Jonny McCambridge column: Schools admissions policies – educating myself about education in the middle of the night

There is the usual mixture of financial concerns, worries about my performance at work and whether my old car will make it through the MOT this year without major work required. But there is a new subject of angst which is causing turmoil in the wee hours.

My son is in P7. This time next year he will have been removed from the relative comfort of his village primary school and will be among the smallest and quietest kids in a large and unfamiliar secondary school. If he is worried about this, he hasn’t shown it yet. I am terrified.

One of the things which disconcerts me most is my almost total ignorance about the process, my lack of awareness about admissions criteria. I am tired of having conversations with other parents who have encyclopaedic knowledge about every school in the area and many beyond, while I nod along cluelessly. I feel that I have not done well enough, that I have been a deficient parent.

I know from experience that there is almost no hope of further sleep tonight. I decide it is time to educate myself about education. I silently pick my phone off the floor.

But I don’t really know what to do next, this is virgin territory for me. I remember there is a school which my son has mentioned a few times, which he thinks some of his friends might go to. I start to read about it and eventually find a page which explains the admissions criteria.

The school admits 160 pupils each year and has been over-subscribed for several years. Preference is given first to kids who go to three feeder primary schools. My son does not attend any of these. After that pupils are admitted on the basis of whether they have a sibling that goes to the school, a family member who works there or whether it is the closest secondary school to their home. From last year’s admissions I work out that 157 of the 160 places were filled before reaching the eligibility criteria which my son matches. The maths seems to suggest that it is unlikely he will be able to go there.

I am struck by the clause which refers to preference being given to those for whom it is the closest school. I have no idea which is the nearest school to my home. My sense of failure is enhanced by the fact that when I moved to my present house, before my son was born, I gave no thought at all to the proximity of educational establishments.

I go onto Google Maps and discover the closest school is just over three miles away. I’ve never heard of this establishment. The first thing I find online is an interview the principal gave to the media discussing how over-subscribed the school was last year.

Again, I search for the admissions criteria. The first item on the list states preference is given to pupils who have a sibling at the school. The second is pupils who have a parent employed there, the third is children who are the eldest or older child in the family.

The document states that in the event of oversubscription, preference will be given to applicants on the basis of the first letter of their surname, with the order selected on a random basis.

The order is set out. Y T A R F J K S B V Mac D L N I O Mc Z W U Q M C H G E P X. In the event of surnames starting with the same letter, subsequent letters will be used. In the event of identical surnames, the letters of first names will be used.

This surprises me. I had never imagined such a blunt object could be used to select children for admission to a school. If you come from the Xavier family, you’re going to struggle to get a place here.

I then find the next closest school to me and go through the same process. Again, it is slightly different and again, it has been over-subscribed in recent year. After the criteria about having a sibling at the establishment, pupils are next admitted on the basis of their post code. At the end of the criteria they also have the random first letter of surnames test.

In this case the order is C T G F Y W R Q O N M X I H Mc K P S Z J E B Mac L D U V A.

I notice that the early morning light is seeping under the blinds, beginning its creep across the floor. I realise that I have been reading about schools for several hours. I’m not sure if I’m any wiser and my sense of concern has not dissipated. My son is also an early riser and I can hear him beginning to stir in the room next to me. I put the phone away.

Moments later he enters the room. He has grown so much, almost ready, society states, to enter the next stage of his development. But here, in the half morning light with his crumpled pyjamas, hair on end and sleepy eyes, he is more a young child than ever.

His face opens into a broad smile when he sees me awake and waiting for him. The smile warms something in me and scatters many of the night-time insecurities. He moves into the bed beside me.

“Is it a school day daddy?”

“No, not today son.”

“Will you play with me then?”

“Yes son, of course I will.”

I pull him close against me. I am a happy and proud father, but also a little bit ragged around the edges.