There was a time when I thought the sea was always angry. We would visit my Gran in Old Portsmouth where some of the roads around her flat were still cobbled. In fact her single paned windows looked out over the Grand Parade. On our weekends normally we’d look down on a few rows of cars as people found a spot and decanted onto the coast, hot toddlers and dogs in tow. My Gran used to say that the old cobbled parade ground was filled with American and British troops just before D-Day. She would have looked down on the young faces as they looked out to sea. Round the corner was the Round Tower which has guarded the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour for six hundred years. Smashing up against it was this beach of pebbles and to get to the beach you had to walk through the old walls of the harbour. Fortified and steadfast they seemed rooted into the very depths of the earth. I’d always hear the sea before I caught sight of it, that was the way. The volume always seemed higher there, in amongst the stone walls and towers with their pebbly foundations. The salty spittle of the channel would be another signal you were getting close. We would tiptoe to view the waves and judge their mood, expectant and wondering. On those angry days we’d step into the wind and listen to our tiny voices being swept into the wash. Holding tight to each other or the railings we counted the rollers and tried not to get too wet. The walls buttressed the pulse of the waves and I would be swallowed up by the billowing sound. It was always a thrill. Somedays the temper had abated and the skies clearer and we’d jump down onto the pebbles ready to skim some stones.
Tag: weather
A Late November Day
I can still remember the excitement and noise behind me to this day. I was collecting my class of 32 Year 5 and 6 children from a morning break time during a rather charcoal-streaked-sky day in November. English Novembers are full of Autumnal colours and damp weather, this day was turning into just that, typical of that time of the year.
Perhaps the clamouring and excited voices were about the engaging lesson I had planned? Perhaps they were simply excited about learning with me? Maybe just pleased to see me? In all honesty I didn’t ask any of these questions, because I knew straight away what it was.
The morning had been great so far, I always decided to take each session as it comes but the day had started well. There was even some sunshine casting strained shadows across the car park as I arrived. The morning’s literacy session had been fun and we were enjoying the Shaun Tan work we had been exploring. Assembly, tick. Then break.
Those strained lengths of light that welcomed me to school had gone. Replaced with that charcoal sky. Something else I noticed was how wind had picked up, swirling in amongst the school buildings. The usual twisting leaf and crisp packet flurry buffeted against the Year 2 classrooms as the children went outside. I knew what was in store. I had seen this before and I knew my class.
A quick change of ends and resources prep for the next session, punctuated with a slurp of terrible coffee and I was ready to kick off again. Walking up the slope towards the waiting lines in the top playground I realised my predictions were happening as I suspected. The wind had changed everything and my class were completely different from when i had last seen them.
The calm start to the day had been replaced with exuberance and hyper-excited voices behind me as I led my class back towards the buildings. My mind began whirring as I knew that whatever I had planned needed changing, adapting. I always marvelled at how a change of weather could have such an effect on your class, something I learned the hard way back in my first year of teaching at university. Before everyone had a chance to wipe their feet I was set.
Adjust the sails and press on.