Back To School

Back to school

Taking a young child to school for the 9am start is a very emotional experience. It happens to me occasionally either with my two granddaughters in Bristol or my third one on the Nottinghamshire/Lincolnshire border.

I think it is because whether we are walking hand in hand (Bristol) or driving (Notts/Lincs), there is always much chatter and today for instance about bonfire night and the danger involved and needing to stand well back from the fire behind a fence. And with sparklers the fact that they are still hot after they have finished burning and so there must be a bucket of sand or water ready to put the spent sparkler in.

All this follows making sure the school clothes are on properly, the school work is in the bag together with a bottle of water and sandwiches and biscuits and grapes for lunch. It is a busy and exciting hour or so, until the school gate is reached.

Then it all changes. The hand is released, “goodbye granddad”, she turns away and walks on already having met up with a friend. She has entered a different and full world and I am left empty and drained. I shout “bye Katy” or “bye Colette” or “bye Zoe” but it is not heard. She doesn’t turn around, she has gone.

There was no taking to school in Newton in 1948 or warnings about the dangers of bonfires and sparklers. You were just thrown in and that was that. I will re-read my book “Derbyshire born” and try and imagine how different was that record of early school life compared with whatever Katy is experiencing this morning in her bright new school. It might help, but I still feel lost.