Funding cuts are causing anxiety for schools, with the smallest often being the hardest hit. Annabel Miller talks to the heads of some very small schools about the important job that they do

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” declared head teacher Caroline Lander when I arrived at her small Wiltshire primary school recently. That was my impression too. When I arrived by train in nearby Tisbury and asked in the local post office how to reach the place, the lady behind the counter helpfully suggested that I hitchhike. Refusing that offer, I found a taxi which took me up a narrow country lane to Wardour Catholic Primary School.

Wardour School has stood in the hamlet of the same name since the 1780s. It has an historic connection to the “new” Wardour Castle (the old one was blown up in the Civil War by its chatelain). The Palladian Wardour Castle, built in the 1770s, was the seat of the Catholic Arundell family, and contains the famous Wardour Chapel where Mass is still celebrated each Sunday.

The 105 children who attend Wardour School are privileged indeed. They can see nothing around them but green fields and sheep, and every week walk out of the back gate of the school, over fields and up the drive to Wardour Chapel. They also play a full part in the life of their parish of Tisbury, and its small church of the Sacred Heart. The town of Tisbury is unusual for England in that it has always had strong Catholic ties, and the little school is part of that.

Head teacher Caroline Lander told me: “We have a sense of tradition and belonging to our parish. The parish has a sense of belonging to the school. This is their school, and they are quite passionate about that.” That tie is necessary, because the school is geographically quite isolated from the rest of the Diocese of Clifton, and a long way from the diocesan headquarters in Bristol.