A Mandate to Learn
Article published in April/May 2025 edition Teach Secondary
As the government readies its curriculum review, Toby Marshall looks back on the National Curriculum’s origins, how it’s changed, and where it’s likely to go from here...
On 11th June, 1987, Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative Party secured its third successive General Election victory. The party’s manifesto spoke of a ‘British revival’, and of reversing our collective national decline. Thatcher opened the manifesto with the claim that the “Conservative dream is at last becoming a reality.”
This and other messages that year won the party 42% of the popular vote and a 102-seat majority. The changes the Conservative Party made to state education after its 1987 election victory were arguably as significant as the reforms previously made by Winston Churchill’s Wartime Coalition in 1944 and Harold Wilson’s Labour government in 1965. It’s important to remember how the education changes that followed in the wake of the Conservatives’ 1987 electoral victory represented a radical break with the past – some of which, in my view, were for the best, when it came to the National Curriculum.
The post-war settlement
For much of post-war period, there had been cross-party consensus where education was concerned, at least in terms of its content, with schools generally governed by the state, but at arm’s length. The overriding drive of government policy, above all else, was to increase access to education. From the 70s onwards, however, a growing coalition of cultural conservatives, liberal traditionalists and sections of the Conservative Party sought to shift the focus of education policy towards issues of content, quality and standards.
Perhaps the most sympathetic reading of why the National Curriculum for England was introduced is that the government – and indeed much of the public, as well as many teachers and parents – wanted a clear statement of the knowledge and skills to which all young English people were educationally entitled.
The idea of adopting a ‘National Curriculum’ had been discussed for many years, and enjoyed a broad base of support from both the political right and left. The roots of the idea can be traced back to the 1960s.
“Education came to be seen as not just an investment in the young, but a potential solution to problems ailing the world’s adults”
Then Labour leader Harold Wilson’s introduction of comprehensive schooling had prompted lively debates between traditionalists – who tended to value academic knowledge, the canon and authority within education – and progressives, who typically prioritised pupils’ experiences, skills and dispositions.
As these debates evolved, however, and the world turned a little darker, conservatives and liberal traditionalists began to actively challenge progressive assumptions with regards to education. A popular set of publications entitled ‘The Black Papers’ raised concerns over knowledge, educational standards and authority within education. Then, in 1974, a national scandal appeared to make their case for them.
The William Tyndale Affair
At the William Tyndale Primary School in Islington, radical progressive teaching methods adopted by the headmaster had resulted in a collapse of school order. The teachers went on strike and a public enquiry was called. Tyndale was also useful to then Labour leader James Callaghan, who at the time was attempting to ideologically reposition The Labour Party. In his response to the Tyndale affair, Callaghan initiated what he called ‘The Great Debate’ over education.
In a pivotal speech he gave at Ruskin College Oxford in 1976 (see tinyurl.com/ ts143-TP1), Callaghan addressed a great many educational issues with rare and admirable sophistication – touching on not just the National Curriculum, but also the problems he perceived with progressive education itself. Callaghan asked if a core National Curriculum of ‘basic knowledge’ was now needed, presenting this as a matter for further debate, while also stating that “I am inclined to think there should be.”
Callaghan’s speech represented the first serious breach of post-war consensus on the curriculum. Around the same time, education came to be seen as not just an investment in the young, but as a potential solution to problems ailing the world’s adults. For Callaghan, getting the school curriculum right would be central to Britain’s economic recovery.
The National Curriculum emerges
In his political diaries, the one-time Conservative Education Secretary Kenneth Baker articulated a liberal, knowledge-centred and distinctly traditionalist view of education. In his view, it was impossible to argue for this type of education with teachers, noting that it took “No time at all to discover that there was no way of getting a voluntary agreement.”
It was Baker who first ushered the National Curriculum into being. In a surprise move, he announced his plans to introduce it on breakfast TV, soon after which the new policy was included in the Conservatives’ pitch to the electorate. Baker, who has remained rightly proud of his work on the Curriculum, has since observed that the idea was “Hailed as the flagship of the manifesto.”
Many teachers understandably opposed it on principle, since it represented an attack on their professional autonomy.
It also soon became clear that it was something of a bureaucratic monstrosity, attracting internal criticism from Thatcher herself. She also felt it to be too progressivist for her tastes.
I would argue that the 1988 Curriculum’s main flaw was the curious method of assessment it was organised around, which generated a structure so complex and unwieldy that the entire curriculum had to be completely rewritten in 1995.
Similar criticisms could be made of the National Curriculum launched in 2013 by then Secretary of State for Education, Michael Gove, under which the core subject orders for primary were overly detailed. And yet, there was much to commend about the 1988 and 2013 versions – particularly their foregrounding of knowledge. It could be argued that what both curriculums sought to do was offer a grammar school education to all.
And that’s something I’m all for. Young people need a liberal, knowledge-rich education. The alternative is what Gove rightly once called the “Soft bigotry of low expectations.”
The new review
With more than 10 years having passed since the National Curriculum was last looked at, the curriculum review initiated by the current Labour administration and headed up by Professor Becky Francis marks a welcome development.
However, I’d suggest that as well as considering the past mistakes of the Conservatives, the government should also examine those of the last Labour administration – particularly the National Curriculum reforms made between 2007 and 2010, under the auspices of the ‘Qualifications and Curriculum’ and latterly the ‘Qualifications and Curriculum Development Authority. Those published versions of the primary and secondary curriculums amounted to a real retrograde step back, in terms of the position occupied by knowledge within the wider school curriculum.
The latest review is yet to publish its final recommendations, but some of what’s been said so far sounds positive. I particularly welcome the proposed commitment to ‘Evolution, not revolution’, and the stated intention to maintain intellectual standards through a number of important qualifications. As a film studies teacher, I think placing a greater emphasis on the arts would be a great idea. Study of the arts is, of course, academic – but it’s practical too.
At the same time, however, there’s talk of the review suggesting that the curriculum be made more ‘relevant’ to young people. My concern is that ‘relevance’ could be used as a criteria for narrowing the scope of our academic ambition for the young – especially when the very terms of reference state that the new curriculum should be “Inclusive, reflecting the issues and diversities of our society and ensuring that all young people are represented.”
Surely a key purpose of any school curriculum is to do precisely the opposite – to introduce the next generation to people and places they haven’t previously encountered, and whose lives and experiences are radically different to their own?
At the time of writing, this latest curriculum review is in its consultation phase. Professor Francis has sought to clarify some issues, pointing towards its likely direction of travel, and for me, the signs been encouraging. At a recent education conference, she made clear that in her view, “Subject-specific knowledge remains the best investment we have to secure the education young people need in a world of rapid technological and social change” – a point reiterated in the review’s recently published interim report (see tinyurl.com/ts143-TP2).
Professor Francis said other things at that conference with which I disagree – but that statement, at least, really was catnip to this liberal traditionalist teacher.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Toby Marshall is an A Level film studies teacher
IN BRIEF WHAT’S THE ISSUE?
The need for a National Curriculum is now widely recognised across the profession – though the nature and content of the Curriculum schools follow has evolved significantly. And is about to change again.
WHAT’S BEING SAID?
Early indications seem to suggest that the revised curriculum currently being worked on may entail more incremental changes than we’ve seen before – but also that ‘relevance’ of curriculum content to students’ lives will be a key requirement.
WHAT’S REALLY HAPPENING?
Moves to lock in ‘relevance’ as a National Curriculum requirement risks going against a core tenet of the National Curriculum since its inception – to open up access to powerful knowledge by introducing students to hitherto unfamiliar material.
THE TAKEAWAY
History has shown that the National Curriculum is at its most effective when unencumbered by bureaucracy, and when the valuing of knowledge is placed front and centre.
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Image: Sanctuary Buildings, Department for Education
A Critical Response to Toby Marshall’s Reflections on the National Curriculum
Toby Marshall’s account of the National Curriculum’s development is a thoughtful and well-researched overview, particularly in how it charts the curriculum’s origins in the ideological battlegrounds of the late 20th century. As someone who has worked extensively in schools and across local authorities — and who has led curriculum inspections under several political administrations — I recognise many of the tensions Marshall outlines. Yet I also find his framing of recent debates around inclusion and relevance somewhat narrow and potentially counterproductive.
Marshall is right to point out that the 1988 Education Reform Act was a watershed moment. It introduced, for the first time, a centrally prescribed curriculum in England — a move that was met with a mix of suspicion and optimism. His analysis of how the post-war consensus around access gave way to concerns about standards and content is especially useful, and it’s true that some of the motivations behind the introduction of the National Curriculum were rooted in a genuine desire to ensure a broad entitlement for all pupils.
However, the implication that inclusion or “relevance” somehow dilutes intellectual ambition is one that I cannot support. The view that a curriculum should only take students beyond their own experiences, rather than also affirming and connecting with them, fails to acknowledge what many educators have long known: engagement and rigour are not mutually exclusive. In fact, a curriculum that deliberately draws on a wider range of voices and experiences can deepen rather than diminish challenge. Representation is not a distraction — it is part of an equitable education.
I share Marshall’s concerns about overly bureaucratic curriculum structures. During my time overseeing inspections, I saw first-hand how well-intentioned reforms can become stifling when overly prescriptive frameworks limit professional autonomy and reduce teachers to mere deliverers of centrally dictated content. The best schools I visited were those that took national expectations and brought them to life through thoughtful pedagogy, interdisciplinary connections, and genuine responsiveness to their communities.
Where Marshall is perhaps most convincing is in his defence of subject-specific knowledge. A strong curriculum must, at its heart, be grounded in the disciplines it draws from. But this doesn’t mean reverting to a narrow canon or a purely traditionalist approach. It means valuing the expertise of subject specialists — and trusting them to make judgements about how best to sequence and teach powerful knowledge in ways that stretch all learners.
I would also challenge his somewhat generous characterisation of both the 1988 and 2013 curricula as offering “grammar school education for all.” That idea was always aspirational — and in many schools, it proved elusive. Without careful scaffolding, deep curriculum thinking, and attention to pupils’ starting points, such ambitions can quickly morph into unrealistic expectations or a return to a kind of curriculum elitism.
As the current curriculum review unfolds, the challenge will be to avoid the mistakes of both bureaucratic overreach and cultural insularity. Professor Becky Francis’s emphasis on maintaining intellectual rigour while promoting inclusivity is, in my view, a positive direction of travel. If we are serious about securing high standards for all, then we must design a curriculum that combines disciplinary strength with cultural responsiveness — and which sees teachers not as technicians, but as curriculum-makers.
In short, Marshall’s reflections are a valuable contribution to the debate. But we must resist framing inclusion and academic ambition as incompatible. The real task is to design a curriculum that dares to do both.