What I learned from the school that made my children

My last child leaves primary school and it gives me a moment to reflect on what our little rural primary school has achieved. There are lessons to be learned for all public policy.

The view from the playground yesterday

That's me tidying up for my holidays so I'm in a good mood. It is also a really sentimental time for the McAlpine family because that is our 13-year relationship with our local primary school come to an end. Both my children will be at high school next year.

I simply couldn't possibly have hoped for a better start for my children than they have had at that school. It's not because it's super-middle class. It is quite middle class, but like any small rural community it is also very mixed. There is a wide variety of socioeconomic backgrounds among the pupils.

So why has it been so good and what have I learned from it?

You need to picture Liberton Primary School. It is a small school (usually a bit more than 30 pupils) and it nestles at the bottom of a gentle hill which then slopes on to a little valley through which the Clyde twists and turns with Tinto hill in the distance. You'd undoubtedly pay proper money if you wanted that view for yourself...

It is an instance where I don't think I could have made a case for retaining the old building – when my daughter was in primary two the old school was demolished and rebuilt. It really wasn't fit for purpose and it needed to be replaced. They've done a good job – it is open, airy, warm.

It has had great leadership. I'm always petrified about getting good people in the Scottish public sector in trouble by highlighting that they're usually ignoring the rules, but since the head teacher concerned retired last year...

On our first visit to the old building to introduce the soon-to-be new intake the headteacher asked us something. She said 'I hope you're OK with this but the back of the school looks a little like a refugee camp'. They had accumulated various things from the local farms – old milk crates, some planks of wood, old cable reels, that sort of thing.

And the kids were free to build little worlds for themselves with them, which they did with always-surprising levels of imagination. It was everything I think a childhood should be. Quietly, she asked all the parents if we'd mind if every-so-often when it was nice she could take them for a walk in the neighbouring woods.

Sorry, if she could take them for a walk in the neighbouring woods without a full risk assessment and without specific written permission from parents every time. Every parent in the school gave a resounding 'oh yes, please, please!'.

I tell you these things to give you a sense of it. By being small and being set in a nice space, things can be different. Another larger local primary school makes the children put on plastic gloves before they're allowed to touch soil – because they're watched more closely by officials.

There is more connection between the pupils because there are fewer of them. It's not that there is a formal mentoring scheme between older and younger pupils, it's that when there are only 34 of you it just happens. There has never been anything you could mistake for violence of any sort in the school in the time we've been there.

That's what comes from connection, from closer relations between pupils. It also enables more contact time. There are two composite classes which some educationalists frown on. But from my perspective all it has done is treated the kids with respect and enabled them to learn on their own when teachers are focussing on other age groups.

I struggle to find a negative outcome. I have no idea what the notional academic achievement of the school is but I couldn't care less. The happiness levels are high and the kindness levels are through the roof. Give me that and you can stick your formative assessments wherever you want.

What I can tell you is that the outcomes I can see are impressive. It is a small place and so I can't give too much information without exposing people, but there is a family I was close to who by any conceivable measure should be right up at the top of the pile of 'bad outcomes'. Severe disability, court visits, unemployment, social work, restraining orders...

Well I know both the daughters and they're the nicest people you could meet. Genuinely lovely. The eldest is studying to get the qualifications to go and study medicine and her teachers are hopeful. Now you go and tell me what the data says that should all have looked like and then try and persuade me something magical isn't happening at that school.

“Honestly, how many places in Scotland really, truly make things better and not worse?”

So what is it? Good leadership, yes. As good an environment as you could ask for, yes. A cohort of pupils which is mixed and so not all bringing socioeconomic disadvantage to the school, yes. A bit more staff contact time, probably. An embedded culture of niceness, certainly. But that isn't sufficient to make sense of it for me.

I think it is two things that made this work, one I've mentioned, the other I've only alluded to. The first is relationships. I come from a small town and my wellbeing has always been predicated on relationships. I was feeling pretty down about the world a couple of weeks ago but then a bunch of stupid or meaningless or silly conversations that I had over our Gala Week lifted me.

I always knew relationships mattered, but my work with our care reform group and the experience of the pandemic has really hammered home to me that if you try to fix problems and you don't have a meaningful relationship with those involved, you're largely wasting your time. The data on the circular relationship between relationships, trust, empathy and good outcomes is really pretty overwhelming.

What that little primary school offered wasn't more relationships but deeper relationships. It is, to my eyes, pretty miraculous what that has achieved.

But the other factor is one that is racing up my list of crucial factors for good outcomes. I don't know the best word for it so take your pick from calmness, tranquility, peacefulness, stability, slowness, safety (not that kind), openness. This school was a place of peace and tranquility and calm. Not quietness (it could be a riot, and that was just the parents), but peace.

There was no anxiety. Families helped each other but more importantly kids were not subjected to the kinds of stresses and strains that are breaking our children in other settings. You could breathe and stop and it was... just OK. There may have been chaos at home for some (and don't imagine that chaos and stupidity are class-based...), but there was this place.

No phones. No pressure. No bullying. No anxiety. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing really to worry about. Just peace.

Not everyone can be in a tiny rural school like that. The views out the window aren't ones you can replicate. Sometimes things are a bit special because they're lucky. But that doesn't change the lessons.

First, when will the management class that that runs Scotland ever get it into their head that bigger isn't better? They're still bragging about building Europe's biggest hospital, while NHS staff continue to lament them building the worst new hospital in Europe. Big is anti-relationship, anti-tranquility, anti-contact time. It reflects a mindset obsessed with dehumanised conveyor belts.

Second, nothing but nothing should be prioritised over relationships when you're trying to get social outcomes. Not paperwork, not 'safety', not targets. Remember (and I know you may not believe this but it is true), medicine works up to 30 per cent better if you trust the doctor who prescribes it. With children, you can overcome almost anything once there is a trusting relationship.

Finally, when will someone fight for peace, tranquility, slowness? The capitalists want you jumpy because you spend more. Modern capitalism is basically a machine that creates anxiety so it can sell you the cure. The politicians seem to care more about the lucrative nature of this abusive relationship than the deep personal harm it is doing.

If 'chaotic lifestyles' is cited as being at the heart of so much that is wrong, why isn't calmness a national priority? Want to get people off drugs, over depression, coping with anxiety, learning better, healing better, working better? Help them be calm. Help them find peace. Chaos helps to part us from our money. Is that more important to politicians? It seems so.

I have been thinking about this for a few years now. I have a whole policy programme in my mind all focussed on maximising calmness and peace and tranquility for people. It would be a metaphorical lifesaver for many of us and a literal lifesaver for a depressingly large minority of us.

We were at the leaver's assembly last week. The fullness with which I told the staff just how much what they had done for my kids meant to me, how they have changed our lives for the better, led to warnings to stop talking because everyone was welling up. I suggested they looked at my eyes because I was already there. My daughter (going into 5th year) was invited back to pipe in the leavers. It's a family school in ways I suspect few are these days.

Yet again my experience has filled me with hope and determination. Everyone should have this childhood. Everyone. And everyone should have a place like this, all their lives. A place that makes things better, not worse. Honestly, how many places in Scotland really, truly make things better and not worse?

A personal era ends and my heart is filled with gratitude. Now I can lie in the sun for a week or two and try and recharge, try to find my own tranquility. Because, once again, this has all reminded me why I fight...