I sat the most important maths exam of my life when I was twelve

The self-fulfilling prophecies of ability-grouping

I am among the most examined maths students of my generation. Hailing from the UK, the original high-stakes testing capital of the education world, I sat national exams at age 11, 14, 16 and 18. At university, the assessment regime did not relent; I undertook 33 hours of written exams through my undergraduate maths degree.

That’s a lot of testing.

But none had the significance or impact of a half-hour test I sat aged twelve. I didn’t know it then, but those thirty minutes would set the course for my schooling career. And while this story has a happy ending, for the majority of my peers that same test had catastrophic consequences.

I had just arrived in secondary school. The maths department was tasked with organising 300 students into so-called ability groups. With little to go on, they opted for their own assessment tool — a thirty-minute test, which was administered to all 300 students. It covered a range of familiar topics.

Soon after, we received our results by proxy of our ability group placement. I must have scored well, as I was assigned one of the two top sets (available to 60 of the 300 students). From there I never looked back. A few blips notwithstanding, I sauntered my way through the curriculum, culminating in top grades in the national GCSE and A Level exams.

My top set placement was vindicated. My less fortunate peers, who were placed in the lower sets, did not scale the same heights. Of the 240 students who were placed below top set, not a single student achieved the top GCSE grade.

Wow, that maths test was really on the money; in thirty minutes it was able to forecast the learning outcomes of 300 students over the next five years, and group them accordingly…

…do you see what’s wrong with this picture?