Should history be compulsory to 16?

 

Medieval but not European for a change: the world famous examination system of imperial China under the Song Dynasty (960 - 1279)

So in a previous post, I explored what the History Curriculum for Key Stage 3 (11 - 14 year olds) is like in mainstream UK schools. There I argued that despite the way that politicians and the media often caricature it, its a lot broader, diverse and more enriching than just a narrow fixation on Henry VIII and Hitler. That's not to say that history teaching in lower secondary school (what folks across the Pond would call Middle School) does not have its problems, but its not in the state of general decay that a lot of people think it is.

But when we get to the teaching of history at Key Stage 4 (14 - 16 years old), when pupils are being prepared for the standardised exams known as GCSEs that they take at the end of Key Stage 4 when they are 15 - 16, we encounter problems of a different kind. Indeed, I think its here that those who complain about the curriculum being all about sixteenth century England and the Second World War are slightly more justified in their criticisms.

Now I may need to remind my North American and Continental European readers that, highly unusually among first world countries, in the UK any kind of formal study of history stops being compulsory at the age of 14. In England, about 47% of 15 - 16 year olds sit GCSE history exams in June every year. That's still a very large number, indeed significantly larger than was the case 20 years ago, but that still means that GCSE history is a course that less than half of British children take. Thus for a lot of people, including politicians, journalists, academic historians, educationalists and, last but not least, a minority of secondary school history teachers, the biggest problem with GCSE history is that its optional.

Here I must say where I stand on this. I do not support making GCSE history compulsory. This may seem odd for some of you. I am after all an lifelong obsessive enthusiast for the subject, who studied history at GCSE, A Level, undergraduate degree level and master's degree level. I am also a trainee history teacher and a paid-up member of the Historical Association. And to state the obvious, I am writing these words on my very own history blog. So why should I be arguing for something that's surely going against my professional interests? Arguably, in the eyes of some, this would make me a traitor to my subject, worthy of being tarred and feathered.

The reasons why are as follows. The first is that we all need to show a little self-awareness. I am all too aware from teaching children in two mainstream, non-selective schools that most children are not at all like I was when I was their age. The people who are clamouring from the rooftops for history to be compulsory till 16, if not 18, are people like myself and need to realise this. And the fact that most teenagers don't have wide-ranging knowledge and intellectual curiosity for the past can't simply be blamed on the quality of history teaching or that they can drop it at the age of 14. 

We've got to remember that factors outside of schools contribute so much too. To go from my own experience, I was reading about historical subjects as wide ranging as Alexander the Great, the Romans, Feudal Japan, the Aztecs and Incas, the British Empire and the World Wars from the age of 8. I obsessively looked at the globe in my room and at books of maps, finding out where everything was and who controlled which countries at any given time. I was also taken to ancient sites, castles, palaces and museums by my parents. Whether my passion for the past is innate, a product of my middle class upbringing or the result of something else entirely I don't know. Though I am pretty sure its not a result of the the history teaching I've received. While I remember it was always very good, from primary school through to degree level, I'd never say it was ever the main reason why I loved the subject. And most of my substantive knowledge of history does not come from formal study of any kind, but from reading for pleasure. Disciplinary knowledge (use of evidence, source analysis, reasoning with historical concepts) has been where good teaching has really made the difference for me. I'm sure many professional historians could say similar. Indeed, there are a few who admit to having found school history boring. This isn't to cast doubt on the ability of good teachers at secondary level to inspire a passion for the past in pupils - after all, that's part of the reason why I'm in the job.

Now this part of the discussion is perhaps completely missing the point. I don't think anyone is arguing for a compulsory history GCSE because we need more historians. Let's not forget that there are proponents of every other non-core subject (geography, music, art, PE, drama etc) who would love to see their numbers bolstered. And if the real aim of the game were to inspire a passion for history among the youth, then surely history GCSE would not need to eb made compulsory anyway?

The reasons why people support compulsory history at GCSE really are twofold:

1. It provides invaluable transferrable skills to help the younger generation in the world of further study, work and adult life.
2. A more historically-informed public makes for better citizens.

The transferrable skills is the one I have the least time for. Don't get me wrong. I think that actual historical reasoning is an invaluable thing to have learned, and not just if you want to become a professional historian, a history teacher or anyone professionally involved with history in any way. Being able to weigh up different testamentary accounts of what happened is of course invaluable to the lawyer, and thinking about how multiple causes and factors can lead to an event makes for good journalism. And just generally, historical thinking allows you to look at contemporary society in a more critical, long term perspective. It also enables you to understand how interpretations of the past, which we encounter all the time in politics and the media, come about and how to look at them with a critical eye too. At the same time, historical thinking is a huge challenge to teach and learn, and as any history teacher knows, even more challenging to assess using standardised testing rubrics. Furthermore, all the elements of historical reasoning are encountered through the Key Stage 3 curriculum, when history is still compulsory.

Then we come to the generic skills that are easiest to learn, easiest to assess and most desirable to employers of all shapes and sizes. Stuff like coming up with a structured argument, analysing evidence, evaluation etc. These have very little to do specifically with history. Evaluating views is something you have to do if you take any humanities subject at GCSE, like Geography or Religious Studies. Likewise, questions that require you to analyse evidence are sure to come up on any Biology, Physics or Chemistry paper. And essay-writing is fundamental to English Language and Literature, which are the core, compulsory subjects par excellence. If the case for studying history were to be reduced to these, then we would be doing a massive disservice to the subject. Reducing secondary education, especially but by no means exclusively in the humanities, to the acquisition of generic, transferrable skills for work and future study is of course a huge problem that I don't have the space to tackle here. Fortunately others have already done so. Indeed, Michael Fordham, a veteran history teacher and tutor at Cambridge's Institute for Continuing Education, has made it his mission to fight against genericism in the world of secondary education. 

The latter reason is where the case for complusory history to the age of 16 might appear stronger, but its also where it gets most politically-charged. There's the argument, going back to Cicero in the first century BC, that the study of history is essential to being a good citizen. Indeed, that's one of the reasons why the history is a  compulsory subject from the ages of 5 - 14 (Key Stages 1, 2, 3) in the UK. It is also for that reason that many people end up asking the question "why stop there, then?" They argue that surely the children of today will be better adult citizens tomorrow if they continue to study history till at least the age of 16, or indeed to the very end of their secondary schooling. 

Yet when it comes to the exact purpose of this, there are essentially two different views on this. 

One is an essentially nationalistic view. Children need to study history because they need to learn how great the UK is and why they should cherish their British citizenship. This is essentially the argument Michael Gove put forward back in the early 2010s, when he set out his master plan for root and branch reform of the history curriculum. Gove believed, and presumably still does today, that children need to know about the UK's ancient and unique traditions of parliamentary democracy, the rule of law, religious tolerance and individual liberty. History in schools, according to him, "ought to celebrate the distinguished role of these islands in the history of the world" and portray Britain as "a beacon of liberty for others to emulate." Gove's main attention was focused on history at Key Stage 2 to Key Stage 3 (7 - 14 years old), where he resolutely failed to implement his vision and ended up with a curriculum fundamentally similar to the one before. He was also supportive of the idea of compulsory history at GCSE, lamenting in one of his keynote speeches that pupils get to drop the subject at 14. Gove neither succeeded in radically reforming the GCSE nor making it compulsory either, though he did succeed in boosting the numbers taking it through the English Baccalaureate scheme. Under this, schools were given ratings according to how many pupils were taking GCSEs in academic subjects, namely English Language and Literature, Mathematics, Combined or Triple Science, a Foreign Language (Ancient or Modern), and a Humanity (History or Geography). In practice, this has meant that in all English state schools hoping to be rated "Good" or "Outstanding" by OFSTED (the government inspectorate for schools), the top 90% of pupils have been told they have to choose either History or Geography at GCSE. On this account, Michael Gove maybe deserves some credit for the currently very high number of pupil studying history at GCSE. In 2019, 47% of 15 - 16 year olds in England sat History GCSE exams, compared to less than a third in 2011. As a history teacher, I generally think this is one of the better things to come out of Gove's bungled reforms, though it does highlight a lot of the problems that would arise should history become compulsory. 

The second variant is a more progressive, left-wing one. Under this perspective, pupils need to study history until the end of their compulsory schooling in order to understand the roots of modern day injustices and try and fight for change. A key moment here was Black Lives Matter, especially the toppling of the seventeenth century slave trader Edward Colston's statue in Bristol on 7th June 2020. This generated a public debate over the UK's imperial history and how it should be remembered in the twenty-first century. Many people saw the school history curriculum as being at the heart of the solution to the current ignorance and amnesia. For example, Sam Freedman, an expert on educational policy, tweeted in response to Colston's fall "days like today are why I think history should be a compulsory subject to 16. You can't participate in the present if you don't understand the past." Indeed, before Colston's bronze likeness was taken for a swim in the Bristol Channel and just a week after the extrajudicial killing of George Floyd catalysed it all, an online petition was presented to Parliament. It demanded that history be made compulsory at GCSE, and that the history of Britain's involvement in slavery, colonialism and racism be taught. Needless to say, it was rejected.  

Ultimately, as I've said before with the closely related issue of what should be on the Key Stage 3 curriculum, I'm in agreement with neither. To allow either side of the political spectrum to tightly prescribe the content of the history curriculum to any age group, based on their own ideological version of British history seems highly dangerous. R.A Butler, the Minister for Education under the National Government during WW2, who essentially created secondary education in England and Wales as we know it today with the Education Act of 1944, had the foresight to see the dangers in this. Winston Churchill wanted the central government to prescribe the curriculum for history and other subjects - "tell the children that Wolfe won Quebec" is what he said to Butler. Michael Gove and his fellow travellers would applaud Churchill for this today. But Butler successfully resisted this, and it was only after the 1988 Educational Reform Act that a National Curriculum for history began to be developed. And as I've said before, in practice this has given English state schools a lot of autonomy over what history content their pupils learn at Key Stages 1, 2 and 3 and long may that continue. 

And reforming the content that pupils learn at GCSE/ Key Stage 4 is much less straight forward that people might think anyway. In practice, what actual historical content pupils study for their history GCSEs is dictated by what periods and topics the four exam boards (Edexcel, AQA, OCR and Eduqas) offer. Edexcel is a for-profit organisation (owned by the publishing company Pearson), while AQA, OCR and Edquas are private charities under the law. All four are in competition with each other and are essentially driven by market forces. Thus they offer whatever content secondary school history departments across England are most comfortable teaching, not what Westminster and Whitehall dictate. While some people want to the government to stop the outsourcing of GCSE exams to private companies and would like to see a single public-funded examboard, until this happens it effectively puts the dampers on any kind of radical reform of GCSE curricula. And that, by extension, removes part of the impetus for a compulsory history GCSE, as what's currently on offer from the main examboards is not the historical content that any of supporters of a compulsory history GCSE on the right or the left would want to see. More about that another time.

Now I'm going to stop waffling and really cut to the chase. I simply don't think compulsory history to 16 is right on the principle of freedom of choice. Obviously pupils need GCSEs in English, Maths and Science if they're going to be at all employable, but beyond that they should have freedom to choose which subjects they like. But more importantly, even if complusory history to 16 was the right idea in the abstract, I don't think its at all feasible in practice. 

I have not been a teacher for very long at all (two school terms as a trainee). But already from teaching in two very good but very normal London state schools, I know that compulsory history would be detrimental for many pupils. In my Key Stage 3 classes (11 - 14 years old), when history is still compulsory, I've taught pupils with the reading age of an 8 year old, refugees who can barely speak English and pupils with all kinds of other complex learning needs. For these pupils, being in mainstream education is itself an immense challenge. What matters for them is that they can get 5 grades 9 - 4 (A* - C in the old parlance) at GCSE, including English and Maths, so that they can succeed in adult life. Everything else for them really is an added bonus at best. Forcing them to do history at GCSE could very well be a nightmare for them. Alternatively, you could say that since even the core subjects they have to take already (especially English) place such huge demands on their literacy as is, perhaps having a humanity in the mix is a good thing as it helps build and reinforce those cross-curricular literacy skills. Indeed they might find it more interesting and fun writing essays about the Harrying of the North or the Cuban Missiles Crisis than "Macbeth" or "Pride and Prejudice." But alternatively, that subject that lights the spark of their interest and helps them build their literacy skills might be volcanoes and earthquakes, comparing Christianity and Islam or Greek mythology. Once again, while I can totally agree that studying a humanity (besides English Literature if we're counting it as one) is invaluable and something at all GCSE students should do, it shouldn't have to be history. Geography, Religious Studies and (where it is offered) Classical Civilisation are just as worthwhile. Indeed, and really I ought to have made this argument before, if we make history compulsory at GCSE why not just make all mainstream humanities subjects compulsory, as indeed they are in those countries where history is compulsory till school leaving age.  

Now for the vast majority of pupils in mainstream secondary education, there's no doubt that they could get a decent pass under the current GCSE history exam specifications if they had the motivation to. And here motivation is the key word. If pupils get to choose their subjects, they're a great deal more enthusiastic than if they're forced to them, by the same logic that volunteers make better fighters than conscripts. And for the subjects they are forced to do, namely English, Maths and Science, they at least have a powerful form of negative motivation there - if they fail them, they'll be virtually unemployable. I know this from experience, as I hated GCSE Maths but I knew I had to do well at it, and in the end I did. That kind of negative motivation can't exist for non-core subjects like history, which aren't seen as essential by most employers. What that then makes for when a non-core subject like history is made compulsory is one hell of a lot of disaffected learners. Anyone who has taught any academic subject at Key Stage 3, when they're all still compulsory, knows how pupil disaffection manifests itself - poor effort and poor behaviour in the classroom. On a bad day with a particularly difficult Key Stage 3 class in a non-academically selective school, a significant portion of lesson time can be taken up with the teacher managing pupil behaviour. But at least at Key Stage 3, disrupted lessons can be written off as the pupils don't have to pass external exams, only internal assessments set by the school/ subject departmental leadership. Whereas at GCSE, every bit of curriculum time is precious, especially in a subject like history. It is thus really important that your pupils are with you, almost from the moment they enter the classroom, so you can maximise on you actually teaching and them actually learning content. 

Linking to all this talk of motivation and subject content is the final reason why history should not be compulsory at GCSE, and that is a simple logistical one. There simply aren't enough trained history teachers for every 14 - 16 year old in the country to be studying it, especially in the current teacher recruitment crisis in England. This hasn't hit history nearly as badly as some other subjects high in demand, like physics, computing or design and technology. But it demonstrably has all the same. What this means is that, already at Key Stage 3, many schools are getting non-specialists, whose actual subject specialism may be Geography, Religious Studies, Sociology, Psychology, Business Studies etc, to teach history. This situation really isn't ideal, but its just about workable at Key Stage 3 with the right kind of subject leadership, staff training and resources. However, if GCSE History were to be taught by non-specialists, it would be letting the pupils down, plain and simple. In order for pupils to be motivated and do well at GCSE, they need teachers who possess good knowledge both of the content of the periods they're studying and of history as a discipline. 

Indeed as Kristian Shanks, a history teacher and deputy head of a secondary school has pointed out in an article arguing for exactly the same position I am now, we've seen the horrors this can bring with another subject - Religious Studies. Lots of state schools used to make Religious Studies compulsory at GCSE, in order to meet their statutory requirement of providing for the Spiritual, Moral, Social and Cultural development of 14 - 16 year olds. What this led to was a dumbed down course in which pupils could receive as little as one lesson a fortnight, taught by non-specialist teachers and with lots of disaffection and poor behaviour. Indeed, as someone who took Religious Studies for GCSE at a private school where it wasn't a compulsory subject and was given much more curriculum time, we were able to cover all the content we needed to get As and A*s in just two terms. For the whole of year 10 and some of year 11, we spent our Religious Studies lessons discussing Kierkegaard and Batman, or watching movies like "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" or "Kingdom of Heaven." Indeed, when the EBacc was created, the government couldn't countenance making Religious Studies eligible for the humanities component - it just wasn't intellectually stimulating or challenging enough. The same cannot be allowed to happen to history!

Controversies 2: the problem of early medieval literacy (the basics)

In this early tenth century manuscript illustration, thought to be based on a lost ninth century original, Charlemagne has a conversation with his son, Pippin of Italy. Meanwhile a scribe, not obviously a cleric (since he isn't tonsured), writes down the minutes of their meeting

You've almost certainly heard it said by someone, somewhere that only priests and monks were literate in the Middle Ages. Now I'm going to say this from the outset. Like so many other things that people think they know about the Middle Ages, from widespread belief in a flat earth and armoured knights being lifted onto their horses by cranes, to iron maidens, chastity belts and the droit de seigneur, this is a MYTH! But of course, the biggest myth about the Middle Ages is that for a whole millennium of history nothing much changed at all. In fact, I'd argue that the period 500 - 1500, give or take half a century on either side, makes absolutely no sense as a single historical epoch. So which segments of the Middle Ages are we talking about when we say that people other than clerics could read and write. 

As longtime readers of this blog will know, and as you might have figured from the title, I'm of course interested here in the early Middle Ages, by which I mean the period before the year 1000. Now while medievalists of all shapes and sizes can unite against ancient historians/ classicists, early modernists and modernists being ignorant or dismissive about the Middle Ages, that's where it ends. 

In the context of medieval literacy, a specialist on the high and late Middle Ages (1000 - 1500) could laugh at the assertion that only the clergy could read and write in the Middle Ages, and say "you what mate? Haven't you heard of Wolfram Von Eschenbach, Marco Polo, Dante Alighieri, Geoffrey Chaucer, Catherine of Siena, Christine de Pizan or Margaret Paston? Have you not considered the thousands of financial accounts, property deeds, tax records and other government documents, law books, books of hours, chivalric romances and other works vernacular literature that could hardly have been the preserve of a small clerical elite? Think before you speak again, you ignoramus!"  

But those same people might then say, "but for the period before the year 1000, you're probably right. I don't want to offend my early medievalist colleagues too much, but you might be right in calling those the real Dark Ages."

Indeed this is sort of the thrust of three classic studies of Medieval literacy (both of them now 40+ years old), namely Malcolm Parkes' "The Literacy of the Laity" (1973), Michael Clanchy's "From Memory to Written Record" (1979) and Brian Stock's "The Implications of Literacy" (1983). All three of them are rightly celebrated, as they essentially kickstarted the study of medieval literacy as a serious academic sub-field - they themselves took their cues from the pioneering anthropologically-inspired work of ancient historians and early modernists. While both of them argued that reading and writing had a huge level of importance to medieval government, society and culture, they were  focusing on the high and late middle ages. They saw all of this the product of a great transformation taking place in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries. They had different views on what was at the root of this transformation. Malcolm Parkes thought it was Anglo-Norman barons, ladies and knights' growing appetite for fiction and historical romances written in the vernacular (King Arthur, chivalric adventures, you know what I mean) in the twelfth century that kickstarted the rise of lay literacy among the aristocracy. With the rise of commerce and towns and growing need for written financial accounts that came with it, the middle classes followed suit in the thirteenth century. Clanchy, on the other hand, argued it all started in 1066 with the distrust the Norman conquerors of England had for native oral testimony and their preference for written records and law, that began the shift from "memory to written record." Initially this mainly concerned churches and clerical functionaries in William the Conqueror's government. But by the reign of Edward I (1272 - 1307) written law, written instructions from the government, written property deeds and estate surveys, written financial accounts, written literature etc had become so important that the aristocracy and urban middle classes all had to receive at least elementary education in literacy in a bureaucratic world.

Meanwhile, all these authors argued that England and Western Europe in the pre-1000 period were essentially oral societies - laws, literature, history, property rights, customs, religion etc were all passed on by word of mouth with literacy only being used by a small, essentially clerical minority. For reasons that we'll soon see, that has provoked ire from early medievalists. Indeed, in the later editions of "From Memory to Written Record" published in 1997 and 2013, Clanchy was a lot more generous when it came to discussing literacy in Anglo-Saxon England in the opening chapters. And in terms of his central thesis, he's absolutely correct - literacy at a societal level did fundamentally change, quantitatively and qualitatively, in the Medieval West between 1066 and 1300. I wouldn't for one minute quibble with the argument that more people could read and write, and there was much greater use of documents for a much greater range of purposes, in Edward III's England than in Aethelred the Unready's England. But that great upsurge in literacy didn't come out of the blue either. So what was literacy really like before the eleventh century. 

So how do we determine early medieval literacy? Now that is a difficult question. I think there's two ways of looking at literacy, on a personal and a societal level. Personal level meaning who exactly could read and write. Societal level meaning the place of literacy in society. 

Personal literacy is probably the hardest to figure out. To state the most obvious, no one in the early middle ages was producing statistics about how many people could read or write. Indeed, prior to about 1850, all data on literacy in Western Europe has to be inferred from various kinds of evidence. For example, ancient historians have tried to infer a high degree of literacy in the Roman Empire, possibly as high as 30% of the adult male population, from things like the Pompeii graffiti, the Vindolanda tablets or the Egyptian papyri found in the Oxyrhynchus rubbish dumps. For historians of early modern Europe (1500 - 1800), the generally agreed baseline is how many people could sign their own names. Unfortunately, and this something I lament all the time, there's no early medieval Pompeii. Though the latter method could work for the early middle ages, its much less reliable than for the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries  given that much less survives by way of original documents, and not of the right type. 

There are individual lay people from the early Middle Ages who we know were literate. From the Carolingian Empire (751 - 888), we have some long-time friends of this blog like Einhard, Angilbert, Nithard and Dhuoda, all of whom wrote works in learned Latin whilst being lay nobles and courtiers. All Carolingian kings from Pippin the Short to Carloman II, we know were literate and had received a full education in Latin. Meanwhile, Margrave Eberhard of Friuli had a huge library of books he read and consulted, and showed an interest in theological debate, and Count Gerald of Aurillac read his psalter regularly. Most famously, Einhard says of Charlemagne that he could read and understand St Augustine's "City of God", a highly difficult theological text, though he never mastered learning to write, but not for want of trying.

From the Merovingian period before it we know that all the Merovingian kings from the generation of King Chilperic (r.561 - 584), whose Latin poems were dreadful according to Gregory of Tours, to that of  Childebert III (r.694 - 711), whose autograph survives on royal diplomas, were literate. We also know that various Merovingian saints like Desiderius of Cahors. Audoin of Rouen, Bonitus of Clermont and Leudegar of Autun had spent their earlier careers as lay civil servants at the Merovingian court and had received secular legal and literary educations. At a humbler level, we have the slave Andarchius who could read Virgil and the Theodosian Code. 

Signature of the Merovingian King Chlothar II (r.584 - 629) to the Edict of Paris in 614. People love to slag off Merovingian handwriting as clumsy and illegible, but this is a good deal more elegant than the signatures of modern politicians. See Donald Trump's signature below.

In Visigothic Spain, King Sisebut (r.612 - 629) and King Chinthila (r.636 - 639) are known to have written poems, and the former corresponded with the great Isidore of Seville on Classical Roman poetry and science. We also know from the letters of Isidore's pupil, Braulio of Zaragoza, that King Chindasuinth (r.642 - 653) and Count Laurentinus (otherwise undocumented) owned libraries in which all kinds of obscure texts that Braulio had difficulty obtaining were located. Another seventh century Visigothic nobleman, Count Bulgar, wrote letters to Frankish bishops in which he expressed anxiety about the Avar horde and their involvement in wars north of the Pyrenees.

For Anglo-Saxon England, we have King Sigeberht of East Anglia and King Aldfrith of Northumbria, who Bede informs us were able to read and write Latin. King Alfred the Great (most famously) translated the works of Gregory the Great and Boethius into Old English. And Ealdorman Aethelweard, a West Saxon aristocrat, wrote a Latin version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for his cousin, a German abbess. 

Early medieval lay literacy in action: Alfred the Great's translation of Gregory the Great's pastoral care

From post-900 Germany and France, we know that emperors Otto II and Otto III were literate in Latin and German (Otto III knew Greek as well from his mother, Empress Theophanu). Likewise, Otto III's contemporary King Robert the Pious (r.996 - 1031) of West Francia/ France was literate in Latin too and enjoyed debating theology. Duke William V of Aquitaine (d.1030), had a huge library and corresponded in letters with Bishop Fulbert of Chartres, who called him a second Maecenas (after Augustus' chief adviser and patron of Virgil and Horace) for his literary interests. 

This immediately confronts us with a problem. Can these people be considered at all representative, or just exceptions to the general rule? Some certainly look more like exceptions than others. King Aldfrith of Northumbria, for example, looks like a fairly obvious candidate for being exceptional. He was trained at a monastery in Ireland and would have almost certainly become a cleric had it not been for his brother, King Egcfrith, dying in battle against the Picts in 685, creating a dynastic crisis which it was up to Aldfrith to resolve by returning home to take up his brother's throne. King Sigeberht of East Anglia likewise spent his childhood in exile in a Frankish monastery. Alfred the Great definitely belongs in a category of his own as well. And for some of the other royal examples, there's an argument that kings belong in a category of their own. But the Visigothic kings we know were literate, Sisebut, Chinthila and Chindasuinth, acquired their thrones either by usurpation or military coup and had had careers as generals and military governors before becoming kings. So we can probably actually take their personal literacy as a sign that literate education was common among the Visigothic nobility in seventh century Spain.

Indeed I'm reminded of a comment I once heard in one of master's seminars from a fellow student. I can't recall exactly what she said, but it was along the lines of "if you have to give the names of powerful women in history, then that indicates they're not very common or significant." Precisely this kind of argument is what the minimalists and sceptics would say about lay literacy in the early medieval West. Of course, there are obvious fallacies with this kind of argument when applied to both, but especially so for early medieval literacy. For the vast majority (90% and upwards) of known individuals from the early Middle Ages, we have no surviving writings and we can say nothing about their education. And for those that we do know about, like all the names I've mentioned, its not because they were the only ones who left writings or received a literate education. Rather its because their writings survive to us today, either by accident or survival, or because we have anecdotal and other circumstantial evidence of them being able to read and write from histories, hagiographies, letters etc. 

But where this kind of argument gets us somewhere is that we need to be focusing on qualitative evidence rather than quantitative evidence. To put it another way, if we want to know whether these individuals were exceptions or not, it makes more sense to try and find what were the general expectations surrounding lay literacy and education, as well as the range of purposes for which writing was used in government and society. What really matters is not finding out how many people outside the clergy could read and write, but to what extent did you need to be able to read and write or at the very least be able to use documents through intermediaries to do well for yourself as an elite (or indeed non-elite) lay person in early medieval society. This is after all, how ancient historians and later medievalists have approached the subject, and its no surprise that this exactly how early medievalists have been approaching the problem since the 1980s. Literacy and education, literacy and government, literacy and society, all of these I'm going to explore here some time to show how lay literacy was much more common than people think in the early Middle Ages. But I'm too constrained by time and space to look at them now. 

Before I finish with this post, we need to consider two things. Firstly, whether or not learning Latin was a barrier to literacy in the early middle ages. Secondly, whether it ever makes sense to speak of early medieval societies as oral cultures. 

As is well-known, the language of the vast majority of early medieval texts (outside of Anglo-Saxon England) was Latin. Traditionally, scholars presumed that only priests and monks would have known how to read Latin in the sixth to tenth century West, and even then not all of them. Let it of course be known that the existence of poorly educated illiterate clerics was a consistent source of complaint from St Boniface and Alcuin in the eighth century to Erasmus and John Colet on the eve of the Protestant Reformation. The presumption was that Latin was a foreign language, albeit a highly important, indeed sacred one, and that only those given a rigorous education could read it in the post-Roman West. This would obviously hold true in areas like Anglo-Saxon England, where the local language was a Germanic one, but even in Gaul, Spain and Italy where scholars used to think that sometime in the seventh or eighth centuries the spoken vernacular had completely evolved into early forms of French, Spanish and Italian and that Latin was no longer intelligible. But Rosamond McKitterick in "The Carolingians and the Written Word" (1989) challenged this and has argued that the spoken vernacular in the Romance regions wasn't actually all that different to Latin, except that it was spelled and pronounced differently.

This is an argument that makes a huge amount of sense when you make the analogy between Standard Chinese and regional dialects (Mandarin, Wu, Gan, Xiang, Min, Yue and Guangxi), Modern Standard Arabic and regional dialects (Iraqi, Levantine, Egyptian, Maghrebi etc) and indeed English. English is an absolute nightmare for pronunciation, and I feel really sorry for my EAL (English as an Additional Language) pupils who have to go through their whole secondary schooling in it. This is also the reason why we had to do a short course on phonics as part of the PGCE. For example the grapheme (combination of written letters) -ough represents eight different phonemes (sounds) in spoken English i.e., borough, rough, cough, hiccough, lough, through, fought, dough and plough. Or the constant arguments between Northerners and Southerners in England over whether to pronounce a as a long vowel or a short vowel.

McKitterick also points out that the standard textbooks used for teaching Latin grammar, syntax, spelling and pronunciation in Carolingian monasteries in Gaul and Italy were ones written in the fourth century Roman Empire, and would not have made sense unless the students reading them already spoke Latin. Its revealing how Latin-vernacular interlinear glosses and dictionaries from the eighth and ninth centuries only appear in Germany, Ireland and Anglo-Saxon England, where Latin really was being learned as a foreign language. A lot of this is going against what I wrote in my post on the Oaths of Strasbourg, but McKitterick's (and by that token, Roger Wright's) arguments are actually quite convincing. And besides the oaths of Strasbourg and the martyrdom of St Eulalia, which could be considered to be just the Latin dialects native to Gaul written phonetically. Its worth noting, as I did in that post, that besides those possible exceptions, we don't have any vernacular texts written in Romance languages until after 950. Its in the late tenth and early eleventh centuries that we start getting inscriptions, charters, short poems and documents of a practical nature (like a list of cheeses from a monastery in Northern Spain from 959) written in Old Italian and Old Castilian. Thus McKitterick, and before her Banniard and Wright, would argue that the real shift from Latin dialects to Romance languages happened around 900 rather than around 700 as per the traditional view. This is by no means settled scholarly consensus though. 

The geographic divide between regions where Latin/ Romance and Germanic languages were predominantly spoken speakers in 750 (green line) and 1914 (red line). Interestingly, the line hasn't changed much since the early Middle Ages, except in regions like the Pas de Calais in France or Tyrol in Italy. You can also see the origins of the Flemish-Walloon divide in Belgium. By Resnjari - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=93789268

Thus, there's good reason to think that Latin was not a barrier to literacy in Gaul, Spain and Italy before the late ninth and early tenth centuries at the earliest. In the Germanic and Celtic-speaking lands it would have been more of one, though in those regions you also had vernacular texts. Can we really consider Anglo-Saxon noblemen who couldn't read Latin poems illiterate if they could read Old English poems like the Wanderer, Beowulf or the Battle of Maldon. Furthermore, we should take into account that there were many different levels to Latin literacy, especially how much the Latin language had evolved since Classical times and the range of different registers in which it was written. Virgil and Horace would have been difficult texts to the Carolingians, just like Chaucer and Shakespeare are difficult texts for people in the US and UK today.

As for the whole question of oral culture, I don't think it makes sense to call early medieval cultures oral even if we took the clerical monopoly view of early medieval literacy. The definition of oral culture used by experts like Walter Ong is a culture whose knowledge and worldviews have not been shaped by writing and texts at all. If we go by that definition, then early medieval Western societies cannot be considered to be true oral cultures because they were, after all, Christian.  Christianity, like Judaism and Islam, is a religion based around the written word, specifically its sacred text the Bible - indeed from as early as the seventh century, Muslim writers identified all three Abrahamic faiths as "peoples of the book." Likewise the very existence of written law codes, charters, histories, poems and treatises from Western Europe in the period 500 - 1000 show that writing was important to creating and preserving society's knowledge. And if only a minority could directly access it, even more would be affected by it i.e., as I've shown in previous texts, regardless of whether or not Carolingian peasants were literate, they were affected by the information recorded in the polyptychs and other documents drawn up by landlords. Sufficeth to say that while not everyone in the early middle ages was literate, virtually no one was insulated from the effects of the written word in society. 

On a final note, this blog has, as of a few weeks ago, been around for a year and half. Thank you everyone for reading my posts, whether you're a veteran reader or a first-timer, and to those who have given praise and constructive criticism - it means a great deal to me!

Let;s finish with one of my favourite early medieval artworks, St Matthew from the Ebbo Gospels (first quarter of the ninth century).

All Hitler and Henry VIII? Some insider reflections on what history actually is taught in UK schools

Please note: while I'm not exactly the Scarlet Pimpernel, Zorro, Superman, Spiderman or Batman, I do have a kind of dual identity thing. There's trainee secondary school teacher me and there's freelance early medieval historian (more accurately, unpaid blogger and unapologetic Carolingian fanboy) me. Normally I try to keep the two apart, but this time I thought I'd do something a little different.

If you’ve lived in the UK in the last twenty years, you’ve probably heard somewhere that all secondary schoolchildren learn about in history these days are Tudors and Nazis. You hear it from politicians, journalists, public intellectuals, people concerned with the state of education in the twenty-first century UK and people slightly miffed that their favourite historical period doesn’t generate the interest it deserves. Whether they’re scandalised that schoolchildren these days can’t tell apart their Nelson from their Wellington, or that the Tolpuddle Martyrs and the Amritsar Massacre don’t appear enough in the textbooks, the agreement is clear. It really is the one thing that can unite Tory Brexiteers with ex-Corbynites and the Black Lives Matter movement. Is it really so?

The short answer is, of course, no. The first reason is a lot of media commentators either don’t seem to grasp, or maliciously obscure, the distinction between the different levels of the UK secondary school system – Key Stage 3 (11 – 14 years old), Key Stage 4/ GCSE (14 – 16 years old) and Key Stage 5/ A Level (16 – 18 years old). Now if any school history department taught only sixteenth century England and twentieth century Germany at Key Stage 3, it would fail inspection by OFSTED (the government regulatory body for English schools). Likewise, none of the GCSE or Level exam boards allow any history candidates to only be examined on the Tudors and the Nazis. So, in sum, the proposition is absurd and symptomatic of either ignorance or malice.

Enough smug dismissal! Like all myths and misconceptions, the idea that the only history teenagers learn in school these days is the Tudors and the Third Reich doesn’t appear in a vacuum either. But first, we must demystify for those of you don’t have insider perspectives, how the history curriculum for 11 – 18 year olds actually works in the UK.

From the ages of 11 – 14 (what is officially known as Key Stage 3), history teaching is governed by the National Curriculum set by the Department of Education. However, currently 88% of secondary schools in the UK are either central government-funded academies, free schools or private schools, which are under no legal obligation to follow the National Curriculum. Only local authority-funded schools, faith schools and (academically selective but state-funded) grammar schools have to follow the National Curriculum, which are now less than 12% of schools in England. There is a certain level of irony in all of this. The former education secretary Michael Gove fought a four year battle with the teaching unions (“the blob” as he unflatteringly called them), the vast majority of academic historians in the UK and the civil service to radically overhaul the history curriculum. As you would expect, the rhetoric of “it’s all Tudors and Nazis” these days was invoked by Gove and his supporters. Take for example Gove’s speech at the Conservative Party Conference in October 2010:

“Children are growing up ignorant of one of the most inspiring stories I know — the history of our United Kingdom. Our history has moments of pride, and shame, but unless we fully understand the struggles of the past we will not properly value the liberties of the present. The current approach we have to history denies children the opportunity to hear our island story. Children are given a mix of topics at primary, a cursory run through Henry VIII and Hitler at secondary and many give up the subject at 14, without knowing how the vivid episodes of our past become a connected narrative. Well, this trashing of our past has to stop.”

Gove’s masterplan was to combine Primary Key Stage 2 (7 – 11 years old) and Early Secondary Key Stage 3 (11 – 14 years old) into a single linear seven year course covering the full-sweep of English history. Primary schoolchildren would have to learn about everything from the beginning of the Stone Age in 10,000 BC to the Act of Union in 1707, and Secondary schoolchildren everything from the creation of Great Britain in 1707 to the Fall of Thatcher in 1990. The whole idea was completely bonkers, not least because primary school history is taught overwhelmingly by non-subject specialists (many primary school teachers may not even have a GCSE in history) on a highly squeezed timetable where literacy and numeracy are always the biggest priorities. Thankfully, Gove lost the battle and the new National Curriculum published in 2013 was really little different to what which Ed Balls had introduced in 2008 under New Labour. What makes this all ironic is that another education policy of the 2010 – 2015 Coalition was to encourage local authority-funded schools to become academies – schools that failed OFSTED inspection would be forced to become them. Between May 2010 and September 2012, the number of academies went up tenfold so that on 7 September 2012 54% of state-funded secondary schools were either academies or in the pipeline to become them. Ten years later, that figure (including free schools, another Coalition government initiative) would stand at 80%. So, one could be cynical and say that really the political battle over the National Curriculum for history was all “sound and fury, signifying nothing”, given that as a result of the same government’s policies most secondary schools were now no longer under any obligation to teach it.

Yet actually, the National Curriculum for Key Stage 3 does still have a fair amount of consequence on the majority of UK secondary schools. That’s because it serves as a highly useful guideline, especially for making sure all your students have reached where they need to be in terms of knowledge and skills in all their subjects before they start their GCSEs. Thus only a small minority of radical and experimental schools will teach anything that fundamentally deviates from the National Curriculum – this is true even of private schools.

And for history, the National Curriculum offers a huge level of freedom in itself. You do have to teach Key Stage 3 pupils the fundamental historical skills and second order concepts like causation, change and continuity, evidence and enquiry, interpretation and significance. You also have to teach them a range of cross-period first order concepts like architecture, church, dictatorship, empire, hierarchy, peasantry, suffrage etc. In terms of what actual historical content you have to teach, however, it works thus:

·         A broad overview of British history from 1066 to 1945, including how government, society and culture in England have changed over time. Schools can however choose which key people, periods and events within that rubric they study in depth and which ones they cover superficially, if at all. The topics most commonly taught in English schools are:

1.       The Norman Conquest

2.       The feudal system

3.       Henry II and Thomas Becket

4.       King John and the Magna Carta

5.       Medieval life – religion and the church, villages, towns, women, crime and justice

6.       The Black Death

7.       The Peasants’ Revolt

8.       Henry VIII and the Reformation

9.       Elizabeth I and the Spanish Armada

10.   James I and the Gunpowder Plot

11.   Charles I, the Civil War and Cromwell

12.   Other developments in Tudor and Stuart England – could include the Renaissance, the age of exploration, growing wealth and poverty, the witch craze, black people in Tudor England, the seventeenth century scientific revolution.

13.   The Industrial Revolution

14.   The British Empire

15.   Victorian change – could include Chartism and the rise of democracy, Darwin’s “The Origin of Species”, the Great Exhibition, public health and social reform, urbanisation, policing and Jack the Ripper etc

16.   The Suffragettes

17.   Britain in WW1

18.   Britain in WW2

·         The Transatlantic Slave Trade and Abolition

·         Hitler and the Holocaust

·         At least one period of international history other than the two mentioned above. The National Curriculum gives as examples Mughal India 1526 – 1857, Qing China 1644 – 1911, changing Russian empires c.1800 – 1992 or the twentieth century USA. The medieval Islamic world, African kingdoms and Native Americans are also becoming increasingly popular.

·         Some aspects of British history from before 1066

·         A local history enquiry

So essentially the National Curriculum for history at Key Stage 3 is like a buffet where you have to include a few specific foods on your plate and have to make sure the amount of food you pile onto it doesn’t spill over. It’s not tightly prescriptive at all. Indeed, there’s arguably a small element of longue duree (got to admit, I dislike that trademark phrase of Fernand Braudel) in all of this, as until 1988 there was no mandatory national curriculum in history at all, so schools could in theory teach any history they liked but in practice mostly taught British history in chronological order.

Many people are dissatisfied with this status quo. The conservative right, for one. While the current national curriculum was passed under the Tory-led government of David Cameron, it was only passed in that version because Michael Gove had to backdown from his original plan for nothing short of world domination in the face of overwhelming opposition. Right wing politicians, journalists and historians are always complaining that children can easily go through their entire school careers without learning anything about Simon de Montfort and the emergence of parliament, the battle of Agincourt, the Glorious Revolution, the Seven Years’ War, the battle of Trafalgar or Gladstone and Disraeli. In their view, too little serious historical content is taught in favour of soft historical skills, and the glories of the British (implicitly English) past are done down, trashed and ignored.

Meanwhile, left-wingers also find the curriculum wanting. They see the history curriculum as still being too focused on high politics and rich white men, and that the struggles of ordinary working people for basic rights and freedoms, women’s history, Black and Asian British history and increasingly LGBT history as well should be given more attention. The toppling of Edward Colston’s statue in June 2020 in the wake of the killing of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movement has led to an increased demand for more imperial history to be taught in schools. Many academic historians have, for a long time, felt that the history taught in English schools is too parochial and Anglocentric. The climate crisis is creating a demand for ecological and planetary history to be taught – should lessons on the industrial revolution now include the question of why we live in the Anthropocene? The history curriculum is as much of an ideological battleground as ever.

In spite of all this, I actually think the national curriculum as it stands, for all its shortcomings, is really the least worst option we have. I think inevitably its going to have to inevitably be mostly British history we teach at Key Stage 3. While I’d personally love to teach more international history, not least because British history is always better understood in a wider European and global context, national history is always going to make up more than half of what’s taught. There’s a strong belief that children should be taught about the environment they know best, that being their own country or local area, and some would argue that teaching too much non-British history could be alienating to white working-class students. It’s also a widely held view that education should have a civic purpose – these kids are future voters, they need to understand the country they’re living, its political system and how they came to be that way so they can make good decisions at the ballot box, or indeed bother to turn up there. Conservatives and nationalists would also consider it unpatriotic and scandalous if mostly non-British history was taught in schools. But even if British history inevitably wins pride of place on the curriculum, that doesn’t remove the imperative for schools to try their best to tell diverse stories within that rubric. A lot of schools are already making a good effort to teach more black British history, and figures like John Blanke and Walter Tull are soon to become household names. British women’s history, however, noticeably lags behind. For many schoolchildren, the only named historical women they’ll encounter in any depth during their Key Stage 3 curriculum are sixteenth century queens (with the exception of Elizabeth I, mostly viewed as wives and mothers), the victims of a Victorian serial killer and the suffragettes. Some schools, however, are trying to break this mould, and to a medievalist like myself it does look like progress to see Empress Matilda and Eleanor of Aquitaine appearing as topics for year 7s studying medieval England. It could be even richer if Licoricia of Winchester (I have yet to encounter schools that teach about the Jews in medieval England), Julian of Norwich and Margaret Paston were to follow, all of whom could make very stimulating Key Stage 3 enquiries for getting students to think about historical significance and evidence.

But there is still plenty of scope for schools to bring in world history and there are some absolutely fabulous curricula out there. For example, at my first placement school, they had on their Key Stage 3 curriculum map Ming China 1368 – 1644, Islamic Empires 600 – 1200, Mughal India 1526 – 1760, the French and Haitian Revolutions 1789 – 1804 and the Partition of India in 1947 as well as more conventional topics like the Normans, Tudors, Stuarts, Industrial Revolution and World Wars. And at the school I attended for sixth form (16 – 18 years old), their new year 7 curriculum (11 – 12 years old) includes the Byzantine Empire, the Rise of Islam, Kievan Rus, Genghis Khan, Mansa Musa, Tamerlane and more – they’ve even got Charlemagne on there (my absolute favourite topic, as you know!). And in the late spring and summer term at my current placement school, I will be teaching Islamic Civilisations 600 – 1600 to the year 7s.

I think it always works best if its driven somewhat by interests of the school’s history department. There are lots of absolutely brilliant secondary school history departments where the teachers are incredibly passionate about their subject (they may have master’s degrees in history, or even further academic qualifications) and are constantly trying to build their historical knowledge and understanding of all kinds of different periods by reading up to date historical scholarship whenever they can afford the time. Departments like these are able to design truly cutting-edge curricula for their schools that still go broadly in line with the National Curriculum but above and beyond it, introduce students to a range of different countries in different periods and build enquiry questions into these topics for their pupils to explore that reflect current scholarly debates. By contrast, many history departments are full of ordinary, run of the mill history teachers who, already overwhelmed by the obscene workload combined with home and family life, just can’t find the time and motivation to develop their subject knowledge and therefore just want to stick with the topics they already know and for which there’s already decades worth of teaching and learning resources on. It’s also important cultural backgrounds of their pupils are taken into consideration. If you’re teaching in a school in a highly diverse borough of London, Birmingham, Manchester etc where the majority of students are of Afro-Caribbean or South Asian heritage then its absolutely imperative that your students are able to learn more about their heritages in the school curriculum and see people who look like them represented in the curriculum. By contrast, if you’re teaching in a school in rural Devon, Lincolnshire or Cumbria, where 98% of your students are White British, then topics like Mali or the Mughals taking up as much space as the Tudors and Stuarts will go down less well. At the same time, lets not make too many assumptions and make too many arguments about identity. I’ve taught at a school where the majority of students were of South Asian heritage, and many of them were incredibly enthusiastic for learning about the Anglo-Saxons, Vikings and Normans. And who’s to say white students can’t get excited learning about African and Asian history. Coming at it from a different angle, would it be at all right to suggest that the suffragettes shouldn’t be taught in all boys’ schools? At the end of the day, history is all about exploring people, places and periods different to what we are familiar with, and also identifying the broader commonalities in the human experience across time and space.

We must never lose sight of one very important fact – that history’s place on the school timetable is incredibly squeezed. The biggest priorities for curriculum time in all schools are English, Maths and Science, since they are the subjects all students will have to sit at GCSE and are widely seen as most fundamental to students being able to get good jobs when they’re adults. Many schools now make modern foreign languages compulsory at GCSE as well, so they get greater priority too. Many private and grammar schools will also have compulsory Latin at Key Stage 3 as well. History then has to vie for the remaining curriculum time with geography, religious studies, art, design and technology, IT, music, sports and PSHE (what is elsewhere called citizenship or social studies). Given that kids are at school 5 days a week for approximately 7 hours (many grammar and private schools have somewhat longer timetables), including breaktimes, lunchtimes and tutor time/ school assemblies, history can only be given at most two hours a week on the school timetable at Key Stage 3, and sometimes half as much. That means there is immense time pressure on the curriculum, especially since teachers need to build students historical skills and literacy as well as their knowledge of what happened in the past. Thus, any school history curriculum has to be incredibly selective in what it teaches. This is what both the right-wing and left-wing critics of the curriculum miss. It simply isn’t possible to teach kids about every great British victory or every colonial atrocity except in a very superficial manner. The right really ought to know that the kind of history curriculum they want has already been tried, and the result was “1066 and all that.” The left ought to have the foresight to know that if they had their way, the result would be much the same all except “1919 and all that.” Its much better, in my opinion, that a smaller range of people and events be studied in depth, along with creating a broader understanding of the key features of the period they belong to. For example, studying a pair or trio of sufficiently contrasting medieval kings (i.e., Edward I with Edward II, Henry V with Henry VI etc) works better than trying to fit in all the Plantagenets. Likewise, studying the impact of British rule on a particular colony i.e., Jamaica, Australia, India or Zimbabwe makes a lot more sense than trying to do justice to the whole empire in all its vastness and diversity. Its these depth studies that actually bring them anywhere close to what historians actually do. At the end of the day, we have to ask ourselves, are we teaching our kids history, or just how to be really good at pub quizzes?

Then there’s raw politics. If the content of the curriculum were to be more tightly controlled and prescribed by Westminster and Whitehall, then there would be a definite ideological slant to school, history and left or right, depending on which one was not in government, would be up in arms. Then as soon as Labour or the Tories would be out of office, the party now in government would want the curriculum changed to fit their vision of the British past, which would create further indignation and more agonising workload for teachers. It should really be a source of national pride for us in Britain, that we have never had such a thing as government issued history textbooks, as do exist in countries like Japan and South Korea. Let us pray that remains the case for the foreseeable future.

I’m not going to get on to the issue of GCSE and A Level history here. As all of my UK readers will know, history is not compulsory for schoolchildren after they reach the age of 14, nor has it ever been. This makes the UK highly unusual among OECD countries, and many see this as a situation that needs to change. I must say that, as a trainee history teacher, I would never support a compulsory history GCSE – its logistically impossible at the moment and would only lead to dilution, dumbing down and disaffection. But fortunately for me in terms of job prospects, history is a very popular subject at GCSE – about 47% of 14-year-olds in England choose to do it now, more than ever before. Anyone who says that history is dying in schools is just being alarmist for the sake of it. But what that does mean is that the other 53% of schoolchildren will not formally study any history past the age of 14, making the kind of history they learn at Key Stage 3 all the more critical for them going forward as adult citizens. Thus the Key Stage 3 history curriculum will always have to remain a political battleground for the foreseeable future and there’s nothing we can do about it. But, for all its shortcomings at the moment, it’s a good deal more sophisticated than just Hitler and Henry VIII.

From the sources 8: Guibert de Nogent’s schooldays and timeless insights into good pedagogy

 

A much later (early fourteenth century?) satirical image of a medieval schoolroom featuring monkeys!

So when we last left Guibert, he was seven-years-old or thereabouts (he doesn’t specify his age) and struggling to learn the basics of Latin grammar – all those declensions and conjugations back in the days before you had all those handy noun and verb tables to memorise and Kennedy’s Latin Primer, the Cambridge Latin Course or whatever textbook you think is best for beginners (though nowadays very few people start learning as young as Guibert did). Now Guibert seems to have reflected a lot on what his education was like and the difficulties that came with learning and memorising a new language. In the process he came up with some ideas that felt uncannily familiar when I was reading just a few weeks ago – like the theories of cognitive neuroscience we covered as part of our learning and memory sessions in September for the PGCE.

Now I must admit here that I will be engaging in a certain degree of anachronism in my reading of Guibert, which some medievalist scholars would find immediately off-putting. Obviously, psychology as an academic discipline didn’t exist in the early twelfth century, nor would it until more than 750 years after Guibert’s death, and so Guibert would not have used the terms I will be using to refer to what he was describing. If a time-travelling cognitive neuroscientist were able to have a conversation with Guibert, it would take a long time before they could reach some mutual comprehension, since all the technical language of modern psychology would be completely alien to him. Even then, this hinges on the whole meta-question of how mentally similar were medieval people to us. This is an issue that is super-divisive to medievalists, who basically fall somewhere along a spectrum on this. At one end of the spectrum, you have those who think medieval people were basically people exactly like us – they just had swords, horses, heavy-ploughs, parchment and candles rather than automatic firearms, cars, combine-harvesters, laptops and electrical lighting. At the other end of the spectrum, you have medievalists who argue that medieval people were so mentally different from us that they might as well be Martian visitors – according to them, medieval people were incapable of thinking rationally like we do except according to their own weird logic, and their worldview is incomprehensible unless understood completely in its own terms. Both extremes in my view are unhelpful – the first is essentially the costume drama version of history. The latter is basically a postmodern repackaging of old stereotypes about medieval people as violent, uncouth, superstitious, prejudiced and lacking in individuality. Most medievalists, including myself, however, sensibly fall somewhere in the middle. And Guibert I feel nicely illustrates that. All his talk of sin, demons and God’s providence feels very alien to us and very evocative of the culture of twelfth century France, which was indeed very different to that of twenty-first century Britain. But strip those layers of paint away, and one can see a deeply insecure but highly intelligent mind trying to make sense of his own abnormal life experiences and the rapidly changing world around him.

But let’s get back to the classroom with Guibert. Guibert was, as we established in the previous post, in a class all by himself. He was taught by a private tutor called Solomon who, as we saw last time, had received his own education quite late in life (how late exactly we don’t know) and was probably not a very competent teacher – Guibert perhaps exaggerates this somewhat; indeed, as both Paul Archambault and Jay Rubinstein note, Solomon is deliberately made out by Guibert to be a negative inversion of the ideal schoolmaster described by the first century AD Roman educator Quintilian. Guibert makes it very clear to his readers that his school days were an unhappy time for him.

For starters, Guibert was placed under the complete authority of his tutor, who essentially controlled his upbringing and daily schedule from then on. This was not uncommon for that time. Peter Abelard (1079 – 1142) was given the same kind of power over Heloise when her uncle, Fulbert, hired him to be her private tutor and, because he already had a crush on her, he accepted the contract for this very reason. This one of the reasons why a lot of twenty-first century readers of Abelard and Heloise’s story find it less romantic and more creepy. What this kind of arrangement meant for Guibert was that he couldn’t live the same lifestyle as the other children growing up at his family castle. Guibert recounts that:

I wasn’t even allowed to play the usual games. I couldn’t go anywhere without his permission, couldn’t eat outside the house, couldn’t accept a gift from anybody without his consent. I couldn’t do anything “intemperate”, whether in thought, word, or deed. He seemed to expect me to behave more like a monk than a cleric. The other boys of my age could come and go as they pleased and, at times, with no constraints at all. I, on the other hand, was scrupulously guarded from such behaviour. I would sit in my cleric’s garb and watch the squads of players like a trained animal. Even on Sundays and saints’ feast days I had to put up with the constraints of this scholastic system. There was not a day, not a moment, when I was allowed a holiday. It was study, study, study all the time. Besides, when he had accepted my tutorship, my master was not allowed to take on any other student.

Guibert was thus, from the age of seven or possibly even six, allowed no school holidays, no play-time and no friends. For the time, that was weird enough, and nowadays child protection agencies would doubtless get involved. And in Guibert’s estimation, all of this relentless studying was all for naught, because Solomon was an awful teacher – a stern disciplinarian, yet completely incompetent when it came to his own subject knowledge (Latin language and literature). Guibert relates:

Because he worked me so hard everybody who watched us was convinced that with so much perseverance he would considerably sharpen my fledgling mind. Alas! This didn’t happen. My master was completely ignorant of the techniques of composition or metrics. Meanwhile I was deluged everyday with a hail of blows and whippings. This man was trying to force me to learn what he couldn’t teach!

Guibert’s brilliant sense of irony really does become apparent here! Now, if we measure Solomon up to the areas of professional learning used by my PGCE programme to assess student teachers like myself, Solomon would be strong (indeed, too strong) on behaviour management, but incredibly weak on pedagogy, curriculum, assessment and professional behaviours. Back in the eleventh century there weren’t really any teacher training programmes, but today Solomon definitely wouldn’t be awarded Qualified Teacher Status. And his use of punishments, seen as unnecessarily severe by eleventh century standards, would be regarded today as professional misconduct/ child abuse. So, by the standards of the time, Solomon was frankly not worth the money, and by the standards of the present, he would be barred from the teaching profession.

This being said, Guibert’s view of Solomon isn’t entirely negative. On the contrary, he says that he taught him “everything pertaining to modesty, chastity and good manners.” So at least he got something out of his education, but not what his mother paid for.

Guibert reflects quite deeply on this, and in the process comes up with some theories of how the education of children should work.

Any person’s nature, let alone a child’s, ends up being blunted if it has to submit to too much intellectual work. The more a mind is fired up by extended study, the more the spirit cools as the energies become overexerted. Energy dissolves into apathy.

How cognitive neuroscientists think memory works

What Guibert is describing here sounds a lot like what neuroscientists and educational theorists call “cognitive overload.” The theory of cognitive overload is essentially that new information has to be processed through the brain’s working memory before it can be committed to the long-term memory. The working memory can typically only process seven things at a time. Giving too much information to students at any one stage in the lesson, or getting them to do too many tasks, leads to cognitive overload as there’s just too much information for them to process. Therefore, what’s recommended to trainee teachers like myself is to chunk knowledge and tasks between different stages of the lesson/ different lessons to make it more manageable and easier to take in. Unnecessary or distracting information, meanwhile, gets cut out and scaffolds for complex tasks like prompts, instructions broken down into stages, templates, tables and other tools are provided so that not too much mental effort has to be made at any one time. Most people see cognitive load as cutting-edge educational theory, but Guibert was already thinking about this in the early twelfth century. Guibert then writes:

If, as Scripture puts it, “there was silence in heaven for half an hour [Revelation 8:1],” even the gift of contemplation cannot be sustained unceasingly. It is the same thing for any activity of the mind: it cannot be maintained without interruption. It is my belief, then, that any mind concentrating on a specific object should use varying degrees of attention. Alternately thinking about one thing, then another, we should be able to come back to the one that our mind is most interested in, as if renewed by the recreation we have given ourselves. Nature, too, tends to get tired and should find its remedy in a variety of activities. We must remember that God did not create a uniform world but allowed us to enjoy time changes – days and nights, spring and summer, autumn and winter. People who call themselves schoolteachers should find ways of varying the education of children and young people. Even students who have the seriousness of old people about them should not be treated any differently, in my opinion.

In a sense, what Guibert is recommending here is now enshrined in the modern school day timetable. In mainstream English schools, you will typically have five to eight lessons a day, each of them typically between 40 and 60 minutes in length. Normally, you will have all these lessons in different subjects – at most, you will have two in the same subject in the same day. You will also have an approximately 20-minute morning breaktime and a 40-to-60-minute lunch period. But many educational theorists see that as not providing enough variety, rest and focus in itself. Instead, they have argued for things like spaced learning and interleaving. Spaced learning is when a topic is spread out over a long period of time – rather than learning it all in one lesson, you instead spread it out over several lessons or even several weeks while mixing it in with unrelated stuff. As Guibert might have been hinting at here, it requires students to immediately commit things to their long term memory rather than try and hold them in their working memory and then retrieve them as and when required – its quite good for retrieval practice (being tested on previously learned content – something I try and do a lot in my lessons) and revision. Interleaving is when, during a lesson, you take a break from the current content to look at a slightly different but related topic within the same subject area, before coming back to the topic you’re currently studying. Both the structure of the modern school day, interleaving and spaced learning sound very similar to what Guibert was recommending, and are based on the same logic.

Guibert sums up thus how shambolic the education he received was, and in doing so imparts some truly timeless wisdom:

While my master was taking it out on me for not knowing what he himself did not know, he might have been well advised to consider the harm he had done by squeezing out of my frail little head what he had never put there in the first place. Lunatics’ words can be barely understood by the sane, if at all; similarly the utterances of people who are ignorant but pretend to know something, and who pass on their “knowledge” to others, become even murkier when they attempt to explain what they are saying. There is nothing harder than trying to hold forth on something you cannot understand. It is obscure for the speaker, and even more so for the hearer; it is really as if both were being turned to stone. I’m saying this, O Lord, not because I want to stigmatise this man who, all things considered, was a good friend, but in order to let the readers know, whoever they might be, that we must not be entitled to teach as truth anything that crosses our minds. Let us not lose other people in the clouds of our own theories.

Sources cited:

A Monk’s Confession: The Memoirs of Guibert de Nogent, translated and with an introduction by Pail J Archambault, University of Pennsylvania Press (1996), pp 16 – 19

Jay Rubinstein, Guibert de Nogent: Portrait of a Medieval Mind, Routledge (2013), p 13

Education Endowment Foundation, Cognitive Neuroscience in the Classroom: A Review of the Evidence (2021)