Last week I nearly failed the 11-plus by proxy

In the second of his new series, Will Gore’s failure to read an email properly leaves his daughter aghast

These were testing times in the Gore household (Getty/iStock)

Education, education, education. Tony Blair got its importance just right in his famous speech in 1996; but as far as this year goes, I may have had my fill.

The months of full lockdown, with both kids at home, were unremittingly awful. My wife and I, juggling jobs with home-schooling, found our inner primary teachers so wanting that I half expected Ofsted to turn up for an inspection. Daily tasks emailed from our children’s real teachers were done with sluggish enthusiasm and at a snail’s pace.

My son’s return to school for a couple of days a week in June brought significant relief for everyone. And since September, we have been in a perpetual sense of apprehension over the potential for a coronavirus outbreak to bring classes to an end once again. So far though, so good.

Given the Covid-dominated backdrop, it has been hard to look very far ahead. And yet with my daughter, Beatrix, having started her last year at junior school, we have been forced to consider the question of secondary applications – something I’ve been trying to avoid for years.

 I explained that I’d need to pop out the next evening to get a photo and a document signed in time for the test – my breeziness fooled nobody

In our Hertfordshire town, the matter is complicated, as the primary schools feed not only the local comprehensive, but also nearby grammar schools just over the border in Buckinghamshire. We decided to keep all options open and to put Beatrix forward for the 11-plus.

The invitation to sit the exam duly arrived by email a few weeks ago, and I read it quickly, noting in particular the precautions being taken over coronavirus. There were a couple of things to print, which I could do nearer the time, and a list of items which candidates needed to take with them, which seemed suitably short. I put it all to one side and carried on with my day.

Two days ahead of the test itself, there was a mock exam, to be held in the same place – a chance for the children to familiarise themselves with their surroundings. The night before the mock, I opened the email from the admissions people again and did a quick scan.

I gulped.

And then swore silently.

Leaving Beatrix to sharpen a couple of HB pencils as per requirements – well, probably HB, but who was going to check – I scurried into the living room and read it again. Sure enough, the form which I had initially thought was just a parental declaration confirming our child had no Covid symptoms, turned out also to include a section to be signed by Beatrix’s school confirming her identity.

I felt the panic rising in me, my collar tightening as I realised I was on the cusp of failing the 11-plus by proxy, at the age of 41.

I checked the notes on the document, imagining how I was going to break the news that a year of extra classes and dozens of practice papers had come to naught because dad had failed to read an email.

Then, a glimmer of hope. If the school was “unprepared” to sign the relevant declaration, a photograph could be approved by a “professional”, provided they were on the list of professions recognised by the government for the purposes of countersigning passport pictures. I hurriedly texted a teacher friend to ask if he could save my bacon. Meanwhile, I desperately dug out a recent photograph of Beatrix, snipping it to size to fit the requisite space.

My phone pinged. Yes, my friend could help. We arranged to meet the next day. I mopped my brow.

Back in the kitchen I explained that I’d need to pop out the next evening to get a photo and a document signed in time for Thursday’s test. My breeziness fooled nobody; even my daughter looking aghast at how close I’d brought her to disaster. Still, I thought, no real harm done.

Later, when I was the last one left downstairs, my phone pinged again and a message appeared from my wife – texting from the floor above. “I can’t believe,” she noted, “that the result of your cock-up is a pint with a mate in the pub.”

And sure enough, it was very enjoyable; the form was duly completed; and the test went ahead as planned. Have I learned my lesson? After all, that’s what education, education, education is all about. Perhaps I should take a test to find out.