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A final fling story from the Yorkshire/Lancashire border!

Working in Oldham recently at the local authority outdoor education centre, I have been struck by the number of recent refugees turning up in our primary school classes. These people are literally grabbing their children and heading for the UK, being 'processed' in London and shortly afterwards turning up in Oldham with no food, money, clothing or a common language.

In response, Oldham council has created a new primary school (up to three form entry) right in the town centre.

Last July, I was briefed on this school (it was open, but had many empty classes; year 5 and 6 being the only operational year groups).

Meeting my group of year sixes, that Thursday, I knew I was in for a good day: there were smiles, eye contact and a general feeling of wellbeing. Their teaching assistant confirmed their positivity, expressed her own disbelief at how this was possible (many had arrived VERY recently) and reminded me that we didn't have English as a common language.

Kurdish, Egyptian, Latvian, Syrian and Afganistani children looked back at me and smiled as I explained the days' proceedings, trying to put across a vibe of 'you'll be safe with me and we'll have a lot of fun, even though you haven't a clue why you're here'.

Then, as we headed out to do some climbing on our on-site tower, something clicked with the group and a tall girl, bursting with energy, posted herself alongside me. Olga from Latvia then launched into a beautiful speech in Italian, asking the other children to listen to me, enjoy themselves and basically 'go with the flow'. My Italian's not great, but my teaching assistant confirmed what she had said and explained that all the children, after facing atrocities and fleeing their own countries, had been living in Italy for a few weeks or months. We therefore had a common language of Italian and Olga (obviously an extremely talented 11 year old linguist) was able to talk to me in broken English.

The rest of the day was a delight. Olga told me everyone's names, translating back to the others throughout in Italian. There were children with english-inspired names from Africa (Baby, Hope, Charity); Olga explained this concept to them. There were several Muhammeds or 'Mo s'; she explained the meaning of the name and gave them gentle nicknames so we could pick them out. As we began to climb, she assessed their strengths and fears and in a supportive way, challenged them to achieve and compete with each other. She seemed to have a true grasp of how to make every individual feel valued and was encouraging the group to survive through 'solidarity'.

My only tasks for the remainder of the session (putting aside checking ropes and harnesses) were to laugh at their translated jokes, wipe away a few tears and watch them in awe.

When they left I could only image what situations they were going back to in the middle of Oldham, far away from remaining families in devastated towns abroad, with parents hysterical with the need to protect them and set up a new life.

I often think of Olga and though I'm sure she's doing well, it reminds me in equal measures of the injustices in our world.

Thanks for reading! You know who I am..