Your words ring uncomfortably true. We are, in fact, on the point of relinquishing our unconditional 2027 offer. Yesterday we attended the “Journey to Winchester Together” open day, convened for parents of boys already holding places. Awful.
When we first embarked upon this path, I very much wanted Winchester to be our son’s school; it was, I confess, something of a personal dream. Several male members of my family were educated there — admittedly many years ago — and I had long assumed it would be the natural home for our son: clever, sociable, and, if we are being honest, not remotely athletic.
Yesterday, however, brought a certain clarity. It was, I fear, the final nail in the coffin of that particular dream. A great pity — though perhaps better to recognise such things sooner rather than later.
Among other matters, we were treated to a lecture from the Headmaster lasting some twenty minutes. During this time she managed to inform us that she had chosen to educate her own children at day schools; that she had not originally heard of Winchester; that boarding is particularly marvellous because it allows housemasters to play board games with pupils late into the evening (a reassurance I found distinctly ill-judged, given the school’s long-running and very public abuse history); and, finally, that any suggestion of differences between the sexes — she notably did not say “gender”, nor clarify how many sexes she believes there to be — is hopelessly old-fashioned.
As this monologue unfolded, I found myself with ample time to read the six-foot banners adorning the far wall of New Hall, each emblazoned with the Headmaster’s own aphorisms and reflections, all helpfully attributed to her. One could not help but wonder what particular strain of narcissism leads one to have one’s own quotations professionally printed and displayed at such scale.
A parent seated next to me asked the obvious and pressing question — whether Winchester intends to become fully co-educational. The Headmaster declined to answer. This, it should be noted, is THE defining strategic issue facing the school.
We were then promised a “typical Winchester lesson”, though this was delayed because the teachers had not arrived. Once eventually located, we were treated to a thirty-minute astronomy lecture, at the conclusion of which the teachers cheerfully explained that, contrary to the Headmaster’s introduction, the session had been written specifically for us parents and bore little resemblance to anything a pupil would actually experience. The highlight of this lecture was a one-minute clip from Bob the Builder. I am not sure what else to say about that.
The session concluded with the Registrar urging us not to reject Winchester, while acknowledging — with what I can only describe as a faint air of desperation — that our sons all hold offers from other leading schools. This was not reassuring.
We were then taken to view the new sports facility. It is impressive. I know this because every single visit we have made to the school has revolved around this same facility. Every. Single. Visit. It is vast, gleaming, and funded by the Cheng family, whose name is prominently displayed throughout. One is left to wonder whom, exactly, Winchester believes it is courting.
This is a school traditionally suited to cerebral boys, not aspiring athletes. Of course one wants balance, but these tours are anything but balanced: sports, sports, and more sports. Rather than articulating a clear and confident identity distinct from Eton, Harrow, or Radley — all of which have made our son offers — Winchester appears instead to be presenting itself as a smaller, rather anxious, ideologically earnest imitation. A great disappointment.