When I was a Child

“Okay, everyone, I know you are all absolutely thrilled to be back at school, but if you could all just pause your chitchat so we could get started.” The class fell silent. This was Lauras favourite class. 9A English. Last year when the Head of the Department had presented them to her he had described them as “trouble makers, idiots and a motley crew.” It had been Lauras first year as a qualified English Teacher, she had come into the profession slightly later after completing an undergraduate in English literature and working for a small editing firm, before deciding she wanted to make something of her life instead of scouting yet another incorrect use of a semi colon. 

For some reason or other she hadn’t had to do much to win over what was 8A. Of course it wasn’t always plain sailing, but on the whole they respected her, even if they did occasionally comment that she only looked old enough to be a student herself. She wondered if this was perhaps her saving grace, her young looks made them think she was on their level somehow. Maybe and probably more plausible, was that she respected them, rather than branding them with brushes of stupidity. She had come into teaching to change lives to make a difference, to inspire. To give the children of today a different school experience to her own. She wasn’t going to let some middle aged man who was only in the job because he was at the top of his pay grade and didn’t actually care about any of his students put her off. 

Now though, with thirty pairs of eyes on her she began her lesson. “You know what’s coming don’t you?” She asked. They stayed silent, but she watched as worry and terror appeared on some of their faces. Laura continued “Brilliant to see your enthusiasm 9A, and you guessed it I am going to ask who wants to share their “what I did this summer” essay, I know you have all done it because you all emailed me and I was very impressed, so who wants to go first?” She waited knowing she wouldn’t get a response. Smiling, she teased them “Come on hands up, or I’ll pick.” To this there was a chorus of “please please please Miss no!” She laughed, “I thought this might happen so, I have a proposition for you…” A hand shot up in the air; Harry James, last year she had been told he was the ring leader of any and all misbehaviour, but she had found him funny and desperate to please, so was happy to see his hand up. “Yes Harry, would you like to read your essay.” “Nah Miss, I would rather eat Helenas toes…” to this there was a cacophony of “whey, Harry loves Helena, and wants to eat her toes.” To which Harry replied “Shut up!” Laura clapped her hands and the class once again fell quiet “What was it you wanted to say Harry if it wasn’t about your essay?” “What is a preposition?” “Do you mean proposition?” “Yeah whatever you said before.” “Lovely question and I am sure others are wondering this too.” Laura often used phrases like this when speaking to her students so that they all felt included and that no one felt stupid for asking questions, or being unsure. “A proposition is like a bargain, better yet it's like a deal. So in this instance, I will do something for you lot IF you do something for me.” “Got it miss.” Laura beamed, as she noticed other children nodding, understanding her explanation. Another hand waved at her, this time Samantha Jones. When the Head of Department had discussed Samantha he had said “You’ll be lucky if she turns up, and if she does she won’t do any work, she’d much rather be smoking in the toilets with the other Chavs.” To Lauras surprise, Samantha had turned up to every lesson and had flourished in her class, being one of her top achievers. “Yes Samantha.” “So what is this deal then, we should get to know it before we agree.” “I think that’s okay. I decided it wasn’t really fair for me to expect you to take time out of your summer break to do work for me, if I didn’t do the same. So while I asked you to write “what I did in the summer.” I wrote an essay of my own, mine is a bit different, mine is written as an adult looking back on my summers as a child. So, back to the bargain, I will read you my essay if afterwards, some of you read yours. Deal?” She watched as more heads nodded in approval. “Okay, fab, we have come to an agreement, but you can’t go back on your word, or I will tell Mr Colt….” She didn’t need to finish the sentence. 

She pulled her spiny chair to the middle of the classroom, just in front of the first two rows of desks. “Before I start, I’ll remind you of the reading rules, I don't mind, if you want to draw, or put your heads on the table and close your eyes, but I want you to listen and absolutely no talking.” She waited a few moments as the class got themselves comfortable and sorted. She took this time to get her papers together, then she began: 

“I wake up to the smell of freshly baked bread. This is one of my favourite smells. It is the easiest way to get me out of bed, and mum knows this. I stretch and look at my clock, 930. I climb out of bed and wrap myself in my dressing gown and slide my feet into my slippers. 

When I go downstairs, Ellie and Hugo (my younger twin siblings) are already sat around the kitchen table, talking about whatever it is six year olds talk about, doubtless to say I am sure it is infinitely uncool. Mum sees me and wraps me in her arms. “Hello sweet-pea.” This is her pet name for me and she has called it me for as long as I can remember. She had already cut two slices of bread. “Jam or honey?’ She asks “one of each please.” I say, still encased in her warmth. I stay here a second, I might be twelve, but there is nothing like a hug from mum, it makes me feel safe, like if I am here, nothing can go wrong and I don't have to worry about anything.” “Okay, sweet-pea, take a seat.” I know how much mum loves me by the effort she puts into her cooking, curating everyones favourite foods. I know by the amount of time she spends kneading the dough to make sure it is the perfect springy consistency, how she measures each ingredient exactly, smiling to herself knowing she has it just right . I could watch her all day, but I don't because she would think I have gone mad. Besides, it's not cool for twelve year olds to hang around their mums like that, but I do wonder if she knows that she is the best person in the whole entire world. 

As I sit down Ellie and Hugo leave, I am glad because I don’t want to listen to their childish nonsense. Mum brings me over the toast and sits next to me. She asks me of my plans for the day “sounds lovely, tea is at six, and its games night, tell Lottie and Tim they are welcome too.” Lottie and Tim are my very best friends. I munch on my toast reading the final Harry Potter, I am just at the part when Harry, Ron and Hermione have gone back to Hogwarts to find the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. I take my time sipping on some hot milk, This is the best drink in the world, I will say that even when I am a grown up, nothing will change my mind on that!

I finish breakfast and go and get dressed. I peer outside of the window breathing in the air which smells of summer and sunshine. There is a faint smell of lavender in the air from the fields next door. Just as I am done with brushing my teeth, the doorbell goes. We didn’t have mobile phones back then, well grown ups did, but not kids, somehow, you make plans and just know they will happen. So when I hear the door open and mum speaking to someone I know it's Lottie. 

Soon enough, me and Lottie are on our bikes, to collect Tim. Tim is waiting for us on his front lawn “You guys said 11, it's 11:05” we roll our eyes at him, Tim is obsessed with time, he loves time zones. He finds it fascinating that while we go about our day, on the other side of the world there are people who are fast asleep. 

We cycle for about forty five minuets until we get to our spot. It is perfect, this is why we come here. In the whole of the field, right in the middle there is this enormous tree that provides the exact amount of sun to shade ratio. I admire the tree because I find it intriguing that trees get battered by all kinds of weather, people don’t look after them, that they start as a tiny sapling and grow over hundreds of years into something so alluring. I often wonder what would trees say if they could talk, if they had eyes. I dream about all the things they have seen how much the world around them has changed, but they remain in a spot observing it all. I decide trees should be respected. It makes me sad when I hear on the news that people havent looked after Earth and now we are starting to see problems. I want to make sure that when I am a grown up I do something to help. 

Tim, Lottie and I, spend the day under the tree, which we have given the nickname of “Our Outside Home.” Sometimes we talk, joke and play around with no grown ups about to tell us to “be quiet” or to “stop messing about.” Other times we play Uno, making the loser do a dare. At other intervals we are quiet, enjoying the sound of nature or listening to Tims I pod, taking it in turns to share the earphones or reading our books. We are all reading Harry Potter, but I am quicker than Tim and Lottie so I have to try my hardest to keep my squeals of excitement in, so that I don’t give the spoilers away. 

In the afternoon, we get back on our bikes and cycle about half way home. Tim gives us all a tub and we merrily pick, blackberries, raspberries and strawberries. Our parents always warn us not to eat too much or we will get upset tummies, we never listen to their advice and unsurprisingly none of us have developed any aliment, after all, what’s they worst that can happen from a few hundred berries? Grown ups are always worrying about things. I sometimes think when does this happen? When do you go from being a kid, to being an anxiety ridden adult? Do you just wake up one day and that’s it, or is it a more slow and gradual process? I don't know, but either way I decide I never, ever, ever want that to happen to me. 

As I said, we don't have phones, but we know it's time to start heading back by the way the sun looks in the sky. When it gets level with the roofs and the tops of the trees. Lottie and Tim come to my house and when we walk through the door we are greeted to the smell of garlic and cheese, mum has made lasagne, this is dads favourite. 

I love tea time, I think some people might find it chaotic. There is a hub bub of talking and laughing, no one takes it in turns, we are all chatting over one another, interjecting here and there and basically anywhere. Mum and dad try and get a word in, but it is very rare they succeed, they often give up engaging in their own grown up talk. I don't know what they discuss, but I think they are happy. Sometimes I watch them, I see how dad always squeezes mums hand and kisses her forehead, before he whispers something to her that I don't hear, but she smiles. I observe how after this, or at other points when they are talking mum places her fork on her plate and puts her hand so it is cupping dads face, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. I see how this makes dad grin. I don’t know anything about love, I am only twelve after all, but I decide that when I am old enough to be in love, I want a love like mum and dad. 

Dad clears the plates, he insists on doing this because mum has had us “little monsters” all day, she cooked so she deserves a break. As he does this, further madness ensues as we all cause a ruckus choosing which game to play. We pick Jenga because Ellie and Hugo can play that too. We play a couple of rounds before mum disappears for a little while tucking them into bed and reading them a story, she will read them “Can’t you sleep little Bear?” I know this because they ask for this story EVERY night. How are they not bored of it yet? While mum is upstairs dad chats to Lottie, Tim and I, asking us about our day what we got up to, before inevitably quizzing us on how many berries we ate, and do we have sore bellies? He tells us one day we won’t be so lucky. We giggle and say until that day comes we will continue. 

When mum reappears we settle back down for a game of Cluedo. I am rubbish at this game, but once we move onto scrabble I am in my element. We don’t always play games, some nights we all watch a movie, taking it in turns (for once) to pick. We munch on popcorn and dad thinks he’s being funny when at random intervals he throws popcorn across the room. Mum says that she has made up a bed for Tim in Hugos room and a bed for Lottie in mine, and she has already called their parents to check its okay. This is our cue that it is bedtime. 

I hate bedtime. It is the worst part of the day, it means the day is over and we are one day closer to going back to school. I don't mind school, actually I kind of enjoy it, but it is nowhere near as fun as days lounging around, playing games, enjoying myself. Me and Lottie talk quietly for a little while before one of us fall asleep. Lottie is nearly always first. I know she is asleep when her breathing changes from normal to a snore. I have told her so many times she snores, I wish I could record her so she stops denying it. As I fall asleep I am smiling, I want the summer holidays to last forever, I don't want to grow up, days like today are the very best kind, but I am happy and I am lucky to have such love around me. I think this as my eyes flutter shut. 

Laura stops, she is hit by emotion when 9A start clapping “Miss that was the best thing you’ve ever read!” “Thank you George.” “Now though, I have done my part, it's your turn, who wants to read their essay?” She watches as thirty hands wave in the air in sheer desperation at wanting to be picked. She smilies, her work here is done.