She Was the First
Margaret Thompson woke up at five in the morning, just like she always did. Forty years of working at the factory had left their mark—even though she’d been retired for three years now. Quietly, so as not to wake her husband, James, she tiptoed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Outside, it was still dark, but she knew dawn wasn’t far off.
Today was special. Today was the first of September, and her granddaughter, little Emily, was starting her first day of school. Margaret was more nervous than the girl herself. All week, she’d been fussing over Emily’s uniform, checking her backpack, counting notebooks. James just shook his head and told her she was losing the plot.
*”Why are you running around like a headless chicken?”* he grumbled. *”Our lad, Tom, made it through school just fine without all this fuss.”*
*”I want to be the first one there,”* Margaret replied. *”The first to meet her at the school gates, the first to congratulate her.”*
James didn’t really understand his wife’s need to be there. He thought grandparents just got in the way at times like these. But Margaret felt differently. She remembered thirty years ago, when she’d sent her son, Tom, off to his first day. She’d been working double shifts back then, hardly ever home before dark. It was Tom’s grandmother—her own mother—who’d walked him to the school gates that day. Margaret had stood by the factory gates and cried from sheer frustration.
*”Don’t cry,”* her neighbour, Sheila, had said. *”Your boy will grow up, have kids of his own, and then you’ll get your chance.”*
Now, at last, she was getting it.
The tea brewed strong and fragrant. Margaret poured it into her favourite rose-patterned cup and sat at the table. On the windowsill stood three bouquets—one she’d bought at the market yesterday, another she’d picked from her garden, and the third had been brought home by James the evening before. He’d acted like it was nothing, but he’d still gone out of his way to get it.
*”Three bouquets is a bit much,”* she’d told him.
*”What if there’s more than one teacher?”* he’d shrugged. *”You never know.”*
By seven, Margaret was already in the shower. She put on her best dress—the blue one with white polka dots, saved for special occasions—did her hair, and even dabbed on a bit of lipstick. The woman staring back from the mirror was smartly dressed, her eyes shining with excitement.
*”What’s this, then? Got a hot date?”* James yawned as he woke up.
*”I want to look nice for Emily,”* she said.
*”You always look nice,”* he muttered into his pillow.
At half seven, Tom called.
*”Mum, we’re on our way. Em’s nervous—hardly slept a wink.”*
*”Neither did I,”* Margaret admitted. *”I’m off to the school now. I’ll wait for her.”*
*”Mum, the assembly doesn’t start till nine.”*
*”I know. But I want to be the first one there.”*
Tom sighed. He was used to his mum’s quirks by now. Ever since Emily was born, Margaret had seemed ten years younger—always taking her out, baking with her, spoiling her. Tom and his wife, Claire, could only marvel at it.
*”Alright, Mum. Just don’t catch a chill—it’s nippy out.”*
Margaret gathered the bouquets, tucked a few sweets for Emily into her handbag, and set off for the school. It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but she took her time, savouring the crisp morning air, the anticipation.
At the school gates, she spotted another woman already waiting with flowers. Margaret’s heart sank—so she wasn’t first after all. Then she recognised her neighbour from down the street, Doris.
*”Here for the assembly?”* Margaret asked.
*”My grandson’s starting today,”* Doris nodded. *”You?”*
*”My granddaughter. Little Emily.”*
The two women stood together, chatting about their children, the school, how fast time flew. Doris turned out to be lovely company—she’d worked as a nurse at the local clinic before retiring.
*”You know,”* Doris confessed, *”I always dreamed of walking my grandson to school. My daughter married late—I thought I’d never get to be a grandmother.”*
*”I’m the opposite,”* Margaret said. *”I never got to walk Tom to school—I was always working. Now I’m making up for lost time.”*
Little by little, more grandparents gathered at the gates—all dressed smartly, clutching flowers, just as nervous as the children. Margaret looked around and realised each of them had their own story, their own reason for being there.
There was Barbara from the next street over, raising her granddaughter alone after her daughter had passed. The little girl, Sophie, was shy, and Barbara worried school would be hard for her.
*”How’s Sophie holding up?”* Margaret asked.
*”Worried,”* Barbara sighed. *”Says the other kids might laugh at her dress. But it’s a lovely dress—I made it myself.”*
*”Kids are kind,”* Doris reassured her. *”She’ll find her feet.”*
An older man joined them, holding a towering bunch of gladioli. Margaret didn’t recognise him, but he introduced himself as George. His granddaughter was adopted—he and his wife had taken her in from foster care.
*”Our Lily’s sharp as a tack,”* he said proudly. *”Already reads and counts to a hundred. Just a bit shy, is all.”*
*”She’ll settle in,”* Margaret assured him. *”Kids always do.”*
By half eight, parents and new pupils began arriving. Margaret spotted Tom, Claire, and Emily. The little girl looked adorable in her crisp white blouse, navy skirt, and hair ribbons. She clutched a brand-new satchel with cartoon prints.
*”Granny!”* Emily squeMargaret hugged her tightly, knowing she wouldn’t miss another first for the world.
