BLESSED ARE THE LEFT-FOOTERS
Thank heavens for Catholic schools,
says Anne McElvoy. They allow some
of us to save face — and money
I STILL recall the feeling of plummeting disappointment when, shortly after my fourth birthday, it was explained to me that I would not be going to the same village school as our neighbours' children. To be yanked away from the companions of my toddlerhood and driven to alien territory every morning just because my family was Roman Catholic seemed a high price to pay for the faith of our fathers. Dungeon, fire and sword paled beside such sacrifice.
It felt worse still at secondary school. We all envied one boy whose parents were letting him leave to go to the non-denomi- national state school. 'You can run in the corridors there and smoke and there are no prefects bossing you around,' he boast- ed. Later as a student, being a Catholic (even, as in my case, an extremely negli- gent one) meant being called to account in late-night debates for the Inquisition, the Concordat with Hitler, the effects of Rome's birth control policy and the vagaries of papal election.
Compensation has been a long time coming, but now, at last, we are envied for our faith. Not for its subtlety and comforts, you understand: just for its schools.When the subject turns to the rights and wrongs of educating our own children, we men and women of Rome only need to smile and say, 'Well, actually, we're Catholics.' The response to this varies only between, 'Well, you're all right then,' and, 'What, both of you?' as if having two RCs in one marriage were a ridiculous self-indulgence and we ought to spread ourselves more generously throughout the gene-pool.
A new sect has emerged within the Catholic Church, namely the `Edu- catholics', whose devotion is closely linked to their understandable anxieties about British education. They are averse to pri- vate schools either because they cost money, or for political reasons or a bit of both. They tend to be Catholics by bap- tism, often in a mixed marriage, who con- sidered themselves 'lapsed' until they reached child-bearing age. A friend who has never missed a Sunday Mass in her life tells me that her local church is now over- run with spruce, middle-class parents, dusting down their religious beliefs in the hope of securing a place at a Catholic school for their offspring. The best are so heavily subscribed that they can afford to be strict about whom they let in, and many heads consult the local priest in order to detect fake Catholic applicants.
In their first weeks back at Holy Mass since leaving home for university, the Edu- catholics genuflect with the awkwardness of worshippers whose attendance is other- wise restricted to weddings and funerals. The truly keen drag themselves to the thinly attended 8 a.m. Mass rather than taking the less punishing option of the short Saturday evening or 11 a.m. services. 'More chance of being noticed by the Rev- erend,' explains an Islington acquaintance who brought this phenomenon to my attention. The practice is rife in Ni because the state schools are so dire there.
The great education debacle in Britain over the last three decades has ensured that in London and many other inner cities, being Catholic has become the get- out-of-jail-free card for middle-class par- ents who want to secure a decent education for their children, without hav- ing to make the financial or ideological sacrifice of straying into the private sector. This option allows one to save both face and money. A carefully chosen, grant- maintained Catholic school is likely to be every bit as good as many private schools, but no one can accuse you of selling out on your principles. Indeed, should your image or career demand it, you can justifi- ably continue to prescribe the local comp. with its Ecstasy problem and random vio- lence, for non-Catholics, on the grounds that it 'needs more middle-class intake to make it better', while your own children learn Latin and sing in the Messiah.
Cherie Blair was so angry at the Daily Express's suggestion that she was sending her son Euan to a 'selective opt-out' school when she dispatched him to the opted-out Oratory in Fulham that she had her lawyers send the newspaper a letter hinting at legal action if it did not with- draw this description. This was an unwise thing to do. It exposed her to unwelcome press attention and reminded us of the fault-line which runs through Labour when it comes to education reform. The only explanation I can think of for Mrs Blair's response is that she fell prey to the fury we feel when something is said of our motives which in our heart of hearts we suspect to be true — and that wincing recognition makes us rage against the imputation all the more.
To be fair, she has always been a devout practitioner of her religion. No one could accuse her of simulating devotion in order to gain a preferential deal for young Euan. But the Express was justified in pointing out the exact nature of the educational trump-card held by Mrs Blair by virtue of her faith and her class. In effect, alert Catholic parents who search out the best denominational school can enjoy the bene- fits of selection — to which Labour remains opposed — without admitting that they are practising it at all.
Good RC schools can choose from a wider pool of applicants than their local authority counterparts, and the practice of interviewing parents (formally to check their Catholic credentials) automatically weeds out those who are diffident about their child's schooling. Energetic and ambi- tious heads like John McIntosh at the Ora- tory might also be tempted to use the process to ensure that the intake of average children from average backgrounds is kept in strict proportion to applicants from articulate, middle-class homes where moti- vation to do well will be higher.
Mr McIntosh and Mrs Blair do not seem to agree entirely about what sort of estab- lishment the Oratory is. She claims that it is a comprehensive, which suggests that everyone can go to it. In practice, it is hard- er to get into an opt-out school as highly regarded as the Oratory than it is to secure entrance into a middle-ranking public school. The headmaster prefers the term 'all-ability', which is canny of him, since any school with a single dunce in it is that. The Oratory assess applicants 'for general abili- ty and general musical aptitude'. That sounds pretty selective (and attractive) to me. Its religious status masks any academic screening.
The failure of the modern British state to provide a standard of education acceptable to the urban middle classes has thus proved a most effective recruiting sergeant for the Catholic faith. Rome's ranks, already swollen these past few years with refugees from the turbulences of the Church of Eng- land, will continue to be bolstered by Edu- catholics as long as state education fails to inspire trust. Should we be concerned that the Church is being abused by the calculating laity? I think not. There has long been concern at the decline in Mass-going, so if Sunday pews are filling up with hopeful parents, few parish priests will complain. Once they have re-established the habit, Educatholics feel uncomfortable about stopping. As the Jesuits might have added: Give us the par- ents in their thirties and they're ours for life.
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