’Tis the season to be jolly creative, so we’re celebrating the end of autumn term in the traditional way. This involves an excess of glue, glitter, tinsel, foil, paint and gold marker pen.

But, because the demands of an increasingly intensive curriculum have eroded the time children are allowed to spend doing Christmas stuff, we’ve reduced it to a one-day blizzard of creativity. 

Before you can say “Deck the halls”, the children have crafted a host of snowman/woman calendars, a forest of tree-shaped cards and a choir of wing-ed angels. 

The last were constructed using card cylinders (not toilet rolls, for reasons of hygiene) and paper doilies, and are designed to sit atop the family Christmas tree. 

Christmas in primary school

It’s been a traumatic day, but it will all have been worthwhile when the children’s faces light up with the joy of giving. 

While they always say it’s better to give, receiving is pretty important, too. I imagined proud parents celebrating the gifts their children have laboured over (sometimes for several minutes) when they collect them from school. 

Obviously, I never anticipated a scene from a Victorian greetings card. I never expected deep snow and sentimental slush. I didn’t foresee laughing mums and dads whisking children away on a sleigh ride to Christmastime of Olde. But this is plain depressing. 

Jake’s mother is late collecting him (as usual), so I’ve enlisted his help in my clearing-up operation. 

Unlike me, he’s not dismayed at the number of calendars, cards and angels that have been condemned to the green recycling box of rejection. But when he attempts to abandon his own creations there (like a litter of unwanted puppies), it’s more than a primary teacher can take. 

The art of receiving gifts

“Why aren’t you going to give them to your mum when she (eventually) comes for you?” I ask, and he looks at me like I might have fallen off a Christmas tree. 

After a brief negotiation, I at least save his angel from having its wings plucked before being condemned to everlasting torment in the murky underworld of waste management. “I think Jake’s mum needs to discover the art of receiving,” I whisper into its ear. Or where its ear would be if it had one.  

Like most primary teachers, I have turned the process of receiving gifts into an art form. “Wow, this is the best ‘Merry Christmas, Teacher’ mug I’ve ever had, Katie.”…“Ah, how did you know I was desperate for a pair of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer socks, Kaden?”…“Woo-hoo, this Santa Claus fridge magnet will be perfect for keeping my shopping list in place, Bethany.”

When Jake’s mum finally collects him, I impress on her how it would do his self-esteem good if she made a big fuss over the lovely angel he’s made. But her phone derails her train of thought, and before I can switch the points back in my direction she’s grabbed his coat, seized his bag and taken the Santa Express down another track. 

“Never mind,” I tell his celestial intermediary, “I’ll take a picture of you on top of my Christmas tree and show it to him next term.”

Steve Eddison is a teacher at Arbourthorne Community Primary School in Sheffield