Reflections of a School Governor, Then and Now
Rosie grew up going to school in Stretford, alongside her older sister Sophie. In her primary school, there were only two Black children. They were sisters. And they were noticed constantly.
Not for their brilliance.
Not for their potential.
But for their difference.
From the earliest years of schooling, Rosie and Sophie were bullied, racially abused, and harassed. This was not an isolated incident or a single unkind comment. It was years of sustained harm that followed them through primary school and into secondary education.
By the time Rosie reached the transition to secondary school, she had already learned something no child should have to learn so early: that spaces can be unsafe when you are the only one.
Rosie passed the 11-plus. She could have gone to grammar school.
But she chose not to.
She knew that at Stretford Grammar in the 60s she would likely be the only Black child.
She knew what that meant.
And she was afraid.
So instead, she chose a more diverse secondary school still imperfect, still challenging, but less isolating. That decision was not about academic ability. It was about survival.
The Absence That Speaks Loudest
Throughout Rosie’s entire journey, through school, college, and university, there was a constant, deafening absence.
She never saw a Black teacher.
Never saw a Black senior leader.
Never saw someone who looked like her at the front of the classroom, behind the lectern, or making decisions.
That absence did not end with education.
Across her professional career, Rosie was always the only Black member of staff in the room. Even as she progressed into management and senior leadership roles, working across regions including Leicester, Preston, Bolton, Liverpool, and Manchester, the pattern remained unchanged.
Different buildings.
Different job titles.
Same experience.
In voluntary roles boards, panels, committees Rosie again found herself the only ethnically diverse person at the table.
And then there is governance. Eighteen Years at the Table Still Alone
Rosie has been a school governor and Chair for 18 years.
Eighteen years of dedication.
Eighteen years of accountability.
Eighteen years of advocating for children and communities.
And still:
She remains the only ethnically diverse person on the governing board.
The only one on the Teams call.
The only one on the Zoom screen.
This is not because the schools she serves are not diverse. They are.
The children are diverse.
The families are diverse.
The communities are diverse.
But the decision-making tables are not.
This is what people mean when they talk about structural inequality. Not loud. Not always intentional. But persistent. Reproduced. Normalised.
And exhausting.
A Poem for the Rooms That Never Changed
I was one of two,
my sister and me,
marked out before we knew
what that marking would cost.
The names changed,
the buildings changed,
the towns changed,
but the feeling stayed the same.
I learned early
how to read a room
how to count who wasn’t there
before counting who was.
I passed the test,
but not the safety check.
So I chose survival
over prestige.
Years later I sit at tables
polished with policy,
framed by vision statements,
and still
I am the only one.
The children look nothing like the board.
The board does not look like the community.
And everyone calls it coincidence.
But coincidence doesn’t last
for decades.
Change does not come
from hoping the room fills itself.
Change comes
when absence is named,
when power is shared,
when representation is understood
not as charity
but as justice.
I am still here.
But I should not still be alone.
What Must Be Learned — And Why Change Has to Come
Rosie’s story is not unique. That is the problem.
Key learning points for schools, trusts, and governing bodies:
- Lived experience is evidence, not anecdote.
- Representation matters at every level, especially where decisions are made.
- Diversity among pupils without diversity in leadership is a systemic failure, not progress.
- Asking “why people don’t apply” avoids the real question:
why systems continue to exclude. - Eighteen years without change is not slow progress—it is stagnation.
Change has got to come because children are still watching.
Because governors shape culture.
Because leadership signals what is possible.
Because no one should spend a lifetime being “the only one”.
And because when lived experience tells us the same story for decades, the system, not the individua,l must change.