The Roundup - Edition 115

A message from 
Rich Jones, Head.

Both my children were born a stone's throw from Senlac Hill.

Senlac Hill, for those whose history is a little rusty, was the actual site of the Battle of Hastings and the beginning of the Norman conquest of England. You literally have to drive past the field where one of the most significant events in English history took place to get to the hospital where both my kids were born.

It's a rather unimpressive, lumpy old field in reality, with a few trees dotted around, running along the back of a school. It sits rather inconspicuously, largely undisturbed, while the nearby shops do a roaring trade in tacky souvenirs, arrow-shaped pens and 'Err, I was conquered in Battle' T-shirts. Nearly a thousand years of history reduced to a fridge magnet.

This week marks the 960th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings. It is a topic I loved teaching. There is something wonderfully dramatic about the whole business. Three men claiming the throne, an exhausted English army marching hundreds of miles, a Norwegian invasion, a Norman fleet waiting for favourable winds and then, of course, the battle itself. It is a cracking story, although considerably less enjoyable for those actually involved.

I used to love getting pupils to argue about why William won. Was he a brilliant military commander? Was Harold simply unlucky? There was never quite the straightforward answer that pupils wanted, which was probably why I enjoyed teaching it so much.

But what makes Hastings so fascinating to me isn't really the battle. It is what happened afterwards.

In a single day, the direction of England changed. William's victory brought a new ruling class, new castles, new systems, changes to language, law and government, and the consequences of that October afternoon are still with us. One in the eye for Harold, quite literally perhaps, but a rather substantial change for everyone else!

And this anniversary has got me thinking about something else. What does it actually mean to be English?

We often talk about national identity as though it is something fixed, something inherited and passed down unchanged through generations. But history rather inconveniently tells us otherwise. Even Harold, often described as the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, ruled a country already shaped by centuries of migration, settlement, invasion, and cultural exchange. Romans, Saxons, Vikings and countless others had all contributed to the England that William encountered in 1066.

Perhaps there are two ways of thinking about belonging. There is the history we inherit, our families, our ancestry, and the places from which we come. And then there is the belonging we create, through the communities we join, the values we share, the responsibilities we accept and the contributions we make.

For many people those two things sit comfortably together. For others, belonging is something that grows over time, through experience, friendship, and participation. Neither seems to me to be a lesser form of belonging. Indeed, it is rather odd that we should spend so much time trying to decide who is truly English when the history of England itself is one of almost constant change.

Nine hundred and sixty years after Hastings, we are still trying to work it out. Some things clearly take time.
And perhaps that is why I feel so strongly about the values of St Chris.

I am immensely proud that my own two children have been shaped by a school that celebrates individuality, difference, and the contribution that everyone can make. It matters enormously to me, and increasingly I can see that it matters to them too. They have grown up in a community where difference isn't something to be feared or merely tolerated, but something that enriches our collective experience.

I have been thinking quite a bit recently about tolerance, and particularly the difference between simply putting up with someone and actively seeking to understand them. The former seems a rather low ambition for a society, let alone a school. Active tolerance demands more of us. It asks us to be curious, to listen, to challenge our own assumptions and to recognise that someone else's experience of the world might be very different from our own, but no less valuable.

At a time when tolerance sometimes feels in rather short supply, I am glad that our pupils experience something different here. Not perfectly, of course, because schools are full of human beings and human beings are gloriously complicated, but deliberately and with conviction.

Which brings me back to that rather lumpy field in Sussex and the births of my children.

I should point out that my contribution to both births was relatively modest. My wife did all the actual work, while I largely paced around, cracked stupid jokes, offered spectacularly unhelpful observations and tried, with varying degrees of success, to be less annoying than usual. She, meanwhile, worked relentlessly and with extraordinary grace.

But looking back, there is something rather fitting about the fact that both children came into the world in an NHS hospital staffed by nurses, doctors, administrators, cleaners, and countless others from an array of countries, cultures and backgrounds. People working together, caring for others, and making a rather remarkable difference to our lives.

And all within sight of a hillside where, 960 years ago, people fought and died over who had the right to call England their own.

History has a funny way of bringing things together…

I rather like the thought that my children began their lives in a place so closely connected to a moment that changed the country forever, surrounded by people who, in their own quieter and infinitely more compassionate way, represent what that country has become.

Have a wonderful half term.