BY JACK WATSON
The GCSE season—that great, grinding machine of stress and sleeplessness—has finally shuddered to a halt. For two years, we have been its fuel. Now, hollow-eyed and frayed at the edges, we sixteen year olds emerge, blinking, into the light. We are told these exams are our first real credentials, the golden tickets to college, the gatekeepers of our futures. But one must ask: is this regime—a relentless parade of twenty-odd exams crammed into four weeks—really the best way to measure what we know? Or is it simply a test of endurance, a trial by fire that leaves us scorched and exhausted?
The old GCSEs, born in 1986, were put to death in 2015. The charge against them? Grade inflation. Too many students were climbing too high, too easily. The politicians—Michael Gove at their head—decreed that standards had slipped, that rigour must be restored. And so, the new system was born: a “knowledge-rich” curriculum, a return to traditional exams, a gauntlet of papers with no quarter given.
Now, we sit exams for everything. Science? Six papers. English? Four. Maths? Another three. History? Four. A language? More. Even our optional subjects demand their pound of flesh, with coursework heaped on top. The first wave of exams dredges up Year 10 knowledge: the second, Year 11. Two years of lessons, facts, formulae—all to be summoned on command, like trained dogs. The sheer volume is staggering.
Revision becomes a second life, a shadow existence. Breakfast clubs at dawn, then seven hours of lessons, then homework, then more revision. Some days, we endure four straight hours of maths, or a full day of science, until our brains ache and our will to work bleeds away. Weekends, once a sanctuary, are colonised by extra revision sessions. The pressure is relentless, a boot pressing down, always. After all, we have to study and remember 15 poems, three English texts, 60 French speaking questions, on top of exam content.
And yet, for all the hours poured into revision, one wonders if it is even effective. Some teachers preach “little and often”—a saner approach, surely, than the last-minute cramming most of us resort to. But sanity is in short supply during the GCSE season. We are sixteen, not machines. Revision should be something we engage with willingly, not a forced march through textbooks and short online revision sessions until our eyes glaze over.
The teachers, of course, are not the enemy. They, too, are caught in the system, lashed by government targets and league tables. But something must change. The toll on our mental health is too high. One in five pupils now reports mental illness, a grim statistic that no amount of rigour can justify. Revision websites like SaveMyExams tell us that 85% of students suffer exam-related anxiety, while nearly half endure physical symptoms—headaches, nausea, panic,during exams too. Is this really what education should be?
Before the reforms, exams made up only part of our grades. Coursework carried weight, especially in subjects like history, where essays could be crafted, not vomited up under timed conditions. Now, nearly everything hinges on the exam hall. No one wants a return to grade inflation, but surely there is a middle ground—a way to assess us fairly without breaking us in the process.
And what do we get for our suffering? The numbers tell a bleak story. Before 2015, over two-thirds of students scored a C or above. Now, more are failing to scrape a 4—the new “standard pass.” More resits, more despair. And for what? Universities care only for A-Levels. Employers want degrees. GCSEs, in the end, are just another piece of paper, filed away and forgotten.
The system keeps shifting. During the pandemic, exams were scrapped, replaced by teacher assessments—and, predictably, grades soared. The government, alarmed, tightened the screws again. Equation sheets were handed out like crumbs to the starving, just to shine some light on the torture: the only help we receive. The message is clear: hardship is the point.
I do not argue for the abolition of GCSEs. They serve a purpose. But the government and exam boards must face the truth: this regime is crushing us, with little reward. The quality over quantity method is fading away; education should be about learning, not survival. Exams should test our minds, not our stamina.
In the end, the question is simple: is this really the best we can do?
Jack Watson is a 16-year-old schoolboy, who has a Substack about being a Hull City fan. You can subscribe to it here.