Victoria Drive School, in Glasgow’s Scotstoun, is not beautiful. A Fifties extension was added to the old sandstone block but it is dilapidated now, and the rain-streaked bas-relief above the entrance does nothing to alter the impression of dour shabbiness. A bucket in the upstairs corridor catches the drips that come through the flat roof. The paint is peeling and a lot of the polystyrene ceiling tiles have been replaced with hardboard. Dried chewing gum lines the underside of every table.

For the second year running, the school’s librarian, John Hassett, asked if I would do a series of workshops on creative writing, this time with 13-year-olds.

As always in schools where self-esteem is low, the problem was to establish some self-confidence in the idea that what these young people thought and felt was worth writing down. I imported things as stimulus-points - a stone from the beach, a carved cat. “What’s that mad Alison lady got for us today?” Robert wrote.

Slowly, a professional attitude began to develop out of their surprise and amusement, although their literary skills were rudimentary. For the tenth and last session, I suggested that they had woken up one morning to find that they were in charge of the school. Mysteriously appointed head teacher, they were free to set the place up from scratch.

Discussion broke out. I put a veto on sacking named members of staff, classifying that as confidential. Remarkably quickly, the viewpoint shifted from that of the put-upon schoolchild to a somewhat aghast acceptance of the responsibilities. For some, it was too much.

Ross wrote bleakly, “I’m the head teacher of the future. My staff are just about all robots apart from PE. If something breaks down I have to fix it. That’s why I can’t handle this job and am killing myself.”

Most people were more cheerful. Claire said crisply, “My rules are, have fun, be good or get out.” Catherine would “bin the uniform”. She wanted more languages to be taught, including Greek, but there was nothing academic about her views on lunch. “A mini Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, Chinese and Indian foods. Anyone caught smoking to be fined.” But she didn’t care what the system was “as long as I learn”. With profound disillusion, she added that she could learn more at home than at school, given the books and a computer, because there would be “no mucking about”.

Hayley agreed that it’s all too easy to let the teacher’s voice drift past and not take in what’s said, especially when a lot of noise is going on, but she thought eating in class should be allowed. Under her headship, uniform would be casual, but the teachers should wear it, too. And “no one, I mean no one, will get the blame for something they didn’t do.”

The question of discipline was tackled without sentimentality. There was general agreement on the need for a rule book accessible to everyone, and a strong emphasis on pupil representation. Lorna specified that a candidate must be chosen from each form as a representative. Stacey said a bit wistfully that “you should be a lot nicer to people”, but Lisa was for the return of the belt.

Brian, working fast in the half-hour available, drafted and rewrote a long poem which began, “School was a bore, it made you yawn . . .” That said, he got down to business, touching dismissively on the school’s existing incentive system and on the continuing problems of truancy and delinquency. Here are his thoughts on running a school of his own: “First day back get the classes together.

Let them choose their own timetables.

Be strict on rules when letting them choose.

But let the kids enjoy their week, Then they’ll come.

Points and time out? The good guys always get them, Give them to the bad guys.

Do more for the people who deserve it, Don’t waste time on the people who don’t. Get rid of them.

I’ll take this school by the scruff of its neck And sort it blooming out.

People will send their kids here.

That’ll sort the other schools out.

Democracy is the best policy.

Give the kids a say.

Do they want uniform or RE?

Less periods or a holiday in May?

In the end, a school gets a reputation By the kids that are in it.

We’re going to make sure Our kids love it and live it.

So school will rule.

Or will it?” I don’t know the answer to that. But I emerged from the 10 weeks with renewed respect for the common sense of children for whom our educational systems are devised. Perhaps, as Brian suggests, we ought to give the kids a say.

Alison Prince is a biographer and children’s writer living on the Isle of Arran. Her latest children’s book, The Sherwood Hero, is published this month by Macmillan.