Unsung Heroes – Lollipop Men and Women
Is there a Lollipop Man or Woman on your road to school? Do you know his or her name?
When I take my children to school, we walk if we can, because the parking situation near the school is a bit difficult. On our way we cross the road where the Lollipop Man stands guard.
He isn’t particularly talkative, but is friendly and helpful. It has been warm these past days, and still he stands, in his reflective jacket and ear-muffed reflective hat. I am waiting for him to take the hat off, he must be sweltering under there. Perhaps he has a lighter hat in his cupboard, which doesn’t get worn until summer.
What is Home Education Really Like?
My name is Alys. I’m nearly thirteen years old. I’ve been home educated since I was nine, but before I went to a Montessori school I was home educated.
Where did the Word Butterfly Come From?
Millie explained recently what etymology means, and fitting to this week’s theme of Jump! Into Biology, we are are asking ‘where did the word butterfly come from?’.
Who hasn’t seen a butterfly flitting by and enjoyed seeing the flutter of its wings? But have you ever considered why it came to be called “butterfly”? Perhaps you have wondered whether there used to be a large number of yellow, butter-coloured butterflies who gave their name to the whole species?
Well, there is a nice little story attached to the name of the butterfly. In the past, there was a general belief that butterflies ate milk and butter. This probably came about because of the way that flies hover over any food at all that’s left out, and butterflies may have been seen hovering over uncovered pails of milk and butter. Not only that, but this belief developed to encompass the idea that butterflies were either sent out by witches to steal butter, or were in fact, witches themselves, disguised as butterflies. Quite why the witches were out to steal the butter, we don’t know!
Stories from the Stables Part 2 – Topper. Ouch!
Our Stories from the Stables series from Carolyn Ward continues with a flea-bitten grey with a shocking attitude.
Topper. I swear that pony could scowl.
It was my week to ride him, and I had just hauled him all the way down to the outdoor school and stood him in the middle to check his girth and stirrups. As I reached under to tighten up the girth he turned his head toward me and eyeballed me, then stepped over with his nearside foreleg; and stamped on my left foot.
I hissed a very rude word and frantically pushed him to move him off. My foot sunk into the woodchip surface with his heavy weight crushing it down. By now he was still looking directly at me, so I started punching his shoulder to try and get him to step off. Today’s teacher was a crosspatch I have no fond memories of; if she had found out about it I’d have been bawled out for having my foot in the wrong place or something.