The phenomenal commercial success of Fifty Shades of Grey and its sequels must surely provide considerable satisfaction to its author, E. L. James. One cannot help but suspect that part of the books’ extraordinary popularity derives from the widespread criticism they have attracted. Many readers, having heard repeated assertions regarding the poor literary quality of the trilogy, have evidently felt compelled to examine the volumes for themselves in order to judge whether such criticism was justified.
Indeed, among those acquainted with the books, few appear to have read the trilogy in its entirety. More often, readers confess to having skimmed through large sections of text in the hope of discovering a coherent narrative amidst the excessive and repetitive prose.
Nevertheless, one must admire the author’s achievement. To produce novels that generate millions in revenue largely because they have become the subject of public ridicule is, in its own way, a remarkable accomplishment.
Turning to educational matters, it would seem that certain schools have a regrettable tendency to complicate relatively minor issues. Prudence suggests that one ought to choose one’s battles carefully, particularly where adolescents are concerned. Ensuring that pupils attend school regularly, suitably dressed and prepared for a full day’s education, would appear considerably more important than becoming excessively concerned over footwear which, while perhaps not entirely compliant with uniform regulations, is neither conspicuous nor inappropriate for ordinary school surroundings.
The policy adopted by one school — namely, offering pupils temporary footwear purchased by the institution until their parents can obtain regulation shoes — strikes one as somewhat unrealistic. Anyone with practical experience of teenagers might reasonably predict the embarrassment and resistance such an arrangement could provoke.
The executive principal, understandably eager to improve standards at a formerly underperforming school, has expressed the wish that teaching staff devote more time to education and less to enforcing minor uniform infractions. Yet it might be wiser still for staff to concentrate upon instruction itself rather than diverting their attention to inspecting pupils’ shoes beneath classroom desks, particularly when such footwear is scarcely visible beneath trousers in any case.
Only if pupils were suddenly to arrive in highly extravagant attire might serious concern be justified. Until such a situation arises, schools might perhaps benefit from exercising a degree of moderation and proportion.
The subject of school jewellery also recalls certain memories of strict regulation. At one school, girls were permitted to wear only the original studs or sleepers used when their ears were pierced. Necklaces were allowed solely if they bore a religious cross, while rings were officially prohibited. During the earlier years these rules were generally observed, though enforcement became noticeably more relaxed among older pupils.
On one occasion, however, an inspection of earrings following assembly resulted in several girls being ordered to remove jewellery deemed unsuitable. Although the earrings in question were small and unobtrusive, they nonetheless failed to comply with regulations. The incident struck many pupils as unnecessarily petty, though most complied quietly rather than risk disciplinary attention.
One experienced mistress, however, demonstrated commendable restraint. A pupil, irritated by the earlier reprimand, later attended her lesson wearing conspicuously large and garish earrings in what was plainly an attempt to provoke confrontation. The teacher wisely ignored the matter entirely, recognising youthful defiance for what it was and refusing to allow a pointless dispute to disrupt her class.
The discussion of leather school uniforms is particularly intriguing. It is difficult to imagine today that, during the same era in which many pupils elsewhere in Britain wore conventional blazers and skirts, some schools apparently experimented with leather garments as part of official uniform. Such attire seems highly impractical for everyday classroom use. Leather clothing is heavy, expensive to maintain, and ill-suited to long periods indoors. Even minor repairs often require specialist attention at considerable expense.
Yet photographs suggest that these uniforms were indeed genuine leather and remained in use throughout much of the 1970s and into the early 1980s. Their adoption may perhaps have reflected local industrial traditions associated with leather manufacture. Whether practical or not, the uniforms undoubtedly represented a distinctive and unusual chapter in British educational history.
There is also reason to believe that such schools belonged to the more “progressive” tradition of educational administration, where corporal punishment had already fallen into decline or disappeared altogether. Consequently, debates regarding the protective qualities of leather garments in disciplinary contexts were likely more humorous than relevant.
Elsewhere, educational policy continues to provoke curious debates. Reports have emerged of schools discouraging teachers from using whistles to signal the end of playtime on the grounds that such noises might alarm sensitive children. Instead, staff have reportedly been instructed to raise an arm silently to summon pupils back to class.
Such developments inevitably invite reflection upon the balance between consideration and overprotection. Many children, after all, demonstrate remarkable resilience and adaptability in daily life. Small challenges and minor discomforts have long been regarded as part of growing up and may indeed help prepare young people for the more demanding realities of adult life.
