"DON'T MAKE ME GO TO SCHOOL"...

..."You've got to, you're the headteacher!!"

The words weren't actually spoken as such - but I know what Charles was thinking as he sloped out of the door this morning!! It was when I had to prise his fingertips of the door jamb...

Only kidding, but that thought does remind me of a story - a true one actually.

When I was leaving my school in Broad Town, Wiltshire, I had a little boy in my class by the name of Scott. He was the youngest of five brothers and the four older boys were also at my school. They were all real characters and Scott, who started out as being rather petulant and uncooperative, had turned into Teacher's Little Helper and had become absolutely charming. (I think he had a touch of OCD though as everything had to be perfectly tidy and straight in the classroom and he couldn't relax until all the chairs were lined up neatly and everything was positioned in their appropriate places.)

Scott's Mum certainly had her hands full (of boys mostly) and in the last weeks before I left the school she would casually mention that Scott didn't want me to leave and was going to come with me. "He's been packing his bag for days," she would tell me and I would smile indulgently.

Well we got to the last day and I sobbed through my leaving service in the church as I listened to the weeping from all my little cherubs while the vicar suggested that we would have been better off in Noah's Ark! And after leaving the church returned to school to bid farewell to the staff and governors...

...only to find that Scott was still there! (What I haven't told you is that he had turned up for school that morning with his bag containing pyjamas, toothbrush, his favourite toys and carrying a very large cushion - "It's his favourite, he won't go anywhere without it," his Mum had told me. But, foolishly it turned out, I hadn't given it another thought.)

More fool me! That child had put himself up for adoption - BY ME!

There was no way he was going to give in easily and he had every intention of coming back to Northumberland with me. "But your Mum will miss you Scott," I tried. "No she won't! She's got four more!" was his reply. (Quite a clever response for a five year old!)

It took over an hour of cajoling, persuading, pleading and eventually carrying this struggling, frantic little boy towards the main door entrance of the school, where he managed to wedge his feet and hands into the doorway like a little limpet who had no intention of going anywhere without me!

His Mum (WHY did she let him think he could come with me? Why didn't she put a stop to this nonsense?) eventually peeled his little fingers off the door and carried him, kicking and screaming into the car.

Leaving me, sobbing again in the silence, as I waved them off.