The School Appeal

During the fall of 2006 I was chosen to serve on a jury for an ugly child abuse case.  At the time I was in the middle of writing my comprehensive exam essays, one of which dealt with different forms of control that organizations use to try and prevent bad things from happening.  In engineering terms we call this risk mitigation.  I was working for a company that was trying to recover from a major market downturn, and specifically wanted the gate reviews it held for new product launches to avoid bad things like releasing products nobody wanted.  I talked with Gitte Jordan, an anthropologist friend and mentor, shortly after getting selected for the jury.  The gist of the conversation was how I wasn't sure I was going to survive the trial.  Gitte suggested I take advantage of the chance to do ethnographic research on the trial process from the jury's view.  Her first point was that juries, like engineering companies, are organizations that social scientists have very limited access to.  I had a golden opportunity to record what really happens in a jury, as opposed to what huge amounts of paper and ink over the centuries have told us is supposed to happen.  Gitte's second point was that like trials, gate reviews require a group of people (the gate review panel) to come together for a short period of time, watch a theatrical performance in which coded information is exchanged, are rarely told all the facts of the case, and are expected to reach consensus under intense time pressure so they can make a decision with a great deal at stake.  As such, thinking ethnographically about my experience on the jury could help me think through the portions of my dissertation that dealt with gate reviews and risk control.

I followed Gitte's advice and jotted ethnographic field notes for the rest of the trial.  It helped me keep my sanity, just barely.  That discussion forever lodged in my head the idea that gate reviews are a theatrical performance.  This is borderline heresy if discussed on the record (as, I imagine, would be the assertion that a trial is a theatrical interchange between the judge and attorneys), but I've found the concept resonates with coworkers when we discuss it in suitably safe off-the-record venues.  Some time later, another colleague and mentor got me thinking about the claim that the operating procedures and certification plans we write should really be considered works of fantasy and fiction.  There's a whole line of thinking there just waiting to be explored.

This isn't a blog post about juries and gate reviews (although I continue to dream about writing the paper).  I share that story as an introduction because the experience gave me two things: a coping mechanism to handle high-stress situations by stepping back and thinking ethnographically, and an analytical framework that looks at group decisions through the lens of theatrical performance, exchange of coded information, and high stakes.  That's what this blog post is about.  Specifically, it's about the theatrical performance called the school appeal hearing and the high stakes of whether Charis would be accepted into the school in Melbourne.

The short story: Primary school in Melbourne is split between two schools.  The Infant School takes Reception (4-5 yr olds) through Year 2 (6-7 yr olds).  The Junior School takes Year 3 (7-8 yr olds) through Year 6 (10-11 yr olds).  The schools in Derby and the surrounding area tend to be full.  This is generally true for the schools with higher Ofsted ratings.  It is especially true for Year 1.  There was evidently a baby boom in the UK about 5 years ago, and all the kids who were born then are looking for schools.  When we looked at schools in December, we discovered that a mid-year transfer for daughters in year 1 and year 3 was not going to be easy.  Melbourne Junior School told us they had one opening in year 3.  Melbourne Infant School told us they were full in year 1, but did have overall capacity in the school.  If we applied, the council that governs admissions would reject us.  If we filed an appeal on the grounds that we lived in the catchment area and had another child in the Junior School, we would have a strong case for the rejection being overturned.  We applied to both schools in December and filed the appeal for Charis right away.  We got Elise's acceptance notice before we left the US.  When we landed in the UK we found out that our appeal hearing was scheduled for 30 Jan (Thursday).  I went to the appeal hearing and made my case.  A representative from the council made their case that the Infant School was full.  We received a letter in the mail on 1 Feb (Saturday) stating that our appeal had been upheld and Charis would be placed into the Infant School.  She started school the following Tuesday (4 Feb).

The long story: I drove the half hour north to Heanor from Derby.  The appeal was held in the town hall.

I was all set to find a desk, tell someone I was here, and ask for directions to the room.  Instead, this sign was posted on the door immediately to my left when I walked in.  I didn't even have to walk into the main offices.  It turns out the appeals for Derbyshire county are held at different locations.  This is because the county encompasses quite a wide geographic area encircling all of Derby.  I'm sure there's something to the location of the appeal and the placement of the sign that is intended to shuttle incoming traffic without disruption to the rest of the town hall business.  So you're supposed to know to look for the sign (assumption about tacit knowledge). 

Here's the layout for the waiting area and room where the appeal was held (yes, I got a little carried away doodling on Visio).  The blank spot on the top left is the stairway that I walked up.  The lower left area with double doors is an elevator.  I got there at about 1:15 for a 1:30 appeal.  I saw a woman standing by the door to the appeals room.

"Are you here for the appeal?"
"Yes."
"I think they're still discussing the last case.  I'll just go downstairs for a few minutes."

A short time later another woman came out of the appeals room, introduced herself as the clerk for the appeal (I'll call her Jill), and asked if I was Dr. Collins.  I answered affirmatively.  She went downstairs and returned with the first woman, whom she introduced as Ms. Irlwig (not her real name; just a handy one for me to use).  She then briefly described what would happen: The appeal is binding on both parties.  None of the panel are employed by the Council.  This ensures their independence.  The panel must have one member with a background in education, and one "lay" member who does not have a background in education.  The third member can be either.  Ms. Irlwig will present the case for the Council, which is that Charis should not be admitted to Melbourne Infant School.  You and the panel will have an opportunity to ask questions.  You will then be asked to present your case, after which Ms. Irlwig and the panel will have an opportunity to ask questions.  Ms. Irlwig will make a closing statement for the Council.  You will have an opportunity to make the final closing statement.  My role as clerk is to ensure that the panel abides by the legal regulations for the appeal process.  If at any time you feel you have not been given a fair hearing, please say so.  You should know that the Council are making their case based on a Key Stage 1 argument, which is that admitting Charis into year 1 affects year 1 capacity now, and capacity in future classes as well.  I will make sure the appeals panel abide by the legal constraints associated with this argument.  The panel are hearing appeals all afternoon, so they will not make a decision until the end of the day.  I will put a letter with their decision in first class post to you tomorrow morning.

Jill excused herself to see if the panel were ready for us to begin.  I asked Ms. Irlwig if she worked at the Infant School.  She said that she works for the Derbyshire Council.  One of the rules for the appeal is that the school must send the same representative for every appeal.  When a school only has 2 or 3 appeals per year, it is not a big disruption to send a staff member.  Melbourne Infant School gets a lot of appeals, so having someone required to be out of the office one afternoon per month is not practical.  Because of this, Ms. Irlwig presents all appeals on their behalf (and on behalf of a few other schools).

Key thoughts on this encounter:

• The reference to me as Dr. Collins.  I rarely use that term self-referentially, although I did include it as a title on the appeal and school applications.  In the US, I'm accustomed to people referring to me as Mr. Collins, even if I happen to write something down that identifies the Dr. label.  I suspect this was simply the clerk being polite by referring to me as I'd
• Ms. Irlwig's decision to leave the waiting area when I walked in.  There's something here about avoiding contact between parties presenting the appeal.  I'm not sure exactly what the hidden assumption was.  If it was just about avoiding conversation, she could have kept her chair on the other side of the elevator and said nothing to me.  Perhaps that lack of conversation would have been considered rude, so the answer was physical separation.
• Key Stage 1.  This was the first of many code words exchanged between Jill, the panel, and Ms. Irlwig.  I honestly don't know what it means or what unique legal constraints associated with it are.  It seems pretty clear that accepting Charis into year 1 means her presence will also affect the numbers in year 2 when she moves up in September.

Jim, Joe (chair), Jane (education)

We entered the appeal room.  The gentleman in the center (I'll call him Joe) opened the conversation. "Dr. Collins?"  "Yes," I answered, as I put down my laptop case and coat by the wall, sat down in my chair, and poured myself a glass of water.  Joe introduced the panel members (all Mr or Ms; no first names).  He summarized how the appeal would run.  It was pretty much the same as what the clerk told me.  He explained that Jane was the panel member with a background in education, and that he and Jim did not have backgrounds in education.  He gave me a laminated A4 paper with the steps in the appeal, saying that "We will try to follow this sequence as informally as possible."  I gather this was intended to be reassuring.

Joe: "Do you have any questions before we begin?"
Me (silently): "I have tons of questions about how this process.  I'm not going to take time asking them because at the end of the day, the process will be whatever the process will be."
Me (out loud): "I have no questions."
Joe: "Ms. Irlwig, please present on behalf of the Council."

Each of us had a printed packet containing the Council's case for not accepting Charis (Exhibit A), my original appeal (Exhibit B), and supplemental information I'd submitted in January (Exhibit C; I was given a deadline to provide this when the scheduled the appeal was scheduled).  Ms. Irlwig essentially read through the contents of Exhibit A.  In a nutshell, her case was as follows:

• The school is full, and capacity is being stretched by the high number of applications.
• An additional classroom was built before the 2013 - 14 school year.  For the 2014 - 15 year, the Council will authorize the school to accept 210 students, which is the capacity that the new classroom expands them to.  The authorization remained 200 for the current school year.
• Recognizing the anticipated growth, the Council authorized the school to accept 70 students into Reception.  Year 1 and Year 2 were each limited to ??.
• Facilities and staff are based on the 2013 - 14 authorizations.  Admitting an additional student would challenge the facilities (e.g., place for lunch boxes, notebooks, etc) and ability of the staff to provide efficient education to their students.
• There is a new housing development being built in Melbourne which will create an additional influx of applicants for a school that is already full.
• Accepting more students increases road traffic around the school, which is a hindrance for staff and visitors trying to access the school grounds.
• She also submitted new evidence (Exhibit D) which was a floor plan of the school showing dimensions of the classrooms.  She only had one copy of Exhibit D.  The panel members looked at it, I looked at it, and then I gave it back to her.

There were not many questions after Ms. Irlwig made her case.  Here are the ones I really didn't care about because they dealt with long-term capacity issues and really had nothing to do with Charis's admission:

• Can the school build another classroom to accommodate future growth?  Yes, but that will take away playground space, which we've said is already limited.
• Is the council monitoring growth in Melbourne to handle the potential influx of students?  Yes, we have a formula that we apply based on the number of residences in the area, and that formula is adjusted with the addition of new housing developments.  That is partly why the 2014 - 15 year will have a higher capacity allowed for admissions.

Here are the two questions I really did care about.

• Are you telling us that the school has physical capacity for 210 students, and it currently has 206 students?  Yes, that is correct.
• Your table shows that Class 5, which is a combined Year 1 / Year 2 class, has 29 students.  The maximum number of students per classroom is 30.  So Class 5 has one available space?  Yes, that is correct.

"Dr. Collins, do you have any questions."  "No.  My only question was the Class 5 capacity, and you have asked that."  "Very well, we invite you to make your case."

I had talked with two colleagues at Rolls-Royce, both of whom had submitted appeals to get their second child accepted into the Infant and Junior Schools, about the benefits and drawbacks of reading your appeal directly versus ad-libbing.  Our discussion centered around making sure that you were concise with your information and didn't ramble.  Reading directly could help (or not).  For better or for worse, I decided to ad-lib.  Here's the gist of what I said.

• I submitted new information to the council last week beyond the original appeal that we filed in December.  This is because our family situation has changed.  In December, we had applied to both schools, but did not know our admission status.  Elise has since been accepted at Melbourne Junior School, and has been attending classes since 6th Jan (the appeal was on 30th Jan).  We have also enrolled Clare, our youngest daughter, at Puddleducks Nursery school, which is a short walk from the Infant and Junior Schools.
• Having spent almost three weeks dropping Elise at the Junior School, we do not believe it is realistic for Charis to be placed at any other Derbyshire school.  The 10 minute drop off and pickup window is too small to allow driving to another school.  The only way we could do this would be to leave one child unaccompanied at the beginning and end of the day.  As parents, we are not willing to do this.
• If you place Charis at a different school and we are able to get Elise accepted there as well, we will have to withdraw her from Melbourne Junior School.  This is a non-trivial disruption given that we've just moved her between countries and given her 3 weeks to settle in her current class.
• Finally, I recognize that the Derbyshire schools are full, and that accepting mid-year transfers is challenging.  I also recognize that space in Year 1 is particularly challenging.  You can see from the table I've provided that no school within a 5 mile radius of our home has space in both Year 1 and Year 3.  This means that placing them in the same school will represent a disruption and challenge capacity at any school they attend.  I appreciate the difficulty this presents for placing two children in one school.  

In the additional information, I stated that we were intentionally walking to and from school.  I said this partly on advice from a colleague, and partly as a direct jab at the Council statement that additional traffic was a disruption to staff and visitors.  I didn't make that point verbally at the appeal. I finished my case with the point about recognizing the challenge we presented.  Perhaps I was being too conciliatory by making this point, but I wanted, as best as I could, to approach this as two parties working together to solve a mutually difficult problem than as an inefficient bureaucracy that needed to get its act together and put my daughter into the school of my choice.  The panel and Ms. Irlwig then asked questions.  Here are the ones I remember.

• Jim: What is the closest school to you besides Melbourne Infant School?  Me: Aston Primary School, which is 6 miles away.  Jim: That's too far to have children in separate schools.
• Joe: You didn't put other schools on your application.  You know your entitled to list 3?  Me: Yes, that was intentional.  Our guidance from Rolls-Royce was that if our application was unsuccessful, the Council would be obligated to place our children into schools.  We knew that we would have to have exactly this discussion if Charis was not admitted to the Infant School.  Ms. Irlwig: The Council is only obligated to place your child in limited circumstances (rattled off Reception, Year 3, and a couple others I could catch).  They're not obligated to place your child for a mid-year transfer.  All they must do is advise you of your options.

ASIDE: I said nothing in response to Ms. Irlwig's statement, but I wanted to hit the roof.  In my professional world, "I'm here to advise" often means "You'll need to do all the work."  Ms. Irlwig's statement made a number of events make a whole lot more sense.  The Council e-mailed us Elise's acceptance notice within a week of applying (before Christmas).  They snail mailed Charis's denial notice to our house in Melbourne.  I found out the appeal date because the administrator at the Infant School called the Council on our behalf to ask when it was.  This is the same administrator who the Council told not to accept Charis.  Charis has been out of school for a month, and now I find out that I don't actually get any help from the Council to get her into school.  None of this strengthened my desire for collaboration (or, for that matter, civil dialogue).

• Ms. Irlwig: Your table shows that St. Hardulph's Church of England School in Breedon does not have capacity in Year 1.  We spoke with the Leicesteshire Council this morning and confirmed that they could accept both children.  Me: We visited St. Hardulph's in December and were told that they could not accept Charis into Year 1 if we lived in Melbourne because we would be out of catchment.  There are no houses within catchment that could take our family.  Ms. Irlwig: They gave you incorrect information about the admission process.
• Joe (to Ms. Irlwig): St. Hardulph's is more than 3 miles from their residence.  Is the Council obligated to provide transport if the children go there?  Ms. Irlwig: Yes, the Council would offer assistance with transport.  Me: But putting both girls at St. Hardulph's would require us to withdraw Elise from the Junior School.  Joe (nods).
• Jim: What will you do if your appeal is not upheld?  Me: I'll take my begging bowl to each school in the table I've provided, and I'll ask them for help.  uncomfortable silence
• Jane: How long has Charis been out of school?  Me: She finished the term at her school in the US in December.  Jane: So she's been out of school more than a month.  Me: Yes.
• Ms. Irlwig: You are renting this house in Melbourne?  Me: Rolls-Royce is renting it on our behalf.  Ms. Irlwig: For how long?  Me: Our assignment is for 18 months, so it would be for Charis to do the second half of Year 1 and all of Year 2.

Jim: If there are no more questions, I invite Ms. Irlwig to make the closing argument for the Council.

Ms. Irlwig: The school is full and admitting Charis would compromise efficient education.

Jim: Dr. Collins, do you have anything to say in closing?

Me: No, everything has been said.

Jim: Do you feel you've had a fair hearing?

Me (silently): The question isn't whether I had a fair hearing or not.  It is what happens to Charis if she doesn't get accepted, what happens to Elise if she has to move schools, and what happens to our family if Kristine picks up a whole bunch more commuting.
Me (out loud): Yes.

Jill: As I said in the hall, the panel will make their decision this afternoon.  We will put a letter with the decision in first class post tomorrow morning.  If your appeal is not upheld, the letter will include information about how to consider your next steps.

Our experience of the appeal is obviously through the lens of Charis being admitted to the Infant School.  I'm not sure what my thoughts would have been if the appeal was rejected and we had to find other schooling options.  That said, here are the key things I've thought about.

• Should I have said something in closing?  This question was worthy of 200 g of Bournville while driving home, and something that I woke up several times during the night wondering.  I pondered this with a colleague on the drive into work the next day.  He told me he also said nothing for his closing case, but that his silent answer was clasped hands and "Please, please take my son!"  That's pretty much how I felt.  I think I didn't believe that an eloquent closing statement would make any difference.  I wanted my last encounter with the decision process, regardless of how it turned out, to have been on an even keel.
• Is centralized control helpful?  One of the things that struck me was how many times people would tell me that the schools have no say in the admission process.  Everything is decided by the Council, or by the Appeals Panel.  I don't know if this reflects some broader element of British society.  The idea that you respond to a system being stressed by increasing central control is certainly a popular one at Rolls-Royce where I work.  I can understand why somebody would decide to centralize control in the context of a population explosion, influx of students with schools that lack capacity to accept them, and and physical infrastructure that presents limited expansion possibilities.  I'm skeptical that it's working particularly effectively, but I'm also not sure what a different operating model would look like.
• Don't I have a right to see my child attend the school of my choice?  This theme came up quite often when I talked with American colleagues who've gone through the process of getting their children into Derby area schools.  Even when, as in our case, there's a "happy ending" to the story, the lack of control is both troubling and frustrating.  This gets amplified when your child gets placed in a school that you don't believe is particularly good.
• The appeal is a rite of passage for living in Melbourne.  We haven't met a family yet with multiple children in the schools who didn't have to appeal to get their younger child into either the Junior or Infant school.  It's almost like you're not part of the community who has moved to Melbourne (and who all seem to love living here) until you've gone through the appeal process.

• I hear what you're saying, but I'm not going to do anything differently.  I will, however, offer  words of comfort to let you know we're part of the same crowd now.  This is another theme from my dissertation that I keep circling around.  John Weeks, in his ethnography titled Unpopular Culture, organized how and why people complain into the 2x2 matrix above.  His point was that complaints serve social functions far beyond actually making a change.  In fact, they are largely a measure of cultural skill.  If as an outsider, you are able to complain about something in a culturally appropriate manner, the insiders may accept you as one of them.  Of course, that acceptance doesn't mean they expect anything to change.  You're just part of the crowd now.  At this point in our secondment, we have not learned the culturally appropriate way to complain about weather in the UK, because we are too busy celebrating all the snow and freezing temperatures that we left behind in Indiana.  So we are cultural outsiders when it comes to talking about the weather.  Going through the appeal has helped us become cultural insiders, at least as far as some aspects of schooling go.  See my previous point about rites of passage.
• Nobody really knows the whole story.  This is a growing topic of discussion in the Systems Engineering community.  What do you do with systems that are so complex, no single person understands all the interactions?  Aircraft engines are just one example of this being an increasingly common challenge.  The truth is that nobody really knows how to work within, and more importantly, how to control, these systems.
• Theatrical exchange of coded information: The exchange between Ms. Irlwig and Joe about distance from home to school and whether the Council has to provide transport is one example.  They both obviously understood the issue.  I didn't.  The exchange between Ms. Irlwig and me about placement in other schools if an application was rejected is another.  She obviously knew what the conditions were for the Council placing applicants elsewhere.  I clearly didn't.  Theatrical exchanges and codes are okay when there's a shared understanding of the issue at stake.  Codes may arguably be a more efficient way to exchange information.  I don't think they help when that shared understanding doesn't exist.  And that shared understanding rarely exists when people encounter complex systems.
• "Tell me all the facts so I can make a decision."  This is another common statement (usually uttered in frustration) that has been exchanged among American secondees who've been through the experience of finding schools for their children in Derby.  Unfortunately, that's impossible.  Because of the previous bullet point.

I included this picture of Charis teaching herself to read in an earlier blog post.  One highlight of the whole appeal process was that Saturday when I got to watch Charis, with some help from a very excited older sister and two equally excited parents, read this letter from the Council.

The second highlight was this sight, which greeted me the following Tuesday morning (Charis's first day at school) at 7 am.

Family Walk: Melbourne Cycle Path

We've had about 5 consecutive days without rain.  This is a record dry spell for our time here, and something that my colleagues swear will change soon.  Because it was also a sunny and warm (~10 deg C) day, we decided to take a family outing this afternoon.  It was supposed to be mostly bicycles, with Kristine keeping Clare and Charis company.  Unfortunately, Clare's (old and cheap) bike had some bolts come loose while being shipped from the US.  Naturally, the wrench to tighten those bolts didn't make the trip because I didn't think I'd need it.  At any rate, we wound up taking a family walk where we'd planned to cycle.  The route is part of the way I've been cycling to and from work.  We started at the edge of Melbourne where the cycle path intersects the road, walked to the canal, went a short way the opposite direction on the canal from where I'd head for work, and then turned around.  All told, it was 1.9 miles.  Elise and Charis walked the whole way.  Elise probably could have kept going another couple of miles, but I was really proud of Charis for hanging in there.  It might have had something to do with the promise of hot chocolate and marshmallows when we got home.

We walked over the river Trent and along a canal path.  These swans were in neither.  They're actually in a field next to the cycle path, which is covered by a great deal of water.  That's how wet this winter has been.

Clare spent most of the walk riding on Kristine's back.  This part of the cycle path has several of these  stone bridges.

 

Although she did do some walking on her own.

Over the river and up the hill, there looks to be quite a large estate.  We weren't sure if it's a farm or just a really large home.

I think the girls had the most fun along the canal path.  They were initially pretty skeptical that the narrow dirt between the grass was really a path.  I think their idea of a path was the wide, flat gravel that we walked on for the first mile or so.

I pass houseboats when I cycle to work.  Evidently this canal has some level of traffic.  Enough to justify signs like this one.

We walked over and under several stone bridges.  This one is definitely on the shorter end of the spectrum.  Fortunately, I don't have to go under it when I'm on my bike.  The girls were excited that they could reach up and touch the arch when they walked through.

As promised, we finished up with hot chocolate and marshmallows when we got home.

Long Weekend in Bath (Playgrounds, Solisbury Hill, Lacock Abbey, and the Roman Baths)

We took advantage of Elise and Charis's half-term break at school to do a long weekend in Bath.  Elizabeth and Richard, the couple we visited, are the rare people in our lives whose friendship has spanned three different life stages.  Elizabeth and Kristine met as university students in Scotland.  Their friendship has maintained through Richard and I entering their lives, and expanded now to include gifts to our respective children.  I was thinking on the drive back to Melbourne about how rare that is, certainly for me.  It is much more common that valued friends are for a time and place.

Bath is supposed to be around 2 hours from Melbourne.  We did it in just under 3 hours.  Considering we left at 4 pm on a Friday night, had to drive through Birmingham rush hour, it was the beginning of a holiday weekend, and it rained for quite a bit of the trip (well, okay - maybe the rain doesn't really count since it rarely doesn't rain), I think we did really well.  I was especially pleased that the girls handled the whole trip without a stop.  We snacked them in the car, but were able to drive straight through.  This opens up a plethora of short trip options for us, since there are an awful lot of places we can get to within a 3 hour drive from Melbourne.

The children hit it off amazingly well.  I think the shared obsession with princess and dress-up had something to do with it.

As did the proximity to a cool playground and a break in the rain for long enough we could walk over to it.

The kids were good sports about the merry-go-round.  They let Richard and I climb on and pushed us.  We did have one mishap involving a certain 3 year old losing her grip and flying off.  That didn't get captured on film.

We spent part of the afternoon on top of Solsbury Hill.  In Iron Age times this hill had a fort on top.  Now the top is flat and bare, which makes it great for flying kites.  The only problem is you have to drive up some pretty narrow roads to get there.

I told Richard that my respect for him grows every time I watch him drive through Bath.  The roads on Solsbury Hill made many other streets in Bath look positively wide and spacious.

Getting from the cars to the top of the hill was a bit of an adventure.  It wasn't raining when we were there, but the ground was very wet and muddy.  The older 3 girls didn't seem to find this a problem.  They were at the top well ahead of the toddlers and parents.

 Courtesy pictures of Bath in the background, which show we were in the area (and not just visiting a local playground).

 The wind on top of the hill was pretty impressive.  We didn't lose any toddlers over the edge.

The kite was a big hit with kids and adults.  Kudos to Richard for having one that was so easy to handle (unlike the ones I remember having as a kid in Kenya that we could never get to work).  His kids had clearly done this before.  Mine had the time of their life.

We spent part of Sunday at Lacock Abbey.  More truthfully, we drove to Lacock Abbey, and had to navigate a couple of distractions before we got onto the grounds.  First, there was the playground.  We didn't lose anyone off the merry-go-round this time.

Although Clare's chin still showed the after-effects of her previous not-so-merry-go-around.

There was a sci-fi based fundraiser going on at the Abbey.  We didn't get pictures of Darth Maul, Darth Vader, or the TARDIS.  I have it on good authority that this little fellow might have been a variant of R2-D2.

The kids were much more interested in K-9 (evidently from Dr. Who).

We did make it into the grounds.  We even tried to get a group photo.  Unfortunately, said photo required us to look into the sun.  Hence the creative squints from the front row.

The abbey itself, while beautiful, didn't seem to particularly interest the kids.  They did get a kick out of walking along the wall.  This wall is on one side of a moat that separated the abbey from the lawn.  Evidently this let sheep graze on the lawn without coming too close to the abbey itself.

We'd been on the Abbey grounds for a good hour or so by the time we actually got inside.  Our girls were starting to get a tad cranky.  Fortunately for us, the inside had enough interesting things that they perked up for the rest of the afternoon.  The stone windows were a big hit.

As were the columns that formed the ceiling in the hallways and rooms.

Portions of several Harry Potter films have been shot here.  One of the rooms had a couple of tribute posters and a cauldron.  We took advantage of the cauldron to do some "Collins Girls and the Goblet of Fire" poses.

Once we got outside again, we found an artistic piece built by weaving trees (I think they were willows) together to form a multi-domed canopy.  Willow domes + coats doubling as sleeping bags = 5 minutes of make-believe camping.

In addition to princesses, playgrounds, and make-believe, it turned out the girls had a shared love of Enid Blyton.  Noddy's first adventures in Toyland was the bedtime reading most evenings we were in Bath.

Monday morning after Richard went to work, Kristine and Elizabeth took the older 3 girls to the Roman Baths while I watched the two toddlers.  It was clear when they got back to the house that the girls had greatly enjoyed themselves (Kristine said they would have stayed all day if they weren't getting hungry).  I wasn't there, so here are the photos without comment.