She Was the First One
Winifred Whitmore rose at five in the morning, as she always had. Forty years of factory work had left their mark, even though she’d been retired for three years now. Moving quietly so as not to wake her husband, Edward, she padded into the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. Outside, the sky was still dark, but she knew dawn would soon break.
Today was special. Today was the first of September, and her granddaughter, Emily, was starting primary school. Winifred fussed more than the little girl herself. All week, she’d rearranged Emily’s school uniform in the wardrobe, checked her satchel, and counted the exercise books. Edward merely shook his head and muttered that she was losing her mind.
“What’s all this rushing about for?” he grumbled. “Our Christopher walked to school just fine, didn’t he?”
“I want to be the first,” Winifred replied. “The first to meet her at the gate, the first to congratulate her.”
Edward didn’t understand his wife’s insistence. To him, grandparents only got in the way on such occasions. But Winifred remembered all too well Christopher’s first day—thirty years ago—when she’d been working double shifts and only ever came home late. It had been her own mother, Granny Marjorie, who’d taken him that morning. Winifred had stood by the factory gates and wept with regret.
“Don’t cry,” her neighbour, Margaret, had told her back then. “Your boy will grow, have children of his own, and then you’ll make it up to them.”
Now was her chance.
The tea steeped strong and fragrant. Winifred poured herself a cup—her favourite, patterned with little roses—and sat at the table. On the windowsill stood three bouquets: one bought from the market yesterday, the second picked from her own garden, and the third brought home by Edward the previous evening. He’d been sheepish about it, calling it “silly nonsense,” but he’d given it to her all the same.
“Three bouquets is too many,” she told him.
“What if there’s more than one teacher?” Edward shrugged. “Best be prepared.”
By seven, Winifred was under the shower. She put on her best frock, the one with tiny white polka dots on navy blue, saved for special occasions. She fixed her hair and dabbed on a bit of lipstick. The mirror reflected an elegant woman with anxious eyes.
“Off to a date, are we?” Edward teased when he woke.
“I want to look nice for Emily,” she said.
“You’re always nice,” he mumbled into the pillow.
At half past seven, Christopher rang.
“Mum, we’re setting off now. Emily’s nervous—hardly slept all night.”
“Neither did I,” Winifred admitted. “I’m heading to the school. I’ll wait there.”
“Mum, the assembly isn’t till nine.”
“I know. But I want to be the first.”
Christopher sighed. He’d long since grown used to his mother’s quirks. Ever since Emily was born, Winifred had seemed a decade younger—whisking the little girl to nursery, pushing her on swings, spoiling her with toys. Christopher and his wife could only marvel at it.
“Fine, Mum. Just don’t catch a chill—it’s nippy out.”
Winifred gathered the bouquets, tucked sweets for Emily into her handbag, and set off. The walk to the school took fifteen minutes, but she strolled slowly, savouring the morning air and the anticipation ahead.
By the school gates, another woman was already waiting with a bouquet. Winifred’s heart sank—so she wasn’t the first, after all. Approaching, she recognised Agnes, a neighbour from up the street.
“Here for the assembly?” Winifred asked.
“My grandson’s starting today,” Agnes nodded. “And you?”
“My granddaughter. Emily.”
The two women stood side by side, chatting about their families, the school, and how fast time flew. Agnes, it turned out, had been a nurse at the local surgery before retiring.
“You know,” she confessed, “I always dreamed of seeing my grandchild off to school. Only had the one daughter, and she married late. Thought I’d never have grandchildren.”
“With me, it’s the opposite,” Winifred replied. “I missed taking Christopher—worked too much. Now I mean to make up for it.”
Soon, other grandparents arrived—smartly dressed, clutching flowers, their faces full of quiet excitement. Winifred studied them, realising each had their own story, their own reason for standing there.
Then came Beatrice from down the lane, raising her granddaughter alone since her daughter’s accident. Little Sophie was shy; Beatrice fretted she’d struggle in class.
“How’s Sophie holding up?” Winifred asked.
“All nerves. Says the other children might laugh at her dress. But it’s lovely—I sewed it myself.” Beatrice’s voice wavered.
“Children are kinder than that,” Agnes reassured her. “Sophie just needs confidence.”
An older gentleman joined them, bearing a great sheaf of gladioli. Winifred didn’t know him, but he introduced himself—Henry. His granddaughter, Lily, was adopted.
“Bright as a button, our Lily,” he said proudly. “Already reads, counts to a hundred. Just needs to come out of her shell.”
“She’ll settle in,” Winifred said. “Children always do.”
By half past eight, parents and pupils began arriving. Winifred spotted Christopher, his wife Clara, and Emily, resplendent in her white blouse, navy skirt, and satchel covered in ponies.
“Granny!” Emily squealed, dashing toward her.
“My darling!” Winifred folded her into a hug. “All ready?”
“A bit scared. Why’d you come so early?”
“Wanted to be the first to see you,” she smiled.
Emily clung to her. The bond between them had always been special—Winifred spoiled her rotten, reading stories and baking scones, while Clara and Christopher were often too busy with work.
“Thanks for coming, Mum,” Christopher said. “She was so nervous—you’ve calmed her.”
Clara, a bank manager who often worked late, nodded gratefully.
“Granny Win, look at my bag!” Emily exclaimed.
“Lovely! What’s inside?”
“Books, pencils, crayons. And biscuits Mummy packed.”
Winifred slipped sweets into the little girl’s pocket.
“For courage.”
“Mum, don’t spoil her,” Clara began, but Christopher waved her off.
“Let it be. Today’s special.”
The schoolyard buzzed with families. First-years huddled with parents, older students milled about, and teachers bustled with registers.
Winifred noticed a young woman—Miss Eleanor, the new teacher—looking flustered. Fresh from university, this was her first class.
“So young,” Agnes murmured.
“But kind,” Winifred said. “We met at the parents’ evening.”
The assembly began. The headmaster spoke, senior pupils performed, and the little ones stood wide-eyed, clutching their parents’ hands.
Winifred couldn’t take her eyes off Emily, who bore herself bravely, only occasionally glancing back to check Granny was still there.
When the bell rang, parents shepherded their children inside. Winifred longed to follow, but Christopher insisted they could manage.
“Go home, Mum. We’ll tell you all about it later.”
But she couldn’t leave. Staying felt necessary—just in case. She lingered with the other grandparents, Agnes and Beatrice and Henry, all equally unwilling to depart.
“Feels like we’re starting school ourselves,” Beatrice laughed.
“My hands won’t stop shaking,” Agnes admitted.
Henry smoked by the fence, tense.
“First time Lily’s been without us,” he fretted.
“She’ll be fine,” Winifred said. “Children adapt quicker than we do.”
When parents emerged half an hour later, Christopher and Clara looked pleased.
“How was she?” Winifred demanded.
“Brilliant! Sat right at the front, made friends with Sophie. The teacher says she’s bright as a button.”
“Any tears?”
“Not one. Perked right up when she saw us.”
Relief washed over her. The day had gone well.
“Come home, Mum,” Christopher said. “Clara’s got a cake—we’ll celebrate.”
“No,” Winifred said. “I’ll wait. Want to meet her after.”
“Mum, school ends at twelve!”
“I’ll wait.”
When the children tumbled out at noon, Emily spotted her at once.
“Granny! You waited!”
“Of course. How was it?”
“Brilliant! Miss Eleanor’s ever so nice, and Sophie and I are best friends now!”
On the walk home, Emily chattered nonstop about lessons, her desk, the sums they’d done. Winifred listened, thinking: *This is happiness—being there for the moments that matter.*
At home, Edward had laid out a cake,And as the years passed, Winifred would always remember that morning—not just as Emily’s first day of school, but as the day she finally kept the promise she’d made to herself long ago.
