Clare Scattergood’s job title underplays the myriad roles she performs at her small independent specialist college in Birmingham – designated safeguarding lead, cake maker, pot washer, flood water mopper-upper, gardener, mental health first aider, fire marshal and budget holder, to name a few.
Her roles at Victoria College, which is part of a charitable federation with Cherry Oak and Victoria Schools, give her tremendous highs and heart-wrenching lows. Her learners’ medical challenges mean their lives are sometimes tragically cut short.
The college is one of about 100 specialist colleges providing education for the increasing numbers of young people with SEND against a backdrop of council cuts.
The sweet-toothed Scattergood, who has led Victoria College since 2018, ran a cake-making business and was an FE catering lecturer before specialising in SEND. She tells Jessica Hill what a busy Monday looks like for her.

6am
I don’t sleep very well and might be awake in the middle of the night, calculating how many minutes of education a student has missed. My role is very much that of a swan gliding on water. I float around college trying to look calm, but my feet are furiously paddling underneath withflutters of anxiety. I can’t let my staff see that because then they will feel it, and students will feel it from them. So no matter what’s going on, I have to be that swan.
After checking my emails over a cup of tea I drive to work, bringing the cakes I made over the weekend with me to share with my staff. I phone my daughter for a chat on the way.

7.30am
I arrive to find the binmen have made a mess while emptying the bins, and get the cleaners to pick it up.
I then make a note on my board of any staff absences I’ve been emailed about. I have an assistant head who is a qualified teacher, another teacher, five higher level teaching assistants and 12 teaching assistants. You could cut most of them in half and find Victoria College through the centre. They’re absolutely brilliant.
We teach 26 students aged 19 to 25, with another currently waiting for transport to be arranged. We’re working really hard to develop volunteering opportunities for them because our students aren’t of the skillset to enter employment when they leave. In their final year with us, they’re out on work projects.
Yesterday, a group got to sit in sports cars with VR headsets on at a careers conference. Sadly, the venue’s overhead hoist wasn’t working in the disabled toilets, so they couldn’t receive personal care. Accessible amenities are an essential part of a successful trip, but sometimes problems are out of our control.

7.45am
Leading a small college means I’m involved in everything from feeding students at lunchtime to jumping in our minibus for trips out. In our weekly hydrotherapy sessions, I help get students changed and do their personal care. My motto is never to ask anyone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.
The office phone starts ringing to inform us of staff and student absences. The first half of last term was horrific, we had six to eight staff off at a time. We can’t easily get supply in because we’re so specialised. A regular teacher can’t teach what we provide.
Lack of staff continuity has a huge impact on our students. We’re looking for the tiniest signs of communication from them – the move of an eyelid to tell you if they’re uncomfortable. If staff are not in that same lesson regularly, they don’t see it.
9.45am
My favourite part of the day is meeting students on arrival. They come from across Birmingham, Dudley, Wolverhampton and Warwickshire. Securing funding for placements is a big challenge. Birmingham City Council is effectively bankrupt and most local authorities are having to make quite severe cuts.
One student had been due to start in September, but the local authority wanted her to attend a cheaper provision for “better use” of their resources. Her family went to tribunal, and she joined us in November.
Last academic year, I had nine tribunals scheduled. Two months into this year, I already have five. The delays in the system are massive. I have tribunals already scheduled for next academic year – too late for the education these young people require this year.
In one case, a local authority suddenly reduced a student’s provision here from five to three days a week. It makes me really frustrated because I now see a very depressed young lady who is not communicating or eating, and I see the effect on her family.
She’s a higher-needs learner who communicates her feelings with her eyes. Adult social care is meant to meet her needs on the other days, but it isn’t available.

10.15am
I cover a lesson for a teacher who is off sick. I love teaching. It’s a non-verbal drama class with predominantly visually impaired students. There is lots of tapping heads, squeezing shoulders and massaging hands to get the students familiar with their bodies and intensive interaction. If they’re vocalising, we vocalise back to build that communication up.
In senior leadership meetings, after we have gone through the drudgery of finance, the window of insight that my staff provides into our teaching and learning always makes me smile.

11.30am
I’m back at my desk, gathering evidence to write a witness testimony for an upcoming tribunal.
I make a note of the class size of the group that young person would be going into and what aspects of their needs we could meet, based on their education, health and care plan.
It’s not a copy-and-paste job; I have to be very precise. It takes about four hours to complete. The tribunal takes place online in front of a judge and two specialists. It’s daunting for me and for the families involved.
The paperwork for my last tribunal case was 232 pages long, which I read twice beforehand to prepare myself.
I advocate for my students a lot because, with the lack of social workers and SEND advocacy organisations closing amid lack of funding, some families don’t have anyone else for support. Much of the focus of SENDIASS (Special Educational Needs and Disability Information, Advice and Support Service) is on schoolchildren.


12.30pm
I eat a salad with homemade hummus, cottage cheese and pumpkin seeds – it compensates for all the cake.
I meet a staff member who’s been off work to discuss the reasons and if they’re OK now, as part of the return-to-work process.
As it’s her second time off work this term, I have to then arrange her first formal attendance meeting.
I’m then focused on my admin duties, which might involve reviewing our quality improvement plan, preparing for a trustee meeting or doing an audit.
Displayed behind my desk while I work are the pictures of former students who have passed away. We also have a memorial garden to remember them. My job is so joyous, but it can be heartbreaking when students die. They’re still very much part of us.
2pm
I give some feedback to a teacher for a lesson observation I did yesterday. The lesson involved work experience on community land in Bournville that we’re maintaining for the Canal & River Trust, where canal boats park.
We’re planning to grow some vegetables there and make it into a beautiful community garden.
I can’t just observe lessons; I feel the need to get involved. So, yesterday, I had students feel worms in my hand. It was chilly, but the students told us through their communication switches (which they press to record a message) how much they loved being out in nature.

2.30pm
We’re currently overdue an Ofsted inspection, so I’m preparing staff by stopping them in the corridors and asking them questions without forewarning. I love my job, but I have moments after Ofsted have been when I think: “I don’t want to go through that ever again.” When you’re leading a small provider, Ofsted criticism feels very personal.
We’re currently graded ‘requires improvement’, but we’re so close to good and have been making lots of improvements lately. A bad result affects not just staff but students, as the college could be closed. Where would those students go? It’s a very stressful prospect.

3pm
Our nurse discovers that a student with diabetes has a blood glucose reading of over 22 mmol per litre so she needs to go to hospital. It’s a four-hour wait for an ambulance, and when it arrives the nurse goes with them to help with communication. One time recently, a hospital consultant wouldn’t let our nurse into the room with a student who can only communicate with their feet. Without the nurse’s help, the doctors couldn’t know what that student was saying. There’s a lack of understanding across society for our students’ needs. It’s horrific when people talk over them and just think that they don’t know anything because they’re not speaking.
Another staff member has to transport the student’s wheelchair to the hospital in our minibus because ambulances are not designed for their moulded wheelchair.

7pm
I head to a body pump fitness class after work, then head home for dinner, a coffee and a catch-up on socials.
After watching Bake Off or perhaps a murder drama series (my favourite recently was Confession), I play a couple of games of solitaire online before heading to bed.
My job is so different to that of a large college principal who might be based in their office and in meetings all day. My days are incredibly varied. I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.
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