I grew up on a peripheral housing scheme. I must have done okay at the local primary and lucky enough to draw a winning ticket in the 11+ lottery. It was a life-changing event, gaining me admission to the local grammar school. The transition was uncomfortable at times. I found myself mixing with peers whose parents owned homes and cars and didn’t have “jobs”, or work in factories like my dad. They were “in” something mysterious called “the professions”. They didn’t go to Macduff for holidays but returned bronzed from places that had me thumbing the atlas. Suddenly, I had classmates who were seriously bright. For a time, future foreign secretary Robin Cook was a contemporary, and his occasionally volatile father taught me Chemistry.

It was a case of sink or swim, but a couple of things kept me afloat. I was good at sport, bestowing an element of adolescent kudos that helped offset my academic limitations. More importantly, I was surrounded by a host of talented and supportive role models and was swept along in their slipstream. Socially, I often felt like a fish out of water. Our junior rugby team had regular fixtures against private schools in Glasgow and Edinburgh. Away games usually meant spending the night before the match in the home of one’s opposite number. I once found myself billeted in the home of a High Court judge and informed, “father will be joining us for dinner”. That was puzzling, because it was evening and where I came from, dinner was around midday. Somewhat daunted, I was placed at His Lordship’s right hand and he appeared genuinely surprised and interested that I was a 14-year-old from the schemes. Come to think of it, in later years several of my childhood pals were also questioned by High Court judges, albeit under different circumstances.

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The teaching was a mixed bag. Some of my teachers were inspirational while others, on a good day, approached mediocrity. It was taken for granted that virtually all of us would progress to university. Generally, I prospered, probably explaining the early decision to become a teacher. I wasn’t blinded to the unfairness of the system that got me there and labelled many classmates as failures at age 11. Even then, I felt strongly that everyone was entitled to an experience that opened rather than closed doors. I welcomed the end of the selective system and the prospect of a fairer deal for the majority of Scottish youngsters. Nevertheless, I also recognised the selective system, despite its inbuilt unfairness, had strengths. In my case it was coming into contact with high achieving role models and realising that academic and sporting success was nothing to be ashamed of. It also helped me become the first in our family to go to university.

As it turned out, much of my career was spent in schools that served some of our most deprived communities. The very schools that should be the heart of strategies to address the attainment gap. The comprehensive revolution of the late 1960s and early 70s was a piece of educational and social engineering. Its estimable principles were fairness, evenness and equality of opportunity. Whether those aspirations were carried into practice, is altogether another matter. In 1991 Tony Blair’s spokesman, Alistair Campbell, thought not, famously denouncing England’s comprehensives as “bog standard”. As far as Scotland is concerned, Campbell got it wrong; our comprehensives are anything but “bog standard”. The social composition of many of our “best” comprehensives is as skewed as those of the old selective schools. Educational opportunity and achievement are no longer determined by 11+ results, but by house price. As long ago as 2013, The Commission on School Reform noted, “Scotland’s schooling is not equitable”. In schools serving affluent areas, success is the norm and widely celebrated. In contrast, I have experienced schools where able pupils tried to hide, not wishing to seem different from their peers.

While the comprehensive revolution benefited the majority, it has failed to level the playing field for many youngsters from poorer social and economic backgrounds and who remain stranded on the wrong side of the attainment gap. In 2019, the school serving the area where I grew up, was ranked 339th out of 339, with 7 per cent of pupils attaining five Higher passes. Territorial school catchment areas impact on social mix, on role modelling and on building an ethos where success is the norm. It’s an uncomfortable truth, but the comprehensive monolith has failed too many youngsters, by not delivering the principles of fairness, evenness and equality of opportunity, with inevitable consequences for attainment.

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England’s greater diversity of academies, grammar, faith, and comprehensive schools has not been notably more successful. It’s more likely the answer lies within existing schools and their communities. Finland has a fully comprehensive system up to age 16, and rates highly in nearly all international comparisons. There is trust and investment in the skill and professionalism of its teachers. They have responsibility and flexibility to develop the curriculum locally, and ensure no child’s educational route leads to a dead end. As a result, Finnish teachers are highly valued and regarded. Effective improvement in Scottish education needs to be similarly grounded in professional debate and ownership at school and community levels. We can’t afford another 50 years for “bog standard” to be a compliment not an insult.

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