Keeping exams in perspective

Fr Kevin Hegarty

THE recent issue of the Leaving Cert results reminded me of a student whom I remember from my first year teaching. He had a cavalier attitude to school. That is a polite way of saying he showed no interest in class and did the minimum amount of homework. He was also blessed with an uproarious sense of humour which, in the circumstances, his teachers failed to appreciate.

In the Leaving Cert maths exam he took the honours paper, though he was in the pass class. Confronted after the exam by the school principal on his folly he flippantly replied that, as he was not going to pass maths anyway, he might as well fail the honours paper.

His choice made him a kind of folk hero among his fellow students, though in the cold light of reality they accepted that there was nothing to commend it. They admired his devil-may-care attitude but had no wish to emulate it.

I have no wish, either, to commend his flippancy but I do believe we need a sense of perspective about the Leaving Cert.

In the days after the release of the Leaving Cert results our national and local papers were emblazoned by reports and photographs of successful students. The main emphasis was on students who had attained a high number of A1s.

These students deserve our congratulations. The Leaving Cert is probably the most difficult test a student will ever face. It demands deep knowledge across a range of diverse subjects. Successful students are entitled to their place in the sun as they prepare for college.

To concentrate, however, almost exclusively on the high achievers obscures other significant, though less glamorous, results. One of the most successful students I remember from my years teaching was a young woman who got a C in a pass English paper.

Nothing very exciting there you may say. For her the result was a major achievement. She entered first year almost illiterate. Over the five years of secondary school she worked hard, under the guidance of her teachers, to raise her standard. There were several A students in her class but I reckon her result matched theirs.

The media coverage also tends to fail to be sensitive to those students whose results do not meet their aspirations. They see their dreams crumbling into dust. It might be helpful for them to come to accept that, while the Leaving Cert result is important, it need not determine the direction of their lives.

Perhaps they might draw some inspiration from a short story by Somerset Maugham.

The story dramatises the experience of a verger at a Church of England church. He is excellent at his job. The rector is very impressed by his abilities and his loyalty.

One day the rector asks him to take down a message. The verger has to admit shamefacedly that he cannot read or write. As literacy is a requirement for the post, the rector reluctantly dismisses him.

He heads home on a dismal winter evening to tell his wife and family of his sacking. On the way home he notices that there are many people walking the streets but no shops are open.

He decides to rent a premises where he starts a small shop selling tobacco, newspapers and basic groceries. The shop is successful, which encourages him to set up another one. Eventually he owns a fleet of shops and becomes very wealthy.

A journalist interviews him on his success. During the interview he reveals his lack of literacy. The journalist asks him to speculate on how greater might be his achievement if he could read and write. The man replies that if he could read and write he would probably still be the verger at the church.

I believe that the true purpose of education is not found in examination results. The process of education should help students develop their academic, scientific and aesthetic talents. It should aid them in becoming self-confident and respectful of others. It should cultivate moral awareness and sensitivity to the environment. It should provide them with an appreciation of art, literature and music. Above all, it should help them understand that true fulfilment is found in ordinary things. Carl Sandburg was right when he wrote:

 “I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness.   

And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.   

They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them.   

And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river   

And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.”