The differences between French and British schools – including three-course lunch

I grew up in Britain but moved to Paris in 2016 and my children, aged 11 and seven, now go to a local school in our Paris neighbourhood. Discovering the French school system has been a learning curve. Here are the biggest differences, and the things I miss about British schooling. Starting early Enrolling a toddler in school was a bit of a shock to the system for someone used to the idea that children begin reception in September after they turn four. School is compulsory in France from September of the year in which a child turns three. It’s part of the French policy (including plentiful and subsidised childcare from babyhood up) that supports working parents and aims to get everyone off on an equal footing from an early age. In practice, every year this means a small subset of stressed parents frantically trying to make sure their two-and-a-half-year-olds are potty-trained over the summer holidays. Shorts At that age, it’s more of a pre-school than a formal classroom (and adorably, they all have a post-lunch nap in rows of tiny camp beds) but école maternelle does an efficient job of shaping future French citizens: the emphasis is on play, but also on learning to be together in a group, get along with others, listen to the teacher and get used to classroom routines, ready for primary school. Throughout the first years of maternelle, they gradually start to get ready for reading and writing, learning things like how to hold a pen, while the real hard work begins in CP – cours préparatoire -when most children are six, and the lists of spellings to learn and texts to read start causing headaches for pupils and parents alike. Four more years of primary follow, before children switch to collège, from 11-15, before lycée for the last three years and the baccalauréat. Around 17.6 per cent of school pupils attended private schools in France in 2022, but there is huge variation in the types of private schools: in those under contract to the state (often but not always Catholic schools), the state pays teachers’ salaries, meaning modest fees compared to British private schools and strict adherence to the national curriculum. Completely independent private schools, such as Montessori schools, can choose their own learning methods (within reason), and charge much higher fees. No uniform Here in France, you won’t see gaggles of uniformed children making their way to school as very few schools have one. The question of whether they should be introduced has become a political one, closely entwined with the debate over secularity and the wearing of religious clothing in schools. Supporters say uniforms promote equality and discipline while detractors argue that uniforms quash self-expression, cost families yet more money and distract from the real inequalities in wider society. Autonomy is key Perhaps it’s just because I live in a big city but my daughters’ classmates seem to be independent a bit earlier than in the UK, with many walking home or to their activities from age ten or so with limited parental input. Sports, music and art clubs are abundant but generally take place outside school, where the focus is on a core curriculum. In Paris at least there is an almost infinite variety of extra-curricular activities for school-age children, ranging from expensive private music lessons and theatre groups to much more affordable (and often means-tested and state-subsidised) sports clubs offering fencing, capoeira, classical dance and more. School often finishes around lunchtime on a Wednesday, so young secondary-aged children need to be able to take care of themselves for a few hours. Holidays Complaints from UK friends about organising childcare for the six weeks of summer holidays always raise a wry smile–here kids finish for the summer in early July and don’t go back until September. Eight long school-free weeks stretch out across the summer, more than enough time to turn completely feral. But the good news is that plentiful (and sometimes subsidised) childcare options exist. Children can attend the centre de loisirs – a holiday day club organised by local authorities involving anything from park trips to museum visits, with costs calculated according to household income; a week’s holiday club could come in at under €10 (£8.60) for the lowest-income families, while the most well-off households wouldn’t pay much more than €125 (£107). Another option is a colonie de vacances (subsidised for some), a rite of passage, as groups of children are shipped off for a week or two of pony club or outdoor activity centres. For mine this summer, it was tennis at our local tennis club. Grandparents are also the French parents’ secret childcare weapon, with many even quite small children being packed off to stay with them for large chunks of the summer, while their parents carry on working until it’s time for a break en famille. La rentrée After all that summer fun, la rentrée (back to school) is a big moment–not just for school children. For adults, September is usually a flurry of new work and social projects, and the fresh-start spirit that, before living here, I associated more with January. As well as going back to work or school after a summer break, it’s a chance to sign up for a new set of extra-curricular activities for the coming academic year. For children and adults alike, the activities chosen for the year ahead are always a hot topic in September; choose from sports, languages, arts and music groups. French schoolchildren have to provide most of their own equipment for school, with a list sent out at the beginning of the summer. Tracking down the specific type of drawing paper, notebooks and pens they need is perhaps the hardest task they will face all summer. School food On the first day of lockdown, my then very small daughter was keen to reassure me: “Don’t worry if there isn’t a starter every day for lunch at home, Mummy.” She was right to be concerned that culinary standards would slip outside the school canteen: French school lunches are legendary. Everyone sits down together to eat their four courses: something like salami and cornichons or vegetable soup to start, followed by a main course of chicken, ratatouille and rice. There’s a vegetarian option, but no real choice other than that. It’s lucky they have a long (an hour and a half or so) after-lunch break to run it all off (or a nap, for the smallest ones), as the main course is followed by cheese, with bread of course, or another dairy option such as yoghurt, then a dessert such as a small cake or fruit. With differing timetables, pupils at lycée won’t all be shepherded into the canteen at the same time like the younger ones, but they still sit down at tables for lunch. There’s no just grabbing a pizza slice to go, and if things like burgers and chips do make it on the school menu, it’s only rarely (and cause for much rejoicing among the pupils). While in recent years offering vegetarian alternatives has thankfully become the norm, a move in Lyon in 2021 to introduce one totally meat-free day a week sparked anger from farmers. Packed lunches are not really a thing here–or only for children with a doctor’s note confirming an allergy or other medical reason not to eat the same food as everyone else. While they mostly can’t remember what they had for lunch, my children usually say they like the canteen food (although my cooking is better, apparently, despite the lack of starters). They will eat most things, but how much of that is down to luck and how much is influenced by a French (food) education, it’s hard to say. Dictation time The overall learning atmosphere and methods in French schools are often described as old-fashioned, with all the good and bad that implies: a rigid curriculum, a lot of memorising and an emphasis on teachers talking and pupils listening. One complaint I’ve heard a lot from other parents used to a different school system (although I don’t have experience of this myself) is that although progress is taking place, there is still a long way to go in French schools on accommodating neurodiverse pupils, with a long and bureaucratic process to get any concessions in place. For many French schoolchildren, la dictée (dictation) is a familiar, if unwelcome term. For me, a child of the 80s British school, dictations are straight out of Enid Blyton, but here, they’re still a key feature of learning, with, at least in the primary years, almost as much emphasis on the handwriting as on the correct spelling and accents. The result is cohorts of 11-year-olds capable of a perfect loopy cursive worthy of Elizabeth Bennet. And for me, one big plus is that screens seem to have taken less hold on learning time than in UK schools. It’s old-school textbooks all the way, and in primary school, an individual whiteboard is part of the mandated school equipment list. In class, the teacher asks a question and the pupils compete to see who can hold up the correct answer fastest on their board. We’ve been lucky with inspiring teachers who make even rote work fun and organise art, music and drama projects alongside the vocabulary lists, but–as in the UK or elsewhere that doesn’t seem to be the case in all schools.