After 15 years away I moved back to the UK fearing the worst. What I found startled me | Gillian Harvey

Fifteen years ago I moved to France with my husband and a burgeoning baby bump, lured by low property prices and the chance to quit our jobs as teachers. That was in 2009, when Facebook was still a novelty, twittering was just for birds and I wasn’t sure if we’d need wifi at our new home. Gordon Brown was still prime minister, in case you need another measure of how long ago it was.

As we approach a general election and the potential return of a Labour government, I have recently moved back to the UK. The decision was made, at first, with some trepidation. After years of cuts, austerity and Covid, I’d begun to worry the place I’d be returning to might feel as alien as France did when I’d first arrived, with its unfathomable bureaucracy, shops that closed on Mondays and habitual lunchtime (and sometimes morning) drinking.

I was concerned about poor public services (with councils in England absorbing a 27% real-terms cut in core spending power since 2010, who wouldn’t be?). About school places: with 23% of secondary schools in England at or over capacity , I wondered where my children, of whom there are now five, would go. And then there were the GP wait times: in England, one in 20 patients now wait four weeks for a doctor’s appointment. More than anything, I was concerned the character of the country would have changed; that Britain’s people might be broken, too.

But having completed my journey homewards in April, I am pleased to say that doesn’t seem to be the case.

I taught in the UK before, so I know how tough life can be at the chalkface, even before austerity. On my return, I’ve discovered that although schools are struggling with funding, there are positive changes as well. The schools my children attend seem to care just as much about children’s emotional wellbeing as their academic achievement – something I could not have imagined when I left England in 2009, when the words “mental health” were still so taboo that my doctor offered to avoid writing “depression” on a sicknote of mine to help me avoid stigma.

After a couple of weeks at his new school, my nine-year-old, Robert, came home a little upset. A boy had been mean to him, accusing him of having “no friends”. I dropped a note to his teacher, in the hope she’d keep an eye on things. She and the school went above and beyond. He was moved to a new table, where all the kids he’d be sitting with cheered at his arrival; he was given lots of praise for his work, and guess who won that week’s “star of the week”? By the end of the week, he was brimming with confidence. The headteacher replied to my thank you note saying she just wanted the children to be happy.

While French secondary schools are celebrated for their educational drive, they seem to lack this personal touch, valuing grades over emotional wellbeing. Everything is measured, graded out of 20 and sent home almost daily (alongside the average, top and bottom scores in the class, so your child knows exactly how they compare to others). One of my sons even had an exam in Frisbee throwing.

Don’t get me wrong: schools in the UK need more funding and more teachers – one of my children is being taught by a supply teacher as the school has struggled to fill a spot. The teacher is doing a remarkable job, but it’s a sign of the times that schools are struggling to keep teachers in a once stable and attractive (if difficult) career. I’ve noticed worn flooring and thoroughly chipped paintwork across the buildings in my children’s schools, and can’t help but worry about the effect this must have on pupil and staff morale. But while the rot has set in on the infrastructure, it has yet to reach the heart of the school.

I have been amazed to find myself content at the doctor’s, too. Having arrived at my local surgery to register seven new patients, I was worried I might be given short shrift – the last thing overworked staff need is an increase in demand. But we were welcomed, looked after and efficiently dealt with. Face-to-face appointment times may be two weeks for non-urgent issues, but when I needed to speak to a doctor, I got a call the same day.

Of course, our problems have not been urgent or desperate, and my comments aren’t intended to downplay the many stories of patient strife under successive, cost-cutting governments. But I am amazed at how patient and respectful staff have been (and despite the fact I seem not to know how anything works any more).

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Using an app for medical care (unheard of back in 2009, when nobody I knew yet owned a smartphone – and still not routinely used in France), I’ve had to ask for clarification several times on how to get a repeat prescription. But staff have been friendly even in the face of my incompetence, and never once have I been made to feel the nuisance I probably am. The NHS is under strain, but staff are keeping things going admirably.

The cost of living has shot up since I last lived here. Food banks existed when we moved ( the Trussell Trust had 35 food bank centres in 2010 ) but not in any great number. Now it has at least 1,300 and collection points abound. The idea that so many people – even those in work – are unable to feed their families is devastating, and it’s hard to believe this is comparatively common in modern Britain. It’s surprising, though, that I’ve also found that most people I’ve encountered at the supermarket checkout exclaiming over their latest bill still have humour, and a hope that things will turn around. One teacher at my child’s school collects surplus bread and pastries from the supermarket for parents to take home with them. People are looking out for each other, and there is still optimism.

• Gillian Harvey is a freelance writer and mother of five. She is the author of One French Summer