The Village School

The Village School

I hear the bell that generations have heard before

And the voices cease their joyful chattering. Outdoor

Play areas become empty as reluctantly,

Little souls drift back to the confines of their classrooms.

The deserted playground: discarded toys, disrupted

Sand, and kitchen ware strewn around. Echoes of playful

Scenes are all that remain of the rumbustious times.

Within the rooms, teachers and their helpers,

Tower above recalcitrant children,

Then stooping to listen, calm is restored.

Order comes from the chaos, but where has

The greater learning taken place?       

Crossed legs beneath tables, anxious       

Faces peer obliquely at numbers;    

Words become meaning, fingers trace

Across page, whilst eyes flit between    

Word and image, the more knowledge    

To absorb by the sponge-brained child.   

At end of day, chatting parents, grandparents  

And others, wait patiently, whilst children don   

Coats. Teachers lead out their class, to offer snippets

Of the day or listen to plaintive welcomes.

Returning to empty classrooms,   the sighing

Staff commence preparations for another

Day when they endeavour to shape the futures

Of those in their care.

Dave Urmston c 2017