A Principled view

There’s a scene I still enjoy teaching, every time I get the chance: Macbeth, told he’s safe until Birnam Wood marches against him, treats the prophecy as a kind of cosmic permission slip — an impossibility dressed up as a guarantee. Forests don’t walk. And then, of course, they do; not by magic, but because an army cuts down branches and carries them, and what looked fixed and immovable turns out to have been waiting for someone to actually move it.

I’m not going to pretend a change of Prime Minister is Birnam Wood arriving at Dunsinane, and I’d be a fool to promise the children in today’s attainment report that the cavalry is coming. Governments have promised “national renewal” before, and the trees stayed exactly where they were. But there’s something in that scene worth holding onto: the wood only moves because somebody decides it can, and starts cutting branches. Stories do that — they let us rehearse the moment before we have to live it. Which is, as it happens, more or less the entire argument of Frank Cottrell-Boyce’s tenure as Children’s Laureate: that a child who has been read to, who has been allowed to sit inside someone else’s impossible forest for a while, comes out better equipped for whatever their own turns out to be.

Today’s report on white working-class attainment landed with the depressing inevitability of a wet Monday in February. Another year, another set of figures confirming that a sizeable chunk of our children are leaving school having been measured constantly and served rarely. I read it over breakfast and thought: we’ve been here before, and we’ll be here again, and somewhere in between those two visits the actual children involved will have grown up and left school anyway, none the wiser as to why nobody fixed it in time for them.

I want to tell you about a hundred headteachers in a hotel conference room, because it’s relevant, and because I’ve been waiting years for an excuse to tell this story again.

It must have been around 2003 or 2004 — a couple of years before his death — when Ted Wragg addressed the Independent Schools Association conference. A hundred of us, heads of school, notebooks out, doing the thing headteachers do at conferences, which is nod sagely while mentally drafting the email we’ll send when we get back to the office. Wragg told us about some research he’d been involved with into Singapore’s accountancy students. Apparently they were astonishing in their first set of professional exams — flawless on the calculations, faultless on the spreadsheets — and then fell apart spectacularly in the second set, which asked them to sit across a table from an actual client and tell them, in plain language, what to do with their money.

Wragg’s diagnosis, as I remember it, was that these students were brilliant at what they’d been trained to be good at, and had no idea what any of it was good for. A roomful of headteachers laughed nervously, because every one of us recognised the shape of the problem. We just didn’t know yet that twenty years later we’d still be writing the same speech.

That distinction — good at, versus good for — has lodged in me ever since, the way only the really useful ideas do. It’s not an argument against rigour. Spreadsheets matter. Exams matter. I am not about to stand here, fifty years into this career, and tell you that getting the basics right is somehow beneath us — that ship sailed long ago and good riddance to it. But a child who is magnificent at the test and has no idea what the test was for is a child we have half-finished. We’ve built the engine and forgotten to ask where it’s supposed to go.

Cottrell-Boyce’s Reading Rights campaign makes the same case from a different angle. The children most likely to be let down by the system — the same children in today’s report, more often than the headlines admit — are also the ones least likely to have had the “invisible privilege,” as he calls it, of being read to. He isn’t asking for another testing regime. He’s asking for time, attention, and the rather unfashionable belief that a child who has been read to is better equipped for absolutely everything else, including the spreadsheets.

I don’t think today’s report and Cottrell-Boyce’s campaign are two separate stories. I think they’re the same story told twice. We have built a system that is very good at measuring what a child is good at, and almost entirely silent on what a child might be good for. The white working-class boys — and it is mostly boys — at the centre of today’s report are not short of testing. They are short of someone making the case, convincingly and early enough to matter, that any of it adds up to something they’d want.

I don’t have a tidy three-point plan to fix this, and I’d be suspicious of anyone who claims they do, especially by lunchtime on the day a report drops. But I keep coming back to that hotel conference room, and a hundred heads laughing nervously at a story about Singapore, all of us recognising the problem and precisely none of us having solved it since. If a new government — and it increasingly looks like Andy Burnham’s government, with Ed Miliband installed at the Treasury — wants to be more than a prophecy nobody believed, that’s where I’d start looking for the army. Though I suppose the real question is whether the Chancellor permits the cutting down of any trees at all, or simply asks the Office for Budget Responsibility to confirm the forest was always going to march on schedule. Wragg would, I suspect, find it darkly funny that we’re still here. He’d also, I suspect, tell us to get on with it.

This week, as thousands of England fans have poured into stadiums across the USA — with reports of up to 15,000 Three Lions supporters turning out in Dallas to watch England beat Croatia 4-2 in their first game in the 2026, a historic line in the sand has been drawn back home. With the government’s landmark announcement legally banning social media for children under the age of 16, the public conversation has hyper-focused on a singular, urgent mission: giving our kids their childhood back.

For over a decade, headteachers and parents have stood on the front lines, managing the heavy fallout of the algorithmic playground — from fractured attention spans and low-level classroom distractions to the steady erosion of youth mental health. A legal digital curfew is a welcome step, but as we all know, policy alone cannot fill the vacuum left behind by the infinite scroll. It simply clears the room. The real challenge for educators and leaders is deciding what we choose to put back into that sacred space.

To find the antidote to this digital isolation, we don’t need to look forward to the next tech gimmick. We need to look out the window — to the grass, the track, and the river.

The timing of this digital shift aligns beautifully with a motif close to my heart: the spirit of the Three Lions. What does that iconic badge truly represent? It is the absolute antithesis of an algorithm. Social media teaches a child to look down, trapping them in an isolated audience of one, chasing superficial validation, streaks, and likes. The Three Lions spirit, however, forces a child to look up. It demands physical presence, sweat, and visceral accountability to the people standing next to them. On the pitch, you learn quickly that effort is seen, character is tested, and belonging is earned. And when Gary Linekar, former England manager, makes it clear that these are the lessons he now wishes to embue in his next steps to make a difference to society.

This isn’t just idealistic theory; at Claires Court, we see the fruits of this analogue devotion in action every single week. Our school’s immense, historic contribution to sports education is not a mere co-curricular add-on — it is the baseline for our academic excellence. Look no further than the national stage this term. Our pupils and staff provided the literal backbone for the ISA London West athletics squad, which triumphantly retained the National ISA Championship title for the third consecutive year. Our partnership with Delgado & Lee at Bisham Abbey means our Under 18 Tennis team have made the finals in Nottingham for the third year running too. A three-year regional dynasty doesn’t happen by accident. It is forged out on the track, court, and in the field, through grueling practice, grit, and collective pride. As a school, we’ve managed the ISA Area championships and emergent regional team for a quarter of a century. We don’t just practice what we preach, we make it permanent.

When you combine that track and field dominance with our renowned heritage on the open water, you get a holistic education that engages every element of a child’s being. There is a profound, meditative reality to water sports. The open water demands absolute, acute awareness of your environment. You cannot check a notification while trimming a sail, navigating a kayak, or balancing a blade against the current. The water, like the running track, pitch or court, commands total presence.

It is for this exact reason — to ensure our children have vibrant, real-world spaces to thrive in — that Claires Court established its sports development pathways and committed to the deep integration and support of local sports clubs. We don’t just coach sport within our gates; we anchor it in the wider Maidenhead community. The celebration by England Hockey of Ellie Raye’s 150th international cap this week is perhaps the greatest achievement of the longevity contribution of a Claires Court Alumnus.

This summer, we are proud to put our resources precisely where our principles are. I’m delighted that Claires Court is financially supporting Maidenhead Rugby Club’s girls’ development pathway from Year 10 to 13, alongside sharing our coaching knowledge and expertise to help nurture the next generation of athletic talent. Furthermore, in a landmark moment for our local sporting infrastructure, we have successfully negotiated a 30-year lease extension for the Sports Club we jointly own with Phoenix. This vital agreement secures a proud, 42-year community legacy for another entire generation of young athletes.

We aren’t just giving our children their childhood back — together, we are building a legacy worth inheriting.

While the state introduces boundaries to pull our children back from the edge of the digital void, Claires Court is actively building the real-world infrastructure to welcome them back to reality. Banning apps only removes the symptom of a hyper-connected, deeply lonely age; embedding team sports, outdoor education, and community play solves the underlying problem. On the track, in the field, out on the open water, and now secured on our local pitches for decades to come, the spirit of the Three Lions is burning brighter than ever.

The following post is written in response to the government’s much-stated ambition to rapidly adopt AI and become a world leader in AI.

 With ChatGPT now at version 5.5 — and entire articles being written wholly by GPT-5 with zero human input — the integration of Artificial Intelligence into the classroom is no longer a dystopian prospect or sci-fi gimmick. It is a reality fundamentally reshaping how children learn, at a pace that demands urgent, dynamic leadership. Yet as AI accelerates, it’s also carving out a massive, unequal chasm between independent and state schools.

Pioneering private schools have spent years experimenting with advanced tools like Merlyn Mind and Google Workspace. National policy for the state sector, by contrast, has remained reactive, underwhelming, and stuck in the mud. If we want to fix this, the Department for Education needs to stop producing dense white papers and start learning from how the private sector built its trailblazing culture.

A Head Start That’s Becoming a Chasm

Independent schools had a massive advantage. Many were operating as digital laboratories long before ChatGPT arrived. Some have used AI-powered digital assistants since 2021 — treating them as “extra adults in the room” to handle admin and free teachers for what matters most. They’ve even introduced safe, curriculum-aligned AI to younger pupils, building early tech literacy.

Combined with infrastructure built on platforms like Google Workspace over a decade ago, the results are stark. According to the Sutton Trust’s 2025 research, private school teachers are significantly ahead in adoption, training, and strategy.

Private schools are three times more likely to have a clear AI strategy than state schools (27% vs 9%). Private teachers are more than twice as likely to have received formal AI training (45% vs 21%), and they report higher confidence and more sophisticated usage — from pupil reports to marking and parent communication.

Meanwhile, the state sector faces a severe strategy deficit. A staggering 91% of state school teachers say their school has no clear, unified AI strategy. Without direction, AI use becomes fragmented — mostly quick lesson planning rather than the deeper administrative and pedagogical transformation seen in the independent sector.

Training, Hardware, and the Home Access Gap

Even well-intentioned peer training in state schools hits a wall: hardware and access. Independent schools often provide 1:1 devices, while many pupils from lower socio-economic backgrounds lack a reliable laptop at home for personalised AI tutoring.

The government’s response has centred on platforms like Aila through Oak National Academy — a well-meaning, safe, and free tool designed to reduce workload and meet DfE safety standards. It’s a solid start for consistency and equity of access. But it risks becoming a rigid, “Big Mac” solution: highly processed, one-size-fits-all content in a world demanding creativity and flexibility. Tools like Canva Magic Studio or Google AI Studio, used more freely in private settings, offer greater dynamism.

We’re essentially waiting for an educational Jamie Oliver to point out that algorithmic Turkey Twizzlers alone won’t nourish the next generation.

Culture Eats Strategy

There’s a famous management adage: “Culture eats strategy for breakfast.” It has never been more relevant. Bridget Phillipson and the DfE can issue all the top-down mandates, toolkits, and guidance they like. Without fostering genuine empowerment, experimentation, and professional trust, state schools will continue to fall behind.

Independent schools didn’t succeed because of a government memo. They empowered “digital champions,” invested in peer-to-peer training, and did the messy work of navigating data privacy, bias, and integration over years.

Time for Leadership, Not Lagging

We don’t have time for more white papers. With GPT-5.5 demonstrating capabilities once thought years away — including fully autonomous, hours-long complex workflows — education needs dynamic leadership and informed stewardship right now.

If the Secretary of State genuinely wants AI to be a gap-closer rather than an engine of deeper inequality, she should look beyond the political divide and treat trailblazing independent schools as partners, not opponents.

Practical steps could include:

• Funding cross-sector innovation pilots that let state schools adopt and adapt proven private-sector approaches.
• Greater procurement flexibility so schools aren’t locked into single national platforms.
• Targeted investment in devices and home access for disadvantaged pupils.
• Backing digital champions in every school with time, budget, and autonomy.
• Regulatory sandboxes that encourage safe experimentation while maintaining rigorous safeguards.

The alternative is clear: another generation watching the future being built on the other side of the school gates. It’s time to move from a policy of catching up to one of genuine leadership.

James Wilding

Google Certified Innovator

AFIS Patron

When my wife Jenny and I entered teaching in 1975, the choice was both deliberate and happenstance. I was the son of David and Josephine Wilding, who met at Kings College London when undergraduates studying History, who entered teaching as a career in the early fifties. They determined to set up their own Prep School, found a property called Claires Court in Maidenhead and opened for business in 1960. Embued with the experience of living with entrepreneurial educators, when Dad and Mum offered me a job as a junior Maths, Science and Games teacher, and Jenny a post of teaching secondary History at Newlands school in Maidenhead, our married lives commenced working together in the same career at a perfect time.

In January 1981, I became Master-in-charge of the newly formed Senior School, the juniors being hived off to Ridgeway, the house my parents added to expand boarding in 1964. With my brother Hugh, who’d joined the business to take over the bursar’s function earlier in 1980, I became fellow Principal in 1984, and from then onwards, I joined the collegiate role of school leadership. it’s been a blast.

This April, after 45 years as a head and 36 years as a member of the Independent Schools Association, I stepped down as the Headteacher of Claires Court, notifying both the Government and ISA that I had ceased to be the name in charge. When Rachel from Accounts decided to tax family businesses into oblivion in her November 2024 budget, we were left with no choice other than find a suitable charity into which to reverse the school, the sale of Claires Court in 19 February this year to the Licensed Trade Charity, LTC, provided the perfect solution.

Aged 72, and since 1992 a serving member of Executive Council, the now central body of Headteacher Trustees, my last Annual conference as the school member of the Association was held this week in Bristol. I was privileged to have my time celebrated with the 100+ delegates in attendance at the Annual dinner this Thursday. To date I’ve taken the step away from headship into a new supporting role for the school, managing the 40+ working partnerships and relationships with the wider community in my stride. This Friday, the emotion of the very real severance of my work for school and association hit me. 

Yet by now, as I write this on Saturday 16 May 2026, so many from the wide number of friends from the school (past and present), fellow headteachers, Principals and leaders in education, I realise they saw this coming. I’ve never considered my job as anything other than making a difference in the lives of the children in my care. At its biggest, Claires Court has had over 1100 pupils and 400+ employees, so it’s been a heck of a commitment, but it’s also been a whole bale of fun. 

Jenny and I have lived our lives very privately. We’ve 2 amazing sons, their partners and children (3 boys, Boston Terrier Terence, Freddie & Bertie in order of arrival), my brother’s mob and wider families and chums, our future remains in Maidenhead. By now, after all those years recognised in national contribution, my place is here, my home town, my safe space. Of course, I’ll take a bit of a blow on the sidelines, yet happy in the knowledge that my love of Rugby, Cricket, Golf and Football remains here in the town, associated with all 4 clubs, eponymously named. And above all, I know I’m not alone after all.

And whilst I’ve been a supporter of Chelsea Football club all my life, I can’t help connecting with one of the most brilliant songs of my childhood, “You’ll never walk alone” sung by Gerry and the Pacemakers.

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high,

And don’t be afraid of the dark.

At the end of a storm, there’s a golden sky,

And the sweet, silver song of a lark. 

Walk on through the wind,

Walk on through the rain,

Though your dreams be tossed and blown. 

Walk on, walk on,

With hope in your heart,

And you’ll never walk alone.

You’ll never walk alone.

Walk on, walk on,

With hope in your heart,

And you’ll never walk alone.

Thank you, all my friends and colleagues. Whilst my journey’s not yet over, it has been a bit rocky for a little while this Spring. If I may add, somewhat imperfectly to the original verses written by Rodgers and Hammerstein in their 1945 musical Carousel. 

“You’ve reached out through the storm, 

seen the tears in my eyes 

Yet renewed my faith in my choice.

I have hope in my heart,

 I’ve seen the sun break through,

As I know I don’t walk alone.

And I love you all for that.

I can’t thank you enough.

Have faith in my strength.

I’ll be strong now I’m through,

My heart’s in the Game,

And you know above all,

I know you are there,

So I’ll do the same.

Responsibility, Respect

Loyalty next,

And Integrity above all.”