Ed Balls sweeps into the small, sunlit conference room in a grey suit (open
collar, no tie) and greets the seven waiting schoolboys. His adviser quietly
takes her spot in the corner, and Balls strikes up a conversation with the
children about spelling.
“I before e except after c — it’s actually not a very good rule, is it?” he
says. Quick as a flash, the boys start to reel off words that contradict the
law — foreign, height, weight.
“Sufficient,” Balls adds cheerily.
The boys faces fall.
“Oh, no. Hang on . . .”
Ah, so that’s why Balls’ advisers had flatly turned down our request to set
him a spelling test.
It’s not often that a group of 12-year-olds can get a secretary of state to
make a gaffe before an interview has even started. But these are no ordinary
12-year-olds. They come from St Martin’s School, Northwood, in northwest
London, and they are the winning team of this year’s Times
Spelling Bee. Having secured their victory at the final in London with their
mastery of words such as cannonade, fluorescent and contemporaneous, today
they are joining Times journalists to guest-edit the Young Times page
as part of their prize. Four of the boys made up the winning team; the three
others are newshounds coming along for the ride.
Balls has granted them a 20-minute interview in between his preparations for
the Labour Party conference. The boys’ teacher, Linda, tells me that they’ve
all been diligently researching Balls, whose career began on the Financial
Times.
As a leader writer, the young Balls made regular visits to the offices of
Gordon Brown, then Shadow Chancellor. It was to be the start of a famously
close relationship and, in 1994, he became economics adviser to Brown. Five
years later, still in his thirties, he was appointed to the most senior
economics job in the Treasury, and dubbed “the most powerful unelected
person in Britain”. Only in 2005 was he elected an MP, for Normanton. Two
years later, when Brown became Prime Minister, he made his trusted ally
Secretary of State for Children, Schools and Families.
With the boys now firmly at ease, they start to ask the questions they have
prepared. “Did you work hard at school or did you get into trouble?” asks
Edmund.
“I had a few detentions,” comes the answer, and the boys giggle. “I climbed on
to a roof once to get a ball down. I thought I was being helpful.” We learn
that Balls loves The Jungle Book, wanted to be a doctor until he
discovered he couldn’t stand the sight of blood, struggled to concentrate in
his third year at secondary school and once pole-vaulted for
Nottinghamshire.
They discuss his decision to go into politics, and he asks them about the
careers that interest them — marine biologist, film director, surgeon and
journalist are among the jobs the boys want to do. “Journalists are ... nice
people to be with,” he tells them ominously, and they laugh gleefully.
Time is ticking on and the boys are preparing to hit him with their tougher
questions. One of our young reporters wants to know his thoughts on private
education (Balls attended the private boys Nottingham High School, before
studying philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford). He frowns and shifts
in his seat, but keeps his cool. “At the time, schools weren’t that great. I
think it’s something people should be able to make their own choices about.
But I want every parent to be able to choose a great state school near them.”
Next, something close to the boys’ hearts, are GCSEs really being dumbed down?
“If the top runner in the Olympics beats the world record, people don’t say
they must have made the course shorter,” says Balls. “I wouldn’t listen to
that. I think it’s rubbish.”
Some of the boys have really done their homework. “You were the chief economic
adviser to the Treasury from 1999 to 2004 and you were also the Economic
Secretary to the Treasury from May 2006 to June 2007,” pipes up 12-year-old
Toby. “Looking back, do you think you could have done more to avert the
financial crisis?”
To his credit, Balls is open in admitting his mistakes. “The answer is yes.
All of us look back now and see that the regulatory regime we had wasn’t
tough enough.”
The boys seem satisfied. Now it’s time for the last question, and the one that
I have been looking forward to most of all. All eyes are on Jonah, a
spelling whiz with thick brown hair and braces.
“Would you like to be prime minister?” he asks with a sweet smile.
There’s a silence. Balls gathers himself, and everyone leans in as the
journalists share glances and the press officer sitting in the corner gently
purses her lips. Are these kids about to land us an exclusive? He’s spoken
in the past about wanting to be Labour leader, but maybe today we’ve lulled
him into going a step further.
“It is the hardest job in the country being prime minister,” he begins. “On
the one hand, the challenge of doing the hardest job . . .” His lips curl
into the tinest grimace. “I don’t think you could honestly say you wouldn’t
like to have a go. But at the same time, it’s not the most important thing
to me. The most important thing to me is to do my job well. So if this is my
last job I do, fine. The thing I would say to you guys is it’s always
dangerous to spend your time thinking about what you want to do next.”
It’s a great way to finish, even though the boys seem gloriously oblivious to
the coup they’ve just scored.
Before we go, there’s an extra treat. Balls wants to show them his office, so
we walk down the corridor to a large spacious room with a breathtaking view
over Westminster. There are squashy chairs, low tables and a big desk
stacked with papers (old speeches and something about Baby P, one of the
boys briefs me later. We’ve taught them well.) As the boys press their noses
to the windows, I am moved to ask Balls about something I’ve spotted in the
corner — framed in gold and proudly propped on a shelf, a signed photograph
of our grinning Education Secretary with Dolly Parton.
“That was my best moment,” he says, and I think he’s only half joking. There’s
a funny anecdote about the day he met her in Rotherham to talk about a
free-books-for-children scheme, and then it really is time to go and he
waves us all off with a smile.
We file into the flashy glass lift at the top floor, and our young reporters
can’t resist letting out a loud “Woooooaaaaaahhh!” as they descend the
gleaming atrium of the Department for Children, Schools and Families. Civil
servants look up from their keyboards with bemusement.
Then we’re out in the sunshine, and the boys are musing on the morning’s
events. All in all, they are impressed. Balls gets top marks for taking such
an interest in their opinions, his funny stories about his childhood and for
being honest in his answers.
“I liked that he wasn’t that good at school,” says Prahalad. “He seemed really
normal. You don’t have to be really good at school to get the top job.”
“I believed what he said,” says Gordon.
“His hair was like two hills with a valley in the middle,” Henry observes.
And how did they find their taste of life as political correspondents?
Toby, for one, has had a great time. “I think I’m ready to host my own chat
show now,” he says.
www.timesspellingbee.co.uk
How to be a Spelling Bee champ
Practise Use the spelling game on timesspellingbee.co.uk, and make sure
you practise every night
Support Make sure the whole school knows you are doing the competition,
so everyone can support you and test you in specialist subjects
Nerves Think positively and encourage and praise your team-mates
At the event During the heats, speak slowly, enunciate clearly and
remember the rule: say it, spell it, say it!
Coping with fame If you do win, respect your fans, sign autographs
clearly and keep your ego under control
By Dylan Amin, Jonah Surkes and Prahalad Prasad, all 12, Spelling Bee
winners 2009
Are you up to it?
Registration has now opened for The Times Spelling Bee 2010. Test
yourself on some of the hardest words from this year’s Bee. Which spelling
is correct?
1. (a) Diarhoea (b) Diarrhoea (c) Dyarria
2. (a) Minuscule (b) Miniscule (c) Meniscule
3. (a) Hemaglobin (b) Haemo-globin (c) Haemaglobin
4. (a) Triptych (b) Triptic (c) Tryptic
5. (a) Glycemia (b) Glicaemia (c) Glycaemia
6.(a) Pharoah (b) Pharaoh (c) Pharoh
7. (a) Rece (b) Recie (c) Recce
8. (a) Flegm (b) Phlegm (c) Phlemme
9. (a) Catarrh (b) Cattar (c) Kattare
10. (a) Embarras (b) Embarass (c) Embarrass
By Gordon Hao, 13, Spelling Bee winner 2009
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