An unpretentious little train
Scarcely a fire breathing dragon
Then I was not bound for Hogwarts
But to the affected calm of St Mary’s

Spring was hardly in the air
Her small advances rejected
Abandoned in frosted fields
and the sleeping hedgerows.

Reunion; but why after ten years
and why in the depths of February
Would I remember their names, the faces?
The cold window glass reflected my mood,
-------------------

Squeals and hugs from remembered friends
Meaningless cheek pecks from the forgotten
The Head held out her hand in welcome
Should I still address her as Miss?

Camera snaps of sun and ski holidays
Sticky babies, reluctant infants exchanged
to admiring cries and fumbling in bags
For their own contribution

Hetty found me on the edge of the crowd
“Come on, let’s explore the old dump”
Through empty corridors, past deserted classrooms
Then out to the playing fields

Beyond the hockey pitch, in her winter dress
stark against the Dorset hills stood the Big One
“Young ladies should never climb trees but we did”
“Yes” said Hetty. “You were good Tuppence”
“You were better” I said

“Sad isn’t it, we’ll never climb another tree”
“Miss Bradshaw didn’t approve when we did”
I looked across at the sparkle in her eyes
“No!! We couldn’t”.
“Yes we bloody could” cried Hetty

Hand in hand across the playing field
Two twenty something’s clad in sensible skirts
and most unsubtle footwear, ran towards the Big One.
A poem from a feminine prospective written by a father of four girls. I just like a challenge