She Was There First
Margaret Winslow woke at five in the morning, just like always. Forty years at the factory had trained her body too well—even three years into retirement, her old habits hadn’t faded. Moving quietly so as not to wake her husband, Albert, she padded into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Outside, the sky was still dark, but she knew dawn wasn’t far off.
Today was special. Today was the first of September, and her granddaughter Lily was starting primary school. Honestly, Margaret was more nervous than the little girl herself. She’d spent the entire week fussing over the uniform, double-checking the school bag, counting exercise books. Albert just shook his head and told her she’d gone completely barmy.
“What’s all this flapping about for?” he grumbled. “Our lad managed just fine on his own. Survived, didn’t he?”
“I want to be there first,” Margaret replied. “First to see her at the school gates, first to wish her luck.”
Albert didn’t quite understand his wife’s determination. Grandmothers, in his mind, usually just got in the way of these things. But Margaret remembered—thirty years ago, when she’d sent their son Peter off to his first day, she’d been working double shifts, barely home before dark. It had been Peter’s gran, her own mother, who’d walked him in. And Margaret? She’d stood by the factory gates and cried into her handkerchief.
“Don’t take on so,” her neighbour Doris had told her back then. “Your boy’ll grow up, have bairns of his own, and then you’ll get your turn.”
Well, now it *was* her turn.
The tea brewed strong and fragrant. She poured herself a cup into her favourite rose-patterned mug and sat at the table. On the windowsill stood three bouquets—one from the market yesterday, another picked from the garden, and the third, rather sheepishly presented by Albert the night before. “Ruddy nonsense,” he’d muttered, but he’d brought it home all the same.
“Three’s a bit much, isn’t it?” she’d said.
“What if there’s more than one teacher?” Albert had shrugged. “You never know.”
By seven, she was already under the shower. She put on her best dress—the blue one with white polka dots, saved for special occasions—did her hair, dabbed on a bit of lipstick. The mirror reflected a smartly dressed woman with bright, anxious eyes.
“Blimey, you off on a date or something?” Albert yawned as he woke.
“Want to look nice for Lily,” she said.
“You always do,” he muttered into his pillow.
At half seven, Peter called.
“Mum, we’re setting off. Lily’s in a right state—hardly slept a wink.”
“I haven’t slept at all,” Margaret admitted. “Heading to the school now. I’ll wait for her.”
“Mum, assembly’s not till nine.”
“I know. But I want to be first.”
Peter sighed. He’d long since accepted his mother’s quirks. Ever since Lily was born, Margaret had seemed ten years younger—racing about with the little one, taking her to nursery, the playground, spoiling her rotten. Peter and his wife Emily could only watch in amused bewilderment.
“All right, Mum. Just don’t catch your death—it’s nippy out.”
Margaret gathered the bouquets, stuffed her handbag with sweets for Lily, and set off. The school was a fifteen-minute walk, but she took her time, savouring the quiet morning and the anticipation.
At the school gates, another woman already stood waiting, clutching a bouquet. Margaret’s heart sank—so much for being first. Then she recognised her neighbour, Mrs. Pritchard from number twelve.
“You here for the little ones too?” Margaret asked.
“My grandson’s starting today,” Mrs. Pritchard nodded. “And you?”
“My Lily.”
They stood together, chatting about children, school, how quickly time flew. Mrs. Pritchard was pleasant company—a retired nurse from the local surgery.
“You know,” she confessed, “I always dreamed of seeing my grandkids off to school. My Susan married late—thought I’d never live to see the day.”
“Opposite for me,” Margaret said. “Couldn’t be there for Peter—worked too much. Now I’m making up for it.”
More grandparents trickled in, all smartly dressed, clutching flowers, buzzing with nerves. Margaret watched them and thought—each had their own reason for being here.
There was Mrs. Hawkins from down the road, raising her granddaughter alone after her daughter died in a car crash. Little Sophie was shy, and Mrs. Hawkins fretted she’d struggle.
“How’s Sophie holding up?” Margaret asked.
“Bricking it,” Mrs. Hawkins admitted. “Thinks the others’ll laugh at her dress. But it’s lovely—I sewed it myself.”
“Kids aren’t like that,” Mrs. Pritchard reassured her. “She’ll find her feet.”
Then came Mr. Thompson, a stranger with a towering bunch of gladioli. His granddaughter was adopted—he and his wife had taken her in from foster care.
“Our Katie’s sharp as a tack,” he said proudly. “Reads already, counts to a hundred. Just needs to come out of her shell.”
“She’ll settle,” Margaret said. “They always do.”
By half eight, parents and children arrived. Margaret spotted Peter, Emily, and Lily—the little girl in a crisp white blouse, navy skirt, and hair ribbons, clutching a brand-new backpack patterned with unicorns.
“Gran!” Lily shrieked, sprinting over.
“My little love!” Margaret hugged her tight. “Nervous?”
“A bit. Why’re you here so early?”
“Wanted to be first to see you.”
Lily nestled close. She’d always been Margaret’s shadow—baked fairy cakes with her, listened to stories, while her parents were always at work.
“Thanks for coming, Mum,” Peter said. “She’s calmer now.”
Emily nodded gratefully—she worked at the bank, often late, and Margaret was their rock.
“Gran, look at my bag!” Lily swung it round.
“Smashing! What’s inside?”
“Books, pencils, crayons. And Mummy put biscuits in.”
Margaret slipped a bag of sweets into her pocket. “For bravery.”
“Mum, don’t spoil her,” Emily started, but Peter cut in.
“Let her. Big day.”
The schoolyard swarmed with families. Teachers flitted about, checking lists. Margaret noticed the young reception teacher—Miss Harrison—looking every bit as nervous as the children. Fresh out of university, this was her first class.
“She’s just a bairn herself,” Mrs. Pritchard whispered.
“She’ll do fine,” Margaret said. “Seemed lovely at the parents’ evening.”
Assembly began. The headteacher spoke, older pupils performed, and the little ones stood wide-eyed in their smart uniforms.
Margaret couldn’t take her eyes off Lily—chin up, no tears, though she kept glancing back to check Gran was still there.
When the bell rang, parents ushered children inside. Margaret wanted to follow, but Peter stopped her.
“Go home, Mum. We’ll tell you all about it later.”
But she couldn’t leave. Lingering in the yard with other grandparents, all too wired to go home.
“Proper nervous wrecks, aren’t we?” Mrs. Hawkins laughed. “Like we’re the ones starting school.”
“Hands won’t stop shaking,” Mrs. Pritchard admitted.
Mr. Thompson smoked by the fence. “My Katie’s in there all alone,” he fretted.
“She’ll be grand,” Margaret said. “Kids adapt.”
Half an hour later, parents emerged. Peter and Emily looked chuffed.
“How’d she do?” Margaret pounced.
“Brilliant! Sat next to a girl named Sophie—thick as thieves already. Teacher says she’s ahead of the lot.”
“No tears?”
“Not a peep. Beamed when she saw us.”
Margaret exhaled. Lily had done it—her first day down.
“Mum, come home. Emily got a cake—we’ll celebrate.”
“No,” Margaret said. “I’ll wait. Want to meet her after.”
“Mum, they finish at noon!”
“I’ll manage.”
Peter and Emily left. Margaret stayed, along with a handful of others—none ready to abandon their posts.
“Y’know,” Mrs. Pritchard said, “we’re not half bad, are we? First there, last to leave.”
“True,” Mrs. Hawkins smiled. “I remember my gran walking me in—still think of it fondly.”
“Couldn’t do it for Peter,” Margaret said softly. “Hurts, even now. That’s why this matters.”
At noon, children spilled out. Lily spotted Margaret instantly.
“Gran! You waited!”
“Course I did. How was it?”
“Amazing! Miss Harrison’s nice, Sophie’s my best friend, we drew pictures!”As they walked home hand in hand, Lily chattering a mile a minute about her wonderful day, Margaret smiled to herself—knowing that sometimes, being there first meant more than just arriving early—it meant showing up when it mattered most.
