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Summerhill Today
by Zoë Neill
Readhead
Principal, Summerhill School, England
[Note: The following is an excerpt from
Summerhill and A.S. Neill1, and is reproduced
with the kind permission of the Open University
Press.]
1 Vaughan, M. (Ed.) (2006). Summerhill and A.S.
Neill. Maidenhead, England: Open University
Press.
When I was asked to contribute to this book I
spent a long time trying to decide what sort of
thing to write and wondering whether I should
respond to Neill’s writing or go off in my own
direction. His and my approach to children and
child rearing are so closely linked through our
own separate experiences of Summerhill that we
are likely to cover the same ground, though
maybe from different viewpoints. This chapter
then is not a response to Neill but about
Summerhill and other stories from my
perspective.
For most of my life people have assumed that
being the daughter of a famous man has made me
feel overcast by Neill’s shadow and that I have
felt the need to try to live up to him in some
way.
Actually, to my knowledge, this hasn’t been the
case at all. I never really thought of my dad as
famous when I was young. People talked about him
a lot and he was in the newspapers and on the
telly, but to me he was just my dad.
One of Neill’s great qualities as a father was
that he didn’t have any expectations of me. I
knew what he would have liked for me, but he
never applied any pressure or gave me a bad
conscience about it. He would really have loved
me to pursue a university career, take a degree
and then come back to run Summerhill, thus
putting paid to the critics who presumed that
Summerhill pupils were not getting a “good
education” and also safeguarding the school’s
future by being qualified on paper to be a head
teacher. But I didn’t take any exams at all and
Neill died thinking that I was not going to be
involved in his school. I have always had a
feeling that he knew, deep down inside how
important the school was to me and that I
wouldn’t let his dream die when it came to the
crunch. Why else would he have sent me off to
Norway to Ola Raknes a Reichian therapist,
asking him to give me therapy so as to broaden
my experience of people and their emotions, as
Neill said, “just in case you want to get
involved in Summerhill in the future”?
I feel that the tools Neill gave me through his
remarkable school and child-rearing method have
been ample preparation for taking up the
position I have at Summerhill. I actually took
over in September 1985 when my mother, Ena,
retired. It has been an amazingly steep learning
curve for me all the way along–but what a
wonderful experience and opportunity! As a
former pupil of Summerhill, as a parent of four
children who have gone through the school, and
as a grandparent of two children at the school,
I realize that Summerhill is deep in my bones;
it is a great privilege to be Principal of the
oldest children’s democracy in the world. It is
important to set the context of my involvement
in the school and why I am committed to
continuing what Summerhill and Neill have given
to child rearing and education.
I was born at 2 am on November 2, 1946 in the
upstairs rear bedroom of the main house building
at Summerhill, where my parents had a flat. I
was two weeks late so my mother had taken to
going for long walks round the local lanes
trying to encourage me to put in an appearance.
One day she took rather longer than expected and
my Dad was in a complete state when she finally
returned, imagining her giving birth at the side
of the road!
I remember how he later reacted to my daughter
Amy’s birth, at home, in 1972. He was distressed
by the whole event, feeling deeply frustrated
that he was unable to relieve my pain but still
not venturing into the room to be with me.
Neill’s own mother, whom he adored, went through
dreadful birth traumas for each of her 13
confinements.
Neill was 63 years old when I was born. He had
married Ena, my mum, a year earlier after the
death of his first wife, Lilian Neustatter, who
had helped him to found Summerhill and was known
to all as Mrs Lins.
It is sometimes difficult to remember that Neill
was born in 1883. It seems so long ago, given he
was such a contemporary thinker. Although his
views on education and child-rearing were way
ahead of his time, he was part of a quite
different society and this showed itself in some
areas of our family life, as well as in some of
his books.
Neill never took part in cooking, cleaning or
making “house-hold” decisions, traditional
women’s roles – though he loved to make soap out
of all the old bits and pieces around the house
boiled up with sand to make an abrasive paste
for getting oil off the fingers – effective but
a bit slimy to use. He also used to wait until
my mum was away and then boil up his
handkerchiefs in one of her best cooking pots.
He couldn’t understand why she got so annoyed
about it.
Neill didn’t actually resist being a “modern
man”; it just didn’t enter into his way of life.
Of course he was all in favour of women’s rights
and freedoms and he offered that as part of the
Summerhill experience. He loved to see the older
girls getting feisty and taking control of
school matters. He loved their strength and held
great admiration for them. I sometimes wonder
how it must have been for the early Summerhill
girls who grew up in this environment where they
were complete equals and lived the roles of
people rather than women, only to go outside and
find that they were still, to some degree,
second-class citizens, expected to stay at home
and look after the house. This was also a world
where their sexuality was not accepted as openly
as it could be and where many men still carried
anxieties and prejudices against women and their
sexuality. Few people talked openly about
orgasm, for instance.
For all of Neill’s slightly old fashioned
approach, he would be perfectly happy to talk to
me about my sex life and often asked me if
everything was going well in that department,
even as a teenager. His agreement with Wilhelm
Reich that a healthy sex life was important, no,
vital, to a healthy and fulfilling life meant
that he showed concern for his daughter’s sexual
fulfilment – not something that many fathers
today would find easy to discuss.
The night of my birth was in term time and the
children along the corridor stayed awake to see
what sex I would be and who would hear the baby
cry first. There was great excitement. My
half-brother, Peter, was 14 at the time and was
allowed to come and see me soon after I arrived.
I recently met one of the other boys – now in
his seventies - who said he had been the first
to hear my cry.
However, after the initial excitement the
children made few concessions to having a new
baby in the building and eventually my parents
decided to move over into the lodge house at the
entrance to the school in Leiston, Suffolk. Not
that the children of Summerhill are particularly
insensitive – but our flat was directly above
the school gramophone and dancing area, which
was active three nights of the week. Free
children are, by nature, boisterous and noisy so
Neill, in his usual perceptive way, decided that
rather than create a problem or turn it into a
moral argument – he would go with the flow and
move out. We moved to Holly Lodge, which is
where my father and mother remained until they
died. It was only a stone’s throw from the main
building but gave them enough space so as not to
“live over the shop.”
One of the most frequent questions that people
ask me is: What was it like being the daughter
of A. S. Neill – and what kind of father was he?
I have always felt a dual role as Neill’s
daughter. First I was the little girl that he
loved, and second, a kind of work-in-progress, a
chance to use me for his ideas on childrearing
and education. In my experience as his daughter,
Neill always remained true to his ideals. I
don’t know whether he ever thought in depth
about parenting, whether he and my mum ever
planned how I would be reared, or whether, like
me with my kids, it all came naturally, bearing
in mind that they were following the Summerhill
idea everyday at school.
Neill was the sweetest father a child could wish
for – cuddly, funny, wise and companionable.
He was always supportive and offered me the two
things, which, to my mind, are the most
important things a parent can offer: he was
unquestionably on my side at all times with no
strings attached, and he left me alone.
It all seemed very normal to me, him being my
dad. The way I was brought up at school and in
my home was the most natural thing in the world.
Neill was full of humour. When I was small he
read me bedtime stories every night, hearing
Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit so often that he
began to start every story with “Once upon a
time there were four little rabbits and their
names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and
Peter…,” while I squealed with mock anger and
told him to stop being silly.
We played cards together, I picked up golf balls
for him while he played alone at Thorpness Golf
Course, we went for walks, and did things that I
assume all dads do with their kids. Neill’s
sense of fun was a source of great pleasure and
wonderment for me. He told fantastic stories
with great imagination and we often used to
“pretend” together. We created some imaginary
friends – Rosie, Posie, John and Lon who we
played with and talked about often until one
day, while Neill was giving me my bath, they
went down the plughole and disappeared, never to
be seen again!
Neill was a figure in the background at
Summerhill, a strength that we all knew could be
relied upon in an emergency or when needed. But
he also very much got along with his own life
and work while we, the pupils, got along with
ours. As his daughter I can remember going for
long spells of time without seeing much of him
at all, except in passing.
Many Summerhill kids’ main memories of Neill,
apart from a few special ones, will be of
rushing past him in their daily play and
shouting “Hi Neill” with a wave before
disappearing. Famously one boy wrote home
halfway through his first term: “There is a chap
here called Neill, I like him.”
In modern society there seems to be complete
inability for parents to leave their kids alone
for more than a short while. Maybe there is a
concern that “the devil makes work for idle
hands,” or worry about the failure to be a “good
parent” who provides stimulation and excitement
at every turn.
The result of this constant attention in real
terms means that, at Summerhill, we now see many
children who are in constant search of adult
influence and stimulation, unable to quietly get
along with their own lives without the need for
admiration and attention. If ever there are
visitors or new staff you can always be sure
that these children will gravitate towards them,
particularly as the rest of the community are
experienced at treating them quite coolly. This
is not cruel; it is a hard but practical lesson.
If you are a pain and constantly wanting
attention it makes people irritated and they
tend not to want to be with you.
A girl of about nine joined us a while ago. She
was a really bright, pretty, accomplished child,
always at the front of the group in acting and
playing imaginative games. She couldn’t help
putting on a show to the grown-ups, always
wanting their approval. Every time I saw her she
said something clever or witty in a pretentious
sort of way. Eventually I told her that if she
wanted to talk to me it would be great as I
really liked her, but if she was going to
continue playing up to me just for effect then
she needn’t bother. At the end of the day she
had to know that it irritated me and I was not
prepared to patronise her just because she was a
child. I am happy to say that after her first
term she began to take eye contact and talk to
me like a real person and no longer as if she
were performing for the grown-ups.
I have watched a father with his 10 or 11 year
old son, tossing him in the air, playing “macho”
boyish games of play fighting and generally
behaving as you would towards a one or two year
old. This particular boy was one with serious
behaviour problems who was unable to function in
the school community without hurting or annoying
other children. He found life at school very
difficult without constant stimulation from his
parents. His mother was always all over him like
a rash, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and
hugging and kissing him. Whenever his parents
were around he reverted to baby talk and baby
behaviour.
This is an extreme case – but we see the result
of parental interference and over indulgence all
the time. In the 1940s and 50s Summerhill was
the place where children learned that adults
would not brutalise of frighten them – now the
Summerhill community finds itself in the role of
disciplinarian, teaching kids that they can’t do
what they like, that they have to have regard
for other people’s rights and feelings too. A
bit of a role reversal that Neill would have
found interesting!
Neill’s ability to leave me, and the kids at
Summerhill, alone was one of the strongest
foundations upon which the Summerhill philosophy
is based. It is part of the freedom to do
whatever you want to do with your own life. It
is not conditional, you don’t have to be
answerable to your parents or any adult – you
can just get on with your life and learn or make
mistakes. You can be lonely, you can be bored,
you can take risks, you can be really nice, or
you can be quite horrible. So long as what you
do doesn’t upset or hurt anybody else, you can
be completely yourself. How many people get that
chance in life, even as adults? Of course other
people may comment on your behaviour, or make
suggestions to you about various aspects of your
life, for example if you are having difficulties
– but there is no compulsion. This feeling that
you don’t need to respond and can take your own
direction is very empowering.
The way that Neill was available to us all but
not intrusive has ingrained itself upon me. Only
now that I share his role as head of Summerhill
do I realise what an incredibly brave thing it
was for him to do in those far off days when
children were supposed to be seen but not heard
and were still being beaten at school and in
many homes.
I find myself working in much the same way as
him. Although I am quick to say my piece, get
involved and take part in whatever is topical at
the time, as a community member and Summerhill
pupil I let the children individually get on
with their own lives often without even talking
to them until I am spoken to.
Occasionally visitors will ask us why we let
children spend time alone when they appear to be
lonely and sad. This is part of the strength of
Summerhill – it enables people to be by
themselves and have space. Most adults like to
be alone at times – but for children there is
little chance as there is usually a grown-up
worrying around them and wanting to offer help.
It’s nice not to have help sometimes – just to
be in your own space. In a recent questionnaire
to pupils leaving the school, one girl wrote:
“Because I was bored I spent a lot of time
thinking – at a normal school everything is
organised so you have no time to think.”
I am a bit worried about the new parenting trend
that makes parents feel they have to be actively
part of their children’s childhood at every
turn. Parents rush home from work or pick up the
children from school and are immediately engaged
in the pattern of providing a stimulating
environment for the children. We must not let
them watch too much TV, play computer games or
play outside in the street. We must provide
stimulating pastimes and activities for them at
every turn. Drive the children to ballet, to
swimming to visit friends. Talk to them at home
and make sure we are always on hand to inspire
and encourage them. This in itself causes many
tensions within the family for the obvious
reason that parents find it extremely difficult
and tiring to provide this constant stream of
enthusiasm, plus the fact that the children are
more often than not quite reluctant participants
in the whole sequence of events.
Summerhill children know that they can get help
and support either from the adults or from other
children if they want it. The strength of the
community and its democracy are reassuring; it
is a place where you feel it is safe to take
risks, both emotionally and physically.
I think of a story one of the teachers, Michael
Newman told me concerning a five year old Korean
girl we had a few years ago. This little girl
was as cute as can be and quite small for her
age. Everybody in the school just loved her to
bits. One day this teacher looked out of his
caravan window and saw her playing by herself in
the middle of our field. She was quite alone and
involved in her game – there was nobody else in
sight. She looked so tiny and vulnerable but was
so obviously happy and totally absorbed. It
occurred to him that there are very few spaces
where a little girl like this could be playing
entirely on her own with nobody to watch over
her. He said that he felt almost guilty and a
bit intrusive to be watching her, but was glad
to be part of offering her this freedom to be
alone.
A prospective parent asked me the other day –
what about the little children, how do you know
where they are and why don’t they just walk out
of the school and get lost in the town? Well,
the fact is that the little ones respect the
school laws and know they aren’t allowed out
without someone big with them. These little
children aren’t rebellious, they just want to
play. It is the older ones who are more likely
to break the “down-town” laws and are brought up
at the school Meeting from time to time for
being out of school, out of hours. The fine
imposed by the Meeting is usually being gated
(not allowed out of the grounds) for two days.
Summerhill today is a busy community. It feels
bigger than it used to, not in area but in
spirit somehow, although it is true that our
current (2005) population of 88 students is a
significant increase on the average of 60 that
Neill had over the years.
People ask me all the time – How has Summerhill
changed over the years, is it still the same as
when Neill was alive? Fundamentally it hasn’t
changed at all. I always think of Summerhill as
being a bit like the sea – the tides come in and
go out but the sea remains the same. Summerhill
changes with the living community within it but
the idea, the philosophy, the system stays as it
always has been. This is not due to some loyal
devotion to A. S. Neill and all that he did, but
to the fact that his philosophy of education and
the system that he developed here, really works.
It is such a sound idea and is so well
understood at Summerhill that there would be no
reason to change it.
How can you change the simple philosophy that
kids should be free to make choices about their
own lives and that we all live as equal members
of a community? It is simple, practical,
truthful and real. The principles upon which the
school runs are profound and are beyond
“fashion” or educational trends. These
principles disallow the many neurotic and
inappropriate “rules” that parents, teachers and
others “in authority” use to control children
and young people in family life and in schools.
It is interesting that when pupils graduate and
then return a year or so later to visit the
school they always notice many changes. “It’s
changed so much … George has moved rooms, the
wake-up time is earlier – someone has repainted
the graffiti wall…”
But pupils returning after, say, thirty years
say how little things have changed – it still
feels the same, sounds the same, has the same
atmosphere as it had all those years ago.
Of course it has changed physically - life moves
on, but why should the philosophy have changed?
Again, people say to me, “Children have changed
so much these days – surely it has changed the
school?”
No, children haven’t changed at all. It has
taken us millions of years to get to where we
are now. Our needs have certainly not changed in
the last 80 years – we still have the same human
weaknesses and desires that our great
grandparents had. Nothing has changed at all. We
may have a different environment around us and
different clothing, interests and sports but
these things can’t change the fundamentals of
human nature.
If old Neill were to walk back across from his
cottage to the main school as he did so often
long ago he would smile to see how little the
kids have changed. Sure, they play on computer
games now and use mobile phones, something he
could never have imagined. But they still laugh,
play, build huts in the woods, ride bikes, kill
imaginary monsters (probably rather more
sophisticated than the monsters of Neill’s day),
paint pictures and hang out together just the
way they always did.
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