“Freddie, Ruby and James would like to invite you to their Charlie and Chocolate themed birthday party,” the invitation reads. “RSVP is essential.”
‘We hope Jessica* can make it. “Ruby will be heartbroken if she can’t,” the glamorous blonde in her fur vest purrs, as she climbs into her Land Rover and blows me a kiss goodbye.
I suppose most parents at my daughter’s new prep school won’t worry about the cost of birthday gifts, but I know that my standard £10 Amazon gift card won’t be enough this time.
It’s a far cry from the last birthday party my teenage son, Sam*, attended at a nearby Nando’s. His friend, Alex, is the son of a single mother who works two jobs. She insisted on not receiving gifts.
The public school my daughter attended was clearly overstretched and under-resourced, and was in no position to help her, the anonymous mother says.
You see, our 13-year-old son goes to a state primary school, while our ten-year-old daughter started at a posh prep school last year. Because? We couldn’t afford to send them both. It’s a real sacrifice to send Jessica to a fee-paying school, but we’ve decided it’s worth doing. Even if it means giving up vacations and a new car. I am aware that this will give our daughter advantages over our son, but we simply cannot find the £37,000 it would cost each year to send them both into the private sector.
The reality is that Sam is brighter. While he made it through primary school relatively unscathed, Jessica, who is less outgoing, athletic and academically capable than her brother, was lost in a class of 33 mixed-ability children. The school, which was clearly overstretched and under-resourced, was in no position to help her.
Then there was the horrible food (nuggets and fries, most days), the undesirable friendships, and the fact that he was on the waitlist for the only club he wanted to be in (drama) for almost a year.
Her new school has only 14 children in the class and she was recently given the lead role in their production of Matilda. Her confidence has come leaps and bounds, not to mention her reading and arithmetic.
In an ideal world, we’d send our kids to private school, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes feel really bad about the disparity. And we might have to rethink things if Keir Starmer comes in and increases rates by 20 per cent, because we wouldn’t be able to afford to send Jessica anymore.
We are praying that doesn’t happen because there is no denying that our daughter’s school is miles ahead of her brother’s. The extracurricular activities they offer are amazing: hockey, horse riding, forestry school and fencing. One of the only optional extras at our son’s school is Warhammer Club. A group of teenagers gorging themselves on chocolate and ignoring each other while building models does not build character.
Our son has PE once a week, while our daughter swims in the school pool on Mondays, plays hockey or soccer on Tuesdays, and has two afternoons of PE and outdoor learning on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
The canteen food is also exceptional: fish pie, broccoli and homemade profiteroles, while my son lives on sausage rolls and Danish pastries in his school canteen.
And did I mention school trips? Our daughter is skiing in Switzerland this year, while our son’s boat trip to Wales is unparalleled.
Then there are the social connections our daughter is making. One of her classmates has already offered her a pony to borrow. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that there will be no shortage of internship offers when the time comes.
Our son’s friend, on the other hand, found himself in hot water after his brother was expelled for bringing ketamine to a school nightclub.
The kids at our son’s elementary school are, at the very least, bright and have parents who spend time coaching them until they are 11 or older or pay for a private tutor.
At the time, we knew we couldn’t afford to educate both children privately, so we were thrilled when she passed the exam and ultimately made the decision for us. If he had failed, we couldn’t afford to send him to private school without remortgaging the house, something neither of us wanted to do. But I would have felt terrible if I had ended up at the local hospital.
I hope that the skills my son learns from his state grammar (getting along with people from all walks of life, working hard, appreciating what he has) will be the strengths he acquires throughout his adult life, he adds.
Three years later, things have gone reasonably well although I would have liked him to do more extracurricular activities. He hasn’t even set foot on a cricket pitch since he was a teenager, despite our best efforts. Football is the only thing that remotely interests him.
There are things that are far from ideal: his penchant for tacky football shirts and the fact that he sometimes pronounces ‘H’, ‘aitch’ (‘No one at school pronounces H, Mum’), but, in Overall, I am, proud of him and how he is doing.
I pray that in the years to come she doesn’t come to resent her little sister or us for sending her to, in her words, a “fancy school.”
I hope that the skills you learn from your state grammar (getting along with people from all walks of life, working hard, appreciating what you have) are the strengths you gain throughout your adult life.
And maybe some of the connections his sister makes can help him one day. The son of a local congressman is in his class. Maybe he could help Sam get some work experience next year. I have to remember to buy him a big gift for his birthday next month. At least it’s worth a try, right?
*Names have been changed