A rock and a spoon

On Friday I said goodbye to my small group of students, as I was leaving and moving to another school.

I have worked with some of these young people since September, and others since November, January and March, when they joined during the academic year. My old school is a small, alternative provision, and my role within it was teaching those young people who have struggled to attend mainstream education due to severe mental health difficulties, the group we no longer call 'school refusers' or 'school phobic'. On the whole, the young people in the Cottage were quieter, more introverted (though not always), tended to have undiagnosed or recently diagnosed special educational needs, and almost all of these were somewhere on a broadly neurodivergent spectrum. They particularly needed a calm, predictable and easily controlled environment where they would feel enclosed and secure, a place to grow from.

I had been thinking for many weeks, if not months, how I was going to manage my leaving them. I knew it was going to be hard, particularly as my health has not been very reliable over the last few months, and I have not been in the class with them as much as I would have liked during this time. So I wondered and fretted. How do you leave a group of children who have such fragile self-worth and huge issues with abandonment and loss?

I spoke to a good friend of mine, a child and adolescent therapist in the USA.

"How do I do this, Liz?" I messaged her one night, as I failed to sleep. "I want to give them something, something that is a kind of continuity of presence, a part of me, something to hold onto. I hate that I am leaving them. I know that I must. How on earth can I make this into something good?"

As always, her reply was measured, wise and helpful.

"Your class have only ever experienced leavings and endings as distressing, traumatic events. You leaving will not take away what you have already given them, and you can use this to help them to have a positive ending and a good goodbye. You will find a way to give them a good ending."

I was not so sure, as I struggle myself with endings, something that has been a challenge for me at the best of times.

I planned to talk to my class at the beginning of the week, a few weeks before my leaving date. I wanted to give them time and opportunity to be angry or sad or annoyed and disappointed with me, so that we could talk about it and they could tell me how they felt. Unfortunately, life had other plans, and I was then off work sick, and so my headteacher (with my support) spoke to them all instead. She did it well, but I wished it had been me. And at home instead, unwell, I put my mind to thinking about a goodbye gift and how to do that instead.

In years gone by, I have made things: painted pebbles, wooden badges, cakes, paper bags of things to do, photographs and poems. This year, I simply wasn't well enough to do any of those things, and I was gutted. These children need the most significant tokens, the best and the most profound gifts of caring and love. What on earth was I going to give to them?

You may be wondering why on earth it felt like such a big deal. After all, children move class every year and teachers come and go. And you would be right. But every single one of my children in my group have come from a place where they have not been in school for whole terms and years, and my classroom has been the first safe school environment (to them), possibly ever. For some of them, it is the first safe environment, period.

So I had a good think, and I asked myself these questions:

• What do I want to give my pupils?

• Why do I want to give this to them?

• How can I do this without spending money or time or energy?

My answers were quite simple:

• I want to give my pupils the knowledge that no matter what, I will be holding them in mind, that they matter, they are important always, not forgotten.

• I want to give them something to hold onto physically if they want, to pop in a pocket, to use to ground themselves, to remind themselves of the positive, real things in life.

• I want to give them something that they know only I would give them, to represent that individual and unique connection that exists between two people.

• I want to give these things to them because I want my presence with them to have counted positively for them, for the sadness to be a good sadness and for them to learn to cope with sad feelings safely.

• I will give them, not part of me (as I explained to them later, there are laws prohibiting this for very good reason, plus ew) but things of me, of mine.

And so fast forward to Friday lunchtime, and I am in the Nurture Cottage with my gang. It is delightful, there are crisps and cake and Dr Pepper to drink. I have brought strawberries and cream, and everyone is kind of together in a room, unsure of quite how this is going to go.

My group have all made me cards and written me little messages, which I love. There are flowers and we are all a bit emotional, and so I dig into my bag for the gifts that I have finally, on that morning, decided to bring them. And I start to tell them why.

So, my lovely people, I have some gifts for you here. No, don't get too excited, because you haven't seen them yet, and they are, as you'd expect, very me, and so they are rather peculiar. But I want you to bear with me, because there is a very good reason for both of the things I am going to give you.

I brought out a basket of little parcels of fabric - my old bedroom curtain torn into squares - wrapped around pebbles and rocks that I had picked up on my last beach trip to Scotland.

"Hahaha! It's rocks, isn't it?" guessed one of my class

Why yes, it is rocks. You know me so well. Rocks and pebbles are some of my favourite things, as you will have noticed in this classroom. But here is why I love them:

Rocks feel lovely in your hand. They are incredibly old. In order to make some of them, they had to be squashed down hard, put under incredible pressure. They have been squeezed against one another, under the sea, under other rocks. And they have been tumbled about under water. They have been made smaller, smoother, they have broken, they have split, they have joined together with other broken rocks. Some have travelled very far indeed.

Effie helping me hunt for interesting rocks and pebbles

And through all of this terrible treatment, rough and without any care for the rock, it just continues to exist. There it is. Your pebble.Just like every other rock, and different to every other rock. You can hold it, squeeze it, carry it for luck, put it in your pocket, or you can drop it and lose it.

Because here's the thing about gifts, kids, it isn't the 'thing' that matters, it's the giving of the thing. When someone gives us a gift, it is that act of giving, of thought and the tangible token of care that we appreciate. If we love the thing too, then that is an extra joy! So when someone gives you something, don't worry if you hate the actual thing, say thank you, be grateful for the giving, and yes, pass on the thing to someone else guilt-free.

Which takes me to the second of the gifts I would like to give you. I chose the pebbles and rocks on the beach, for their interesting shapes or colours or textures or both. But they didn't belong to me, I simply collected them and gave them to you. I have brought another collection however, and these do belong to me. And I would like to give them to you, one each.

Holding up my cotton bag full of this collection, I give it a little shake. It jingles.

What do you think I have collected here? These are also one of my favourite things in the world.

"It's SPOONS ISN'T IT?!" shouts my quietest student

Of course it is. Excellent guessing. Spoons. [students shake their heads at each other and at me] So please, let me tell you why I want to give you each a spoon today.

These spoons are all silver. They are all old, and they come from my house. My family and I have used them all. I have collected them over the years, from charity shops and car boot sales, because I love old spoons and the sense of history that comes with each one. Some are quite tarnished and need a good polish. Some have got some bits where the silver has rubbed off. They all have slightly different designs and feels to them. I want you to pick one out from the bag, and pass it around. Don't look at your spoon, just rummage for it. Which one feels nice in your hand? Got one? Then that's the one for you!

Spoons are wonderful things. We serve up food with them, we give the food we make to those we wish to nurture and feed. We use spoons to nurture and feed ourselves too. We literally help ourselves with spoons, carefully giving our bodies what we need. We help others, we serve others. They can be used to give medicine, to measure out ingredients. You can stir with a spoon and mix it all up, you can create havoc, you can smooth things out. But above all things, a spoon gives, a spoon holds, and a spoon is about love. And so I want to give you one of my spoons, that you can use, or you can not use, you can keep, or you can give away. Because my gift is the giving, and I hope that the spoon is a bonus.

So please accept a little rock and an old silver spoon from me, as a token of my care for you and this time together. May you feel grounded as you move forward, and feel strong enough to help yourself and to help others, knowing that I will be thinking about you, as always.

And unusually, nobody interrupted. Everybody took a spoon. And then we ate our strawberries with them.