One of my favourite passages in literature is the encounter between Alice - not in Wonderland, but on her second journey into a dream world, discovered through the looking glass - and Humpty Dumpty.  After an unfortunate misunderstanding as to whether the garment he wears around his waist is a belt or a cravat - he is, after all, an egg - he proclaims: “There’s glory for you!”

When Alice confesses that she doesn’t know what he means by “glory” in that context he concedes kindly that of course she doesn’t, until he tells her.

I was randomly reminded of that scene when, on Twitter, I came across a picture of a piece of student writing. In answer to the question, “What is a teacher?” a childish hand proclaimed: “The teacher is a person that guides you to glory.”

Amen to that. Had that child been in my school, I would have felt obliged immediately to give them a prize, promote them to head boy or girl and even make them prime minister - if, that is, I weren’t properly and professionally sceptical about the value of extrinsic motivation. 

The meaning of glory

But, seriously: glory? Some might question whether that’s the apposite word: but, then, I’m with Humpty Dumpty, who boasts, “When I use a word, it means just what I chose it to mean - neither more or less!” Frankly, in all my years of writing, I’ve felt the same way.

Glory. There’s glory in so many of the things that occur in schools: the lightbulb moment when, with a sense of wonder, a pupil suddenly understands a principle or a technique that had been eluding them; the child who, convinced that they can’t do something, finds, suddenly and to their astonishment, that they can. There is glory in high achievement, in competition success, in exam results, in places won at university - and there’s glory equally in those small personal triumphs, stepping stones mastered and challenges conquered.

I confess that, for me, the real glory of education lies in the creative and the extra-curricular, those areas too often downgraded by an education policy that  focuses on the utilitarian. In my current role, running a specialist music school, you’d expect that I’d hear glorious performance day in, day out: believe me, I do. Yet, even in an environment where breathtaking standards of performance might be unsurprising, I’m constantly astonished by the sheer beauty and levels of attainment I witness. 

Solid foundations

Oddly, that is entirely in keeping with all my experience in running schools. There may be a difference of concentration and intensity - yet, when the arts are properly supported and flourishing in a school, pupils constantly astonish with the artwork they produce and in play performances or music that, when you close your eyes, could be mistaken for adult and professional delivery.

It’s true in sport, too. There’s glory in watching boys and girls alike in a close-run match or competition, when sheer guts, belief, and resilience - character, indeed - bring them that hard-fought win, perhaps at the last gasp.

I’m sure my pupils, over the years, have got fed up with me wishing them luck before some big undertaking and then spoiling it by observing, “Of course, you make your own luck.” But they do. It’s in the preparation, the hard work day in, day out, that achievement is forged.  There may be flashes of brilliance on the day: but those have any real effect only when the foundation is solid.

There’s glory for you. Glory for us teachers: not for ourselves, but in our pride in what our pupils achieve. As the winter months grind on, let’s try to remember that.

After all, it’s what we went into teaching for.

Dr Bernard Trafford is a writer, educationalist and musician. He is a former headteacher of the Royal Grammar School, Newcastle, and past chair of HMC. He is currently interim head of the Purcell School in Hertfordshire. He tweets @bernardtrafford

To read more of his columns, view his back catalogue

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