Science in primary schools has been largely neglected in Britain. The National Curriculum acknowledged its importance, but failed to supply the resources and training for teachers at this level. It is not simply a question of giving the system a gentle prod and hoping for miracles. It was clear from the open day that there is a wealth of competition for children’s attention, so if science is to gain in prominence something more must be done to help teachers to captivate the young with the beauty, excitement and creativity with which it abounds. Its continued confinement to the sidelines in primary schools represents an impoverishment of our cultural identity, as do the shortcomings of the A-level curriculum.

Some enthusiastic teachers, self-trained or otherwise, do realise the potential interest of the young in science, and they deserve every encouragement. They are the exceptions. I suspect that most of Britain’s primary schools pay no more than lip service to this part of our heritage. I am not criticising the teachers, but their training and the milieu in which they operate.

Take, for example, the recent National Curriculum Programme of Study for Key Stage one (what to teach children between the ages of 5 and 7). This suggests a study of microbial breakdown as one exercise. It’s perfectly sound in principle, but teachers lack the right kind of training and might be tempted to use inappropriate substrates such as meat products. It would have had microbiologists or environmental health officers heading for the nearest door for fear of pathogenic organisms taking root in such a culture medium. It would be crass to expect teachers at any level to be prepared for every eventuality, but it is not unreasonable to expect primary school teachers to be prepared to meet their statutory requirements.

The government sees the long-term solution in moving training out of specialist higher education institutions and into schools. No doubt there is some substance in this policy as far as acquisition of classroom skills is concerned, but it is difficult to see how it makes sense in terms of the intellectual preparation of teachers. How can people whose scientific experience may be limited to what they have come across in the media be expected to acquire an understanding and an enthusiasm for observation and experiment? They require training in basic skills in a conducive environment; unfortunately, they are not likely to get this from an overworked teacher in a derelict school laboratory.

But there is a huge potential in university science departments for providing in service training to primary school teachers. Given the shrinking education budget, this is both alluring and, I believe, inexpensive. I contributed to just such a course a few years ago while working at the University of Reading. With some enthusiastic colleagues from the Department of Microbiology, we met local teachers during the school-term for a couple of hours a week in the early evening. It proved a thoroughly enjoyable and rewarding experience for all concerned.

The point is that if we could do it, there must be thousands of other scientists who could also do it – and for free as we did – given some appropriate guidance. Such courses need not be expensive to run, relying on the goodwill of scientists, the interest of teachers and the motivation of all. While these qualities exist, it seems to me to make sense to exploit them on a nationwide basis. The educational benefits that would accrue for pupils and the increased mutual understanding between teachers and scientists could promote a broader cultural acceptance of science.

So there we have it: the panacea for primary school science. All it requires is a little attention to the lack of facilities, a relatively modest redistribution of resources and the encouragement of cooperation between intelligent people.

As anyone who has been near the museum in the past five years will know, the Launch Pad gallery, which was in the vanguard of the interactive science movement, has been a great success in attracting schoolchildren and families. While this has provided much needed revenue, it has also detracted from the value of the museum’s more traditional collections. It has also proved expensive to run. A large part of the museum’s resources go towards maintaining and renewing exhibits and providing ‘Explainers’ to enhance visitors’ enjoyment of the gallery. The expenditure is undoubtedly valid, however, if Launch Pad makes a significant contribution to the museum’s ‘mission’.

Visitors undeniably enjoy the ‘Launch Pad Experience’; they meet the challenges with the same kind of dogged enthusiasm displayed by fruit-machine addicts in amusement arcades, but in an altogether more acceptable environment. Nonetheless, the link between Launch Pad and public understanding of science seems at least, tenuous. The majority of visitors (primary schoolchildren) who use the exhibits are probably too young to grasp most of the principles involved, while the accompanying adults are usually either too exhausted or inhibited to participate. Although enjoyable, how much do these disjointed activities help the children to learn about science, and what, if any, is the connection with public understanding?

While Launch Pad and other similar science centres claim to introduce visitors to basic scientific principles, I am sure that the explanation of several of the exhibits would stretch many academic scientists. The exhibits are concerned mainly with physical sciences, and links with everyday life are sparse. ‘Public understanding of science’ can mean all things to all people, but a common denominator must be a general appreciation by the public of the science involved in the major events and inventions that most affect their lives. The contribution to this by Launch Pad and its clones is about as useful as a paintbrush was to Jackson Pollock.

A small minority of visitors may be sufficiently enthused to pursue a new-found interest after visiting the gallery, which apparently fulfils the aims of interactive science gurus such as Frank Oppenheimer in San Francisco and Richard Gregory in Bristol. But given the burgeoning investment from public and private purses that these activities are attracting, is that enough?

Didacticism is a dirty word among the interactive science fraternity, the emphasis being on exploration and enjoyment. Thus in Launch Pad, there is almost no interpretation of the exhibits, and the role of the Explainers, however helpful and enthusiastic, is anything other than the name implies. While the idea of presenting scientific principles in an entertaining and enjoyable way is laudable, it must still make sense to do this within some logical and consistent framework – and this is patently not the case. More importantly, if claims are to be made about the effect of such presentations on the learning potential of the participants, some evidence should be forthcoming. There is none.

While working at the Science Museum I was asked to approve, from an educational standpoint, the work being undertaken to renovate a Launch Pad exhibit called ‘Harmonic Drive’. In its previous gallery incarnation this exhibit had offered one of a pair of visitors the opportunity to turn a handle vigorously, which caused another’s chair to be slowly lifted above floor level. The ingenious high-ratio gearing mechanism that is the harmonic drive was hidden from view and there was very little in the way of interpretive material on the exhibit.

The workshop personnel renovating the equipment had noted these shortcomings and exposed the mechanism. They also managed, with the aid of some simple manufacturers’ diagrams, to explain to me (a biologist with next to no mechanical sense) how a harmonic drive works. Why the previous visitors to Launch Pad had been deprived of these insights, I find hard to understand. The ‘science is fun’ notion wears a bit thin when there is no science there in the first place.

The presence of Launch Pad in the Science Museum may be as annoying to some as the punctuation of a television documentary with advertisements. Yet it has significantly raised the museum’s profile and has sparked a proliferation of stand-alone interactive science centres around the country and, indeed, around the world. The centres provide an irresistible combination of respectability and revenue and seem to be widely accepted as the best thing since sliced bread in science education and, further, in promoting the public understanding of science.

No doubt there is considerable potential in the approach, but without some rigorous evaluation of what the benefits of interactive science actually are and some subsequent modification of what is, at present, a fairly anarchic approach, I fear the movement is doomed – at best a heroic failure, and at worst a gimmick which damaged that which it was designed to nurture. But perhaps I am just another member of the public who doesn’t understand science.

Paul Wymer now works at the Centre for Medical Science and History in London.