Some things don't change: the sound of the sea from a street away, a screech of seagull, the broken walls around some houses on the bend in the road. How I have started counting my steps to see how many it takes to get to school.
Some things change: the locked doors of the school, the posters in Welsh, the rise and fall of its syllables in the corridors, the mothers on the floor of the hall with their babies for free Language and Play.
Some things don't change: the little boy in Nursery who hugs the Headmistress's legs when she walks past.
Some things change: the locked doors of the school, the posters in Welsh, the rise and fall of its syllables in the corridors, the mothers on the floor of the hall with their babies for free Language and Play.
Some things don't change: the little boy in Nursery who hugs the Headmistress's legs when she walks past.
I like this, Lynn. Counting the steps lets us see the samll things.
ReplyDeleteI like this snapshot of a place, a time -- or two very different times, and how clearly you let us see it.
ReplyDeleteThanks Merlene, Kate. I visited the school I started in 1963... when I walked into the Dining Hall it was like being washed by a tidal wave of memories!
ReplyDeleteI appreciate you stopping by.
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