Luca

My name is Luca and I have wanted to teach English since I was sixteen. That was when Mr. Patterson, my Year 11 teacher, handed me a copy of *Things Fall Apart* and said something that stuck: "Words don't just describe the world, Luca. They change it." I grew up in Wood Green, the son of Italian immigrants who ran a corner shop on the high street. My father always said education was the ladder out, so I worked weekends at the shop through school and university to help pay for my English Literature degree at King's College London.

Teaching felt like the natural next step. I wanted to stand in front of a classroom full of teenagers and show them what Mr. Patterson had shown me – that literature could crack open your understanding of everything. I had the degree, I had the passion, and London desperately needed English teachers. Everything seemed to line up perfectly.

In September 2023, I applied for the PGCE secondary English course at Middlesex University. Within a week, I had an acceptance email in my inbox. I felt like I was finally on my way. When I called the admissions office to ask about the teacher training bursary – money I was counting on to cover my living costs during the course – the administrator paused before answering. "I'm sorry," she said, "but funding for English teacher training has been significantly reduced this year. There are no bursaries available for London trainees, despite the acute shortages we're seeing in schools."

I asked how that could be possible when every school I'd heard about was crying out for English teachers. She explained that the funding decisions came from Westminster and were based on national targets that didn't account for regional differences. "There is no funding," she repeated. "The budget has been cut."

It sounded reasonable. Budgets get cut. I deferred my place and spent the year working full-time at my parents' shop, saving every penny I could. By March 2024, I had enough money saved to try again. This time I applied to the Institute of Education at UCL, thinking a more prestigious course might have different funding streams.

The programme leader, Dr. Sarah Chen, invited me in for an informal chat about the course. I explained my situation and asked whether UCL had any bursaries available that Middlesex might not have had. She shook her head sympathetically. "It's the same story everywhere," she said. "Treasury spending rules mean the Department for Education has a fixed pot for teacher training nationwide, with no adjustment for London's higher costs or specific shortages. We'd love to take on more trainees like you, but the money simply isn't there."

Again, that phrase: "There is no funding." Again, it sounded like a fact of nature rather than a choice someone had made.

Dr. Chen suggested I visit some local schools to get a sense of the placement opportunities while I decided what to do next. In March 2024, I went to Southgate College, where I'd hoped to do my teaching practice. The head of English, Ms. Williams, gave me a tour of the department. As we walked down the corridor, she pointed to three classrooms that were dark and empty. "These have been without permanent teachers for eighteen months," she told me. "We're using supply teachers when we can get them, but it's not sustainable."

I asked whether they'd had graduates enquire about training placements. Ms. Williams nodded grimly. "We've had twelve graduates contact us in the past year asking about training here. All of them wanted to teach English. All of them would have been perfect for these classrooms." She gestured toward the empty rooms. "But there's no funding to support them through their training, so we had to turn them away."

Walking back to the station after my visit, I passed the college's education block. There was a large sign outside advertising "Spaces Available for September 2024 Cohort – Teacher Training Centre." But when I looked through the windows, the building was completely dark. The doors were locked. The car park was empty.

I stood there for a long time, staring at that locked building. Something didn't add up. Here was a training centre, purpose-built and sitting empty. Here were twelve graduates who wanted to train as teachers. Here were three classrooms crying out for permanent staff. All the pieces were there, ready to connect. So what exactly was it that "there was no money" for?

That was when I started to question the story I'd been told. The government that issues the pound sterling had told me it couldn't find enough pounds to train the people who were standing right there, ready to work. But pounds don't grow on trees that someone else planted. The Bank of England creates them with keystrokes. The Treasury authorises spending with policy decisions. The real question was never about money. It was about whether the people existed – they did. Whether the skills could be taught – they could. Whether the facilities were available – they were, sitting locked and empty.

I began to understand that what I'd experienced wasn't a shortage but a choice. Every time someone said "there is no funding," what they really meant was that someone in Westminster had decided not to spend the money that would connect willing graduates to desperate schools. The excuse wasn't a fact. It was a political decision dressed up as an accounting problem.

Where am I now? Still here, still watching, still planning to teach. But I understand something I didn't understand at the start. I used to accept the excuse that "there was no money." I hear it differently now. The government that prints the notes and mints the coins told me it could not find enough of them to train the people who were standing right there, ready to work. The real question was never about money. It was about whether the people existed, whether the skills could be taught, whether the materials were available. They were. All of them.

I realise now that my story isn't unique to Southgate and Wood Green. It's playing out in every constituency where people and needs exist side by side while someone in Westminster says the cupboard is bare. The resources were always there. The decision not to use them was political, not financial.