English at Sedbergh: Literature, Landscape and Learning

Dr Gareth Downes, Head of English at Sedbergh School, came to the School drawn by the relationship between literature and landscape. From the Howgill Fells to the literary heritage of the Lake District, place remains central to the way he thinks about reading, teaching and the imagination.

In this interview, he explores the influence of Romantic poetry, the origins of his fellside recitations during the Wilson Run, and why studying literature matters far beyond examinations. He also discusses the School’s approach to independent reading, the role of English in an age of artificial intelligence and the pleasure of introducing pupils to challenging works.

What is it about English that you find most exciting to teach at Sedbergh?

Well, I suppose I’d start with my own journey to Sedbergh. I was Head of English at Downside School in the Mendip Hills in Somerset many years ago, so I’ve only ever taught at two schools.

It was while teaching there an A Level synoptic unit on Romantic literature — which I had studied at university, though it wasn’t an area I was particularly passionate about or interested in — that something changed. As an undergraduate I found the writing of the Romantic period interesting, but it had been a case of—two weeks of lectures, write the essay, move on. My literary research interest lay elsewhere.

But living in Somerset, where William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge came to live in the 1780s in the Quantock Hills, and walking through the very landscape in which they were generating the literature that transformed the imagination not simply of England, or of Europe, but of the world during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries—that experience led me into a different branch of, and a renewed enthusiasm for, literature. It was this love of Romantic literature that sent me into the hills, and I became a keen fell and mountain walker.

My own area of academic specialism—the area in which I completed my PhD and have published scholarly articles—is in the area of James Joyce and twentieth century anglophone Irish and Welsh literary modernism, so this newfound enthusiasm was very, very different to my previous area of interest and expertise. But that passionate interest in Romanticism, and in walking and landscape, developed while I was teaching that course over two or three years, as did a determination to live and teach literature within or close to one of the mountainous national park regions of Wales or England.

At a certain point, the opportunity came to apply for the role of Head of English here at Sedbergh. And I jumped at the chance. The little that I knew of Sedbergh was that it was in the most extraordinary location — and I say this not as a glib soundbite, but genuinely — I think it’s the most beautifully situated school in England.

Nestled as we are within the Howgill Fells, at the gateway to the Western Dales, and only twenty-six miles from the heart of Grasmere, where Wordsworth later returned to live in the Lake District, it’s an extraordinarily beautiful place to live and work. To be able to teach literature in such close proximity to these powerful landmarks, which connect us so deeply to the literary history of England and to the artistic movement that transformed the world, is truly remarkable, and a truly wondrous source of daily inspiration. And it’s here on our doorstep. And whilst I have colleagues who have a greater research interest in those areas, one of the main things is the capacity to come here and teach in this landscape. It is a green space, it’s a pastoral space, and it does allow you opportunities to link your teaching to this wider literary movement that is very much about instilling humility, coming to a deeper appreciation of what it means to be human, a love of nature, and fostering the imagination.

The excitement is to do with the intense beauty of the landscape and the link to the literary heritage, particularly the Romantic movement. I think that is a source that has been tapped into but could be made greater use of — in terms of embracing this whole artistic and Romantic movement, which is child centred and imaginative.

It is ecologically aware before being ecologically minded was a predominant way of thinking, given that it comes out of the industrial aftermath — or rather, during the process of the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Enlightenment — and as a reaction to that.

So there are these palpable, tangible little connections to the landscape and the heritage. And of course, there are deeper literary connections elsewhere, but a big incentive for many people coming here, if you have an interest in literature, is that the Lake District is the home of William Wordsworth, of the Lake Poets, and of this great movement in not just English literature, but world literature. And it’s here on our doorstep.

I don’t think we make enough of it, to be perfectly honest—that’s part of the subtext to all this—but in terms of why people come here, it does draw those who are passionate about literature and who love poetry and love the literature and poetry of the North of Britain.

The department here is full of very highly qualified literary specialists. There are two PhDs in the department, as well as colleagues with excellent degrees from Russell Group universities—some with many years of teaching. But we are all literature specialists and passionate about reading and helping pupils read with confidence.

And in the independent sector, particularly within the type of learning environment that we can foster in our schools, we do have a degree of independence in how we shape and form our curriculum. Having literature, and literature that connects with the landscape, as part of that, or trying to make connections with the heritage of place, is something that we obviously try to do wherever possible. As well as engineering opportunities for pupils to encounter the poetry of the Romantics in the curriculum, we try and engineer curriculum enhancement opportunities to enable pupils to experience the literary heritage of the North. Recent events have included taking all of Year 9 to the Wordsworth Trust in Grasmere and the Lower Sixth to John Ruskin’s Brantwood House on Coniston; as well as staging readings of the heroic verse of the early medieval British poets, Taliesin and Aneirin, in the literary society that is named in honour of Ruskin’s house—the Brantwood Society—which meets at least once each half-term for readings.

I’m going to ask you now, you are well known for standing on the fells during the runs and quoting poetry, and I believe it’s usually Joyce?

So years ago, when I first came, whatever I happened to be reading to hand, I might quote from that. In the beginning, it was often James Joyce, as the Headmaster at the time, Mr Andrew Fleck, was—like very many of the staff here, a committed fell-runner—and he would call for an inspiring quotation as he ran by. It would be lines like “To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.” A lot of what I was reading at the time was literature connected to nature—the American Transcendentalists or the English Romantics, like Wordsworth and Coleridge and I would randomly declaim memorable and inspiring quotations from their works. And then during a period when I was also teaching W B Yeats, it would have been quoting elements of Yeats’s poetry concerned with nature, heroism, and struggle.

Then, coming out of COVID, partly because my own reading interests at the time involved reading great classical works of literature that I hadn’t previously read in full, such as Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, I found myself reading about the funeral games and the importance of athletics as a ceremonial element within classical culture and civilisation. Reading those passages alongside the context of our own athletic events, these Olympic-style games with foot races and so forth, it seemed fitting and fun to quote the sections of Homer et al that describe athletic prowess in terms of running.

So, with the help of the Classics Department and a dear PhD classicist friend in another HMC school, I created a little anthology and would declaim these powerful quotations concerning foot races over the course of the first four weeks of the Lent Term when the runners were doing the preparatory Wednesday Epics. Epic reading for the Wednesday epics: one week it would be lines from Homer’s Iliad, then the Odyssey, then Virgil’s Aeneid, then the Thebaid by Statius. In the evening, I’d send out an email to pupils and staff saying, “This is what it was. You can find out more about this writer if you follow these links — or better still, go and talk to your brilliant Classics Department and they’ll tell you a lot more than I can.” Later on, during the Wilson qualifiers, I would randomly decide which quotation to recite, depending on who was coming by. But a firm favourite was from the Iliad: “All the Achaeans cheered for Odysseus, the great contender, and called to him as he ran with labouring heart.”

So that was something I started to do, and it clearly began to hit home—people seemed to enjoy it and to look forward to the poetic encounters in the wilderness. And then, as is often the way when people talk about tradition, they assume it’s always been there, but it may have been only two or three years old—and yet it became an expectation of what people would hear. I’m deeply honoured that the marshalling spot I occupy on Baugh Fell during the qualifiers, and on race day, is now referred to as Poet’s Corner.

I’m not a runner—and having had to have a total knee replacement some years ago due to an old rugby injury, I never will be—but I do love the marshalling and am in awe of the truly inspirational culture and tradition of fell-running at Sedbergh. And as someone who came here principally because of a love of literature and fell walking, and of that close relationship between the composition of Romantic poetry and fell walking by those writers, it’s a way of participating in the extraordinary thing that is fell and mountain running. Of all the things that happen in the school that are utterly unique and different, the one thing that is definitively Sedberghian is this extraordinary rite of passage: the Wilson Run. The level of hard work and application that our pupils go through to take themselves through this landscape is truly humbling and the whole process—from the Epics to the qualifiers, to the race itself—is an awe-inspiring annual wonder.

If what I am doing—in declaiming poetry on the fellside—can be part of their imaginative, emotional, and spiritual journey as they move through, and into, the landscape—over and over, week after week—then it becomes a part of a process of genuine individuation and growth, as well as being a formidable trial of physical and athletic strength and endurance. Even if the pupils can’t necessarily articulate what is occurring within them as they complete this epic rite of passage, they’re conscious that they’re doing something that is very hard and compels them to develop very significant depths of emotional and spiritual strength that will stand them in good stead for the rest of their lives. It truly enables the development of fortitude. And, to borrow a line from Wordsworth, they build memories that will provide food for the soul for years to come. Ultimately, it comes down to their own individual strength and determination—their capacity to demonstrate what people often call resilience —in order to move into and through the ever-changing landscape that is itself changing them.

It is a rite of passage in a very simple, profound, way; and the contribution of the declamation of epic verse is, for me, a way of acknowledging that they’re doing something mythic, something with the scope of the epic—something truly heroic—and therefore worthy of recognition.

As a person whose job is to read, what do you read for pleasure?

Do you know Anthony Burgess — the Mancunian author of A Clockwork Orange? He also wrote a cycle of novels called The Enderby Trilogy, which is about a poet named Enderby. It’s a satire set in 1960s London, and there’s a character in it who’s a curmudgeonly, rather dyspeptic and frustrated writer who decides at a certain point that he will only read the “great proved dead.” Although I studied a lot of contemporary literature as an undergraduate and postgraduate—and, as a consequence, got to meet some of the greatest writers of our times, for example, Seamus Heaney, Umberto Eco, James Kelman, Paul Muldoon, Ed Dorn, Allen Ginsberg, Colm Tóibín—as I’ve got older, I tend to gravitate towards classical and canonical writers, re-reading and returning to greats such as Dante, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Yeats, Joyce, Faulkner, and Beckett.

I’ve always been a voracious reader. As I said, my PhD is on James Joyce, with a focus on Ulysses, and I have a very deep scholarly interest in twentieth century modernism, particularly in its Irish and Welsh forms; as well as the novels of the American writers William Faulkner and Cormac McCarthy. As such, I have an appetite for linguistically dense, complex and highly allusive texts, and mostly of the modern and contemporary period. So, what I read for pleasure won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. But I’m constantly trying to extend my own subject knowledge by reading the great writers of the past.

I also love to travel, and so much of my reading is entwined with literary and cultural pilgrimages and destinations. I’ll spend several months reading in anticipation of going to a place. For example, I’ve done a number of road trips in America, all of which have been inspired by American literature and film. For example, I did a road trip through the southern states of America — principally to get to Mississippi, to see William Faulkner country — which has been an interest of mine for several years. When I go travelling in Spain, I read Don Quixote; and Dante accompanies me whenever I travel in Italy.

So I’ll go back and either read or reread major works, biographical material, and scholarly writing as well, just to deepen my own understanding and appreciation. When you are in the place associated with the writer you’re studying, your capacity—or at least my own capacity — to enjoy and appreciate where I am is significantly heightened; and the memories generated become beautifully entwined with your mind’s recollection of the texts themselves. But this commitment to this type of reading is also just a very simple expression of being intellectually curious, of wanting to read, and to find out about the world.

What does it mean in your view to think like an English student rather than simply prepare for exams?

To think like an English student is to recognise that the study of literature lies at the heart of what a liberal humanist education should be. The opportunity to read works of imaginative literature—written by men and women over millennia—remains one of the most powerful ways young people can come to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. It is through the study of literature, and through thinking, speaking and writing about the different ways that men and women have reflected upon life in the different genres of poetry, prose and drama, that young people can come to a deeper understanding of themselves and of the world around them. When we read narratives of other lives, we learn how to see the world through the eyes of another and come to understand what it is to walk in another person’s shoes. Our capacity for empathy is enlarged and we increase our sense of community and kindredness. Do you know the beautiful biopic of C. S. Lewis, Shadowlands? There is this heart-stopping moment when one of the characters states, “We read to know that we are not alone.” Not only does the study of literature involve the crucial development of our reading, writing and oracy skills, it is an integral aspect of our intellectual, spiritual, moral, social and cultural development. I passionately believe that these daily encounters with contemporary and canonical texts in the classroom are vital, life-enhancing moments and a crucial part of a liberal humanist education.

Even though it can be challenging for young readers, since most literary art is produced by men and women in their maturity, the careful, supported introduction to such texts allows pupils to encounter a vast range of human thought and emotion. At Sedbergh, that exposure is designed thoughtfully for each year group, following a clear ambition that pupils should study a stimulating and inclusive range of literature—both canonical and classical, as well as contemporary. Within those texts, they encounter and explore every conceivable theme and idea that shapes us.

From a cognitive point of view, the study of literature enables the nurturing and development of pupils’ critical and creative thinking skills. To read, comprehend, and critique a literary text we need to decode the totality of individual words that collectively constitute a text; and we need to imagine and construct—that is, we need to create—our own version of the author’s imagined world in our minds, before we can rationally explore and analyse the formal means by which the author has generated meaning. To use the slightly old-fashioned distinction between left and right-brain activity, the reading and analysis of literature simultaneously develops our logical and rational thinking, as well as our creative and artistic capabilities. In addition to the cultural capital to be derived from developing a deeper intellectual knowledge and understanding of history and culture, those who have studied English literature to A Level and beyond are frequently prized in the workplace. They possess a nuanced and sophisticated cognitive skill set that helps them excel in a range of professions from education, the Law, the media, creative arts, to advertising and marketing, for example. The development of that dual cognitive process—high order critical thinking and creative skills—is what it means to think like an English student.

Does AI play a role in your teaching?

As yet, not in any systematic way. While there is increasing use of AI tools to generate lesson planning material and learning resources, as well as for the completion of some administrative tasks, it remains the case that the content generated needs to be scrutinized and very carefully sense and fact checked by professionals with degrees, as AI frequently makes mistakes and is, at the moment, synthesizing open-access material online that itself may not be subject to peer-review and is, therefore, quite often simply wrong. That said, there is a very clear awareness that we are in the midst of a revolutionary moment of unprecedented civilisational change, and this technology is evolving at an exponential rate. While there’s occasional anxiety about whether AI might “replace” the teacher, the reality is quite the opposite. This technology could free up teachers’ time, through the increasing sophistication, authoritativeness, and reliability of the schemes of work and learning platforms it will potentially generate, as well as decreasing administrative burdens. Teachers, potentially, will have more time to teach, and to teach to a higher level. Our Head of Mathematics, Mr Dafydd Roberts-Harry, gave a fascinating presentation to the Heads of Department on some of the more pertinent AI innovations currently being trialled in other parts of the world. Most relevant for the teaching of English was the increasingly widespread popularity and success of adaptive modern language learning platforms, with adaptive English reading and writing literacy and oracy platforms being the next significant rollout. Adaptive literacy and oracy tools would allow pupils to work more independently on reading and writing development, and attain higher levels of literacy faster, thus allowing teachers more time to focus on higher order skills—the discussion, analysis, and interpretation of literature itself—with pupils more cognitively and linguistically proficient and intellectually capable of engaging with more textured and complex works of literature. The more proficient our reading skills, the less cognitive energy we experience in decoding text, and the more cognitive energy and opportunity we thus allow our brains for higher-order critical and creative thinking.

In our sector, this could help preserve and even strengthen the distinctive specialism in literature teaching that might be diminishing elsewhere. Given the current national decline in students studying Literature at A Level or degree level—linked, of course, to reduced reading habits and increased screen time—there’s understandable concern about its future place in the curriculum. Yet, paradoxically, with the increased reliance on AI for thinking, problem-solving, planning etc, and the concomitant reduction in an individual’s capacity to think independently and to think critically, there’s never been a greater need for the academic study of literary art.

If AI can help raise levels of literacy and give pupils greater access to literary material they might not otherwise encounter, then that would be genuinely exciting—provided, of course, that it complements rather than replaces the human work of thinking, reading, and teaching.

Why do you believe English remains such an important subject for pupils’ futures, whatever career path they pursue?

The study of Literature is at the heart of English Studies, and the study of Literature is at the very heart of a liberal humanist education. The study of Literature is integral to the education of the entire person. As I said earlier, the study of Literature is, at its heart, the study of how men and women have meditated on life and death throughout time and history in the different forms of poetry, prose, and drama. The capacity to imagine, to empathise, to understand, and to think critically about that is integral to what education truly is—the etymological meaning of education literally means to “lead out”—and our vocation as teachers, educators, is to lead young people out into knowledge, shaping them as citizens of the world, and helping them form deep emotional, spiritual, and historical connections with the world they inhabit.

You asked about the role of AI in teaching. A more pertinent question is about the role of teaching, and the teaching of Literature, in particular, in the age of AI. Now more than ever, when adults and children alike are often locked inside the solipsistic world of their phones and the fragmented and frequently false and morally dangerous representations of reality to be found therein, the study of literature—which enhances our ability to empathise, to see the world through other people’s eyes, and to grasp the deep consequences of human action—is vital.

Engineering opportunities for pupils to read slowly, deeply, and critically is more important than ever. Subjects like English and History teach the scrutiny of sources, the interrogation of viewpoint and ideology, and the understanding that every text comes from a particular time and place. That skill—to read critically and contextually—is enormously important.

As we adapt to AI, critical thinking becomes even more essential to ensure that our cognitive function is not degraded but enhanced. The study of demanding, complex literary texts develops that intellectual resilience. Reading can be hard, but that difficulty is formative.

Although pupils and adults may spend hours a day “reading” on phones, they’re not reading in ways that build high order or sophisticated literacy reading and writing skills. The gateway to knowledge is still books, still words, still documents. When reading and writing on mobile devices occurs mainly in broken, fragmented, or informal English, those literary skills don’t develop. However, the challenge remains the same. The average word-length of a textbook or novel is 80,000 words. The average percentage of those words that come from a Greek or Latin origin is 90%. Pupils need a working vocabulary of 15-20,000 words to merely access the curriculum but a “word-depth” of 50,000 words to thrive, that is, to achieve the higher grades. The research on the educational importance of reading is emphatic. Lifelong academic achievement is contingent upon reading achievement. And the literacy strategy that is recommended by the Department for Education, and all experts in the field of reading and literacy, like the Literacy Trust, is independent reading—also referred to as reading for pleasure—and the incremental development of higher order reading skills through the reading, and study, of increasingly challenging books. The educational vehicle for the development of this core learning skill, therefore, remains the study of Literature in English Studies. To quote a maxim I learned along the way, “If language is the door to education, reading is the key.”

Research shows that reading achievement is the single greatest contributor to lifelong success—not only academic, but emotional, social, and even economic. Being “word poor” can be as damaging to lifelong happiness, health, and opportunity as being born into material poverty. So we must find ways to help pupils become “word rich” and we must engineer daily opportunities for pupils to go on “word-journeys” to attain that richness of vocabulary that enables empowerment and which is so necessary for lifelong success.

Even though reading is hard work, and the language of great literature can be challenging, we should encourage pupils and support them in developing those skills. Whilst we do have “Eureka!” moments in our learning, so much of education and the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom is a slow miracle. In a civilisational moment that is geared towards instant gratification, we need to re-learn the embrace of the slow and the miraculous, and the power that reading plays in enabling higher-order reading and higher-order thinking and understanding. As Seamus Heaney wrote, “Expect aurora borealis/ in the long foray/ but no cascade of light.” The habit of deep reading is in sharp decline, but it remains a civilisational and existential necessity. We cannot allow AI to do our thinking for us. If AI is taking us away from the human, we need the deep and serious study of Literature and the Humanities to help us remain truly human and appreciative of our humanity.

And if we look at the rise of populism and the impact of new media platforms, the need for a literate, informed, and democratic population is clearer than ever. The capacity to read critically, to understand history, and to engage with the humanities has perhaps never been more important. Without a sense of deep time, of how messages are formed, communicated, or distorted, it becomes increasingly difficult to navigate the world in which we live.

That is why English, and the study of Literature, remains indispensable now more than ever—whatever path a pupil takes in their journey through life.

Can you talk about the School’s independent reading strategies?

Wherever you go — into further education, business, or any profession — that quiet but demonstrable depth and breadth of knowledge is enormously valuable. It gives nuance, diplomatic awareness, and a storehouse of good anecdotes. Having a reputation for being well read and intellectually curious is no bad thing. It gives a certain degree of cultural sophistication that will never hurt.

In practical terms, we nurture reading in a structured but enjoyable way. In Years 9 and 10, every lesson, in every subject—regardless of whether it is a Humanities subject or not—begins with five to ten minutes of independent reading. Every lesson. Every day. That happens across all subjects, not just English, and was introduced a year ago by Mrs Stubbs, the Senior Deputy Head Academic, and the Heads of Year 9 and Year 10. It’s a wonderful and transformative initiative and part of the school’s top-down Literary Strategy.

Underlying this is the school’s investment in the Renaissance Accelerated Reader Programme, which allows us to assess pupils’ reading attainment at key points in the year and to track progress. It encourages pupils to complete quizzes on the books they’ve read and suggests new texts suited to their reading level. The programme also helps us identify pupils who might need extra support or intervention—whether that means helping them find accessible books that will develop their confidence or giving them additional one to one guidance through Learning Support.

What’s developed from this is a real reading culture within the school — displays on classroom doors showing what individuals are reading, teachers sharing recommendations, and a shared enthusiasm for independent reading. It began as something within the English Department but, over the last year or so, has grown into a whole school approach to literacy and reading. The research states that the place that is most important and influential for the modelling and enabling of independent reading is the attitudes towards reading that exist in a young person’s home. As we’re a boarding school, school is their home during term time, therefore, it is enormously important that we do all we can to foster the habit and love of reading for pleasure.

Modelling positive attitudes towards reading is so important, which is why teachers display their own current reading on reading posters on their classroom doors, and seek opportunities to talk about their own reading, and to ask the pupils about their reading interests. We periodically have ‘Drop Everything And Read’ days, where the whole school stops and reads for 20 minutes at a designated time, and frequently share and circulate recommended reading lists. These can be the Guardian’s top 100 lists—of novels or non-fiction, for example—or more uniquely Sedberghian iterations. Every term we update and distribute a Sedbergh Staff Recommended Reading List that contains the books that wowed teachers when they were teachers and, perhaps, reluctant readers. Like Dante in The Divine Comedy, everybody needs a Virgil—a guide—to show them the way. The school’s literary society, the Brantwood Society, also meets once or twice each half-term to promote reading and literature by hosting readings of poets and writers or literary groups and movements.

In all these ways, the School is ensuring that independent reading remains central to how our pupils grow—linguistically, intellectually, and culturally.

If you could change one misconception parents or pupils have about English, what would it be?

One would be to demystify the perceived complexity—or, indeed, dullness—of studying poetry or dramatic verse, like Shakespeare.

Many people carry a kind of trauma from their own educational experiences: negative memories of studying forms, particularly poetry or Shakespeare, that they never truly understood. Perhaps they were forced to learn by rote in earlier eras.

I always try to explain that, if we start with poetry, all poetry is simply the powerful expression of thought and feeling in language by men and women who have a great facility and sensitivity with words. Medieval Welsh poets described themselves as carpenters of song—which is a wonderful metaphor for the craft and beauty of poetic expression. I tell pupils not to get hung up on chasing down literary devices—though of course, they do need to understand those in order to reach a deeper awareness of what they’re studying—but rather to see poetry, especially lyric poetry, as an encounter with human thought and feeling.

It’s about being open to that direct human exchange. That is, allowing oneself to be open to what another person has said about being alive. The anthropologist Clifford Geertz called literature “part of the consultable record of what man has said.” Again, in this age of AI, when so much text and content is being generated by soul-less machines, engineering opportunities for young people to encounter this literary record of past human experience is a powerful way of rooting them in the ensouled and creaturely world of humanity.

When James Joyce was challenged about the content and style of Ulysses, he replied that if Ulysses isn’t fit to be read, then life isn’t fit to be lived—because all literature contains all that we are, in all of life’s comedies, tragedies, and absurdities. That, to me, is the heart of it. Yes, literature can be solemn and profound, full of sadness and grief; but it also holds joy, humour, and love. Everything we are as human beings is contained within it.

With Shakespeare, the same misconceptions exist. Many people recall the difficulty they had studying texts in early modern English—a language that is undeniably complex and challenging and in its versified form, strange and forbidding. But that doesn’t diminish Shakespeare’s brilliance as a storyteller. And the ornate and tender brilliance of his language does not mean that pupils cannot learn—through careful shepherding and perseverance—how to enjoy the poetry of his language. He remains, as Coleridge said, the “myriad minded” creator of an extraordinary body of plays and at the heart of every meaningful English curriculum.

It makes a tremendous difference when you have teachers who possess the literary knowledge and skill to present something that can be formidably complicated in an accessible, engaging, and entertaining way. I’m immensely proud of this department and the teachers I work with, who are, first and foremost, lovers of literature and books. They are passionate, infectious storytellers who bring challenging works to life — from The Tempest in Year 9, to Romeo and Juliet at GCSE, to Hamlet and King Lear and in the Sixth Form.

If you were to walk into those classrooms, you’d see pupils genuinely enjoying and engaging with the texts they’re exploring. That enthusiasm comes from inspired teaching, effective learning support, and lessons that are visually and intellectually rich. It’s skilful, imaginative teaching that turns what once felt impenetrable into something that is wonderfully and uniquely alive—and that, I think, is the misconception I’d most like to change. So, come and study English, where the magic happens!