I’m not long back from the Year 8 French trip to Lille. Quite an undertaking, that one: 180+ pupils, 20+ staff, two Eurostar journeys, one packed hotel and – wait for it – no phones.
Well, not quite no phones. Staff were allowed theirs and, of course, we had emergency contacts. But the children were not allowed to bring any electronic communication devices: no phones, no tablets. It was the same for the concurrent Year 7 trip to Northumberland.
We’ve done this for a few years now and it has been wonderful. I am no luddite and I appreciate the myriad uses of mobile technology. Nevertheless, there is something special about spending time with people when the first call on their attention – or an early call, anyway – is you. Not email or Snapchat or football scores or TikTok. You.
I was attached, almost physically it sometimes seemed, to a delightful year 8 class. I didn’t know many of them very well before the trip; by the end, I knew almost everything about all of them. Their pets, their siblings, what they like for dinner, which Bubble Tea flavour they prefer, quite how unfair it was that they weren’t allowed to go to Sephora or JD and which team they support. Turns out that Year 8s really do like a chat.
It also turned out that Year 8s really do like to chat in French, to the Lillois. Part of the fun was to carry out an “enquête”: a survey, in French, of passing pedestrians. A bit nerve-racking at first, but the butterflies quickly dissipated as we discovered that people were, for the most part, very happy to talk to us about their favourite pastimes, their business in Lille, and whether they like to eat at home or in restaurants.
We quickly discovered two things. First, that you really can make yourself understood in a foreign language in a foreign country (a serious revelation): “Bonjour. Un croissant, s’il vous plait.” And, just like that, a croissant arrives! Magical.
Second, that no French person can answer with a simple yes or no, as everything has a philosophical hue. Discourse is all, except when it comes to meat, it seems: no vegetarians in Lille! But these cross-generational conversations, conducted in a shifting mixture of halting French, half-remembered English and a lot of gestures, were utterly charming, for all parties.
I was also greatly moved by the Jewish child who, in the cathedral, asked to light a candle for their mum; mightily impressed by the omniscient form tutor, anticipating what each child would do before they had done it; and once again reminded that history, languages and travel matter by the following exchange:
- Me: Next year we go to the Battlefields.
- Pupil: Really? Where’s that? In England?
- Me: You know, the First World War battles in Northern France; you do know who fought whom, how many British soldiers died?
- Pupil: No, not much idea about wars. Did we fight the French?
(Fear not: I am assured by the History Department that World War I features heavily in Year 9.)
For me, the Lille trip marks the beginning of what can feel like a helter-skelter ride to the end of term. So many wonderful exhibitions, shows, parties, receptions – and then it’s the holidays and we can draw breath. When I say we, I really mean school staff. For you, the parents and carers, holidays can be taxing. All of sudden, your young ones are around all day, every day, with little of the routine and purpose that school life brings.
I would urge you, though, to make the most of the opportunity to spend some proper time with your children. The amount I learned about ‘my’ Year 8 class, and the fun I had, in phone-free Lille must surely pale into nothing against what we parents achieve in those precious school-free weeks.
Of course, you won’t be able/want to be with them all the time – and they will feel exactly the same. However, and although I haven’t done the maths or the research, there must be a minimum amount of time we need to spend with someone before they become truly significant to you, and you to them. What’s more, this can’t be done in one hit. Significance needs to be earned and re-earned, its level regularly topped up.
Holidays are a good time for this. Perhaps you have a break booked together. If not, you’ll certainly have the odd afternoon, or family meal, or walk with the dog, or journey to a relative, or something which allows you to chat. Make those times phone free. Talk. Engage. Re-establish your significance to each other. In times of crisis, family will always look to family for support, so the time will be well spent.
If the lovely, handmade, individually inscribed card I received is anything to go by, there’s no doubt that I’m a more significant figure in 24 young lives after just three days than I was before. We parents and carers carve out a lot longer than three days, and almost certainly with fewer than 24 children! I hope you really enjoy your time together, re-wiring and reinforcing that significance. You may not get the touching card, but what you mean to your lovely children, and what the time you spend together means, will be written all over their cheerful, impish faces!
About the author
Adam Pettitt, Head
Adam has been Head of Highgate since 2006. He was previously Head of Modern Languages at Abingdon School and then Deputy Head at Norwich School. He read French and German at university and continues to teach both subjects to Y9 pupils at Highgate. Beyond work, Adam enjoys running marathons and is a recent convert to inter-railing. 
