Meryl was excited about the holidays for at least a month before the end of term. During the last week, while I was trying to coax Callum down off the shed in the school garden, she insisted on re-telling me the facts. She was going away with her grandma and granddad. They were going in her granddad’s car. Their dog called Cindy “what’s a Jack Russell” was going, too. They were going for two weeks and they were going stay in…I cut her off mid-sentence when Callum stood on the edge of the roof and informed me that he was going to kill himself.

Having regained my undivided attention, Callum eventually declined to end it all and sat with his legs dangling over the edge. He only had one trainer on because he’d thrown his other at Mrs Wilde. Twenty years ago, I would have grabbed him by the ankles and hauled him to safety, but then 20 years ago I didn’t have arthritis and knew nothing about safeguarding procedures. Also, weren’t children less inclined to punch, kick and verbally abuse their teachers back then? Wasn’t it always summer? Didn’t the sun always shine?

“We’re going to stay in a big caravan,” Meryl continued. “And we’re going to sleep in it at night. And there’s an arcade on the caravan site. And a club what has karaoke and sells mucky beer. And a chippy. And guess what else, Mr Eddison?” Before I could guess what else, Callum leapt from the roof, darted through the tunnel sculpted from living willow that the children had helped plant in 2012, and escaped over the fence. “It’s in Skeg Vegas,” said Meryl. “But it’s really called Skegness.”

The Lincolnshire Riviera

Skegness is the Lincolnshire coast’s answer to Las Vegas. Meryl won’t be the only one of our children staying there or thereabouts this summer. The town, along with several other nearby resorts (Mablethorpe, Chapel St Leonards, Ingoldmells and Sutton on Sea), were established holiday destinations for Sheffield families long before the advent of cheap flights and package deals to Benidorm. The Spanish Costas came, saw but never totally conquered the Lincolnshire Riviera.

Of course not all of our children are as lucky as Meryl. They won’t all be spending their summer holiday at the seaside with their families. At least I’m sure Callum won’t. Two days before school broke up, his foster carers decided they couldn’t take any more of his bad behaviour and refused to have him back. While he was wandering around the school playing field, beating it with a big stick, social services were involved in trying to find emergency accommodation.

“Why does Callum get angry all the time?” Meryl asked as we walked back into school to report his latest escape. I sighed and told her that it was all very complicated. I didn’t want to explain to an eight-year-old how being rejected by your parents, separated from your brother and shuffled from foster carer to foster carer could be very annoying, so I told her he was unhappy. “He should go to Skeg Vegas,” said Meryl. “That’d cheer him up.”

Steve Eddison teaches at Arbourthorne Community Primary School in Sheffield