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Word Count: 1,010
Schools dont smell the same as they used to I thought to myself as I sat outside my sons primary school class I was waiting to see his teacher Mrs Honeycomb This was my first parents evening As I sat just outside room four my gaze wandered to the wall opposite The large clock at the end of the corridor told me that Mrs Honeycomb was running at least ten minutes behind her schedule I wondered if all clocks installed in schools were standard issue as they all looked and sounded the same Heavy black rim large white face with black numerals and the loudest tick tock possible The magnolia painted walls was barely visible underneath the colourful displays of the childrens class work The thickly covered paintings were curling at the edges despite the efforts of four extra large lumps of blue tack The door opened a smiling couple emerged clutching a wad of precious paintings A very tall and very young Miss Honeycomb followed them Lukes Mom Do come on in she said cheerfully Miss Honeycomb led me over to a group of very small melamine-topped tables and chairs On top of the tables was an assortment of coloured plastic trays Each tray bore the name of a child and was packed to capacity with sheets of paper and books How different it all seemed to my first school The first thing that I had noticed was the smell In my school days the desks were made of wood with hinged lids to keep all your work in They smelled of beeswax which was lovingly applied by Mrs Knox the caretakers wife The parquet flooring had a glossy surface built up over the years by the same loving attention as the desks but this time supplied by Mr Knox the caretaker The pale yellow walls had been festooned with paintings attached with bright brass drawing
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