During my two years in sixth form, I was keen to partake in every competition and award I could find. Some of these experiences were genuinely useful, while others were a waste of time and. I’d like to elaborate on two particular awards that stand out in my memory, for the worse:
Industrial Cadets Gold Award
This nearly year-long ordeal was completed in about two weeks. Our team of six was tasked with a toy project waffled up by a company – in our case, a metal detecting robot. On paper, it sounded exciting. In practice, it was a exercise in frustration.
The company provided “mentors” who, despite their complete lack of technical expertise, wielded veto power over our decisions. This led to countless delays as they shot down ideas as they saw fit. For instance, they deemed multi-wheel drive “too complex,” this made it unable to turn. I had previously implemented it on other projects.
Within our team, the distribution of skills and access to resources was comically lopsided. I was the sole member permitted to use the school’s heavy machinery, the only one with CAD experience, and one of just two who understood the intricacies of both the metal detector’s electronics and the navigation system.
The heart of our robot was a pulse-induction (PI) metal detection system. This clever bit of circuitry generates short, powerful pulses of current through a coil, creating a magnetic field. When metal objects are nearby, they cause tiny changes in the magnetic field decay, which the system can detect. We painstakingly assembled this circuit, only for someone to throw it away.
The company’s ordering delays meant all of the parts arrived just a week before the deadline. This left me scrambling to assemble a working robot in a ludicrously short timeframe. The end result? A half-baked report and a sub-par product, without the only competant piece of engineering.
Ironically, we were awarded for “teamwork” at the ceremony. Naturally, I was the only team member present to receive this accolade.
DofE (Gold Award)
The Duke of Edinburgh’s Gold Award was touted as a golden ticket for university applications. Spoiler alert: after neither mentioning it on my applications nor completing it, my prospects were arguably one of the best in the school.
We embarked on two expeditions – one to the rugged terrain of Dartmoor, the other to the breathtaking Brecon Beacons. These treks were genuinely enjoyable, filled with challenges that tested our navigation skills, endurance, and ability to work as a team. We battled unpredictable weather (largely too hot), cooked meals on portable stoves, and slept under the stars clouds. The racist farmer was less pleasant. These experiences, while tough, were undeniably character-building.
The real pain-point with the DofE Gold Award was its astronomical cost. The residential section, requiring five days and four nights with an approved vendor, put it firmly out of reach for families like mine struggling to make ends meet. These approved programs, whether outdoor adventures or skill-building workshops, all came with hefty price tags that made participation a pipe dream for many.
Despite the financial hurdles, I did manage to complete other sections of the award. I spent 18 months cooking, 12 months volunteering by running school clubs, and 6 months of running for the physical section. These experiences, while valuable, weren’t recognised as I had not done the residential section. They could also be done without a fancy award.
Conclusion
In the end, these awards taught me more about navigating bureaucracy, managing disappointment, and recognizing the gap between intention and execution than any of their stated goals. It’s a vent, I know, but hopefully an interesting one.
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