World Environment Day

Miss Patel had planned World Environment Day very carefully.

This was unusual.

Normally, pre-school planning involved surviving until lunch with minimal glue in anyone’s hair.

But today was educational.

Meaningful.

Important.

The children would learn about habitats, wildlife, pollution, and caring for the Earth.

What Miss Patel had not fully accounted for was Barry.

Or Marmaduke.

Or, unfortunately, London.

“Good morning, everyone!” Miss Patel said brightly.

The children sat on the carpet.

Mostly.

Barry was upside down in a beanbag.

“Today,” Miss Patel announced, “is World Environment Day!”

The children cheered because any sentence beginning with Today usually led to crafts.

“We’re going to think about all the habitats we’ve learned about recently.”

Barry raised his hand immediately.

“I know one.”

“Yes, Barry?”

“The penguin room smelled like fish.”

“That is not technically a habitat.”

“It was for the penguins.”

Fair point.

Miss Patel held up pictures from recent trips.

The Sea Life Centre in London.

Butterflies on Hampstead Heath.

The garden centre in Leicestershire.

The children recognised everything instantly.

“Ocean habitat,” Miss Patel explained, showing a shark picture.

Barry nodded wisely.

“Wet.”

“Yes.”

“And bitey.”

“…Sometimes.”

Marmaduke pointed at a jellyfish photo.

“That one looked evil.”

“It was floating peacefully.”

“It looked suspicious.”

Next came butterflies.

Beautiful flowers.

Sunny meadows.

Gentle countryside scenes.

“We learned butterflies need plants and gardens to survive,” Miss Patel said.

Barry raised his hand again.

“We also learned Mum likes nature too much.”

Several children laughed.

Miss Patel decided not to ask further questions.

“And gardens are important habitats too,” she continued.

“What’s a habitat again?” Marmaduke asked.

“It’s a place where animals live safely.”

Barry looked thoughtful.

“So our garden is a pigeon habitat now?”

Miss Patel blinked.

“…Possibly.”

The morning activities began.

The children coloured pictures of forests and oceans.

Made paper flowers.

Sorted animals into habitats.

Barry placed a crab in the desert pile.

Miss Patel gently corrected him.

“Crabs don’t live in deserts.”

Barry shrugged.

“He might be on holiday.”

At snack time, the children discussed pollution.

This was slightly alarming because preschoolers have enormous confidence and very little information.

“Pollution is bad for animals,” Miss Patel explained.

“It makes habitats dirty.”

Barry nodded.

“Like Dad’s car.”

Marmaduke gasped.

“My mum says pigeons are basically pollution.”

Miss Patel nearly inhaled tea.

After lunch, Miss Patel unveiled the afternoon activity.

“We,” she announced bravely, “are going litter picking in the park.”

The children cheered wildly.

Because children hear grabby sticks and lose all sense of proportion.

Each child received:

• Tiny gloves 
• A litter picker 
• A bright safety vest 

Barry looked delighted.

“I look like construction.”

Alfie, passing the nursery gates on the way home from school with his class, stopped briefly.

“You’re litter picking?”

“Yes,” Barry said proudly. “We are saving Earth.”

Alfie nodded approvingly.

“Good.”

Barry held up his grabber.

“I also have a claw now.”

Alfie immediately looked less reassured.

The walk to the nearby park began sensibly enough.

Miss Patel counted children every eleven seconds.

Barry and Marmaduke marched proudly at the front.

Like extremely small environmental activists.

“We must protect nature!” Barry announced.

“FROM RUBBISH!” Marmaduke added.

An elderly dog walker applauded slightly.

At the park entrance, Miss Patel gathered everyone together.

“Remember,” she said carefully, “we only pick up safe litter.”

“What’s unsafe litter?” Barry asked.

“Anything sharp, dirty or dangerous.”

Barry nodded.

“So probably London.”

The children spread out carefully across the grass.

And immediately became far too enthusiastic.

“I FOUND A CRISP PACKET!”

“I GOT A BOTTLE CAP!”

“LOOK! A STRAW!”

The children proudly collected tiny bits of rubbish.

Miss Patel smiled.

This was lovely.

Educational.

Wholesome.

Almost suspiciously wholesome.

Then Barry found The Bag.

It sat underneath a bush near the benches.

Black plastic.

Heavy-looking.

Mysterious.

Exactly the kind of thing Barry could never ignore.

“Miss Patel!” he shouted.

“I found mega litter!”

Miss Patel hurried over.

“What is it?”

Barry poked the bag cautiously with his grabber.

“It’s either rubbish,” he whispered dramatically, “or treasure.”

Marmaduke gasped.

“Open it.”

“No,” said Miss Patel immediately.

Unfortunately, Barry had already partially opened it.

There was silence.

Then all three stared inside.

Miss Patel sighed deeply.

“Oh dear.”

Inside the bag were:

• Two mouldy trainers 
• Several empty beer cans 
• A broken traffic cone 
• Half a sandwich that may once have been egg 
• And, bizarrely, a garden gnome without a head 

Marmaduke looked horrified.

“…Someone murdered Christmas.”

Barry stared at the gnome.

“What happened to his face?”

“No idea,” said Miss Patel quickly.

“We should probably leave it there.”

Another child wandered over.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Disappointment,” Miss Patel muttered quietly.

Barry crouched beside the cone.

“I think this is evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” asked Marmaduke.

Barry lowered his voice.

“Crime.”

Miss Patel decided immediate distraction was necessary.

“Who wants to collect leaves instead?”

Nobody moved.

Barry lifted the traffic cone carefully.

Underneath it was something slimy.

Brown.

Suspiciously alive-looking.

Marmaduke screamed.

Not a huge scream.

But enough.

“It MOVED.”

“It’s just a slug,” Miss Patel sighed.

The slug looked offended by the attention.

Soon the children became fascinated by strange park discoveries.

One found a sock in a tree.

Another found three shopping receipts stuffed into a flower bed.

Barry found half a toy dinosaur with no head.

“It’s archaeology,” he whispered proudly.

“It’s rubbish,” Alfie would have said.

Again, Alfie was wisely elsewhere.

Then came The Truly Horrible Discovery.

Marmaduke pointed towards the duck pond.

“…What is THAT?”

Floating near the reeds was something large and pale.

Miss Patel’s teacher instincts immediately panicked.

The children gathered closer.

Too close.

Far too close.

Barry whispered dramatically, “I think it’s a body.”

“It’s not a body,” Miss Patel said quickly.

“It could be.”

“It absolutely could not.”

The object floated nearer.

Miss Patel prepared herself mentally.

The children stared in fascinated horror.

Then the wind turned it over.

It was a mannequin leg.

Just one leg.

Wearing a trainer.

There was silence.

Even the ducks seemed uncomfortable.

Marmaduke whispered, “…London is weird.”

Miss Patel decided the litter picking activity had perhaps become emotionally advanced for preschool.

“Right!” she announced brightly.

“Time for snacks!”

This is how teachers survive.

By weaponising raisins.

The children sat on picnic blankets eating biscuits while discussing the mannequin leg with alarming excitement.

“I think it escaped from a shop.”

“I think pirates did it.”

“I think,” Barry announced confidently,
“it’s from a robot attack.”

Miss Patel stared into the distance.

As they packed up to leave, Barry noticed something moving beside the bushes.

A tiny hedgehog.

Curled tightly into a ball.

Barry gasped softly.

“A real animal.”

The children gathered quietly.

This time, genuinely quietly.

Miss Patel smiled.

“See? That’s why we keep parks clean.”

The boys watched carefully as the little hedgehog sniffed the grass.

Marmaduke whispered, “It’s cute.”

Barry nodded.

“And not carrying a mannequin leg.”

The walk back to nursery was calmer.

The children proudly carried bags of collected rubbish.

Tiny eco-warriors.

Sticky eco-warriors.

But eco-warriors nonetheless.

Back at pickup time, the parents arrived.

Mrs Brand found Barry proudly wearing his safety vest backwards and carrying a grabber like a weapon.

“How was World Environment Day?”

Barry grinned.

“We saved nature.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“And found crime.”

Mrs Brand paused.

“…What?”

Miss Patel handed Barry over carefully.

“We found some… unusual litter.”

“How unusual?”

Miss Patel stared for a moment.

“…There was a mannequin leg.”

Mrs Brand blinked slowly.

“Of course there was.”

At home later, Dad asked, “What did you learn today?”

Barry answered proudly.

“Habitats are important.”

“Excellent.”

“And London parks contain mysteries.”

Dad nodded cautiously.

“That also sounds accurate.”

Marmaduke, staying for tea again somehow, added,
“We found a dead gnome.”

“Headless,” Barry corrected.

Alfie nearly dropped his fork.

“You found WHAT?”

“A mystery bag.”

“There was a slug too,” Marmaduke added darkly.

Dad leaned back slowly.

“…Miss Patel deserves a pay rise.”

“Yes,” Mum agreed immediately.

That night, Barry looked out at the bird feeder on his bedroom window.

A tiny robin perched quietly in the fading sunlight.

Peaceful.

Gentle.

Normal.

Barry smiled softly.

Nature, he decided, was brilliant.

Sometimes beautiful.

Sometimes strange.

And sometimes full of abandoned mannequin parts.

Which, honestly, felt very London.