Innocence

 

On Friday at Matlock Farm Park and purely by chance, Phoebe bumped into one of her nursery school classmates. They had been in the same happy nursery class for two and a half years.

Whereas adults unexpectedly bumping into each other like that - twenty miles from home - would have made a little song and dance about the surprise meeting, Phoebe and Cora just got on with playing and running about as if it was just another day at nursery school. There were no expressions of surprise.

This past week both girls have been in educational limbo. No longer in nursery school and not yet in primary school. Sadly, they will attend different primary schools from tomorrow morning and no doubt contact will gradually be lost. Inevitably, they will even forget each other as new memories and new faces crowd into their little lives. Phoebe has another great pal called Elsie who will attend a third different school. It is her fifth birthday this very day. But their closeness will also evaporate.

And so to the weird thing they call "school". Years stretching out like fenceposts as far as the eye can see. Rules and stars and standing in line and "Yes miss!"/"No miss!" and school dinners and bells and uniforms and making friends and falling out and targets and levels and sums and books to write in and storytime and it's all like a train that you cannot get off as it rattles forward to place called The Future. School!

And as Phoebe's school train now prepares to leave the station of innocence, here's a very suitable poem by Roger McGough:- 

⦿

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home 

Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)

 Why are they all so big, other children? 

So noisy? So much at home they 

Must have been born in uniform 

Lived all their lives in playgrounds 

Spent the years inventing games 

That don't let me in. Games 

That are rough, that swallow you up. 

And the railings. 

All around, the railings. 

Are they to keep out wolves and monsters? 

Things that carry off and eat children? 

Things you don't take sweets from? 

Perhaps they're to stop us getting out 

Running away from the lessins. 

Lessin. What does a lessin look like? 

Sounds small and slimy. 

They keep them in the glassrooms. 

Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine. 

I wish I could remember my name 

Mummy said it would come in useful. 

Like wellies. When there's puddles. 

Yellowwellies. I wish she was here. 

I think my name is sewn on somewhere 

Perhaps the teacher will read it for me. 

Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.