A poor school report is no barrier to success The roll-call of school dunces who have gone on to achieve fame and fortune contains household names from every walk of life. John Lennon was declared to be "hopeless... rather a clown in class... certainly on the road to failure"; while Gary Lineker's teacher warned: "He must devote less of his time to sport if he wants to be a success - you can't make a living out of football." In the heyday of the Great British Pedagogue, a species now mercifully extinct, some teachers relished being able to slap down their charges with sarcastic character sketches. In the report-writing season, they would dip their pens in almost as much vitriol as theatre critics before letting fly at their targets. "Jon has set himself low standards, which he has failed to live up to," wrote one of Jon Snow's teachers. "She would be a very good pupil if she lived in this world," sniped Judi Dench's headmistress. From Winston Churchill ("he is regular in his irregularities") to Stephen Fry ("he has glaring faults and they have certainly glared this term"), hardly an Englishman of note born before 1970 escaped such waspish put-downs. They were as much a part of school life as beatings and boiled cabbage. Of course, some teachers took a slightly more diplomatic approach, sticking the knife in but stopping short of cheap abuse. Joanna Lumley was told she "must learn to speak politely when her requests are refused," while Diana, Princess of Wales, was encouraged to "try to be less emotional when dealing with others." But the result was the same: a sharp dent in pupils" self-confidence; a reminder that teacher knew best and that anything smacking of cockiness or vaulting ambition would not be tolerated. My own school reports weren't too bad, but, reading them now - my father was a methodical man who kept them all in sequence - I am struck by their relentlessly downbeat tone, so characteristic of the stiff-upper-lip generation that had fought in the war. I was "very weak" at history, "not very gifted" at music, "disappointing" at science and "capable but lazy" at sport. I "gave the impression of being lethargic" and, weirdest of all, "could not swim but was learning." No sign there of the future Oxford scholar - in fact, it sounds as if I was lucky I didn't drown in a pool of absent-minded apathy. These days, thank goodness, the pendulum has swung the other way. I savoured my daughters" school reports word for word, like a George Eliot novel, even when they strayed into the realm of hyperbole. "Clara is a legend," wrote her chemistry teacher when she was 15. Her confidence rocketed - until she compared notes with her friends and found there had been five legends in one class. Some parents worry that today's schoolchildren are treated with kid gloves, and would benefit from a few home truths. But they shouldn't miss the obvious moral of Sir John's story. Growing children need encouragement the way a plant needs water.