How to complain effectively

The Guardian published one of my pieces here. It was intended as light entertainment, and hopefully will be taken as such. When originally asked to do it, I was worried that if I did it seriously, it would come across like a tedious leaflet stuck to the community noticeboard in the local library, whereas if I went for laughs, I’d either hugely offend teachers, or hugely offend parents. Given that I’m both a teacher and a parent, this felt like a no-win situation. Anyway, the Guardian clearly thought it wasn’t too offensive, although a few bits were lost in the sub-editing. One of those bits was my traditional insult to Gove. As a Disappointed Idealist piece without a Gove insult is like mash without sausage, or rugby league without a fight, I felt I’d better reproduce the original unedited version here for those people who want a Gove-bashing fix.

One of the more useful pieces of advice I was ever given was from a friend who worked in the restaurant business. He told me that, if I were planning to complain about any part of my meal or service, I should wait until I had eaten all I was going to eat that night. He illustrated this sage warning with examples of exactly what can happen to food prepared by disgruntled chefs for awkward customers, and so I’ve followed this advice ever since. It’s a generally good principle of protest : don’t complain to people upon whom you’re relying unless there’s no way they can wipe your steak on their backside or drop a bogey in your soup. Or words to that effect.

As with restaurants, so with schools. The difference with schools, of course, is that unless you’re planning to move house, you’re likely to be stuck with them for a lot longer than one meal. If your child is in primary school, they’re likely to have the same teacher for a whole year of their young, vulnerable and impressionable lives. So think carefully before putting on your Mr Angry face, and marching down to the school reception for a spot of cathartic-but-ultimately-harmful ranting.

However, like all institutions, schools will occasionally make mistakes, allow oversights, or just generally cock-up, and the fact that it’s your precious child who may be on the receiving end can have any parent becoming rather hotter under the collar than they would if they just thought the chicken was a bit overdone. So how best to go about complaining to a school ?

Gain, not pain

Well, first of all, don’t complain. Yes, that’s right, don’t complain. Complaints are negative, destructive things. They’re the sign of minds missing their meeting, and they’ll do nothing for your future relationship with your child’s teacher.

Don’t lose sight of your objective. You’re not complaining solely to get someone into grief, satisfying though that may seem at times. You’re trying to get something to change. That requires a little more reasonable persuasion and a little less angry shouting. After all, how would you want a teacher to approach one of your child’s mistakes : “Try doing it this way next time” or “You got it wrong, you incompetent git” ?

If you don’t want a positive relationship with your child’s school, then feel free to go and tell the headteacher exactly what you think of his new hairpiece, the colour of his new academy chain-sponsored Ferrari, and the fact that he only seems to be employing sixth-formers as teachers. But don’t expect little Johnny will win any more “Star of the Week” certificates in the next five years. You have to be more subtle.

Gove was an ideological idiot who enabled crooks to fill their pockets with school budgets, and loonies to brainwash our kids with nonsense“. That’s a complaint. It’s true, of course, but ultimately unhelpful, as it will merely make Conservatives defensive.

We can all agree, I’m sure, that Gove was an ideological idiot, and all his reforms should be reversed before any more crooks or loonies fill their pockets with school budgets or brainwash our kids with nonsense“. Now we’re talking. The point is made, and a useful course of action is proposed which will make matters better. I can imagine Nicky Morgan is preparing the reversing legislation this very day. No ?

So having established the format, let’s look at some ways and means of making your point effectively to a school.

Some things are not actually legitimate complaints

Try to remember that your child is not the only student in the school. Complaining that she didn’t get the lead role in the nativity play, or that he’s not captain of the football team, is thus pointless because you don’t know how the other children are doing. The school has to manage all the children, including the ones who aren’t yours. I know – shocking, but what can you do ? It’s just possible that your athletically gifted genius offspring might not be the very best sportsman or scholar in every instance.

The most common form of this kind of complaint tends to arrive when ‘setting’ takes place. There can’t be many teachers who haven’t at one time or another had to point out that, yes, Tom is a bright boy, and yes, he’s been making good progress, but no, he can’t go in the top set just because you want him to because there are two hundred students in his year, thirty chairs in a classroom and a hundred of those kids are performing better than him. As an aside, it always seems to be the parents who are most committed to competition, setting, ranking and all the rest of the dog-eat-dog stuff who get most upset when the dog bites their own puppy. Anyway, if you complain about this, you’ll rapidly become the sort of parent who, when your name is mentioned in the staffroom, causes teachers to raise their eyebrows and mutter “Oh, THAT Mrs Smith”.

Proportionality

Let’s say a harassed teacher gives your child a sanction for missing homework. Your child is adamant that no instruction was received. If you think a raw deal has been had, then speak to the teacher, politely, about your concerns. You may get a slightly different version of events than that which emerged from your child’s unmelted-butter-filled mouth, or you may get a teacher who apologises for a case of confused record-keeping. Either way, you’ll have created a positive relationship for the future. Do not write a steaming novella to the Chair of Governors complaining of the teacher’s denial of your son’s civil rights. In sensible schools, this will be laughed at, and then ignored after a polite acknowledgement. In less sensible schools, many man-hours will be wasted in justification, explanation and recrimination as everyone scrambles to cover their arses. When the dust settles, your child will still be in that teacher’s class, only now he’s going to be getting a lot of special individualized PhD-standard homework which you’ll have to help him with every night until your eyeballs bleed. This is not a positive relationship for the future.

Early on in my teaching career, I suffered this fate. I was introducing A-level coursework, and told my class of Year 13s that they had to choose a question that had an element of historical doubt, so there was no point setting a question like “Is Blair a bit dishonest?” or “Was Thatcher evil?”. It was a joke. Not my best, but the sort of thing which raises a loyal chuckle on a boring Thursday afternoon. The next day I was hauled into the Head’s office to be read a four-page, spittle-flecked diatribe (yes, written in green pen) about how that particular parent felt Thatcher “saved this country from the Argentinians”, and they did not send their child to my school to be “indoctrinated by trendy lefty teachers”. It went on. And on. And on. Anonymously. The very disproportionality of it eliminated any real point. The head and I had a chuckle, and I went back to my classroom secretly pleased to have been called “trendy” for the first time in my life. This was not an effective complaint.

Ask first, shout later

Schools can be odd institutions, with odd ways of operating, and often employing odd people. The students themselves, being children, are by definition also odd. So odd things might happen. If something happens which seems, well, odd, then try to approach it first by asking someone at the school why something is happening in that way. That completely unmarked book might be a sign of a teacher who has lost his Pen-Of-Officially-Approved-Colour since the start of the year. Or it might be a sign that all the assessments are done online, and the same teacher’s electronic markbook groans with levels and grades. When your daughter comes home without four of the five pairs of earrings she was wearing on the way in to school, it may not be an arbitrary dislike of jewellery on the part of a cruel and arbitrary teacher, but might rather be a school uniform policy in place since the start of term, about which your daughter, ahem, forgot to bring home the informative letter. If you’re dissatisfied with the answer, then by all means then seek to make your views known, but don’t assume the worst.

Children are not always the most reliable witnesses to their own crimes

Look, I’m a parent, and I love my children dearly, but I have to admit that when it comes to the “it wasn’t my fault” championships, they’re gold medallists. Every parent has watched with their own eyes, one of their children punch a sibling, rip the head off a doll, or write “mum is fat and horrible” in permanent marker on the kitchen table, then turn around with a face of angelic innocence and proclaim sincerely “But I didn’t DO anything!” before weeping the hot tears of victimized injustice when in receipt of your punishment (No ? Just me, then…). It’s great that parents want to stick up for their children, but if your child comes home from school with a detention, then one of two possibilities is open to you :

1) Your child, being thirteen years old, decided to chat to his tablemate about Arsenal while the teacher was talking; got caught, and was handed a detention.

2) Your child was sitting there paying full attention to every single word, ignoring the temptations of less well-behaved children, when the only adult in the room, a trained professional, decided that she would randomly sanction him for her own sadistic pleasure.

It’s a good idea to apply Occam’s Razor before hitting the complaint button.

Curriculum and Exams

Complain to the Government. They did it. Not us.

Snow Days

Complain to God. He’s in charge of the weather.

Schools and teachers do mess up

Having accepted all the above, there will be occasions when the school, or a teacher, do get things wrong. So if you’ve contacted the person in question and ascertained the reality, and are convinced that something unsatisfactory is taking place, there are a few things to bear in mind.

Complain to the Head. She/he will pass that on to the relevant manager to investigate and report back before responding to you. This might take a couple of days while the situation is looked into, but it will happen. Note that if you write every week with a complaint, she/he will pass that on to the waste-paper basket file, and you probably won’t get a response. You nutter.

Leaving a answerphone message is utterly pointless. Your perfectly crafted ten-minute vent at the injustices of school life will never reach its target. Only messages from teachers pretending to have flu in order to stay at home and avoid bottom set Y9 are ever picked up by the office staff. All the recorded complaints get turned into a mix tape with a death metal backing track, and played at the end of year sixth form disco.

Use the language of Ofsted. Don’t say “What extra are you doing for my child?”. Instead, say “Can you tell me exactly how you’re spending my child’s pupil premium money?”. Trust me, the last one works much better – I’ve used it.

No ad hominem attacks please (oh, the irony in a Guardian article). I’ve heard parents describing their child’s twelve-year-old adversary as a cross between Genghis Khan and Damien the Omen. Clue: a teacher is never going to nod and say “Yes, Michael IS, in fact, a little turd, and we’re going to expel him soon”. Stick to the issues, like whether a class move might be possible, or more teacher supervision at potential breaktime flashpoints – we might be able to do something about those.

Get elected as a governor. If you’re lucky, your school hasn’t yet been swallowed up by a private academy chain, in which case its governing body still has ultimate power, and the headteacher is accountable to it. If you think the school is getting something consistently wrong, then join up. Not many schools are oversubscribed for parent governors, and these positions do have genuine influence. If, on the other hand, your child’s school already has a corporate chain logo on the front, or the personal coat-of-arms of a carpet magnate flying proudly from fifteen newly-installed masts, then you’re stuffed. Sorry.

Other people’s parents

Every year, my school asks parents in a survey whether they think there’s too much homework, or not enough. Every year, the proportion answering each option is roughly similar. Such is life. For every parent who thinks that their seventeen year-old should be allowed to wear Julia Roberts’ “Pretty Woman” costume to sixth form, there’s another who thinks that all the children should be made to dress like a member of Harold Macmillan’s cabinet in 1959. State schools are, by nature, inclusive institutions, and encompass all the wonderful diversity of opinions and tastes which make up our society. That’s (a) lovely and fluffy and Guardiany; and (b) thus impossible to please everyone.

Let me give you an example of how other people’s parents get in the way : parents evenings. Many schools have taken to handing parents little five-minute time-slots with their various teachers. Theoretically, each parent/child combo turns up at the right time, gets a detailed and carefully prepared talk from the teacher for those five minutes, and then departs in an orderly fashion to their next appointment, to be replaced by the next combo. This continues for three hours, then everyone goes home. Except the orderly timetable usually lasts approximately fifteen minutes. Why ? Other people’s parents.

Parents arrive late, they get lost on the school site when trying to find a toilet, their child loses her appointment sheet. All these things happen. But they also want to talk about their child. It’s so unreasonable! Some of them carry on talking even after the five minutes is up. I have got much better at this over my ten years, to be fair. At the beginning I used to sit helplessly as a lovely and highly-engaged parent spoke at length on about their darling, while watching a pile-up of increasingly agitated parents of other children piling up behind. Now I employ a variety of tactics which can seem a little brutal, ranging from closing my markbook with the Thump Of Finality, through to sticking my hand out and saying “thanks for coming in” at the first millisecond-long break in their monologue. As a result, I usually manage to fit most people in at roughly the time they think they’ve booked.

But I’ve also heard of parents complaining bitterly about how they were kept waiting for ten minutes by a teacher who has spent three non-stop hours with parents who’ve been hugely late, or overly loquacious, or have had lengthy arguments with their child in front of us (always a good one), or have even broken down in tears (the parent, not the child). Here’s a tip for parents’ evening : if you see any of your child’s teachers with an empty seat in front of them, and no parent waiting, just get in there. The teacher will be grateful to chalk off another, you’ll be dealt with, and the whole thing works more smoothly. Just don’t tell my school I told you so.

Nearly all the issues which you might feel are worthy of complaint stem from this inescapable fact; there are a lot more children in that school, and the school has to try and do something for all of them. Life would be great if the entire institution could be tailored just to your child, with 100% of the teachers’ attention, a carefully personalized curriculum, and school dinners which only provide your child’s favourite pizza toppings. Such institutions exist: they’re called “home-schools”, and you’re the headteacher. Best of luck.

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19 thoughts on “How to complain effectively

  1. Brilliant – I shall be mulling these thoughts over at tomorrow’s parent’s evening – five hours of teaching followed by another three hours of unadulterated delight.

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  2. I’m a parent not a teacher, but I (sort of) agree with you when it is complaints about too much/not enough homework, or some of the examples mentioned. But what happens if your school is breaking the law or otherwise being Harrisy? Coreced moves, uniforms that have to be bought from Harris at £500 a pop, teachers being homophobic towards kids, admissions fiddling, financial dodgy dealing. All these have happened in state schools in the last year & are still happening now. In these cases, a loud and assertive parental complaint is often the only thing that can bring attention to it.

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    • That’s true. I guess the issue is – who do you complain to? If your school is in a chain, then there’s a good chance that you can complain until you’re blue in the face, and they won’t give a stuff. After all, in a lot of cases, the school was forced into the chain against the opposition of most of its parents, so the idea that those same chain directors will altar their profitable uniform policy at the behest of parents seems unlikely.

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  3. Not all complaints are actually negative. If done right they can be used by teachers. Here is a thing I have done on a couple of occasions: I had spoken to the headteacher re unfilled posts and constantly changing supply teachers. It became obvious this was the result of bad treatment of the school by the council and certainly not her fault. I then offered her that I will write a complaint. A couple of other parents joined in. She knew it in advance and understood very well it was not an attempt of getting her down, but a weapon handed to her.

    She used the weapon well, was able to turn round to the council and say “It is not just me who thinks you are wrong, but, see, the parents are starting to complain too!” And the problem was suddenly rapidly resolved.

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  4. I came upon this artical hoping it might help me make a complaint the correct way. Sadly it doesn’t, it’s a lefty rant, I can’t comment if you are trendy – I doubt it though!
    There are many serious problems in schools, not just about ones own.

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    • Anonymous, I left a subtle clue as to the nature of this piece in the opening paragraph. I’ll reprint it here for your perusal :

      “The Guardian published one of my pieces here. It was intended as light entertainment, and hopefully will be taken as such.”

      If you were looking for a serious manual of how to complain to your child’s school, then this probably wasn’t the place to come.

      Best of luck.

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  5. Hi, I came across this article and it was spot on!! Though I do have to ask some advise from you – if you can… what to do if you do not want your child in a specific teacher’s class? As you said, complaints leave a trail and I do not want to do that – I just want my child moved, but the Head is not budging….I am a bit frustrated now over what to do… Please help!

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  6. I have a real problem with a school mistress who is unwilling to stick her neck out and cause a precedent.
    Here is the thing, my daughter is in year 1 at present, but only 2 weeks older than the oldest children in reception.
    We as a family are moving away to a different town where she can have a fresh start,
    And she can start in reception where she really belongs based on maturity and ability to focus.

    We have 1 chance to move her from year 1 to reception without her realising and no peer group to be concerned about, but the headmistress of the new school just won’t have it.
    My daughter is “in a world of her own” she is slower in virtually everything, from putting her shoes on (20 min to get changed and ready for PE) to completing her work In class. She even works over lunch to catch up. She is very bright according to the staff, but struggling behaviorally and concentration wise. For instance she starts writing in class and after few letters she just wonders off to play and loses concentration entirely.
    I got continuous feedback from her previous school that sje is slow and not a finisherand when the new headmistress called to verify, they put her through to some teaching assistant who probably doesn’t know who my daughter is is and she said my daughter is alright, just slow!
    I sent a letter to the new headmistress explaining with examples why she should be in reception, had 2 phone calls and my husband and I had a meeting with her yesterday. She spoke to our daughter for 2 min! and as she is tall concluded she is fine for year 1. Hence our opinion as her parents whom spend 24/7 is irrelevant!
    Our daughter could be top set person, but no, she’ll be stuck in a mixed class with reception kids and that mixed class will be for the weaker children from year 1 and the bright sparks from reception, who will study two separate curriculum to save money recruiting teacher for year 1 or reception. Next year my daughter will ends up with the big children in year 2 and bottom set by default of course!
    Needless to say I am really disappointed as the headteacher just can’t be bothered to step up and make a decision for herself, but speak with Tom,Dick and Harry whom are equally unwilling to do something “different” from 99.9% of all schools. I’ve checked with admissions and with education ministery and the only person who can make that decision is the headmistress and obviously she decided after “thorough investigation”.
    I can’t help but think that my daughter’s wellbeing and equal opportunity to level the playfield is compromised because of one person with power trip.
    OK, I lost it a bit and told her she is paying lip service as she decided on the onset during our first phonecall and doesn’t have our daughter best interest just doesn’t want the hassle to”rock the boat.
    What should I do to convince her to put my daughter back in reception? If I had the chance to defer her back when she was 4, I would have done it without a doubt. But that wasn’t available to us.
    Please help!

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    • I’m sorry for the trouble you’re having. I thoroughly agree with the concept that children should be able to start school the year below their age group if that’s what’s best for them. This is a long way from being my speciality, though – I’m just a blogger/parent/teacher.

      In terms of what you can do, that rather depends on what type of school it is. If it’s an LEA school, then the LEA can be a useful ally if you can get them onside. I’d try to speak to the special needs people there, or even the Virtual Headteacher (every LEA should have one). Their powers are limited, but they can certainly help add weight to your argument.

      If the school is an academy or, worse, part of an academy chain, then I’m afraid there’s much less you can do, as they are not accountable to parents at all. In that case, your best bet is to contact a parent governor at the school (you might struggle to find one if it’s an Academy chain school like a Harris, for example). If you can speak to them, then they might be willing to speak to the head again on your behalf. Howver, few governing bodies like contradicting the head once the head has made a decision, and in an academy chain school, the governing body has no power anyway, as all power resides with the private company behind the chain.

      I’m sorry not to be able to help more. The culture of fear in English education has made most schools into deeply conservative places, where most heads are unwilling to countenance anything which isn’t already being done by other schools elsewhere. Nobody wants to be an early adopter in case Ofsted beat them with a stick for diverting from the orthodoxy.

      Best of luck anyway. All you can do is keep pushing.

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  7. You know what, I chunter quite a bit and given I’ve had some funny tasting meals in the past there must be some truth in what you say.

    I have some opinions about my children’s education, so yes there are times I’m Mr Angry and no doubt to some Mr Unreasonable as well. But give me an answer that’s thought out and structured with a degree of personal information and on the whole I’d like to think, even if I don’t agree with it, I’ll see your point of view. But give me the answer that you think I’d like to hear with no foundation or back up and the cows will be home well before you and I finish parent’s evening. Tell me the truth.

    Like it or not the education system provides a service that I (and most others, let’s not go into that debate) pay into. So as a stakeholder, I want a fair share of individual feedback. Tell me the truth

    So if you’ve sent the reports out first, please make sure that Tommy isn’t referred to as “she” anywhere or Tabitha as “he”. We all ‘cut & paste’ and cock it up. An Ofsted-inspired phrase is difficult enough to understand at the best of times and the fact I haven’t got a clue what it means will almost inevitably lead to me asking you about it, but when it refers to someone else’s child of the opposite gender….. You see I’m now simmering before I arrive!

    And when I arrive at parents evening, please have done your homework…Make sure you’re talking about the right pupil, there may be three Kevins but I’m only here for one of them. Please ensure it’s the blond one and not the ginger one and certainly don’t tell his Mum that the wrong one looks like her & for my sake certainly not like me!

    Assuming it’s the right child, please, please don’t as your introductory greeting tell me “he’s a lovely lad”, it probably (much like him) won’t wash. Yes his Mum with blush and fill with pride, but he’s a fourteen year old lad who farts and belches who at times is anything but lovely. If he’s helping you hand the books out every lesson, it’s because he’s forgotten his homework, is terrified of you or may even fancy you, but it doesn’t make him lovely.

    Modern grades are confusing, most parents grew up in an age where you get a percentage or a simple A, B, C,….F…Not a Civil servant produced set of data about the targets of a 14 year old in a certain postcode. A 6a or a 6b means little or nothing and is confused only by the fact he’s in year 9 now and not 3rd year, I’m getting on… I’m confused.

    Then there’s the effort grades, thankfully A,B and C … He gets some A’s some B’s and a C, so you ask why a C, is he messing about? “I don’t give A’s B’s are my A’s…” “Oh right, so a C’s a B then”… “yes”…
    Next classroom, he’s got a 6b and a B for effort, “if he worked harder then and had an A for effort could he reach 7c?”…The answer, hallelujah the truth,” he’s a 12 year old lad, he mucks about, they all do, only the girls get A’s for effort at that age…..I grinned, no shouting there!

    So when I ask you how’s he’s doing alongside the rest of the class, it’s my benchmark, not because I want him to get Olympic Gold for Geography. I can work it out. If he gets 85% in Maths but is 20th out of 30 in a class, I know it’s perhaps not that hard a test, if he gets 60% and is top, it was tough so well done him. I can work it out. If I’m told that 6a is “on target” on target for whom? As I understand it, it’s a national target set by all sorts of factors, he may get complacent if he thinks he’s hit a national target, but is he achieving his potential? And if clever Clare is top of the class by a mile, I don’t mind hearing that, her Mum & Dad were top of my class, I’m a local you see, I can work it out

    These are the things I need to know and yes they’re personal and yes they could be used destructively but believe me I will sit longer at your desk and the queue will grow if I’m confused.

    Appearances (and some might say articulation) may be deceptive but I had an education of my own. Like all other adults have been my kid’s age, so I guess I know some of the tricks they pull. Lads of 14 don’t always want to be seen academically as the best… “swot, swot” … it’s sometimes as tough to be clever as not. Tell me you think he understands it, but is too shy to answer the question. Believe me I want to help. I want to give you the authority to challenge him if he’s shirking. You know I want him to do well and you’re in a better position to make him successful than I am, you even have my backing to wrap his knuckles with a ruler if he doesn’t show his working out. Help me help you, tell me the truth.

    He can be a pain in the proverbial at home, so what makes school any different. We have to nag him to do his homework so why shouldn’t you. I’m not afraid of the truth. But when you do tell me the truth, make sure you can back it up. I want to help, I want him to improve. Don’t tell me, once you’ve identified the right child, that he’s no good, his spelling’s poor or he won’t make GCSE grade without some evidence. Don’t tell me the reason you can’t give me evidence is that you only have him once a week and haven’t done enough with him yet. And when I (yes I’m starting to come to the boil) accuse you of guessing, don’t tell me you’re not guessing, you’re just tired and had a long day. And since you brought it up, “ well let’s hope it snows tomorrow then and you can have a rest”, was probably not my most helpful moment.

    I really haven’t come to fall out, I want to find out about my lad, but almost inevitably I feel I could be talking about any one of a number of pupils. And yes, I get frustrated by platitudes. If you’ve written something about his behaviour in his diary, make sure it’s right but stick to your guns. If you’ve got it wrong, yes hold up your hands and admit it, but when you’ve “Tippexed” (see I’m old) it out, don’t replace it by telling me he’s lovely again…he’s not bloody lovely!!!

    I’ve not come to “This is your Life”, I don’t want it sugar coating, with stories of daring deeds and high achievement. I want a personal, 5 minutes is plenty, review of his progress and to go away feeling like you know him, know his strengths, his weaknesses and have a plan to help him improve. I don’t want him in on the front page of the school magazine every week, so I’m not here to be your friend, but nor do I want to be your foe. I want him admonished when he’s wrong and praised when he’s done well. I don’t want the best in the class not congratulated because he’s struggling. Nor I do I want him to get a group rollicking because little Johnny’s Mum is a right cow who’ll raise all holy hell if it’s just him who gets ticked off and “picked on”. I just want him to have a fair and consistent education where he achieves his potential. If I can’t get nor understand the relevant information I can’t help you. I don’t believe you can do it on your own without some help from me and his Mum or even his elder brother who’s been there more recently, we need the truth.

    We’ve had success, great teachers, nice people and loads of help and encouragement, but sometimes inevitably the shockers outweigh the majority in the memory bank. When we disagree, yes we’re angry, probably because we’re confused, but we’re angry on the whole because we want to get it right for our own. Selfishly, there are only really two kids in the school I’m bothered about, if I want to know about the rest I’ll read the League tables,

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  8. I read your article with interest. I want to take this up a few levels. What would you say if following a farcical exclusion representations meeting the chair concludes with the obligatory “if you are not happy please reference the online complaints procedure”. You try to address the issues before raising formal complaints, but during this the head sends a letter that is purportedly on behalf of the chair stating that the matter is closed (while only referencing a different incident) and that no further contact will be responded to. This letter is sited when trying to clarify the inaccuracies in the head’s letter,s and the lack of acknowledgement and responses to your formal complaints.

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