The ringing of the bell signalled the end of that day, and
that week, for the small hillside school overlooking the south
Cornish coast. The scrabble and rush to get home, left a small
wet blob of grey clay in a ball on the wooden board lying on
Jimmy’s desk at the back of the classroom.
There it stayed, with the afternoon sun gradually fading,
dusk became night. The school room grew dark and cold,
as only a small orange glow from the streetlight brought a
glimmer of hope to the blob of clay. The small shaft of light
settled on the desk where the blob had been abandoned.
As minutes turned into hours the blob started to dry. Small
cracks formed around the ball, a small distress line appeared
in the centre and as it dried it widened making a ‘V’ in the
centre of the ball. For a blob of clay this spelt disaster, it
would soon be rendered useless.

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A useless blob of nothing
but hard dry grey clay only fit for the rubbish bin.
Spring had started early that year. Plants were beginning
to emerge from the cold frost-bitten soil, stretching out their
shoots and spreading across the ground. Plants, like people,
need room to grow, some more than others. The wild ground
phlox was one of these – the more room to stretch out and
spread itself the better. The last few days had been kind to the
phlox, the weather had started to warm, bringing the incentive
to grow to position itself for a final burst.