Tinsel glistens through the window of the darkened classroom, but the decorations are not from this Christmas, or last. A whiteboard marks the date when pupils and staff were evacuated from Sacred Heart Catholic Primary School nearly two years ago. It was 16 January 2023, when a routine inspection revealed the floor of the 95-year-old school building was rotten and could collapse at any moment. Children could have plunged directly to the rat-infested cellar below. "Get out now. There’s a danger to life,” recalls Simone Beach, the headteacher of the school located in Barrow-in-Furness, Cumbria.
Serving some of the most deprived pupils in the UK—not far from the high-security BAE Systems docks where multibillion-pound nuclear submarines are made— the evacuation was initially thought to be just short-term. But two years later, the children have yet to return. Estimates now suggest they may not be back until 2029, seven years after they were forced to leave, because the rotting building has been condemned as unsafe. Every weekday morning at 8am, about 200 young children meet outside their old school, braving freezing winters and regular rain as they pile onto three coaches for the two-mile trip to St Bernard’s Catholic High School, where they are temporarily housed.
This commute, which should take no longer than 15 minutes, stretches longer as staff corral dozens of little bodies on and off vehicles, up steep driveways and through gates. It is often 9:30 am by the time they sit down for their first class. The children, says Beach, are wired, tired, and “often not ready to learn.” Each pupil is losing about 10 hours of teaching time every week, equaling 130 hours over a typical primary term. Results are showcasing the impacts of this upheaval—last summer, only 46% of pupils met the expected standards for reading, writing, and maths at the end of key stage 2, compared to 60% across Cumbria and nationwide. This summer’s numbers plummeted to just 18%.
Teachers attribute these dismal results not only to the higher number of children with special educational needs this year, but also to the undeniable disruptions the students faced. When the Guardian visited mid-December, groups of five- and six-year-olds huddled against the cold waiting for temporary outdoor toilets they’ve been using instead of the primary facilities. If one child requires the toilet mid-lesson, the entire class must wait outside the Portakabin, ensuring no student is left unattended. With only one staff member present, the entire class must stand outside to wait, creating more disruption.
Inside the makeshift facilities, children are relegated to doing one-on-one work on the floor of corridors. The situation is especially dire for the 60 pupils identified as having additional needs—comprising 28% of the school roll, far exceeding the national average. Temporary classrooms have been set up in rooms meant for finance, HR, and storage, with tattered carpets and blown windows. None have sinks, making art projects impossible, and without space, students cannot partake in the minimum two hours of PE each week. "This is where childhood obesity, tooth decay, and other health issues are alarmingly high," Beach reveals. "Most of our children don’t access community sports. Private lessons are out of reach, so the sport they get is all we provide."
The densely packed streets surrounding Sacred Heart are some of the poorest regions of England. Here, one in five adults leaves school with no qualifications, and around 33% are out of work—compared to 22% across the UK. It impacts the community's children significantly. “These kids are among the most disadvantaged,” Beach laments. “We’ve collectively failed.” The conditions inside Sacred Heart were alarming; rodent droppings covered equipment and children's books were infested with damp spores after the evacuation.
When guests arrived to visit the makeshift facilities at St Bernard’s, they noticed primary school pupils sequestered away from the older children—kept behind the fence of the playground, nicknamed “the cage.” The outdoor space designated for younger students is merely a muddy patch next to parking, closed off for weeks due to errant metal fencing. Beach has persistently pleaded with the Department for Education (DfE) for financial help and expertise, but is clearly disappointed with the response from higher government officials. DfE representatives didn’t visit the site until October 2022—10 months after the initial evacuation—and local authorities didn’t follow suit until December, nearly one year after closure.
While the DfE has agreed to cover some of Sacred Heart’s additional costs for staffing, it refused to cover the expenses for transportation—tallying at £4,865 weekly. Initially, the department declined to reimburse the costs of the school’s outdoor toilets but reversed this decision after media coverage. Beach warns the upheaval could leave the school on the brink of bankruptcy: “That money should be for the children! It’s coming straight from our normal school budget, which funds programs and trips,” she argues. After initially being denied emergency funding again later this year, the school was finally accepted onto the school rebuilding programme, inaugurated following the crumbling concrete crisis of the last years.
The juxtaposition of their severe needs against the backdrop of BAE Systems is glaring. With costly submarines built just across the street, Beach cannot help but question, "If I can see billions being spent on submarines from my school window, why can’t anyone assist us?" The DfE acknowledged its role, stating it “inherits” schools desperately needing repair and is committed to remedying the situation for both staff and students.
