I sat in the school hall, rear end enveloping a seat built for someone of, let’s say, smaller stature, helping my four-year-old carefully wind shiny gold ribbon through lollipop sticks that had been painted green, then stuck together in advance to form a Christmas tree-shaped frame.

“Have you ever tried to paint both sides of a lollipop stick?” the infants’ teacher asked us, with an expression on her face that told us she was all-too-familiar with the frustrations associated with this particular task.

As we wove the ribbon in and out of the stick frame, working with our children and listening to the Christmas music playing in the background, an impromptu carol-singing session started up. One of the nursery children inadvertently started it, I think, and then the parents and other children around her joined in, followed by a nearby teacher.

As we sang softly, carrying on with the task at hand, I looked across the room to see my seven-year-old - who is now in his third year of primary school - supporting two younger pupils whose parents hadn’t been able to make it along.

His Christmas-themed deely boppers bobbed around on his head, defying the seriousness with which he was taking - and revelling in - the responsibility he had been given.  

Glitter checked

This is Tartan Fest and it’s an annual event at my children’s small school in the Scottish Borders, aimed at the pupils in early primary. Its predecessor, Glitter Fest, was shelved after being deemed too environmentally unsound. Or as my son explained it: “Do you know glitter never goes away? The fish eat the glitter and then we eat the fish.”

Milling around the room were teachers and nursery staff, grannies and grandads, mums and dads and siblings too young to be there in an official capacity as pupils.

The adults were from all walks of life, but that day we had much in common. We were reminded of the simple pleasure of sitting quietly with our children working on a task - as well as the overwhelming urge you get to intervene when underdeveloped fine motor skills result in googly eyes being stuck to Santa’s hat - not his face - or when your child’s cutting out has life-changing consequences for an unsuspecting paper snowman.

With craft stations set up all around the hall, we made wrapping paper and labels for presents and Christmas cards. We wove and we stuck; we coloured and we painted. But most importantly, for an hour last Friday we came together as a community, and for a little while we sang. And it was magical.

Education is the Scottish government’s priority and because of that, all too often it finds itself in the spotlight for the wrong reasons, as people try to hold the SNP to account. We need to be bothered about budget cuts and attainment, but as the Grinch discovers in the famous Dr Seuss tale, Christmas is about “a little bit more”. And so are schools.

The impact of an event like Tartan Fest - how do you measure it? Well, the truth is, of course, that you can’t, at least in an empirical way. But we must recognise the awesome power of these events - and the teachers who take the time to paint both sides of a lollipop stick - because if they stopped, we would all be the poorer for it.