On Friday, I walked through London to meet a friend for lunch. It was the familiar walk that I would do each week on my way to the refugee camps of France, in the dark of last winter, looking over my shoulder. People shoved and pushed one another, walked into me with their heads down, engrossed in their phones; cars beeped, homeless men sat in doorways begging from their dirty sleeping bags.

I was well aware of an increased police presence, in light of recent events and the constant shadowy threat of terrorism. I was followed down the Euston Road by a bearded man with a large billboard, shouting that I needed to urgently repent my sins. He was eventually ushered away by security guards at King’s Cross. By the time I met my friend I was pretty stressed and somewhat flustered.

At the same time that I sweltered my way to a stifling rooftop bar, a close friend and former colleague of mine, 98 miles away, texted me a few photos, of her with her husband and their beautiful little boy; wide smiles, laughing faces with a backdrop of a fairground, lush green open spaces and glistening water. We texted, and laughed at the contrast between our two situations, especially as on the morning of the previous day, it had emerged that the Ofsted chairman had declared that one of us was in a “ghetto”. Yes, my friend lives in that “shocking” “holiday land”, the Isle of Wight.

I first went to the Isle of Wight as a child; I still have vivid memories of carefully pouring coloured sands into small glass jars. My more recent memories of the Isle of Wight, however, are very different.

A few years ago I agreed to give a year of my career to a school on the island. I had been stunned and saddened when a former headteacher of mine told me that only around 11 per cent of children on that very small island went to a good or better school and, intrigued and wanting to help, I ended up commuting from Hertfordshire each Monday morning, to Ryde, returning home on a Friday. Rather than just using it as a heartbreaking dinner party tale, I went over the Solent and I taught.

I am not from the Isle of Wight, and my time there was not all plainsailing; at times it was lonely and at times I was called an “overner” [a person not native to the Isle of Wight] to my face. Yes, the island is a very close-knit community, which made school improvement challenging at times because ties and relationships underpin the community. Everyone knows everyone, or at least know of them, and gossip spreads like wildfire. But during my time there I can honestly say I was not aware of any “inbreeding” - a very poor, distasteful and offensive choice of words.

I look back now, without romance or rose-tinted glasses, and I see an island of two halves, two sides, two personalities. My memories of my time on that island are mixed. What I did not realise until I read the TES article regarding David Hoare, was how fond of that little island I actually am.

‘Island’s schools have been transformed’

Yes, the island has some social and economic problems. When you get off the ferry you do feel a little like you’ve travelled back in time. Many of the children who I had the pleasure to teach were entitled to free school meals and a small percentage came from families involved in seasonal work, so the cold dark winters were particularly harsh for some.

Some of our students had never left the island. So, yes, for some, it was a bit insular. But others were from Manchester, London and elsewhere; families who had relocated to the Isle of Wight for the wonderful lifestyle it could offer them.

Yes, there has been a problem with high rates of teenage pregnancy and last year the Office for National Statistics confirmed that some parts of the island, including North Ryde, were in the 10 per cent most deprived areas in England. The data tells me that this area is also in the worst 10 per cent in terms of crime rate. This means I was more likely to be a victim of crime in that part of Ryde than I was in London.

And yet I worked there for a year and a bit, and I walked down the seafront on my own each night and never once did I feel any hint of danger. The children I taught were funny and bright, lively and witty, would always smile politely and, far from being streetwise and gobby, they were polite and innocent when they saw me out of school.

Yes, some lacked aspirations and ambitions, but their lives were pretty sweet and simple. Some were white working-class, but not all. The parents who I met were supportive and wanted the best for their children; they always greeted me with smiles and thanks.

The schools that Mr Hoare, in addressing his Teach First audience, said “were all less than good” are no longer that way. Due to some very hardworking teachers, passionate about changing the lives and futures of their students, some of those schools are now good. Yes, GCSE attainment is still relatively low; however, there is a wind of change blowing in from the sparkling Solent, and results should continue to improve. Teach First now sends its training teachers there, schools share practice and I know for a fact that teaching and learning at Ryde Academy is in extremely safe hands.

So I guess I wonder what Mr Hoare’s intended outcome was.

There is still a struggle getting great teachers to work in the schools on the island, but will his labelling of it, and the families who live there, in such negative ways encourage those much-needed teachers to go there?

How did Mr Hoare’s flippant comments, based on very few facts, appall and upset my determined, conscientious former colleagues? When he sits hosting his dinner parties, talking of Cowes week and the “ghetto”, does he ever feel the desire to go over, roll his sleeves up and to use his position for good? He could.

When did he last visit? If his intentions were honourable, which I am sure that they were, I know of a good school or two which would, I’m sure, welcome him to the “ghetto”. After all, if things are going to continue to change for the small green island and its inhabitants, if we are to unlock the potential in those children and build their dreams and aspirations, we must not forget that education really is the key.

Natalie Scott is TES Teacher-Blogger of the Year and author of the Miss Scott Said What? blog

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