Diana Wichtel: At least they still have prizegivings

COMMENT

So this is Christmas. Just remember: if it doesn't kill you it will make you stronger. The ridiculous pre-holiday deadlines kick in.

There are all the presents still to buy and no one has yet told you whether you're to bring the ham or the pav.

The Christmas parties. The office do. Just as things gets really insane, they cry havoc and let slip the nation's children, maddened with freedom and ready to party.

But before they hit the streets there's ordeal by prizegiving ceremony to be got through. Craven excuses are unacceptable. You will sit in a stifling hall for a period of time that bears no resemblance to the short, sharp gathering promised in the newsletter and put your neck out trying to see your progeny perform and receive a certificate for something improbable.

You settle into a prime location. A bossy teacher tells you you'll have to move back three rows. She means now, people. A father refuses. He got here early to secure a good seat and he's not moving just because the bossy teacher can't count. Tempers and nostrils flare. Nearby children watch with interest, absorbing this "how not to" lesson in conflict resolution and secretly hoping for a bit of seasonal biffo.

Everyone moves. If you're lucky, the speeches are short and soon you are surreptitiously wiping away tears, helplessly touched by hopeful, talented youth teetering on the edge of adolescence.

However painful to the posterior, prizegiving is a timeless and useful educational institution, a last bastion, in these unit standards times, of reward for being better at things than everyone else.

Report cards, another seasonal delight, are a different matter. The modern version requires a degree in advanced eduspeak and an operator's manual.

Report card comments were once an art form in themselves. There was the ever-popular, if uninspired "Could do better". But there were also pithy critiques - "Indolent boy" - that stayed with you for life.

Even when the teacher got it hopelessly wrong they were entertaining. Justin Marshall's mother took a certain delight in telling a reporter about the "Could do well if he spent less time playing rugby" comment the young future All Black once got on a report card.

In fact, whole books have been written on the subject of the old style, Old Testament judgments that would get a teacher fired these days.

Actor and writer Stephen Fry drove one headmaster to note: "He has glaring faults and they have certainly glared at us this term." The following year brought a defeated "I have nothing more to say".

As a first semester university student, Woody Allen was advised to "seek counselling for his inability to take life seriously".

These days, it's all about whether your child has "attained" some often bewildering "achievement objective". Some maverick teachers still manage to give the impression that they have encountered a sentient human being and allow a little rogue personality - theirs and the child's - to shine through the jargon.

But many of the comments these outcome-oriented days are relentlessly of the "Candice can now effectively and independently walk and chew gum at the same time" type. Did the child like the subject? Did the teacher like the child? Who knows?

The upside is that you may find yourself greeted with the astonishing news (and these examples are not made up) that your 12-year-old "has acquired the knowledge necessary to run a small business". Excellent. At this rate, by the time she's 15, she'll have acquired the knowledge necessary to be CEO of Telecom.

To be fair, academic life is certainly a lot more colourful these days. Children can now attain mastery of such topics as mental health, consumer rip-offs, "Decisions about Drugs" and, a personal favourite, "Advanced Puberty". In the old days little discernible puberty managed to infiltrate the curriculum, let alone advanced.

It may or may not be comforting to learn that your apparently already jaded and world-weary 12-year-old is "well aware of the misconceptions, particularly about sexuality, portrayed by the media".

When it comes to attainment, there are no actual marks or, heaven forbid, class placing. Just a jumble of letters. "H" is good. It stands for "High Standard". But, without marks, you have no idea what those standards are. "O" for "outstanding", is always nice, but just how outstanding? You'll never know. Still, "S", it's a relief to discover, stands not for "shambolic" or "sucks" but for "Satisfactory".

Incredibly, effort is still allowed to be measured by the old A, B, C and so on.

It is possible to get the hang of all this, with a bit of translation. "D" obviously is the old "could do better" in disguise. So "E" must mean "indolent boy".

When you hear that posh private schools used to - might still - read out at assembly the rankings of the entire school, from best in the best class to a wrist-slitting worst in the worst class, there are clearly good reasons for a less dispiriting system.

But it's difficult not to get nostalgic for the days when reports were allowed to be a bit more human. And were, for the most part, written in normal English.

This columnist would love to hear from any readers with memorable teacher's comments to report, old system or new. Please send them to dwichtel@hotmail.com, or the good old-fashioned way.

Happy holidays.