through her as they paused by the door to her classroom. Inside it was rather bleak and lifeless: white walls, blue-grey carpet and a big blackboard. It had a plain, nunnery-like feel, but the sight of the small desks and little blue chairs made her smile. Tiny bottoms belonging to bright-eyed children would soon be sitting there. There were twelve children in Natâs class and she had taken much delight in making all the nametags for their desks the previous night, along with a small sheet of the cursive alphabet for the younger ones. Her laminator had run hot, covering phonics charts, a day chart and a poster with their classroom rules. The school probably had its own large laminator but Nat hadnât been able to resist buying her own, along with an array of bright stickers and fancy paper, not to mention her own stationery. To Nat, the smell of hot melted plastic was almost as alluring as fresh flowers and she couldnât wait to get the nametags out of her large tote and start sticking them to the desks.
Kath must have sensed her eagerness. âIâll let you get sorted. If you need anything Iâll be just next door.â
âThank you, Kath,â Nat said, getting to work. She rearranged the desks, settling on a U-shape, then stuck on the nametags and hung up her posters. She looked around â it was definitely feeling a little brighter already. Soon, with the kidsâ work to exhibit, it would be a room full of colour and excitement, just like her Year 1 class with Mrs Smithe had been.
Truth be told, it was Mrs Smithe who had made being a teacher seem like the grandest and most alluring job. Nat had idolised her. Sheâd had more attention, comfort and understanding from Mrs Smithe than from her own parents. Then, in Year 3, sheâd had another wonderful teacher in Miss Parish. Nat could remember wanting to impress her so much and, right from those early years, being a primary school teacher had been her only dream. Other kids had changed their minds, but not Nat. She was finally living her dream and it was everything sheâd hoped for and more.
She actually felt tingles watching kids arrive by bus, flooding into the school in a flurry of chatter and schoolbags. Her bright-faced kids came inside and crowded around her, as if she was a shiny new toy. Everyone wanted to touch her and feel her clothes, especially the girls. She took in their faces; at the moment they were all unfamiliar but soon sheâd know them all so well. Then theyâd really be her kids. Just thinking the words made her squeeze her hands together with joy. Sure, sheâd worked in a school before, but this was her first posting, her first real class.
By Friday morning, Nat couldnât believe it had only been a week. It felt like a month had passed with all the things theyâd done. Already the walls were covered in artwork and maths sheets. Just about anything she could put up she did, just to make the classroom feel more inviting. Now she was stapling the laminated titles of the books they would be reading this term to the pin-up board before the bus arrived.
âGosh, you donât waste any time.â
Nat turned to see Kath, who smiled as she pushed back her short, grey hair. Nat admired the way Kath always came to work in a pencil skirt and blouse, stockings and nice shoes, showing that the job still demanded respect even in such a small school. The previous day Kath had mentioned she was in her sixties, and had seen all her kids through this school, as well as some of her grandkids. Nat also learnt that Jess from the shop was Kathâs granddaughter. She thought of what Grace, the senior teacher, had told her: âKath has been here nearly longer than the school.â
âItâs the best part of the day.â
âYet another gorgeous dress. Donât you worry the kids will paint it or accidentally glue glitter to it?â Kathâs face crinkled with lines.
Nat