The pupil of the Birbeck school was reciting the new catechism. The teacher was probably better trained, the classroom brighter and cleaner than its predecessor of the century before. But it would be difficult to argue that the reforms that produced the modern pedagogy of the nineteenth century were an unmixed blessing for the children who warmed the school benches. Some of the reforms were, no doubt, welcome—the self-constraint and distance that now characterized the teacher protected pupils from the arbitrary violence so often the basis of such discipline as there was in the early modern classroom. And the comfort of the better schools protected children from the elements and often from adult harassment probably better than did their own homes.
But it seems that in practice the new pedagogy was usually as intellectually stultifying as the old had been—and it was more intrusive. The teachers may have sympathized with their pupils and even shared some of their values, but they were caught between their sympathies and the pressures inherent in their duty to transform their pupils—to lure them away from the habits and loyalties of their families and communities, toward a new set of values championed by reformist officials and, to some extent, shared by the teachers themselves. The reformed school was in its very character contradictory—a point of contact between the ruling classes and the ruled, an institution often having roots in the people's life and culture but rendered alien to them by the process of reform, a place and a process shaped by teachers who had a foot in both worlds.