The top class at my junior school had a reputation to maintain. As a matter of course a good 90%+ of the pupils passed the 11+ and went to either the boys’ grammar school or the girls’ high school. I must be clear that this was not because we were outstandingly bright, it was more to do with the coaching we had for months before the exam so that we were fully prepared for whatever came our way.
As it happens I was pretty good at the IQ type questions, the sums, the written English. Maybe I’d have passed without the hard graft of our teacher, certainly the thought of ‘failing’ didn’t cross my mind. I don’t remember feeling especially scared on the day the letter was due, but for sure there was a grand celebration once my place at the High School was confirmed. The next day at school was a mixture of jubilation and sadness as the question ‘did you pass?’ was asked over and over again and it sank in that one or two classmates hadn’t . Oh, and in Class 2 (the ‘B’ stream, I guess) hardly anyone had got through, no one at all in Class 3.
It took many years to realise that there was something intrinsically unfair about what had happened, years more to discover/understand on just how many levels that iniquity existed.
I’ll not go down the political inequality route on the obvious level, but spend a moment reflecting that in some local authorities the girls had a higher pass mark to achieve than the boys. Without that discrimination more girls than boys would have got through the exam. That opens up a big old can of worms, but is worth noting.
Mine was not a political household in that politics were not discussed. It was to be many years before my consciousness was raised sufficiently to question any of this stuff, and aged 10, nearly 11, I was just delighted that I was to be allowed to wear the dreary uniform, the 60-dernier stockings, the grey beret and the green gym tunic which meant I belonged to a new club.
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