Charter Day

Charter Day

Chair, Trustees, Parents, Carers, Staff, students and alumni, welcome to the Senior prize giving on Charter Day 2025.

Thank you to our orchestra led by our superb music department Mr Frankcom, Mr Wright, Mrs Hughes and Mrs Jenkins. Thank you to the inspiring students who keep reaching for excellence. A particular mention to Mr Frankcom who will be off to London later this month to receive his Silver award for contribution to music education at the national teachers’ celebrations. We are very proud.

On the 100th anniversary of Burford welcoming girls, it is a delight to be able to welcome our guest this evening Alice Topley, an OB (Alice Freeman when here) whose exploits, I know, will inspire future Burfordians into action. The Chair of Trustees will provide more detail in a few moments.

Before we get going I want to pause…………..

How long do you think that was?
It is funny how inaccurate we can be. That was about 13 seconds.

How long does a minute feel? We all stood for remembrance last week, and once again I found myself thinking, “Why does 2 minutes or even a minute feel so long?”

It’s fascinating. A minute is no time at all really. Not much more than a blink. Yet when you’re still, properly still, sixty seconds stretches out. It reveals itself. It becomes something you actually notice.

And I think that’s because we’re all so used to the world happening quickly that we’ve forgotten what one quiet minute feels like. We rush, we react, we expect instant answers, instant responses, instant everything.

A minute without activity feels alien.

And this lack of activity matters. It matters because our children need to know what a minute feels like. They need to know what waiting feels like. What silence feels like. What reflection feels like. What their own views are. What challenge feels like. If they are to grow, they must experience moments that aren’t instantly solved or smoothed over.

They need the struggle. Not because we want them to suffer but because
without struggle, there is no stretch.
And without stretch, there is no resilience.

But here is the uncomfortable truth: we, the adults, are not always good at this. The ability to sit with discomfort, to pause, to resist shortcuts… we can find that hard.

I certainly do.

I have failed many times with my own children. I’ve stepped in too quickly. I’ve solved too soon. I’ve tidied up challenges that my children really needed to face.

And yes, I’ve failed in my own relationship with my phone. There have been evenings where I’ve checked it too often, used it to fill the gaps where thinking should be.

I think many of us recognise that in ourselves.

Role-modelling matters to our children, guiding them through example. Not perfection, none of us are perfect but intention.
Through Effort. Honesty. Awareness.

In school, we have been deliberate about creating space. With staff you may be aware (as stated in our communication policy) of our the no-emails-after-5:30 rule unless it’s safeguarding. We believe in switching off. Not because technology is the villain, far from it, but because rest is not optional.

Brains need space. Neurons need time. Minds need quiet to grow.

Even adults forget that.
Especially adults.

And so, when we brought in the mobile phone changes this year we weren’t doing it as a symbolic gesture. We were doing it because presence matters. Attention matters. The ability to be with people, to read people, to understand people — that takes practice.

It cannot be downloaded.
It cannot be taught through a screen.
It takes human beings, in the same room, interacting in real time.

And I am not even touching upon the potential for irreparable damage done by social media.

You parents, carers, families — you have stepped up.

We asked you to make home life a partner to school life, not a contradiction of it. That’s a big thing. The majority of you have embraced it wholeheartedly. Some of you have expressed contradictory views but recognise the importance of the discussion.

I know some of you struggled but persevered. All of you tried. I want to say thank you for continuing to support us.

I am not understating it when I say that in restricting access to mobile phones you are allowing us and yourselves to give your children their childhood back.

Earlier this week I stood on the field at around 4:30 as the sun was setting — just for a minute. The light was (is) extraordinary. The stillness, the colour, the calm. Our corner of the Cotswolds is a rather special place. Particularly in Autumn I feel.

Children coming off the pitches after sport or waiting for their lift after orchestra also noticed that moment. But then, of course, the moment disappeared as a blue screen sparked up in the cars waiting around.

Let me be clear: I am not anti-technology. The world is digital. Their futures will be digital. Our classrooms use technology with purpose and will continue to do so. But here’s the thing:

the managers, the leaders, the thinkers of tomorrow, some of whom are in this hall right now, will still need the same core skills that the best leaders have always needed. And we the grown ups need to model it.

The ability to connect
The ability to be human
The ability to understand someone else’s perspective
The ability to challenge, fairly, firmly yet with empathy
The ability to disagree agreeably (I do beg of parents to role model this last point)

These skills are timeless. AI won’t replace them. Automation won’t dilute them. They are not optional extras. They are the foundations of leadership, of community, of humanity.

And they only grow through real interaction, not digital simulation.

Which brings me to a conclusion and back to beginning — the importance of struggling. Because learning to navigate struggle is part of learning to lead.

And yet, as parents, one of the hardest things we face is knowing when to step in and when to step back. The world feels scarier than it did when we were children. It feels louder, quicker, more uncertain. So, we intervene sooner. We rescue faster. We smooth more than perhaps we should.

But struggle, in manageable, supported, human doses, is not a threat. It is a teacher.

Don’t steal the struggle.
Let them feel the minute.
Let them wrestle with challenge, with patience, with boredom, with complexity.
Because that is where strength grows.

And if you ever find that hard, and we all do (particularly when there are disagreements such as phone use), then come and talk to us. Because this is a community. And if we’re going to help our young people reclaim something of childhood, something of connection, something of presence, then we must do it together.

As I draw to a close, I want to take a moment to honour the incredible team that makes Burford such a special place. Education is never a solo journey — it’s a shared mission. Whether in the classroom, the canteen, the sports field, or the front office, every staff member contributes to shaping the lives of our students.

To our trustees – thank you for giving your time to supporting and guiding this school. An often under appreciated group of volunteers.

To our parents and carers: your trust, encouragement, and partnership mean the world. You are our co-educators, and we are deeply grateful for the role you play.

To our students: you are the heartbeat of this school. Your curiosity, creativity, and kindness inspire us daily. Keep showing respect, keep participating, and keep reaching. Wherever life takes you, carry the spirit of Burford with pride.

And finally, to the remarkable people who make the magic happen — from teachers to cleaners, technicians to administrators, pastoral and medical teams, boarding staff, caterers, teaching assistants, and senior leaders — thank you. You guide, support, and prepare our young people for life. Let’s take a moment to applaud this extraordinary team.

One last word thanks goes to Caroline Skerten who together with Julie Morse makes sure this event runs so brilliantly.