The hall that afternoon was packed. It seemed that practically every parent, grandparent, sibling and cousin had turned out to watch the performance of the year. In fact, it was so full that I thought there were going to be fisticuffs over the last chair but as Beamish dimmed the lights and the music began, everyone settled down and a hush fell over the audience.

I hovered in the wings making running repairs to costumes, handing out props and jollying along those who looked as if they were about to deliver something other than their lines. Mr Patterson didn’t miss a beat at the piano and by the final rousing chorus of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’, there was barely a dry eye to be seen.

The painted manger had pride of place centre stage and the spotlight shining on it made my face flush all the more as I thought about what had almost happened after its makeover. I wondered if Beamish was thinking along the same lines, but hidden behind the lights his face was in shadow so I couldn’t see, which was probably just as well.

Mr Matthews stood up and made a wonderful speech thanking the children for their enthusiastic performances and the staff for putting in so much effort to make the afternoon one to remember. He was keen to remind the audience that everyone had gone above and beyond this academic year and that the perceived lengthy school holidays were often anything but for the staff when there was so much work to do behind the scenes before and after the official term dates. His speech raised a few parents’ eyebrows but the staff looked delighted to have their efforts so publicly acknowledged.

‘And as it’s not too early in the afternoon,’ Mr Matthews announced, closing his speech, ‘if you would like to wait in the usual place outside, we’ll get the children changed and let them out to you straightaway.’

A cheer went up from the children who were still assembled on the stage and I knew there would be a mad rush to see who could be out of the door and home first.

‘How are you getting on?’ Rose asked, as she popped into class a little while later. ‘Everyone gone?’

‘I’ve just let the last one go,’ I told her, as I folded up the few remaining pieces of costumes which had been left behind in the push to get out the door. For a few minutes it had been bedlam, the classroom caught up in a maelstrom of discarded clothes and mismatched shoes. ‘Poor Daisy had to wait until three fifteen because her parents couldn’t get time off work to come.’