Small is beautiful: The tiny rural school teaching big cities a lesson

The Golden Valley in Herefordshire, with its string of picturesque villages, has held many secrets over the years, not least how it got its name in the first place. Now it is holding a secret of a different kind: a tiny rural comprehensive that may have the key to solving indiscipline and underachievement in the inner cities.

Fairfield High School has just 367 pupils and nearly as many animals sharing its steep, hillside site. Its 90-square-mile catchment area contains some of the worst rural deprivation in Britain. One in four pupils has special educational needs, according to Ofsted. But it has overcome the odds to become one of the top 35 specialist schools and academies in all three categories: raw GCSE results, value added and overall high performance.

As the small-school movement gains momentum both sides of the Atlantic, the head Chris Barker finds himself in the spotlight. Last month he addressed politicians at Westminster who were considering an initiative in several American cities to split up 2,000-pupil high schools into "boutique" colleges of no more than 400, where the teachers can get to know each student.

In this country, up to 50 schools are being split into smaller units for a project funded by the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation and co-ordinated by Human Scale Education, the body that promotes small learning communities. "Relationships are at the heart of learning on a human scale," says Mary Tasker, its chairwoman. "You can't teach a child well unless you know that child."

Small schools need to start shouting about their academic record and social benefits, and not just in rural areas, says Mervyn Benford, a spokesman for the National Association for Small Schools. "Just think how much money is spent by the police and social services on children who go astray in big inner-city schools. There's plenty of evidence that children from deprived backgrounds do best when they don't get lost in big schools. In a small school like Fairfield High, the teachers know the children and their parents, and probably their grandparents as well."

The Conservative Party is set to support small schools in its next election manifesto. All the evidence shows that some of the toughest discipline problems are found in the larger schools, says Michael Gove, the shadow Schools Secretary. "We will change the rules so that good small schools can prosper and new ones open."

In the US, cities such as New York and Chicago have significantly improved behaviour and standards by encouraging smaller schools, Gove says. "The Government's pile-'em-high approach is letting down some of the most disadvantaged pupils."

A string of experts have made the tortuous journey to Fairfield in search of its secret. "They go away saying that it works here, in this rural school, but it couldn't work elsewhere, but why not?" says Barker. "Perhaps if there were more small schools, many of Britain's social ills would diminish."

Barker, now 57, joined Fairfield as an English teacher and stayed, rising to assistant head and then, in 1999, to the headship. In his job interview, he was told that it might be a short-lived position because the school might close, Barker recalls. Since then, he has lived under constant threat of closure, the latest in January this year, the same day as he received a congratulatory letter from the Government for the school's outstanding GCSE results. It was on that day that David Cameron spoke in praise of small schools and against the "Grange Hill model preferred by Labour". The Conservative-led county council shelved its closure plans a few weeks later.

The council had been told by the Government to cut surplus places on the grounds that tiny rural schools are expensive. Aren't they a bit of a luxury, I ask Barker. No, he says, they actually save money because they reduce social problems. Ofsted had rated his school as outstanding value for money.

As the car sweeps up the drive, the first thing you see are goats jabbing their heads over the fence on a grassy bank. Behind them, girls are making daisy chains and boys are tumbling. Beyond are sheep, rabbits and what sound like chickens. Four pupils appear with dogs on leads. The dogs belong to staff members, and the children are learning how to look after them as part of their Btec in small-animal care.

Animals are so central to the school that it is known affectionately as "Barker's Ark". He shows me the fences, animal houses and stores constructed by the pupils as part of their Btec in construction. "I wanted animals for the children, especially for those in care who don't get pets," he says. "Then I stumbled across the Btec in small-animal care. When we bought the extra land, I was quoted £2,000 to cut the grass so we bought the alpacas instead."

The children love the animals and it helps their sense of well-being, he says. "Unhappy children can't learn, so you have to get the environment right."

Barker's office has the feel of a country kitchen. There's a huge chocolate cake made by a pupil on a wide pine table; wool from the alpacas and sheep spilling from bags. A new spinning-wheel stands waiting for the head to get some lessons that he'll then pass on to the pupils. He shows me figures on "value added" – pupils come with average achievement and go out at 16 points above average, a sign that the school is succeeding.

A pupil called Matilda is taking a Btec in sport, another in small-animal care, as well as GCSEs in French, English, English literature, maths, two sciences, Spanish, art, humanities and history. If you have a broad curriculum you can keep them interested, he says. "Children are more likely to do the things they don't like if they know they are going to enjoy the next thing they do. Some children love academic work, others don't. At Fairfield, we cater for both."

The school follows the interests of the pupils, continues Barker. "A boy came to me and said he loved my flower beds. If he wants to do a horticultural Btec, I'll teach him in the morning before school, or after school, or when he can fit it in with his other subjects."

Just because a school is in the countryside, it doesn't mean it can't keep up with the times, he maintains, taking me to the science labs where 75 Year Sevens are being taught by Mike Walker, 63, a retired science teacher, who is projecting diagrams from a laptop on to a plasma screen. Pupils copy the diagram of an electromagnet and answer questions. Afterwards, there's a rush to grab equipment to try out the experiment. "Isn't this a bit advanced for Year Sevens?" I ask. "It comes later in the national curriculum, but if you pitch it at the highest achievers, the rest will follow," he says.

Small schools can give each pupil individual attention, and find out what motivates them to learn. The Government's emphasis on personalised learning, and public concern about youth crime is fuelling a move towards education on a more human scale and saving small schools from the bean-counters. For a man who has spent 30 years watching his back to protect one of the smallest secondary schools in Britain, that's a great relief.