|The last day at primary school|
After eight happy years, my son bid goodbye to the teachers who have nurtured him since he was a little chap - chubby and bespectacled (think Milky Bar kid) in a uniform that didn't quite fit. His departure marks the end of an era. For as long as we've been living in Henley, one of my kids has been at the school. As well as being a pillar of local life, school has provided us with a community of lovely friends.
By the time my son left on Friday after the leavers' concert, he was fighting back the tears, but it was his mother who really disgraced herself. I dissolved into a snively mess at about 8:30 a.m. on the last morning, pretty much as we handed over our first leaving gift. The waterworks continued in spurts throughout the day.
Letting my guard down...
You would not know I was once labelled 'the girl who never cried' at my own (boarding) school. Clearly, I've come a long way since those emotionally defunct days. Every little thing set me off last Friday: a child impulsively hugging the headmaster, the French teacher comforting my tearful son, a slideshow of the kids during their time at the school...
|A giant duck makes the most of Henley Festival|
Now I've caught up on sleep, I feel faintly embarrassed but also strangely purged. Aside from a few nostalgic twinges, I am ready to move on. The summer hols are stretching out ahead of us and a new era of independence dawns. As Rita Ora sang on the Festival stage, "We'll find the start to something new..." Bring it on.