The coalition’s free schools dilemma

Ministers can’t keep costs down, keep the profiteers out <em>and</em> get the revolutionary programm

The government's free schools programme has started with a whimper. Not so long ago, ministers were talking of new schools teaching as many as 220,000 students. Actual number of new schools now likely to open their doors this September: 16.

The Education Secretary, Michael Gove, denies that this is a disappointment. The programme was always going to start slowly, he says. Free schools are meant to snowball, with increasing numbers opening in each year between now and the election. Except . . . it's not clear that's what is going to happen at all. If something doesn't change, in fact, free schools are always going to remain a sideshow. And no one in government seems sure what to do about it.

It all comes down to buildings – or rather, the money to pay for them. The groups trying to set up free schools are for the most part composed of parents or teachers. They don't generally have a few million quid lying about with which to build a new school. This, the wonks have always said, doesn't really matter. There is no reason new schools need own a building: renting one is quite sufficient. And where there are empty classrooms in existing schools, well, why not let new schools borrow them and pay for the privilege?

The problem is, neither of these things actually seems to work. Free-school groups don't have a credit history, so no one will lease them a building. (The government has said it will guarantee such leases, but it is yet to put its money where its mouth is.) And, unsurprisingly, neither free schools nor existing comprehensives seem all that keen on shacking up together.

So, the first generation of new free schools look like it is mostly going to be set up in buildings specially purchased for the purpose, using government money. And Partnerships for Schools, a quango that until recently seemed destined for the scrapheap, has been given the job of finding them.

The impression those close to the programme give is one of blind panic, with PfS being mandated to do something, anything, to make sure the first new schools can open on schedule.

This is all fine when there are only a few projects in the pipeline. But no one thinks it'll work once there are hundreds. Apart from anything else, it's too expensive. Back in February, a BBC investigation found that one free school had been promised £15m for its new building. You don't have to be an accountant to see that the £100m set aside for the programme isn't going to go very far.

There is another option: allowing free schools to make a profit. If private companies were allowed to make money from state schools, they would have an incentive to invest their own capital. It's this that allowed the free school programme to balloon in Sweden. The British government, though, isn't going to let that happen. Even before last year's election, the Tories weren't keen on the message it sends. With the Liberal Democrats to keep happy, too, profit-making schools are now seen as a complete non-starter.

The Department for Education is trying to fudge this a little by making it harder for free school projects to qualify for government assistance. This will likely mean a shift in type of groups promoting schools, from parent and teacher groups, which can't afford buildings, to big academy chains, which can. That will make it easier for those schools that do qualify to open their doors. But it also represents a quiet acceptance that Gove's original vision, of a parent-led revolution, is never going to fly.

The government wants three things: to create enough new schools to shake up state education; to keep the profiteers out; and to keep the cost to the taxpayer down. But it can't win on all three fronts. One of them is going to have to give. And right now, it looks like the revolution will be the one to get tossed aside.

Jonn Elledge is a journalist covering politics and the public sector. He is currently editor of EducationInvestor magazine.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Brexit. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Getty
Show Hide image

A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear