In response to such concerns, from 1905 up to 1944, guidelines were relaxed and children were encouraged to make their own selection of poems to memorise. But the seed of doubt was planted. Robson argues that memorisation had been defended on two grounds. First, “learning to read” and, second, “something to read”. However, once it was decided that memorisation was at odds with selection specific language building, it was viewed as unhelpful to both teacher and pupil. Then, as poetry became increasingly regarded as a personal, creative, expressive outpouring rather than as a skill learned, the business of reciting the work of previous poets was seen to deaden sensitivity to the art. Finally, the replacement of the Elementary School with the Primary School in 1944 brought the mass chanting of poems to a definitive end. Whole classroom activities such as recitation were replaced with a more child-centric approach to learning and an emphasis on silent reading.

The cut-off point of the Second World War is telling and perhaps accounts for the depth of feeling on this subject. This date is lodged in the British psyche like a landmine. Yet it would be a mistake to make this a battle of tradition versus modernity; class against equality; Conservative versus Labour; the imperial nightmare of the past versus the Utopia to come. There is collective concern for the collective memory we are losing. As Robson notes, the less-than-Tory figure of Gordon Brown reminisced happily on BBC radio about reciting Gray’s Elegy at school and wondered why this approach to poetry couldn’t be included in today’s curriculum. One answer is that poetry has now fallen victim to the belief identified by Daisy Christodoulou in Seven Myths About Education (Routledge, £14.99) that learning facts prevents understanding. If the words of the poem are the facts and facts prevent understanding, then to understand the poem we can’t know the words. If we know the words, then we can’t understand them. This is why a Professor of Poetry complains that memorising poems (which no one is even suggesting) prevents “close reading”. How much closer can you get?

Yet recitation isn’t going quietly. As the e-petition gathered steam, the finals of the Poetry By Heart competition were being held at Homerton College, Cambridge. This endeavour emerged from Sir Andrew Motion at the end of his laureateship as an initiative of the Poetry Archive, itself a fantastic resource for poets to hear the voices of the past.

Mike Dixon is an ambassador for the cause, and, as the former head of a sixth-form college (and head of English too), has decades of experience in the classroom. He explains: “Our philosophy is that we remain entirely voluntary. We have 333 schools and colleges taking part with 1,150 registered. We’ve had a 20 per cent increase of people doing it, year on year. So there’s momentum.

“It works like this. Schools register and run their own competition. There are county rounds; the county winners join us for an all-weekend event. This year we had 43 people go forward to the national final and eight get through to the very last round. There are weekend activities and it’s a real celebration with a lovely atmosphere.”

Old enough to remember closed book exams, Dixon considers the proposed changes to the GCSE to be fairly unremarkable; he also agrees with Robson that silent reading has had some adverse consequences. “We have lost touch with the acoustic quality of verse. Watching younger people recite poetry it’s fascinating to see what happens. The speaker and the audience are very exposed. You’re taking away the book and the lectern. You’re taking away barriers.”