Book week, and happy children

The weather was fine and clear for the final day of the Book Week at the small country school where I had been invited to speak about stories and writing. A few adults appeared as I talked to the teacher who had invited me to speak. Parents, she explained, nodding in their direction. I felt a twinge of nerves; children were one thing, parents were another; and they were then joined by the school bus driver, a vet, the principal of the local high school, a teacher from another school and the mayor and mayoress of the district. Two policemen who had arrived earlier, were already seated at the back chatting with the children. They were to hand out awards for those who had accomplished a Safe Bicycle Ride programme earlier in the week. Other awards for spelling, writing and reading were to be given out by teachers at the school.

Just as it was almost time for my talk, a bright-eyed pupil asked me if I was a celebrity, and I laughed. But he was serious. No, I said, nothing like that. I just write things. He gave me a cheery grin, which was encouraging.

I began. The children were great with lots of smiles and enjoyed my readings and stories. Quite a few were dressed as characters from story books. There was a Robin Hood with a broken bow, Caspar the ghost appeared twice, and both of them were too friendly to have frightened anyone. Jane Eyre was there next to Anne of Green Gables, while seated behind them was a witch with an enchanting smile and sparkling eyes. I saw several assorted supermen, and there was a Noddy; a petite, shy little thing, and she won my heart.
The children enjoyed everything that was going on, dressing up, parents and special visitors. Their delight was infectious too; the adults had lowered their normal barrier of reserve, it seemed to me, as they chatted freely with those around them. Children do that for us, don’t they? It was good to be here I thought, and relaxed even more, so that as I finished I was pleased that I’d said yes to taking part.

The school song was sung, a modern, bouncy number in keeping with the lively spirits that filled the room, and then other guests added their part adding more variety to the day. Towards the end of the programme as pupils went forward for their awards, Noddy’s little figure stepped to the front. Good for you, I thought, as she was given her award for best handwriting for her class. When it was all over I saw her standing on her own and went over to her and asked her if she was going home on the school bus.

No, my Mummy will collect me, she said softly. That’s nice; I said. And my Daddy; she added. Then she gave a little shiver in the slight wind, blowing keener now. So small and so very vulnerable, and I suddenly thought of the primary school in Dunblane, Scotland, a school like this one that had seen so much horror not so very long ago. Then Noddy saw her mother and ran off, waving and smiling.

Maybe that’s why, before I left the school I said to the teacher who had organized the Book Week how much I’d enjoyed my visit.

And I meant it. I know my inner enjoyment was more than just seeing the children eager, happy and surrounded by so many willing to encourage them in their learning. They were also safe; and it came to me that we ought to enjoy to the fullest such moments, for things can change so easily, and suddenly, change.

Dennis Crompton © 1997
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)

The Dunblane school massacre occurred at Dunblane Primary School in the Scottish town of Dunblane on 13 March 1996. The gunman, 43-year-old Thomas Hamilton (b. 10 May 1952), entered the school armed with four handguns, shooting and killing sixteen children and one adult before committing suicide. Along with the 1987 Hungerford massacre and the 2010 Cumbria shootings, it remains one of the deadliest criminal acts involving firearms in the history of the United Kingdom. (Wikipedia)