Having failed to do his homework, Gove flunked the exam

The Education Secretary's decision to bow to his critics and retain GCSEs is, in a competitive field, the most humiliating retreat yet from a coalition minister.

It looks like rumours of the death of GCSEs have been greatly exaggerated. In a statement to the Commons at 11:30am today, Michael Gove, the man lionised by Conservative MPs as the coalition's greatest reformer, will announce that the exams will not, after all, be scrapped in favour of English Baccalaureate Certificates (EBCs). (N.B. it is these new qualifications, rather than the English Baccalaureate or EBacc, a performance indicator, which measures the percentage of students in a school who achieve grades A*-C in English, maths, two sciences, a foreign language and history or geography at GCSE level that have been abandoned. Confusing, I know.) 

Under the original plan, 14-year-olds were due to begin studying for EBCs in English, maths and science from 2015, with the first exams sat in 2017, to be followed by history, geography and languages in 2018. They will now sit GCSEs instead. In addition, Gove will announce that his plan to introduce a single exam board for each subject has been scrapped after he was warned by civil servants that it could breach EU procurement law (a pity since this is the one measure that really would have halted the "race to the bottom" that Gove has rightly denounced). 

So, why the change of course from the coalition's Robespierre? Largely because the Liberal Democrats, the education select committee, former Conservative education secretary Kenneth Baker (who told me that he "didn't know" how Gove was going to introduce his exam reforms) and Ofqual were all, to varying degrees, telling Gove that replacing GCSEs with EBCs was a terrible idea. The select committee, for instance, said last week: "We have not seen any evidence to suggest that the proposed changes will be more successful than GCSEs in addressing underachievement or in narrowing the attainment gap between the most disadvantaged students and their peers." Its Conservative chair Graham Stuart said: "Ministers want to introduce a new qualification, require a step change in standards, and [want to] alter the way exams are administered, all at the same time. We believe this is trying to do too much, too quickly, and we call on the government to balance the pace of reform with the need to get it right." Gove's humiliating retreat (in a competitive field, the most dramatic yet from a coalition minister) suggests that he now agrees, although it is worth asking whether the reforms would be proceeding under a Conservative majority government. 

The Education Secretary will, however, rightly point out that the post-14 exams system is still being radically reshaped. The modular system will be scrapped in favour of one examination sat at the end of the two-year period; extension papers in maths and science will be introduced for the brighest pupils; English and history papers will feature more extended writing and maths and science papers more problem solving; and a new National Curriculum will be introduced, with, the Telegraph reports, "a focus on multiplication tables and mental arithmetic in maths, an emphasis on grammar, punctuation, spelling and pre-20th Century literature in English and a clear chronology of British and world events in history."

In addition, league tables, which currently rank schools by the proportion of pupils gaining five A* to C grades, will be reformed so that they now list performance in eight subjects, which must include English, maths and three other EBacc disciplines (two sciences, a foreign language and history or geography). 

By any measure, these are dramatic and ambitious reforms. But the programme of change is so different from Gove's original blueprint that one cannot consider it as anything but a defeat for the Education Secretary. He originally wanted to replace GCSEs with a new two-tier exam (modelled on O-levels and CSEs) only to be foiled by the Lib Dems. After this retreat, the compromise solution of EBCs was announced; all pupils would, contrary to Gove's initial wishes, sit the same exams. Now this too has been killed at birth. 

Gove, who arrogantly lectured the education establishment for months on the need to scrap GCSEs, has been taught a lesson in the perils of hasty reform. Having failed to do his homework, the Education Secretary has flunked the exam. 

Education Secretary Michael Gove will announce today in the House of Commons that GCSEs will be not be scrapped. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war