ike most teachers, I’ve had my share of classroom problems. But I’ve never been ashamed of my performance until last week - when I took a decision to dumb down exam texts. My defence? GCSE English literature syllabuses make no allowance for degrees of difficulty in exam texts, encouraging teachers to seek out the easier option.

Every year, the pressure increases on teachers to deliver good grades, increasingly, As and A*s. As each new two-year GCSE cycle starts, this pressure leads to some hard choices on set texts for the final exams.

The English literature syllabus offers plenty of scope to dumb down, particularly in the prose part of the exam. Since 1998, the hundred-odd boys and girls sitting English literature here have followed the AQA SEG syllabus. Up to now, the set exam text that all pupils studied was Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge, the prescribed pre-1900 text. Difficult, yes, ran the thinking; but wasn’t Hardy “good for them”? Even if the gloom of the novel was more than matched by the looks on kids’ faces as they realised how long it was?

There were compensations. My research degree majored on Hardy. This meant I could exude quiet confidence, even faced with the trickiest classroom questions. Having read the novel at least four times already, little preparation was needed.

But this year the message became obvious even to the most avid Hardy fan: Henchard, the mayor of the title, will never be a resounding hit with today’s teenagers.

My GCSE results were reasonable, but not great. The lack of empathy even the brightest kids felt for this “classic” shone through. Why was I still teaching it? Especially since a new, clear-sighted colleague had spotted the convenient dumbing-down clause contained in the SEG syllabus. There was a way round studying Victorian tomes, Hardy’s novel could be replaced with the hugely-accessible Steinbeck novella, Of Mice and Men. All you had to do was cover one pre-1900 novel during the two-year course, via coursework...

(What should that pre-1900 novel be? Treasure Island?, Kidnapped?, A Christmas Carol?) Imagine all those teenage faces at the start of the autumn term: “We’ve got a choice. We can study a 364-page Victorian novel. You’ll have to read it at least twice, to know it well enough for the exam. It’s about this bloke who sells his wife and becomes mayor of a small rural town.

“Or how about Of Mice and Men? 85 pages. A 20th-century classic. Story? Two buddies stick together through thick and thin: one big and simple, the other small but smart. There’s a fantastic hour-and-a-half video version, starring John Malkovich.”

You don’t need to be Einstein to work out the favourite here. So, like most of our forward-looking English department, I’ve now dumped the Mayor for George and Lennie - an unmistakable case of dumbing down. As a result, the kids I teach will have a narrower view of English literature: especially if they go on to study it at A2-level, where Hardy reappears on the syllabus in the shape of Tess of the D’Urbervilles.

But, crucially, the syllabus in no way penalises me for pursuing the easier option. A Christmas Carol, especially the 90-page Wordsworth Classic edition, with frequent, full-page illustrations by Arthur Rackham, looks a banker. My results will almost certainly be better. Classroom discipline will improve, as they’ll be less bored. Everyone’s a winner.

But which has greater educational value: an A for Of Mice and Men, or a B on a Hardy classic? Despite what the syllabuses and league tables may say, I know I may have sold my students short.

Andrew Cunningham teaches English at Cranleigh school, Cranleigh, Surrey