phrase that makes me green:

Kelly hours. What a cheek! Schools have run extracurricular activities for decades, but some government spinner decides the secretary of state needs a better image. Bingo, journalists are pressed to give this ancient idea her soubriquet. Imagine the scene in the DfES vomitarium.

“Look, Fortescue, what the hell can we do about Ruth Kelly? She’s a complete disaster.”

“I’ve got it, boss. Why don’t we name something after her, you know, like ‘Baker days’. What about that wheeze to open schools longer each day? We could call it ‘Kelly overtime’. No, better still, ‘Kelly hours’.”

“Brilliant, Fortescue. This could mean promotion for you.”

I offer Ruth Kelly a suggestion. Immerse yourself in what is happening in successful schools and classrooms, so that you can say, quite naturally: “The other day I saw a really interesting idea in a school in Swineshire.” And send the spin doctors off for a long holiday in Albania.

June 21, 2005

If only I’d come across him earlier so many Guardian education sections might not have gone into the recycling unopened and I might be more engaged on an issue which, according to Wragg at least, is in a permanent state of flux, if not chaos, due to constant and unmitigated government interference. Indeed, he seems to have been a a man after my own heart:

The market is a useful servant, but a very cruel master. It doesn’t take care of quality, for a start. The newspapers with the biggest circulation are not necessarily of the highest quality. Nor does it work in the best interests of the least powerful in our society. It often grinds them into a paste.

I’m now working my way through his Guardian back catalogue, something I’d recommend to others for, if nothing else, the love of good writing.