Schools in for spring.

 Schools in for spring. 

Hooray! And not before time. This morning a nation of parents leapt up and down in their respective kitchens and living rooms in quite the most ecstatic outpouring since their precious offspring were born. It was a seminal day, perhaps a turning point in the fortunes of a country who thought perhaps their children would never ever return to school, thus depriving the kids of a wholesome education and a future that would glow with health forever more. Some of us were beginning to wonder whether any of us would we see a generation of academically equipped and stimulated teenagers who could reach out for the stars. 

On Monday morning the children of Britain went back to school and a vast cross-section of the population and parents up and down the land could happily wave their children goodbye and back into an environment where they could thrive and learn, socialise normally and harmonise with their old friends, the friends they must have thought they would never see again. So off they went down the road, satchels on their shoulders, shoes shone to perfection, tie straightened and respectability ensured. Oh and don't forget to tuck in the freshly ironed shirt because that's vitally important. No, seriously it is. 

It now seems like an age ago since the school gates were abruptly shut for what at the time seemed like a temporary break since there was a silly old virus at large where people coming into close proximity with each other were somehow regarded as outcasts, pariahs, infected and ultimately deadly. But try telling that to a young and impressionable kid who just wants to play football with his mates or skip the evening away. How do you begin to explain a deadly global virus to a child who just wants to get on with everyday living?

But today the kids went back to school and the parents will shut their front door, privately relieved and hoping that all of the voluntary home school tuition will become permanent history. The children have once again been re-united with the times tables, their essential grammar, vocabulary and English lessons, their maths, geography, history, physical exercise, biology, chemistry, art, drama, woodwork and metalwork, all of those properly structured disciplines that serve as that fundamental foundation stone of their lives. It was at this point that their lives began and the first seeds of inquisitiveness, fascination and learning are planted. 

And yet for what may have seemed like an eternity the kids have finally re-discovered the enjoyment of real life rather than some frustrating hiatus that where very little was achieved. So the children sat down with mum and dad after the daily intake of Coco Pops cereal and knuckled down to the onerous task in hand. Mum and dad may have had the world of patience but neither could have prepared for this eventuality. 

There was a time when of course when the school curriculum and timetable became something we may have taken for granted. You started your educational climb to the summit of your chosen life career assuming that everything would go smoothly. It was roughly the week after the August Bank Holiday, just in time for the conker season and then the autumnal festivals of Harvest Festival, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 

Then your son or daughter would logically follow their planned schedule of lessons until perhaps the middle of October before racing towards the Christmas and Chanukah break. At secondary school you were then conditioned to a punishing regime of homework followed by masses of more homework, preparation for life defining exams and then the last year GCSE's and A Levels in their last year. 

Regrettably though last year ran to an entirely different pattern for schoolchildren. Suddenly the playground would turn into some lonely desert island and the kids were just stuck at home, twiddling their thumbs and fingers. So mum and dad would now clock on for employment as substitute teachers,  roles they quite clearly felt they were wholly unsuited for and didn't seem too keen on signing up for. 

This morning though Britain and Boris Johnson's Tory government found it in its heart to give the thumbs up for a full return to springtime classroom activity. It's been a long time coming but to quote that worn out cliche, all good things come to those who wait. You always found yourselves wondering why schoolchildren had to be the unwitting victim of circumstances. How were we to know that youngsters were just as susceptible to Covid 19 as the rest of the world but then the doors were closed in those mostly Victorian buildings of study, contemplation and scribbling things down in exercise books. 

When former Prime Minister Tony Blair came into office in 1997, he promised that all of the country's best efforts would be concentrated on Education, Education, Education. Our children would be Britain's next economists, lawyers, solicitors, policemen and women and perhaps more pertinently now, medical scientists. History will pass judgment on Blair's leadership but you are firmly of the opinion that he was pretty right and accurate about most of Labour's manifesto pledges.

Now though Boris Johnson is faced with the almost impossible task of reassuring parents and children that their lives will become considerably simpler and infinitely easier than it might have been a couple of months ago. School days, we were reliably informed, should be the best of our lives from the moment we heard that first scratch of chalk to the detailed explanations about everything that needs to be taught. 

But then along came the coronavirus and all life seemed to come to a grinding halt. Throughout the whole of the first lockdown we were informed that kids shouldn't have to suffer because of some clumsy accident in some far off laboratory or a wet market in China. They had to be in school come what may and now finally on day one of their disrupted education, they're eager than ever no doubt and desperate to hear the commanding bark of a million teachers voices. Or maybe not depending on your point of view. 

So here we are at the first stage of the great British rehabilitation, that tentative, slowly, slowly, softly,  softly recovery back to full health in the UK. The kids will run enthusiastically back into their playgrounds, chasing, scurrying, screaming, laughing and just enjoying what comes naturally to kids who just want to be socially connected rather than distanced. This has been all too much for them and it couldn't have come at a better time. 

The normally stuffy, conservative image of the fusty old teacher at the front of the class with a gown, cap and stick may be a dusty, old antediluvian one, a direct throwback to Goodbye Mr Chips. But then we entered the school premises with all those wondrous pieces of playground furniture. There were the grubby looking drinking water fountains, numbers painted onto the wall that would signify some strange kind of playground game and then the changing room shed for the boys after a vigorous football match.

These are the moments our children couldn't wait to be a part of if only because they must have felt a terrible sense of alienation from a world they'd become used to. So the kids are back at school and parents around the world will be openly greeting their offspring after another busy day at the Great British school classroom.

We are now eight days into March and within the next couple of weeks, the world will gradually be easing its way back into customary routines once again. And how we've missed them. For some of us April doesn't seem that far away although it's hard to imagine what'll actually happen within this crucial period leading up to early Spring. We are now within shouting distance of the winning tape and June 21 has now been pencilled in as the official opening date for normal life. 

Still the kids are back at primary, secondary and grammar school and that's probably the best news we've all heard for quite a while. We may be struggling to find a clearing in this now haunted woodland but we're getting there and resolution is almost upon us. There is a conclusion in this very dramatic saga, a rosy cheeked complexion on the face of Britain, a genuine feelgood factor that could reach fruition sooner rather than later. So everybody, get out the bunting for the street party, book your place in the West End, drag some whistles and horns out of your cupboard and celebrate. You deserve it folks.