Four years ago, it was one of the worst schools in the country; today it's one of the best. Samantha Laurie meets the man behind the remarkable rise of Harris Academy Battersea
Mid-morning at Harris Academy Battersea and the school is a hive of purposeful activity: small classes, calm corridors, busy engaged pupils.
“When I first walked down this corridor, a boy burst out of the classroom shouting ‘F*** off’ at the teacher,” says head teacher David Moody, a smiley, effervescent 39-year-old with a first in chemistry and PhD from Cambridge and a soft Cumbrian lilt. “Teachers can’t work like that. We needed to get on top of discipline.”
It was four years ago that Moody arrived at Battersea Park School, as the perennial struggler was then known. It had just been taken over by the Harris Federation, the 44-school academy chain set up by Carpetright founder and philanthropist, Philip (now Lord) Harris. For decades this was the school no parent wanted their child to attend: one of the worst performers in the country. One year not a single pupil gained five or more GCSE passes. So unpopular was it that the council turned a floor of classrooms into office space.
Today, it’s the top performing school in Wandsworth and the fourth best in the country in terms of progress: pupils here do a grade and a half better in each subject than the national average. Some 83% of students gain five good GCSEs, the sixth form is the most sought-after in the borough and this year’s Oftsed ratings were all outstanding.
It’s a remarkable turnaround for a school that draws from some of London’s poorest homes – 75% of its students receive pupil premium, one of the highest levels in the land – and the engine of change has been the Harris formula, a toolbox of basic business principles: improve the buildings (with funding from the Federation); hire the best head, give him or her free rein and provide a mentor too (in Moody’s case, regional director Chris Tomlinson, responsible for some of the biggest Harris successes); crack down on bad behaviour; get rid of poor teachers and let the good ones focus exclusively on teaching, marking and planning.
Moody’s first step was to launch a zero tolerance policy on behaviour: pupils are sanctioned for eye-rolling, shrugging or anything that suggests they’re not ready to learn. As we tour the school, he upbraids a pupil for “looking with attitude”. Uniform must be adhered to at all times; phone messages may be scrutinised; and calling someone, or something, ‘gay’ will earn you three days in seclusion.
“Out of 900 days of education, if it takes 15 in seclusion to teach someone how to be a better human being, that’s a win,” insists Moody.
All discipline is handled by the head himself, or by his assistant principal. A team of 15 senior leaders (who also teach) deal with detention and homework issues, as well as playground duty. Admin has been cut to a minimum, with no staff meetings between January and July and pared-back pupil reports.
“We take everything away so that teachers can get on with teaching the well-behaved.”
For the first year or so, exclusions ran at a high of 13.4%. They’re now below the national average and nearly all of the excluded pupils are back and doing well. Meanwhile, teachers that didn’t meet expectations were given six weeks to shape up or ship out.
“It was tough but, frankly, this was a sink school with no accountability. If you weren’t for change, it was time to go.”
One third of the staff left, to be replaced by young high-flying grads, many from Teach First and Harris’s own teacher training scheme. Support roles were slashed to free up money for extra teachers, which is why Moody answers emails and sets up meetings for himself. He even bangs on front doors to ensure that pupils turn up to exams.
“Many of these kids have really difficult home lives, really difficult, but you put them in this uniform and you’re giving them a chance. I hate the thought that kids in private schools are getting a better deal than ours here in these flats.”
His commitment is clear. At his own North-West comprehensive, Moody was the first pupil in a decade to go to Cambridge – the only time the head ever spoke to him was to whisper “You are going to pass, aren’t you?” during hisA levels – while his wife, a Cambridge grad too, grew up on one of Battersea’s toughest estates. He’s determined to ensure that the school serves those who need it most: if necessary, he says, via postcode priority for the four big council estates in the area.
With pupils now entering Russell Group unis, Moody next wants to work on their soft skills – handshakes, eye contact and confidence. From 2019 all younger pupils will do 80 minutes a week of public speaking. And he also wants to see more of the “bells and whistles” of school life: fetes, arts events and so on.
But is it sustainable? One of the main criticisms of academies is that progress falters once the superhead moves on. Moody has just become a father and is taking a term off. Will they manage without him?
“Of course, they’re amazing here,” he insists. “I have never met people who care so much and work so hard. It’s all set up; they’ll be brilliant.”
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