The children’s voices warmed the chilly air. ‘The snow lay . . . deep and crisp and even . . .’
Ellen clapped her hands.
“Wonderful Class 3a. However, I believe we can do a little bit better. Let’s try it once more.”
Several eight-year olds pouted and one puny boy slumped to the frosty ground, whilst pretending to shoot himself. Ellen ignored the signs of rebellion. Her class had to win this year’s Primary Schools Inter Counties Carol Singing Contest. She would not be beaten again. Her eyes turned heavenwards, hoping for inspiration. Or ‘A Sign’. Perhaps a gaggle of angels dropping in? Instead the grey skies sneezed and decanted their fruits.
“Everyone look. It’s snowing. Your singing has brought it on. How wonderful!”
The flakes drifted onto freckled upturned faces and were siphoned into open mouths. The head teacher strode across the playground.
“Let’s go inside children. Come on now. That’s quite enough for today.”
The pupils surged for the doors in a stream of undiluted joy. The Head turned to Ellen, her eyes as grey as the sky.
“Miss Munro, health and safety rules,we have to keep the children warm. Perhaps you would consider rehearsing in the hall? I know the acoustics aren’t as good but . . .”
Ellen felt a sob raise its unprofessional head. Her inner Gareth Malone totally unappreciated.