A momentous day in the life of the boy on the farm in the middle of the M62

Last week was a slightly emotional one as the little guy waved goodbye to Junior school for the last time.

We enjoyed a final assembly in the local church where the whole of his year sang their hearts out in amongst performing various comedy sketches the kids had put together.

In the evening they celebrated on the school field with more music, singing and plenty of hotdogs and burgers.

The very last day arrived and instead of waiting for him outside the school gates, I decided to meet him at the classroom door that afternoon.

Despite having spent four quite difficult years there, never feeling like he fitted in and struggling immensely with the confines of a classroom, I expected there to be perhaps the odd tear or moment of reflection at this important part of his childhood coming to a close.

As the children poured out from the classrooms, their emotions surfaced and soon the playground was filled with kids and parents crying.

Eventually the little guy appeared, a slightly puzzled expression spreading across his face as he took in the mass of sobbing classmates around him.

He spotted me and pushed through the crowds, arm aloft. I reached up, our hands connecting in a resounding slap as we “high fived “.

I studied his face, wondering if he too would be overcome with emotion. But he was dry eyed, a calm defiance etched into his face.

“I’m done. Free,” he said.

And that was that. He spun away from me and marched up the drive, a new found confidence in his step.

I followed at a distance, letting him stride on ahead until he disappeared in the mass of waiting parents.

I choked back my own emotions, pride intermingled with sadness as I struggled to let go of this part of his young life. But just like that, my little boy was gone.

With a settled period of high pressure and some real warmth emanating from above, we’ve got plenty of hay down, drying nicely in the fields.

After an incredibly difficult year, weather wise, it’s wonderful to see the countryside come alive with tractors buzzing up and down, great trailers loaded with bale upon bale of sweet hay.

The warm air carries those heady scents of summer, cut grass and late summer flowers drifting in the gentle breeze, intoxicating and so very British.

The days are long and tiring in the hot and dusty fields where the little guy spends most of his time.

He knows every tree, shrub and flower, recognises every bird soaring in the blue skies or perched in the hawthorn. None of this was learnt in a classroom, but out in the fields or striding across the moors with his dog by his side.

I’m glad he has this time to grow and blossom before the next even more challenging part of his life begins.

High School.