Armed Forces Day

Miss Patel liked educational trips.

Educational trips were wonderful.

Children learned things.

Children experienced things.

Children asked questions.

Unfortunately, children also asked questions.

This was particularly true when those children were Barry and Marmaduke.

A few days before Armed Forces Day, Miss Patel arrived at preschool feeling optimistic.

This optimism lasted until approximately 9:17am.

“Today,” she announced during morning circle time, “we are going to the park to learn about Armed Forces Day.”

The children looked interested.

Mostly.

One child was eating a crayon.

Another was trying to put a sticker on his shoe.

Barry’s hand shot up immediately.

“Are there tanks?”

“No.”

“Helicopters?”

“No.”

“Explosions?”

“Definitely not.”

Barry looked disappointed.

Marmaduke looked disappointed because Barry looked disappointed.

Miss Patel continued.

“Armed Forces Day is when we remember and thank the people who help protect our country.”

Alfie would have listened carefully.

Alfie would have absorbed every word.

Alfie, however, was at school learning sensible things.

Barry was present instead.

“So they’re superheroes?” Barry asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Secret agents?”

“No.”

“Ninjas?”

“No.”

Miss Patel sighed.

“They are people who work very hard to help keep everyone safe.”

Barry nodded.

“Superheroes then.”

Half an hour later the preschool class set off towards the local park.

Children wore sun hats.

Teachers carried water bottles.

Several naive parents had volunteered to help. Mr and Mrs Brand, and Marjory, were demonstrably absent.

Miss Patel carried enough emergency supplies to survive a small natural disaster.

Experience had taught her this was wise.

The commemorative obelisk stood near the centre of the park.

Tall and pale stone.

Neat flower beds around the base.

A quiet place for reflection.

Or at least it was supposed to be.

“Everybody stay together,” called Miss Patel.

The children immediately spread out like dropped marbles.

Barry and Marmaduke raced ahead.

Then stopped suddenly.

“What’s an obelisk?” Marmaduke asked.

Barry considered.

“A giant pencil.”

“It does look like a giant pencil.”

Miss Patel overheard.

“No, it isn’t.”

The boys nodded politely.

Then continued calling it the giant pencil.

The class gathered around.

Miss Patel explained what memorials were.

How people remembered important events.

Why communities came together.

The children listened surprisingly well.

For nearly three minutes.

A preschool record.

Then Barry spotted some pigeons.

Pigeons are to Barry what shiny treasure is to pirates.

Impossible to ignore.

He immediately wandered off.

Marmaduke followed.

Because if Barry marched into a volcano carrying a sandwich, Marmaduke would probably ask whether he needed ketchup.

“Come back here,” called Miss Patel.

The boys returned.

Reluctantly.

A local veteran had volunteered to speak to the children.

He wore medals on his jacket.

He smiled kindly.

And he possessed the confidence of a man who had probably dealt with much more difficult situations than preschoolers.

At least initially.

“My name is Mr Thompson,” he said.

“I was in the Army.”

Barry’s hand shot up.

“Did you fight dragons?”

Mr Thompson blinked.

“No.”

“Pirates?”

“No.”

“Dinosaurs?”

“No.”

Barry looked disappointed.

“What did you fight?”

Mr Thompson laughed.

Miss Patel looked relieved.

For a while the visit went beautifully.

Mr Thompson explained teamwork.

Helping others.

Looking after people.

Working together.

Important lessons.

Valuable lessons.

The sort of thing educational visits were designed for.

Then he showed the children a photograph of a large military vehicle.

Barry’s eyes widened.

“THAT’S A TANK.”

“It isn’t actually a tank.”

“It’s tank-shaped.”

This was difficult to argue with.

Soon the children were invited to lay small paper poppies around the memorial.

A lovely activity.

Quiet.

Thoughtful.

Respectful.

Barry knelt carefully.

Placed his poppy down.

Looked at it.

Thought for a moment.

Then whispered:

“Thank you for not fighting dinosaurs.”

Miss Patel decided this probably came from a good place.

The real trouble began shortly afterwards.

As it often did.

The children were allowed a few minutes to explore nearby under supervision.

There were trees.

Benches.

Flower beds.

Birds.

Interesting things.

Marmaduke discovered a good stick.

Now, many children find sticks.

Most children think:

“That’s a stick.”

Then they move on.

Barry thought:

“This stick clearly belongs to a military commander.”

Within seconds he was marching around the grass.

“LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT!”

Marmaduke found another stick.

“AM I A COMMANDER TOO?”

“YES.”

They began leading an entirely imaginary army.

Several other preschool children joined immediately.

Miss Patel watched in horror as six tiny commanders charged around the park shouting orders.

“No attacking!” she called.

“We’re defending!”

Barry shouted back.

“What are you defending?”

Barry looked around.

“The giant pencil.”

The obelisk had become a strategic military asset.

Naturally.

Soon the imaginary battle expanded.

Pigeons became enemy spies.

Squirrels became reconnaissance units.

A nearby Labrador became a cavalry officer.

The Labrador remained unaware of his promotion.

Mr Thompson watched all this and laughed so hard he had to sit down.

“They’ve certainly understood teamwork.”

Miss Patel wasn’t entirely convinced.

Eventually it was lunchtime.

The children settled on picnic blankets.

Sandwiches appeared.

Juice cartons emerged.

Peace descended.

Briefly.

Barry stared thoughtfully at his cheese sandwich.

Then at the memorial.

Then back at his sandwich.

“Do you think soldiers liked cheese sandwiches?”

“Probably,” said Miss Patel.

Barry nodded.

“I would.”

This seemed reasonable.

Marmaduke agreed.

“Cheese sandwiches are worth defending.”

Several children nodded.

An unexpected consensus emerged.

The afternoon involved drawing pictures of what they had learned.

Miss Patel hoped for poppies.

Memorials.

Flags.

Thoughtful reflections.

Alfie would definitely have drawn a careful commemorative scene.

Barry drew:

• A giant tank.
• Three dinosaurs.
• An army of squirrels.
• A cheese sandwich.

“Can you explain your picture?” asked Miss Patel.

Barry pointed proudly.

“The squirrel regiment saved the sandwich.”

Mr Thompson nearly choked laughing.

Even Miss Patel smiled.

As the visit ended, the children gathered one final time around the memorial.

The park had grown quieter.

The afternoon sun shone on the stone.

For a moment, everyone stood still.

Even Barry.

Even Marmaduke.

Mr Thompson spoke gently.

“It’s important to remember people who help others.”

The children nodded.

That message, at least, landed perfectly.

On the walk back to preschool, Barry held Marmaduke’s hand.

“Do you think being brave is hard?” he asked.

“Probably.”

“I think helping people is brave.”

“Me too.”

Miss Patel overheard and smiled.

Perhaps they had learned something after all.

Back at preschool, parents arrived for collection.

Mrs Brand appeared first.

“How was your day?”

Barry grinned.

“I commanded an army.”

Mrs Brand sighed. Of course he had.

“What did you actually learn?”

Barry thought carefully.

“Being brave isn’t always fighting.”

Mrs Brand looked pleasantly surprised.

“That’s very good.”

Barry nodded.

“And squirrels are excellent soldiers.”

There it was. The educational moment had lasted nearly six whole seconds.

A new family record.

That evening, as Barry told Dad and Alfie all about Armed Forces Day, the story grew steadily larger.

By bedtime, the squirrels had become elite commandos.

The pigeons were definitely spies.

The Labrador had received several promotions.

And the giant pencil had apparently been saved from destruction.

Alfie listened patiently, then asked, “So what was the memorial actually for?”

Barry paused.

“Oh.”

There was a long silence.

Then he smiled.

“People who helped others.”

Alfie nodded approvingly.

“That’s the important bit.”

Barry grinned.

“Even if they didn’t fight any dinosaurs.”