THE slightly anxious faces approaching the reception doors, leading towards crammed corridors inside, say it all.
January, with its infinite possibilities, offers renewal and reinvigoration; resolutions steadfastly put in place, a silver bullet for the soul all that is asked in return.
Yet for those about to make a huge leap in learning, and in life, January can look a little bit different. Open day season, when schools put on their best face to impress parents and pupils alike, offers a window into a brave new world.
It can be a time of huge excitement and unrivalled anticipation. It can also be daunting, disconcerting, even downright terrifying.
Change affects us all in different ways, and that transition from primary school’s embryonic embrace to big school’s great unknown can feel overwhelming when stood in size one shoes.
Watching my 10-year-old daughter walk wide-eyed from one classroom to the next last weekend, processing an information overload, was a reminder of how precious primary school’s age of innocence truly is - and the indelible mark teachers leave on so many who pass through their hands.
At St Joseph’s, Carryduff in the early 1990s, Edmund Collins saw us through the 11-plus years of P6 and P7 - but to distil his influence down to academic output would be to do him an almighty disservice.
Because Mr Collins was something special; a quirky character who, although small in stature, had a towering imagination that opened up worlds and realms, granting him the gift of bringing learning to life every time he set foot in a classroom.
Patsy Fitzsimons, principal of St Joseph’s back then, knew what he was getting before he even met the man.
Made redundant by St Paul’s PS in west Belfast as fiscal reality bit hard on the education sector, Mr Collins was in search of work as the 1980s neared their end.
Patsy sounded out Grace Cunningham, a St Paul’s teacher whose husband Martin worked at St Joseph’s, about the possible new recruit.
“I remember exactly what Grace said,” recalls Patsy, “if you can get Edmund Collins, you move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
St Pauls’ loss was very much St Josephs’ gain.
Back then Carryduff was a little more isolated from Belfast than now and, with Downpatrick man Patsy at the helm, as well as teachers like Mr Cunningham from down the road rather than up, St Joseph’s was a city school with a country heart.
Mr Collins couldn’t have been more at home.
And while always attentive and encouraging when it came to the serious business of exam preparation, he sprung to life when eager young eyes were upon him.
That’s why, over 30 years on, I can still see him standing behind his desk in the mobile just beyond the entrance gate – when his eyes narrowed, and he started nudging at his nostril with his knuckle, you knew something good was coming.
From there our heads would be filled full of yarns about leprechauns, gremlins in the bin or elephants on the loose, roaming around the school’s bottom pitch, all delivered with just enough conviction to leave at least a little bit of doubt in impressionable minds.
Football played a big part too. During Euro ‘92, with exams long behind us, Mr Collins organised a tournament on the top pitch that would run on for weeks – this was after the school day was done yet still he would occasionally join in, just to show he still had it, with the prize a gleaming trophy for the winners.
And even when things didn’t run smoothly, there was often an unorthodox solution to be found. On one occasion, with a school trip to Edinburgh just weeks away, a class-mate punched another after an altercation during a football match. It was not his first such indiscretion.
However, rather than send the offending party to the principal’s office, Mr Collins set up a court in class to decide if he would get to Edinburgh - playing out an OJ Simpson-style trial over the course of a couple of days.
Eventually acquitted of all charges (some jurors may have been bought), he boarded the bus with the rest of us for an unforgettable trip to the Scottish capital – Mr Collins chanting the old scouts classic ‘kumala vista’, adapted to ‘kumala pizza’, to help pass the time.
Another day, the entire class set digital alarms to go off at the same time, before secretly stashing the string of watches inside Mr Collins’ storeroom. It must have taken him 10 minutes to locate them and, across the entire two years, this was the only time his voice raised in anger.
However, when we met years later - on a ferry to France with his beloved wife Fiona - he admitted a begrudging admiration for our ingenuity.
For all the haze that has filled the intervening years, those days, those memories, remain crystal clear. And any time our paths crossed, whether at the annual American Tea or halfway across the Irish Sea, the glint in his eye remained.
That’s why it made me smile when, five years ago, I was at my son’s playgroup to watch his nativity. When the last chorus of ‘Little Donkey’ was over, Santa bounded up from the back of the hall, ho-ho-ho-ing as he handed out selection boxes.
Now, this Santa was a bit smaller than the regular Santa. The gait was familiar too, yet still nothing clicked – until Santa grabbed hold of the microphone.
“Hello everybody,” he bellowed, hopping from one foot to the other, “you’ll never guess where I’ve just come from?! That’s right, all the way from Timbuctoo – except, on the way, a group of fairies tried to take down my sleigh…”
The story took flight from there - adults laughing along as another group of children were held spellbound. The same sense of mischief, of fun, of make-believe madness; it was great to see him work his magic once more.
Edmund Collins sadly passed away on Christmas Day. His is an unimaginable loss to Fiona, his wider family circle and the entire Carryduff community, as people travelled from far and wide to pay their respects - all arriving with stories of their own, leaving armed with even more.
That kind of impact, and the affection in which he was held, can never be quantified; the significance of a teacher’s role, especially at that golden age, never taken for granted. Mr Collins just got it.
We know how lucky we were.
