From Makeshift to Meaningful - SEND and inclusion spaces in mainstream schools.

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In the same way that some days you catch a pleasing scent of the summer to come, there’s a curious sense of optimism in the education sector following the schools’ white paper. 

Of course, there is much detail still to come, and gaps to fill in terms of the how and when but Every Child Achieving and Thriving gave us a convincing why - and although there will always be naysayers, to me there is much to look forward to. 

Inclusion Bases for every school

One amongst many positive announcements in the white paper was a commitment for all secondary schools to have an inclusion base so that students who can thrive in mainstream have access to the support and teaching they need.  

Again, details are still to come, but this is a brilliant proposal – and even better because it appears to be attached to funding. 

As a former teacher and school leader in mainstream state secondary education for the best part of three decades, I wholeheartedly believe that children with special educational needs and disabilities who can thrive in mainstream settings, absolutely should be able to do so – and have their needs fully met.  

I believe this not only because those children will benefit, but because all children benefit. A truly inclusive school is one where difference and diversity are acknowledged as essential to becoming a full, rounded, accepting individual. Inclusion makes us all more kind.  

A room by any other name

But before we get over-excited about what is undoubtedly a great proposal, it’s worth remembering a truth about ‘inclusion bases’ - most schools already have one. 

Maybe they’re not all called ‘inclusion bases.’ Maybe they’re not separate, purpose-built spaces, but they’re there.  I would wager that every single school in this country has something - a space, a room, a corner, a corridor - that has been quietly, determinedly and creatively turned into a place where vulnerable children feel safe enough to learn. 

I’d bet on this because I've seen them.   

When I was an NQT, we had ‘the balcony’ - a space in the roof; it represented not a compromise, but a commitment . When I was a Deputy Head, we cobbled together The Clare Room; it was an office two doors down from mine – it was my safe haven as well if I’m honest.  

Later, when I was a Head, our Kirby Room was a triumph, a repurposed classroom which transformed the life chances of some of our most vulnerable young people. At my last school, The Hive - sandwiched between a Food Tech room and an IT office - was a space full of joy. 

Master problem-solvers

The names and shapes of the spaces will be different in every school, but the story is always the same: a headteacher, a SENCO, a TA, a site manager - somebody who looked at a space that wasn't quite right and said we'll make it work. 

Educators are, at their absolute core, master problem solvers. I’ve always felt this. We move heaven and earth and walls and doors and furniture and whatever else is in the way to make sure the children in our care are included. That instinct isn’t new, and it isn’t in response to government policy. It’s simply what educators, who believe in inclusion, do.  

So where’s the gap?

According to the stats, only 20% of secondary schools have an ‘inclusion base’. What that really means is that fewer than 600 of roughly 3,400 state secondaries in England have a formally designated SEN unit or resourced provision. That sounds like a crisis of absence, and it probably is, but it’s not the same as saying 80% of schools don’t have anything.  

The real gap is, as usual, more nuanced. It's not that schools haven't been providing inclusion spaces. It's that too many of those spaces have been created in less than optimum conditions with a shoestring budget.  

The balconies. The repurposed stockrooms. The corner of the library. The room above the sports hall that no one could quite explain the purpose of until a brilliant SENCO got their hands on it. Superhero educators are adept at finding creative solutions. 

The problem is these spaces were not designed to meet the needs of vulnerable children. And that distinction, between a space that is makeshift and a space that is meaningful, matters. It’s not that the current spaces were adapted without love, or without due regard for SEND needs – of course they were, but don’t our children deserve better? Don’t they deserve purpose-built spaces? Shouldn’t inclusion be a design principle, rather than an afterthought? 

And if you believe, as Bridget Phillipson clearly does, that we have a generational opportunity to ensure that children who have been sidelined, are included, then the quality of the spaces they learn in makes a massive difference. We should  insist on the highest possible standards for those spaces, so that our most marginalised children know the second they step into one, that their learning matters.  

Inclusion by Design

And so, the optimism we may be feeling makes sense. For the first time there appears to be both the political will and the funding trajectory to have inclusive education for every child. The £3.7 billion committed is a signal that inclusion should be by design. 

By design means baked-in, not bolt-on; and it applies to every decision we make in schools – whether about buildings, curriculum, staffing or culture.  

Hopefully, converting an old shed in the playground won’t be necessary in future, and children with SEND or other vulnerabilities will enjoy learning in a high-value, high-quality space which has been created with their needs in mind.  

But in the sunny days to come, let’s not lose what those makeshift spaces represented: the loving creativity of educators, with arms full of ingenious ideas and a patchwork of improvised resources, who hold the unshakeable belief that every child belongs. May that value continue to guide us, no matter what.