Meet Thomas and Tommy
This is an extract from Why School Doesn’t Work for Every Child: How to Create a Culture of Inclusion and Belonging by Matt Bromley which is published by Routledge and is available now in hardback, paperback, and ebook formats. Preview it on Amazon or via the Routledge website. Find out why Matt wrote the book in this blog.
Thomas is fifteen. He lives with his mum and dad in a five-bedroomed detached house in leafy suburbia. When I visit, on a warm spring afternoon, cherry blossom carpets the driveway on which are parked two cars, one an SUV, the other a sleek and sporty saloon. I’m taken through a grand double-height hallway to a kitchen that boasts an island bigger than the SUV out front, and from there into the garden via bi-folding doors. Out back, there’s a large summer house at the end of a manicured lawn. I spy a well-stocked bar and an industrial-looking barbecue grill. As I stare, Thomas’s mum tells me that the piece de resistance is in the basement. Below stairs, she whispers somewhat conspiratorially, there’s a home gym, cinema room, and – her eyes flick left then right – heated swimming pool.
Tommy is also fifteen. Until recently, he lived with his mum and dad but him and his mum were taken into emergency accommodation. Their temporary flat is on the other side of town. It is what an estate agent might call ‘bijou’. It has one bedroom and one reception room. The reception consists of a kitchenette and a threadbare sofa which is more spring than cushion. There is a shared bathroom down the corridor which, I’m told, doesn’t have a lock on the door or a shower over the bath. The carpets are sticky and the whole building smells of damp. Tommy shares the bedroom, top-and-tailing with his younger sister; his mum takes the sofa. On the day I visit, it’s raining outside, and the roof is leaking. The incessant drip-drip is distracting, like a head full of bees. Tommy’s mum offers to take my coat and, when I decline, apologises for the lack of heating: the system is on the blink. It’s fine, though, they’re used to the cold; they hadn’t been able to afford the heating bills at their old house.
Thomas is not yet home. His mum apologises. She tells me he plays tennis at the local club every Tuesday after school. In fact, he has quite the social life. Monday is chess club, Tuesday is tennis or squash, Wednesday is debating society, Thursday is piano, and Friday is time spent with friends. The weekends are no less frantic. Thomas plays rugby on Saturdays and spends Sundays online gaming. He is into computer games, his mum tells me, and has all the latest gear in his bedroom: a gamer’s chair and desk, headset, multi-screen set-up, the works. He occasionally posts videos of himself playing games on YouTube and has picked up a big following. Since he monetised his channel, it’s even started to pay. Thomas is putting the profits to one side to help fund a gap year after he’s finished his A Levels. He wants to go to America and do Route 66 having seen a documentary about it on Netflix.
Tommy is also out when I call to see him. His mum isn’t sure where he is but says he’s probably on the estate somewhere. He hasn’t yet made friends in the area, but he doesn’t like to be in the flat so goes to the skate park or just hangs around the local shops. His mum thinks he’s started vaping but hasn’t talked to him about it yet. When he returns, Tommy tells me not to tell his mum, but he’s never been to the stake park because he doesn’t like the look of the other kids who hang out there. Instead, he was at a local Polish cafe because they have free Wi-Fi and don’t ask questions as long as it’s not too busy and he sits quietly in a corner. He goes there often. It’s warm and bright. There’s a plug to charge his phone and the tap water is free. I ask why he doesn’t use the local library instead. He says there isn’t one, it got closed down just like the community centre where he used to live. Until the community centre closed, he would often go to the youth club there on Thursdays to use the computers or play sports.
When Thomas gets home, he’s very apologetic about being late. He says his match went the full five sets and the match point was thrilling. He’s still buzzing from it. He says he will sleep well tonight. But first he needs a shower and something to eat. I ask what he’ll have. He says he knows there’s some salmon left in the fridge, and he’s been craving Eggs Royale all day. I ask if he’s a good cook, he says he’s passable, Magda taught him how to cook a decent poached egg. He notes my look of confusion. Magda is the housekeeper, he explains. She comes in every day, cooks, cleans, that sort of thing. Part of the furniture. Part of the family, he means. So, tell me about your day, I say. Thomas tells me that school was ok. He gets too much homework but it’s not too hard. Mum and dad help him with it whenever needed – and there’s always his private tutor. Dad’s good with maths and science and computing; mum is a linguist and can speak several languages. His mum works from home these days so is always on hand when needed; his dad runs his own business, so his time is his own. He organises his diary so he can pick Thomas up from chess club and debating society and watch him play rugby at the weekends.
Tommy says his dad is a good man, but he lost his job in construction during Covid and struggled with the lockdowns. He became less patient, more prone to outbursts. He’s a good man, Tommy repeats; just doesn’t know how to communicate and loses his temper more easily these days. Drinks too much, probably. Too much time to think, maybe. Tommy’s mum works at the local supermarket and cleans at the hospital. She works shifts which can be tough. Some days, Tommy gets his sister up and ready for school and some days he has to pick her up after school and babysit till mum gets home. There’s no washing machine in the flat and the local launderette is expensive, so their clothes must survive several wears. I notice that Tommy’s uniform is too small for him, and his trousers are muddy. How’s school, I ask. Tommy shrugs. It’s ok. Does he find it easy? The work’s ok, he says. It’s just that he struggles to concentrate, often feels tired, hungry, distracted. Gets into trouble for not doing his homework or for daydreaming. Says he gets behind because he’s often late. He has had run-ins with some other boys recently, too. Got detention but skipped it and is now worried what they’ll do to punish him. He knows what I’m thinking: yes, that’s why he stayed away from school today; no, his mum doesn’t know. Why did you skip detention, I ask? He tells me he had to pick his sister up after school, couldn’t stay late. Didn’t want the school phoning his mum at work. He worries she’ll lose her job.
Thomas has easy manners, is confident and articulate. As he poaches an egg and picks at some sliced salmon, he chats to me about a story he saw on the TV news last night.
Tommy used to be eligible for free school meals. His mum doesn’t know why that stopped, something to do with changes to her Universal Credit. All she knows is that they didn’t suddenly get any richer! She tells me Tommy used to get extra help at school because of something called the Pupil Premium. That stopped too. Again, she doesn’t know why. She is quick to tell me they’re not benefits cheats or scroungers. She works hard, has two jobs. Has always worked, since she left school; believes in paying her own way in life. She says she comes from a proud family of grafters and doesn’t want hand-outs. But the bills have gone up lately. They can’t afford to heat the flat, have to keep the lights off and limit TV usage. But the kids never go hungry, she insists, albeit unconvincingly. She says food is so expensive these days, too. She blames Brexit. She wishes she hadn’t voted for it; wishes she hadn’t bought the lies writ large on the side of a bus. Said she thought she was helping the NHS; turns out it’s made matters worse. She knows they’ve cut staffing at the hospital where she cleans, and that waiting lists are through the roof. She admits she sometimes uses the food bank but ‘don’t tell the kids, they’d be so embarrassed’.
Thomas intends to stay on at school to do his A Levels then take a year out, travelling. After that, he wants to go to university to read Economics like his dad. Says his dad can get him a job in the City and that he can take over the family business when he’s earned his stripes. He knows what he needs to get in his GCSEs and what A Levels will be best for university applications. He knows all his extra-curricular activities will help when it comes to his UCAS form, too, and his parents have said they’ll help him financially. I ask what his early childhood was like. Thomas tells me about family holidays – in the days before his dad bought a villa in Spain, they’d travel Europe. He has fond memories of camping by Lake Como during a storm, of touring the Nou Camp in Barcelona, and of visiting Ann Frank’s house in Amsterdam. He says weekends were always busy – his parents liked to go to the theatre and to visit art galleries and museums. His mum is a bit obsessed with churches, he tells me. He’s seen enough old buildings to last a lifetime. Books also feature heavily in his early memories. He says his dad would read to him most nights. His favourite author was Roald Dahl. The house has always been full of books.
Tommy says he’s been feeling increasingly anxious. Anxious about school, about homework, about getting into trouble; anxious about not sleeping, not eating; anxious about his appearance, his health, his sister, his mum, where they’re going to live next, what’s going to happen to his dad… I suggest asking the school to refer him for specialist support, all the while knowing the waiting list is somewhere north of two years. He says he doesn’t need help, he’s not mental, just worries a lot about a lot.
Thomas is a high-performing student, predicted a raft of grade 9s in his GCSEs next year. Tommy is not.
Thomas and Tommy are students at the same school.
Thomas and Tommy have the same IQ.
Diminishing the difference
Thomas and Tommy may be fictional, but their stories are far from unusual. You may think I’ve created caricatures; but I have met many young people like Thomas and Tommy in my quarter-century working in education. Their life stories are not exaggerated; indeed, I could have added other risk factors. Thomas could have been privately educated; Tommy could have been black or a Traveller, a looked after child, a student with learning difficulties or a physical disability.
But, even without these additional factors in play, Thomas and Tommy can teach us some important lessons about society and about our schools. I’ll leave the social commentary to politicians, but let’s consider what this means for schools…
Imagine you work at the school which both Thomas and Tommy attend. In fact, both boys are in your class. Your school operates a zero-tolerance approach to behaviour and has high expectations of all learners. Corridor and canteen conduct is highly regimented. Posters on the wall carry mnemonics instructing learners in every aspect of school life. Lessons follow a prescribed pattern: after silently entering the room and taking their seats, learners complete a ‘do now’ task which is already on the board. After the register is taken, there’s a starter activity then the teacher introduces new content. Every learner is taught the same curriculum. Your school doesn’t believe in dumbing down, in the soft bigotry of low expectations. Behaviour is not regarded as a form of communication; rather, it is the mark of a naughty child who needs strict rules and routine. The school operates as a meritocracy. Learners who attend, on time and with the right equipment, behave well, consistently do all their homework to a high standard, always engage in lessons, answer questions articulately and in depth, and who volunteer for extra-curricular activities and leadership responsibilities, are rewarded with prizes and praise. Those who do not, are not.
Imagine that ability, or aptitude, or capability, or whatever you want to call it, is not a factor. Thomas and Tommy are equally gifted, or equally average, you decide. Who would you put your money on receiving the most prizes and praise, making the better progress, leaving school with the better outcomes, not only in terms of qualifications, but also in their personal development and their preparedness for the next stage of their lives? Who, then, do you think is most likely to go onto post-16 study then university? Who will find the better, higher paid job? Who will enjoy better health and well-being for the rest of their lives? Who will live longer?
There’s little doubt that Thomas will outperform Tommy at school and indeed at every juncture of their lives, not because he’s brighter or harder working, but because he started the race halfway round the track and has more expensive running shoes.
You see, it’s not about ability – a phrase I utter so often I think I’ll get it printed on a tee-shirt. Learners from socio-economic deprivation, or the working classes, are no less able than those from affluence and higher social status. Likewise, learners with SEND are no less able, nor are Black and ethnic minority learners. Instead, it is about an accident of birth. And sadly, a child’s birth all too often becomes their destiny.
In seeking to achieve equity in education, we must not conflate advantage with ability. Think not that your disadvantaged learners are less able, but that they have not been afforded the same opportunities as their more advantaged peers and thus have gaps in their knowledge and skills. Think not that your SEND learners have difficulties or disabilities, but that the school environment is not suited to their additional needs, that their impairment becomes disabling because our expectations of how they engage in class and demonstrate their learning are not well-matched to their needs.
In part two, we will explore the causes and consequences of Tommy’s disadvantage.
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