It was a dull and dreary Tuesday afternoon
until the clock hit 4pm. Like the first trickling drops of an impending storm,
small smidgens of colour appeared, moving in slow motion, first one, then
another; some small, some taller. In a matter of minutes these dots of colour
began to blur as they moved faster and faster, boldly darting to and fro, some
only just missing head-on collisions. The dots became noisy, emitting
high-pitched sounds and mostly moving about in pairs or threes, like particles
bonding together.
These dots were not particles of course, but
rather school pupils, returning after the long Easter holiday. The school had
erupted into a hive of industry after its sleepy break and now saw children
busily carting suitcases up flights of stairs, reuniting with friends amid
flying hugs, and squealing shrilly as the younger ones competed to be heard
over the commotion. Energy levels seemed to be at their peak and staff and
pupils alike had regained their sparkle after the relaxing vacation.
Despite this frenzy, the children remained –
as can only be expected – prone to the same unfortunate mishaps as usual. An
unsuspecting child still dropped a stack of cutlery all over the dining room
floor causing an almighty clamour, while another still managed to lose a tennis
ball over a wall within fifteen seconds of playing with it.
After a mere hour or two since returning to
school, it was as if the children had never left: football goals were
haphazardly marked out on the field by a selection of newly-washed jumpers,
children wiggled in a most entertaining fashion as they attempted to master the
art of ‘rip-sticking’ (which I have learned requires some skill in the area of
wiggling), and younger girls galloped about, having transformed themselves into
a rare breed of two-legged ponies.
Another thirty minutes later, and the noise
had gone. The ponies had gone. The rip-sticks had gone. The children had gone.
A lone jumper remained – and a nice one at that…
