I’m waiting for someone to get so fed up with hearing the buzzer that they’ll raise the barrier and let me into the car park. After five unsuccessful attempts, I spot Aleesha on the opposite side of the road. She is carrying something large and red under her arm. The nearer she gets to me, the more incredulous I become. She spots me and comes across to say hello.
“Don’t build your hopes up,” I tell her but she only looks confused. The intense summer heatwave might be a thing of the past but the air temperature is still mid-twenties. I point to a sky that is anything but threatening and say, “I reckon the chance of a freak blizzard is pretty much out of the question.” Her expression remains the same. I remind myself that primary teachers should avoid being cryptic. “What are you doing with that sledge?” I ask.
A minute later Mrs Rottweiler interrupts us. Getting into school is not as easy as it used to be before they invented safeguarding and it’s harder still when your electronic fob has temporarily misplaced itself. Her voice over the intercom sounds testier than normal. “Who is it?” she says
“George Clooney,” I reply.
“Where’s your fob, Mr Eddison?” she asks. But before I can think of a witty innuendo she says, “Actually, don’t bother. Life’s too short.” The barrier opens and I drive inside.
Animal magic in primary school
It’s the week before term starts and my younger colleagues have been hard at work. Classrooms that a few short weeks ago resembled disaster zones have been transformed into havens of enlightenment. Where there were barren pin boards, packed with shreds of old backing paper and stubborn staples, new and stimulating learning walls have flourished.
Miss Brightside smiles a wan smile that makes me wonder when she last saw daylight. Her displays are bright and colourful, her reading corner reminds me of a trendy children’s bookshop and I have to negotiate a tropical rainforest just to get to her table. Battling my way through trailing greenery teeming with monkeys, snakes, parrots and giant insects, I can’t help but think I ought to be wearing mosquito repellent.
“Looks like you’re all ready for your new class,” I tell Miss Brightside, who in turn sighs and admits to being uncertain. Eight times she’s reconfigured her tables and she’s still not sure where to sit Jarrod in relation to those children (nearly everybody) he finds it difficult to get on with. I smile reassuringly. “He’ll be too engaged with your Rainforest Topic to worry about banging somebody out,” I tell her.
While we both know this isn’t true, we also know that it’s important to remain positive. Over the next year, there will be endless repairs to carry out. Displays will be damaged, resources will get trashed and children will be in constant need of TLC. But then that’s what primary teachers do, isn’t it? They fix classrooms up, dust children down and start all over again.
“You can never have too much optimism,” I tell Miss Brightside. “Aleesha thinks finding an old plastic sledge in a skip is a sign it’s going to snow.”
Steve Eddison is a teacher at Arbourthorne Community Primary School in Sheffield
