The Battle of Grand Drive

Sunday evening –  Snow has been falling for most of the day and the scene is picture postcard winter.  The gritting lorries have been out in force though and the roads seem clear-ish.  No more snow is expected.

The girls have been out in the snow today, either sledging, building snowmen or just having fun.  We ask them to get their school stuff ready for the morning; they look at us as though we have just told them we have tortured and then killed the family cat.

“But we’re gahn aht,” one of them says, “there’s a load of us gahn to tahn.” (see blogpost “Uprising” for Essex-speak translation).

“I don’t think you are going out, you’re going to school. If there’s more snow and it’s closed, well, that’s different, but otherwise you’re going.”

“None of our friends are gahn in though.”

“Really?  Well, you are. Sorry.”

This was a cue for much under-the-breath mumbling and a few foot stomps, but there was generally an uneasy truce.  After all, who knew what the morning would bring…

Monday morning – The alarm went off at 6:30am as usual and I went downstairs to make a cup of tea.  I would need as much sustenance as I could get to prepare myself for the inevitable onslaught. A cursory look outside showed no further snowfall.  I turned on the local radio and listened to the school closures… these were almost all in the north of the County or rural areas.  The mainstream areas were fine, with no traffic delays either at that time.  I was sure the school would be open. At 7:00am I climbed the stairs and woke the girls.  This would be their normal rising time anyway but I was expecting some kickback.  I made sure they were properly awake. 

“Come on, there’s been no more snow.  School’s open and you’re going in.”

I went downstairs and waited, finishing my tea.  One of the girls came down to get her uniform out of the pile of ironing (she clearly hadn’t done it the night before as instructed as she probably thought we’d be snowed in) and heard the school closures on the radio… Belfairs was not one of them.  

But wait… there was a chance… the presenter finished the piece with,

“… but this may not be 100% correct so the best thing you can do is to check your school’s website.”

With a look of hope on her face, she made her way to the PC and tap-tapped onto the School Home page which downloaded a few seconds later, showing a huge message on the screen –

Belfairs Academy is OPEN today

The sigh of disappointment and anger resonated around the house. That was it.  The battle had begun.

“Have I got to go in today, Mark?”

“Yep. ‘Fraid so.”

“But why?  None of my friends are going in.”

“I’m sure they are.  School’s open.”

“But the teachers won’t be in.  We’ll have to sit doing nothing.”

“Oh well.  So be it.  Now go and get ready.”

News spread through the troops quickly and there were protests.  Another one came down half-dressed saying she couldn't find any blouses.  This verbal volley was repelled by a quick arm movement and the production of one from the ironing pile, passed across with a smile and a “There you go” message.  She departed back upstairs, tail between her legs.  

Another then came down saying she hadn't any blouses at all. She was reminded that we were nearly halfway through the school year and where were the ones she’d been wearing so far?  Overnight they had apparently become too small/too dirty/ripped (delete as appropriate).  A poor shot which failed to hit any target at all and was dealt with by “If you don’t find one, you’re grounded for next weekend.”

So, three of the four revolutionaries had given it a shot but had failed.  We were standing firm.  The fourth one had yet to surface at all (she is at a different school that opens a bit later and only closes in the event of nuclear attack) but we sensed she may be the most difficult nut to crack.

Girl number one comes down, ready for school.  Well, if you can call ready for school in this weather having no coat, no gloves, no boots or snow shoes and no bag.  She was clearly a scout who had been sent down by the others to test the water… but we were prepared!  Wellies were lined up at the door and a carrier bag for the school shoes produced. There was resistance over the coat and gloves issue but this was overcome and after a few minutes of fierce negotiations where we failed to give an inch, off she went.  One down, three to go.

This had clearly been unexpected by the dissidents as there was confusion in the ranks… two of the remaining girls started arguing over ownership of a pair of Hunters Wellie socks.  Dawn moved swiftly in to resolve the dispute and hurry them along, but the chinks in the armour were there… it was hardly a united front they were presenting.  The resistance was crumbling.

The second one came down, moaning all the time about how she had to walk to school on her own.  Strange that at other times she goes to great lengths to try and convince us that she really, really is grown up enough to get buses and trains everywhere unaccompanied.  There were two more futile attempts to stay at home but these amounted to no more than a rather whiney “Can’t I stay at home, please?  I’ve got no-one to go with.”  There was no real belief behind these attempts though, as she was putting on her gloves and wellies while saying it.  Off she went regardless.

Halfway through the battle and we were winning.  But the two left were wily and persuasive, not to mention the most stroppy of the brood.  Girl four had still not surfaced so she was given an ultimatum to either get up or be grounded which did the trick.  She would be late though and she was nowhere near ready.  Girl three, usually the head negotiator and tactical master, came down the stairs and we feared the worst.  Would this be the battle to end all battles?  No.  She knew the game was up and made no attempt to overturn the decision, unexpectedly leaving without fuss.  Just one more.

However, she made more commotion and noise than all of the others put together.  Her clothes weren't ready, she hadn't made her packed lunch, the butter was hard, it was ripping the bread, why couldn't she have dinner money, the teachers won’t be in, she couldn't find her bag, who’s nicked her gloves… any excuse to stall and delay.  Eventually though, at 8:40am, the white flag of surrender was waved and she made her way out of the house and up the road at a pace that would have given a snail a run for its money.  School starts for her at 8:45 and it’s a 20 minute walk at the best of times, so a detention for late arrival awaits her I expect.

So all is well again… until the next snowfall…