The hidden curriculum: what a school play really teaches

By Camilla Bell, Deputy Head (Bedales Pre-prep)

As educators, we often talk about curriculum. We discuss English and Maths, Science and History, knowledge and skills. These are, of course, essential. But some of the most important learning children experience never appears on a timetable.

It happens in the spaces between the lessons. It is found in moments of uncertainty, collaboration and discovery. It is what educators sometimes refer to as the hidden curriculum - the values, habits and spontaneous experiences that quietly shape the adults our children will become.

This year's Pre-prep production, The Dream Factory,  reminded me just how powerful that hidden curriculum can be. On the surface, it was simply a play that a colleague and I wrote, inspired by The BFG. There were giants and dreams, dragonflies and snozzcumbers. Children danced, sang, acted and performed to an audience of proud families.

But the performance never really the point.

Long before a single line was learned, the children had visited the theatre to watch The BFG  on stage. Rather than telling them how theatre works, we asked questions. How was this different from watching a film? How did the actors bring characters to life? Where did the scenery come from? How did people appear to fly across the stage?

Their curiosity led the learning.

A backstage tour revealed the mechanics hidden behind the magic, and that experience became the springboard for our own production. The play wasn't copied from what they had seen. Instead, the children began with an understanding of what theatre could be before creating something entirely their own.

That distinction matters.

The type of inquiry-led learning which we practice here at Bedales Pre-prep, is not about delivering answers. It is about creating the conditions in which children ask more meaningful questions, make connections and discover that their own ideas have value.

Throughout the project, the children were not simply performers following instructions. They became collaborators. They helped create the scenery. They made props. They wrote songs. They invented riddles. They discussed costumes. At home, families made dream jars filled with hopes and wishes, which became part of the production itself. Parents built tunnels and painted signs. Teachers, support staff and families all contributed, creating something that genuinely belonged to the whole community.

The final performance was, in many ways, the least interesting part. What fascinated me was seeing our everyday culture of listening come to life on a larger stage.

At Bedales, children are used to being heard. We don't wear uniforms, and teachers are known by their first names. These may seem like small details, but they reflect something much bigger: a belief that while adults bring experience and responsibility, every member of our community has ideas worth sharing. Learning is something we build together.

That philosophy was evident throughout the production. A suggestion from a child might become part of the script. An idea for a prop would appear on stage. A line could change because of a conversation in class. The children weren't simply taking part in the play; they were helping to shape it.

Children quickly learn the difference between being listened to politely and knowing that their thoughts can genuinely influence what happens next. When they experience that consistently, they begin to see themselves differently. They develop a sense of agency. They become more curious, more confident in offering ideas, and more willing to take creative risks, because they know their voice has value.

For example, one child had asked for only a small number of lines. We respected that choice. Afterwards, during our reflection, they quietly announced that next time they would like more. That single sentence told us everything we needed to know.

Confidence had not arrived because someone said, "Well done." It had grown because the child had experienced success, discovered they were capable and decided, entirely for themselves, to stretch a little further next time.

As teachers, those are the moments we treasure.

There was another deliberate decision that often surprises people. We rehearsed for only three weeks. Young children deserve the opportunity to immerse themselves in something joyful without months of pressure. We wanted the excitement to remain fresh. We wanted the process to feel playful rather than performative.

There is sometimes a misconception that high expectations require high pressure. Over 25 years of teaching, I have found the opposite to be true.

Children flourish when expectations are ambitious but the environment feels safe enough to take risks. They need opportunities to step beyond their comfort zone while knowing they will be supported if they stumble. Every child experienced moments of nervousness before the performance. By the dress rehearsal, something had shifted. They realised they could do it. More importantly, they realised they could do it together.

That is another lesson hidden within experiences like these.

Resilience is rarely built in isolation.

It grows within communities where children feel known, encouraged and valued. It grows when everyone has a role to play, regardless of whether they are speaking, singing, dancing, painting scenery or moving props.

Not every child wants to stand in the spotlight, and they do not need to. Every child does, however, deserve to feel that they matter. Looking back, I suspect very few of our children will remember every line they spoke or every dance they performed.

But I hope they remember something else.

I hope they remember that adults trusted their ideas. That creativity begins with curiosity. That feeling nervous is entirely normal. That courage is not the absence of fear but the willingness to try anyway. That working together allows us to achieve far more than we ever could alone.

These are not outcomes that appear in an assessment framework, yet they may be among the most enduring lessons children take with them. The hidden curriculum is often just that; hidden.

It is found in the conversations rather than the script, in the collaboration rather than the applause, and in the confidence that quietly takes root when a child discovers that their voice has value. Perhaps that is the real purpose of a school play.

Not to produce polished performers for one afternoon, but to nurture curious, compassionate and courageous young people for a lifetime.