I was in the yard this morning and heard a pupil, drenched in the downpour and running under the canopy, exclaim “Oh, my days!”. My customary reaction to this kind of slang is to rush over, a look of horrified concern on my face, and ask the child if their days are okay. I usually get a giggle in response.
Today, however, I watched as 360 pupils assembled themselves under the canopy in the playground in twelve perfect, hushed lines. Those who hadn’t remembered their umbrellas were sopping wet, squeezing water from their hair and patting at their raincoats to drain the drizzle. Then, they took their packs of equipment out of their bags, undid their coats, and waited calmly to lead into school.
And as I watched, I thought. “Oh, my days.”