Double act

Josh O’Neill breaks bread with Harry Hortyn and Robert Phipps, co-founders of Oxford Summer Courses, the UK’s fastest-growing education organisation, who argue that two heads are better than one when it comes to running their business

They’re a blood-chilling sight, polycephalic creatures. Ancient history books fable two-headed beasts of varying forms – snakes, dogs, lions, goats – depending on the country in which their existence was conjured up. But common threads run through such figments: they usually represent evil forces, are unruly and can be cannibalistic. Because of these traits, they can offer an apt metaphor for business co-leaders who, it is often said, clash heads rather than come together as one. David Martin & Company, a leadership consulting firm, says that placing two people in a role in which there is typically one decision-maker “almost never works”.

Still, there are anomalies. Harry Hortyn and Robert Phipps have been business partners and serial entrepreneurs since school, where they co-founded a GSCE revision guide. They later launched a five-a-side football business before securing undergraduate places at Oxford University.

While still at university in 2010, the duo, now 34, co-founded Oxford Summer Courses (OSC), an educational travel business that each year places some 2,500 students from more than 100 countries on short residential tuition courses in Oxford and Cambridge. The firm, which is split 50/50 between Hortyn and Phipps, turned over £9.3 million in 2019 after growing annual sales by 62% over the three years leading up to last – and it has been profitable each year since inception. OSC’s enviable performance has landed it on The Sunday Times Fast Track 100 list two years running; in 2019, the firm was ranked 50, by measure of fastest-growing revenues. It is the UK’s quickest-growing education firm, according to the index.

As joint chief executives, Hortyn and Phipps are on a par with one another – and too many cooks don’t appear to have spoilt the broth. Indeed, they’ve developed a dish so delicious that customers are queuing up for seconds. What are the main ingredients in the lifelong friends’ recipe for success?

“The key change in recent years has been Rob and I transitioning from having our sleeves rolled up, working at the front of the business, to taking a step back and giving people autonomy,” says Hortyn. “We’re clear with staff about the strategy, and try as hard as we can to allow them to deliver their parts without micro-managing.”

It wasn’t always like this, though. He and Phipps launched OSC while holding down full-time jobs in impact investing and management consulting, respectively. “It was scrappy,” he says. In the early days, Hortyn’s and Phipps’ roles and responsibilities were sprawling; their work ethics accordingly vigorous. They found themselves mucking in at all levels, taking a “hands-on” approach to joint leadership that, with hindsight, sometimes led to conflicting instructions and a cloudy vision of where the company was heading. Staff delivered a dose of reality during a candid feedback session in 2016.

“We were both trying to co-manage everyone,” recalls Hortyn, “occasionally giving them contradictory advice and instructions. We didn’t have a structured approach to targets. It worked out in the end, but it meant heart palpitations for the team at the time.

“We weren’t necessarily doing the management part very well. It was definitely a wake-up call.”

On Hortyn’s suggestion, I meet with him and Phipps one early January afternoon at a Greek restaurant in London’s St James’s, just around the corner from my office on Haymarket. The eatery’s à la carte menu is eye-wateringly expensive, but its three-course business lunch is more than reasonable. I breathe a sigh of relief on behalf of my finance director.

Hortyn and I are first to arrive. The stocky chief executive’s forehead is beaded in sweat – a byproduct of a jazz dance class he had attended with his wife just prior, he tells me. We had met for the first time before Christmas at a co-working space in North London that OSC inhabits. We’re clear with staff about the strategy, and try as hard as we can to allow them to deliver their parts without micro-managing

In a new series, the authors of this publication lunch with educational leaders to illuminate their successes, setbacks and evolving management tactics in what is a dynamic era for education

Harry Hortyn and Robert Phipps, Oxford Summer Courses

Sporting a suit and carrying a briefcase, I had felt painfully overdressed amid a sea of corduroy shirts, jeans and trainers. Now, wearing a blue Oxford shirt, chinos and boots, I feel inadequately clad among white tablecloths, waiters in ties and bottles of Bollinger. Fortunately, Hortyn is wearing a comparable outfit. A lofty Phipps arrives shortly after, also in casual attire. In tow is marketing director Sonja Underwood, a jovial South African with a contagious smile and dark, shiny hair.

I kick off the conversation with a pressing question: are we having wine? No, we decide, after a short deliberation; Hortyn is recovering from a cold, he explains, while his companions have meetings to attend later in the day. Our sober gathering will be fuelled by water.

We promptly place our orders. Myself, Hortyn and Phipps opt for grilled octopus followed by a sumptuous-sounding salmon dish. Underwood also chooses the octopus starter, but decides to follow it with a Greek salad.

We tear at sourdough bread, dipping crusty chunks into pools of rich, golden olive oil while discussing the origins of OSC. Hortyn and Phipps first spotted the opportunity to offer summer schooling when they arrived in Oxford in 2005 to commence their undergraduate degrees – in philosophy, politics and economics, and history, respectively. “There was a fledgling summer school sector,” recalls Hortyn, who himself did some tutoring and thus had an insight into providers’ business models. “We mapped out what we thought their budgets would look like, saw a decent margin and thought: we could do this better ourselves.”

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Children who study with OSC are charged between £1,500 and £12,000 for tuition in 40 subjects, with courses lasting between one and six weeks. The all-in price covers the costs of insurance, airport transfers, meals, activities, travel and accommodation. Hortyn and Phipps didn’t have to look far for the latter when starting out. “It seemed mad, at the time, that the colleges had these huge dormitory buildings just lying vacant over summer,” says Hortyn. A casual negotiation led to a “very favourable deal” being struck between the young entrepreneurs and an Oxford college’s halls of residence, under which they secured as many rooms as they could fill without having to pay a deposit or guarantee a quota. “We basically got a free pass on the accommodation in the first year in terms of financial risk,” he says. Serendipitously, the pair honed the art of the deal.

Tutors, in the form of university friends and master’s students, were easy to source. Back then, around three-quarters of OSC’s teachers were “either people we knew, or friends of friends”, explains Hortyn. Another pal built a website that “looked like it was designed on an Etch A Sketch” but ranked highly on Google thanks to deft search engine optimisation. Then, Hortyn and Phipps “hacked together a timetable, threw it on the website and waited to see what would happen”.

In 2010, its first official year of operation, OSC catered to around just 30 students, all of whom were sourced via online channels, digital adverts and word of mouth. Student numbers grew at around 100% annually until 2012, when Phipps’ mother, Barbara, joined the group as head of sales.

▶(She capped off her career with OSC, retiring last year after seven years in the job.) “This was a crucial time for growth,” says Phipps, who attributes the “first really significant jump” in student numbers to his mum’s unrelenting efforts. “She was making hundreds of calls a week” to prospective students all over the world, he adds.

In 2013, OSC won accreditation from the British Accreditation Council, which “really helped as a seal of approval”, says Hortyn. But in preparing for the accreditation assessment, he and Phipps encountered a steep “learning curve in terms of professionalisation” at a time when they were both working full-time jobs in high-intensity industries. The requirement to brush up on safeguarding techniques and build policy frameworks devoured the pair’s evenings and free time.

Still, things ticked over nicely, if frantically, between 2013 and 2015. Then, that year, came “a point of inflection” when the duo decided to quit their jobs and devote all of their attention to OSC. Student numbers began to grow rapidly. From 2015 to 2016, OSC’s pupil base grew from 250 to 600; consequently, revenues were boosted by 125% to £2 million

But “break-neck growth” within a short time-frame was “overly tough and stressful”, says Hortyn, for himself, Phipps and OSC’s staff. Fast-paced expansion placed in front of Hortyn and Phipps a host of managerial hurdles. In 2015, they oversaw just three members of staff and contracted 60 freelance tutors. Now, five years later, OSC employs 42 full-time staff at its head office and works with over 400 part-time tutors and pastoral staff. Somewhere in-between, Hortyn and Phipps had to build new staffing structures and form from scratch departments that had hitherto not existed in order to cope with the rapidly swelling demand for OSC’s services. For a pair of relatively inexperienced business leaders, this was no mean feat.

“In the old days, we were able to hire friends who we trusted and knew would be good,” says Hortyn. “But, since around 2017, we’ve had to legitimately test suitability for roles and at the beginning of each year plan full-scale recruitment drives to source hundreds of temporary staff.” He draws his point back to autonomy. “To do this, you have to have the right staff who know what to do and are well-trained enough that they can get right the necessary processes to achieve this.” Culture eats strategy for breakfast By the time our starters arrive, we’ve just about finished tracing the roots of OSC and its growth-induced travails. I spear a sliver of masterfully cooked octopus tentacle and shovel onto it an unidentified purée, which is creamy in taste, yellow in colour and silky in texture. Hortyn, the more talkative of the two, builds on the notion of autonomy while Phipps, a tremendously fast eater, clears his plate within what feels like a matter of seconds.

Hortyn neglects his food – eating while conversing is an elegant art that few manage to master – as he rhapsodises about the importance of corporate culture and its ability to facilitate and drive autonomy among staff. I ask him what he considers the key components of a robust corporate culture, which has in recent years transcended from a buzzword to a business imperative: Harvard Business Review says that culture is “among the primary levers at top leaders’ disposal”. Phipps instead answers, allowing his partner to tuck into the charred sea-dweller in front of him. “For us, it’s about creating a working environment in which people feel motivated, rewarded and appreciated,” says Phipps. “We keep a relatively flat structure and give air time to everyone within the organisation, irrespective of their level.” His company’s remarkably low staff attrition rate indicates efficacy: only one staff member has left in the past two years. Underwood attests: “Rob and Harry’s passion has rubbed off on the entire company. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Across the table, Hortyn motions with his hands as he gulps down water to clear his mouth. It’s clear that he has something to add. “Progression and mentoring are really important, too,” when seeking to incentivise staff, he says. “It’s crucial to define realistic goals, set out responsibilities, build targets around them and conduct quarterly reviews so you get a good sense of what people are doing relative to the goals set at the start of the year. The people we’ve got in are ambitious; they want to see the benefits of what they’re working on. As we develop, staff need to learn new skills, make new relationships.

“Growth is about trying new things. The challenges that come with that can be enjoyable.” Bridge over fresh water What are these “new things”, I ask, as our mains arrive. A courteous waiter places in front of me a succulent grilled salmon fillet atop a bed of “Piazzi-style” beans, whatever they are. I admire Underwood’s salad from across the table, thinking how nicely it would complement my fish.

Back to business. First on the agenda is a rebrand of OSC’s holding company, under which it and all fresh ventures will sit. The duo landed on Bridgemark Education – a nod to Oxbridge and “getting good marks”, says Hortyn – after torpedoing several “amusing” suggestions from supposed experts, including “Knowhere”. His reasoning: “You can’t answer the phone and say: ‘Hello, this is nowhere.’” Phipps’ rationale is less jocular: “Oxford Summer Courses as a corporate identity doesn’t transfer well. We’ve expanded beyond that and needed a new wrapper.”

In April, Bridgemark will launch O-Labs Education, a series of STEM-focused workshops geared at UK-based school-age students hosted at Imperial College London. Costing roughly £300 each, the day classes will diversify For us, it’s about creating a working environment in which people feel motivated, rewarded and appreciated

We keep a relatively flat structure and give air time to everyone within the organisation, irrespective of their level the firm’s revenue streams by opening up access to domestic students (at present, 90% of OSC’s revenues are derived from overseas students). “They’re designed to be bite-sized… and the lower price point means more UK students can get involved,” says Phipps.

In an effort to reach new countries and less-well-off students within them, Bridgemark has developed Melio, an online educational platform through which students can access Oxbridge-qualified tutors. Lessons are likely to cost around £80 to £150 an hour when the product launches later this year. Online tuition also helps lessen, to an extent, Bridgemark’s carbon footprint. After all, it is in the business of flying in students from all corners of the world on a weekly basis, I keenly point out. “I guess the online courses are a hedge,” says Hortyn, against a potential rise in operating costs incurred from elevated air taxes imposed by climate-conscious governments. He stresses that his firm “offsets” its carbon footprint by purchasing carbon credits, which “we feel is about as much as we can do in the short term”.

To drive growth, Bridgemark is overhauling its approach to marketing across the board. Historically, it has relied heavily on online avenues to lure students to OSC and has thus shied away from using recruitment agents due to a “lack of bandwidth”, says Hortyn. (Using agents requires conducting due diligence on them.) This strategy is shifting, though. “We are becoming less reliant on digital marketing and doing more in terms of indirect student recruitment,” he explains. “We need a team of wellconnected people travelling, going to conferences, meeting people and shaking hands.” Bridgemark now has a person “recruiting on the ground” in China, the largest feeder market of international students. “The internationalisation of our marketing will be crucial because, ultimately, that feeds everything.”

In any educational sphere, student forecasting – the practice of predicting future pupil numbers – is nigh-on impossible to get right entirely. For OSC, which now pays up front for rooms before filling them (the colleges wised up with time), the ability to foresee student flows is vital. “We hired a forecasting consultant who said it was too difficult,” says Phipps. “So, we brought on an astrophysicist who is basically building the matrix” – whose success remains to be seen. Partnering for prosperity As our mains are cleared, I order a coffee and agree to share with the table some baklava bites and karidopita, a type of walnut cake that is scented with orange and spices. In an attempt to evade the almost inescapable post-lunch lull, I slurp my americano and seek a sugar-kick from the deliciously sticky, flaky baklava, which is so sweet that it borders on sickly.

I reflect briefly on the colourful conversation, which over the course of nearly two hours has covered a decade for which OSC has been in operation. Having reached the 10-year mark, are Hortyn and Phipps interested in exiting? The business would likely command tens of millions of pounds; a sale would line their pockets for years to come. Considering OSC’s position on The Sunday Times Fast Track 100 list, I figure that private equity hawks are circling the business. My hunch is correct.

“Lots of people want a piece of this,” says Hortyn. “We’ve had a couple of coffees and conversations – mainly with private equity firms – but it’s not the right time for us. We’ve got so many new things kicking off. Rob and I are both pretty young and energetic, and we want to see how far we can take it.” This is in reference to OSC. Other Bridgemark ventures, such as Melio and O-Labs Education, “may well be spun out in future or require private financing”, he adds.

I liken the development of Hortyn’s and Phipps’ business to that of a child: at 10 years old, it is approaching the so-called troublesome teens. Phipps responds: “I think we’ve gone through the troublesome teens and are now in adulthood. A lot of the teething pains – the organisational structures, the working patterns, the professionalisation of the firm – are behind us.” Hortyn concurs. “We now have a solid foundation on which we can build a diversified business.”

I ask the pair what they think will differentiate the decade to come from the one that has passed. Hortyn summarises succinctly his clear vision of success: “We want to get to 10,000 students a year, be operational in every continent and have a robust online offering. And, we want to cater to every income bracket – from disadvantaged students with no money at all to those taking the Rolls Royce course.” He’s all too aware that meeting these goals will entail change. “If we simply do more of the same, we won’t be here in 10 years’ time.” It’s now Phipps’ turn to agree with his partner. “We regularly recalibrate and re-chart course. You might want to get somewhere, but the wind will always change direction.”

I get the impression that Hortyn and Phipps rarely disagree. Indeed, in my company they have on several occasions finished one another’s sentences. As we’re settling the bill, I ask whether their relationship ever turns fractious. Hortyn answers first: “Rob and I know each other too well. That’s not to say we don’t have arguments and disagreements about things but, as important as the business is to both of us, our friendship is more so.”

Phipps, who was best man at his business partner’s wedding, adds: “Sometimes it’s healthy to have a good debate about things.”

“Exactly,” says Hortyn. “As my gran always used to say, if you’re in a partnership and agree all of the time, then one of you is redundant.” n