Henlady

The next time I’m on the way to Tesco, I shall drop a bag of old newspapers off at Henlady’s house.  Bird-flu is forcing her to keep her hens indoors so she needs the papers for bedding. 

I’ve known Henlady for many years as she was both my sons’ Year 1 teacher at Treegrass special School.

Ferretfingers went to Treegrass straight from Nursery.

Thunderthighs stayed in our nearest mainstream school through Nursery and Reception but they really failed him.  He had a Statement of Special Educational Needs which required him to have one-to-one assistance.  His one-to-one was a local childminder-cum-dinner-nanny.  A lovely lady and a neighbour who was as aware as us that she did not have appropriate training.  At one point he was having lessons in the corridor-cloakroom.  I was obliged to go in every lunchtime.

It had been decided in Nursery that he would go into a special communication unit in another local mainstream school “when a space becomes available.”  It didn’t.

The final straw was at the start of Year 1 in a meeting with his class teacher and our local authority Speech & Language Co-ordinator when the teacher asked 

“Will this mean more work for me?”

I didn’t want my child in a class with someone who felt that way about him, and was tactless enough to express those feelings in front of his mother.

Co-incidentally the following day I went to a special assembly at Treegrass where children were being celebrated for whatever achievement they had made.

The next day I wrote to the head of education asking that Thunderthighs attend Treegrass.  It might provide far more than he needed, or his Statement required, but at present he was getting far less.  I took the precaution of copying the letter to my local councillors.  As I already had a good relationship with the head of Treegrass I didn’t involve him because I didn’t want to cause him any embarrassment if the request was denied.

The next time I was in Treegrass Henlady saw me and said “I’ve read the file on Thunderthighs and I’ve said to the Head that I want that little boy in my class.”

He started at Treegrass after the October half term and it was like putting a duckling into water; he just swam.

As you can imagine I’ve always had a special place in my heart for Henlady, who retired from teaching some years ago.

Because of the present unpleasantness I don’t usually see or speak to Henlady when I drop off the papers.  I stop the car outside her garden gate, take the bag of newspapers, pop them inside her porch (the door is always open) and slip away.

Last week however, as I reached the gate a voice called “Thank you very much.”

I turned to see Henlady with her lovely smile and replied “You’re welcome.”

“Oh, what a lovely jumper” she said.

“I made it myself.”

“Clever lady.”

“Mrs Bun likes it so much I’m leaving it to her in my will.”

We laughed, and with that I went back to the car.

It occurs to me that that was probably the longest chat either of us have had in person, with someone outside our household, in weeks.

It was so lovely to do something so normal, even for a few minutes.