Amongst the children, the news whistled round the playground like the cold east wind. It was 8.55 am on Monday 13 May 1996 at our local primary school. Children were kissing their mothers goodbye and juggling with lunchboxes, reading book, bags and coats, walking into school like any other day. One or two children were shouting out “Mrs Clarkson's dead!”. Most of the mothers appeared to ignore it and sent their children in as usual.

“Mrs Clarkson's dead!” With blank, uncomprehending faces children went on telling each other loudly, while others just hung up their coats outside her classroom, refusing to hear, shutting it out because it couldn't be true.

But it was true. Julie Clarkson had died during the weekend. She had been in remission. As a governor, I had been told of her illness two years previously, but parents and children had been informed only a week earlier that ‘Mrs Clarkson's illness could not be cured' and that she would not be coming back to school. Julie was full of vitality: a positive, energetic person and a very good teacher. The news that she had died was shocking and unexpected for everyone. We couldn't believe that Julie would not be coming back, smiling and full of ideas for a new week.

Like many others, I went home distressed that morning. Some parents had not known anything and, like their children, had heard it baldly yelled out. Others had heard the sad news the day before. I felt especially sorry for those who had decided not to tell their children themselves but to leave it to the school, so that they could all hear together. I felt sorry too for the children in her Year 2 class, the shocked shouters and the equally shocked shouted at. I was glad that I had told my 7 year old son myself earlier that morning. His face had shown shock, then he had hung his head saying sadly, “No more Mrs Clarkson”. The whole school was told in assembly that morning, and there were many tears. Meanwhile I was at home, wondering what I could do to help.

Two days earlier I had attended the seminar Facing the Unthinkable and had bought from the bookstall the Family Reading Centre booklet Living with grief in school - - guidance for teachers. I had read it and had decided to give it to the school. It is an excellent book and I would recommend it to governors and parents, as well as teachers. It is clear, practical and suitable for any school, however secular. I was pleased when Robert, the Head, accepted it, but I wished that I had had the booklet a week earlier, as I suspected that staff would be too busy dealing with grieving children and their own feelings, to stop and read a book about it.

I still felt I wanted to do more to help so, after agonising about it for most of the week, I went to see Robert and explained that I have some training in counselling skills. I offered to come into school, not so much to counsel as to listen and offer support to anyone who wanted it. I was rather diffident about this, as I had more-or-less convinced myself that he would say no! (No reflection on Robert, he is very approachable.) I was delighted when he welcomed my idea and suggested that I visit Mrs Clarkson's class towards the end of an afternoon.

The support I gave was of two kinds. The first might be called ‘crisis support' and consisted of a visit on the day of the funeral and two more in the week following. The second was ‘follow-up' support and consisted of two visits per week and being a ‘helper mum' on two outings.

Another general way I tried to help was to listen to parents who talked to me on the playground and to empathise with them. Several had lost a parent from cancer and were having to deal with a resurgence of the grief associated with that. One friend had only just found that her own mother was dying with cancer; another had recently recovered from a life-threatening illness herself; one of her children was in Mrs Clarkson's class and was crying herself to sleep every night. Others were just unsure of how to deal with their children's questions and tears. There are nearly 500 children in the school; I only spoke to a tiny proportion of parents whom I already knew and it made me aware of the huge amount of distress there must have been in the school community and how some families would feel it particularly.

The school closed at 1pm on the day of Julie's funeral and I was with her very unsettled class for most of the morning. I answered some questions about the funeral. Many children wanted to go, but their parents had said ‘no', guessing correctly that it would be a highly charged occasion emotionally with people struggling for some sort of control. A friend of mine, another governor, had told me how she had ‘done a deal' with her nephew and they had agreed that she would go as his representative. I adopted the same idea with some children, including my own son, promising to tell them about the funeral, if they wanted me to. This seemed to help. I was able to spend a little time with one or two of the staff that morning but, although I ached for them and wished I could do more, I had to respect their territory (I was only a guest in the school) and their feelings.

When I visited the class the next week I took small groups of children outside the classroom to a quiet area. I had with me a lion puppet called Lenny, who I introduced to the children as a gentle lion who could be happy, sad, puzzled or angry. This opened the way for them to share things about their feelings and ask questions without me necessarily saying “Let's talk about Mrs Clarkson”. I felt it was important that the children should initiate that - and also talk about other things that were important to them. They were very ready to tell me about things that they remembered their teacher for; they had a lot of good memories. Some also wanted to show me the photos of Julie that formed a part of two displays outside the classroom. My own son was a spokesman for the ones who wanted to know, over and over again, “Why did Mrs Clarkson die?” and “What is cancer?” Another important piece of news was: “We are getting a new teacher called Mr Peel, and he's going to be our teacher for ever”.

After half term I continued to visit the class. I did not often take a group out, but the children knew they could come up and talk to me about Mrs Clarkson if they wanted to. This was the main reason I continued to visit, taking Lenny with me. There was a proper sense of ‘business as usual' after the week's break, which was necessary to give the children the stability and security they needed. I wanted to be a visible sign to the children that none of us had forgotten that their teacher had died; and that it was OK to talk about her; to be sad, or quiet, or happy about other things; to remember that things that had happened in the two terms that Mrs Clarkson had been their teacher.

Here are some of the things the children said:

Did Mrs Clarkson get drunk? Because my dad got drunk and he got cancer and he got better.
I asked God to bring Mrs Clarkson back to life, because he bought Jesus back to life.
I prayed for Mrs Clarkson to get better.

She's gone to heaven.

She lives in our memories.

She's at rest.

She's buried.

She's burnt.

I had to find a good response to each of these. My aim was to accept and respect each one, to reflect it back and respond with understanding to the underlying feelings. These included bewilderment, disappointment, anxiety, anger and horror... I gave brief facts about cancer, funerals and death where appropriate. I explained about burials and cremations (the person did not feel it because they were not there in the body anymore), about cancer (that you could not catch it, that people did get better, but some people died), and that I did not know why Mrs Clarkson had to die. One day a child rushed up as soon as I appeared:

Stella:
When I told my friend in another class that Mrs Clarkson had died, he laughed.

Nina:
He laughed?

Stella:
Yes, he just laughed and said she wasn't his teacher, so he didn't care.

Nina:
But it made you sad?

Stella:
Yes, I was sad.

Although I had read more than one book about children and grief, I was still feeling my along, hoping and praying that I was getting it right. It seemed important not to say too much, and accept that some children's reactions would seem insensitive, even brutal (as evidenced by the way they broke the news to each other) by adult standards. I heard the following exchange at home, when my son had a friend to play who had been in the same class until the family moved to another part of town:

Jack:
Mal, say “Would you kill Mrs Clarkson?”

Malcolm:
No!

Jack:
Say to me “Would you kill Mrs Clarkson?”

Malcolm:
Would you kill Mrs Clarkson?”

Jack:
I can't. She's already dead.

It was also important to listen out for a child's misconceptions, often unnoticed by grown ups. Some years ago a 6 year old had asked me, “When you break your leg, do they put the leg in the ambulance with you?” Until then, no-one had known that she visualised the leg breaking right off, like the handle of a cup -quite a reasonable assumption, it seemed to me. This made me aware that young children may use the same words but have a very different mental picture of what they mean. I saw several faces clear with relief when I explained that cancer ‘wasn't catching'. Perhaps they had secretly worried that they might get cancer?

Although I had known at least half the children in the class since they were at Pre-school, and had continued to have some contact with them in school, offering support of this kind was a new departure. I am not an expert with puppets. I was unsure at times whether I should go in at all; when I did visit, I hesitated to interfere with what the class was doing. Mr Peel and I were unsure of each other's territory - he was on a temporary contract and I was a visiting governor, although we tried to ignore that! I still do not know whether I should have been more assertive and asked to take a group every time, or whether my more ad hoc approach was better. But I have come to some conclusions which I can share here.

The first is that, although it did not amount to a lot in terms of time or in-depth conversations, it was worth doing. Apart from the time I spent with the children, I also had some opportunities to talk to Mr Peel and encourage him. He was doing a very good job with an unsettled and lively class in unusual and difficult circumstances; he seemed to appreciate my support and interest.
The second is that I could have been more decisive and started sooner. I have been haunted by the comment from two members of staff: “We could have done with you here earlier this week”.

Lastly, it has made me wonder whether primary schools have a need for a trained listener-cum-advocate? Our church is appointing Advocates as part of our Child Protection procedures. These are people who are not involved in Sunday school or mid-week activities with children. The children will be taught about their function, which is to listen to a problem, difficulty or secret, if and when a child wants to talk about it, and to take appropriate action. The school is reviewing its anti-bullying policy, and one suggestion has been to have an independent person, not employed by the school, available for the children to talk to if they, or one of their friends, is being victimised. Some of the things the children in just one class have shared with me perhaps point to the need for such a person:
When I'm bullied I hit them back. Then they don't bully me anymore.
My dog died at the weekend.

My mum and dad nearly split up last week. They were arguing and I asked them to stop, so they did. I asked them not to split up and they said OK.
I was hit by a car once. My mum took me to hospital. My nan had cancer and she died when my mum was 15 years old.

I heard these things simply because I was there and available to listen. I know that many class teachers already perform this function and I would not want to interfere with that for a moment. Many classroom assistants, midday supervisors and caretakers also allow the children to confide in them. However, there is perhaps a case for an independent person, trained in counselling skills, coming into school at an agreed time each week. Such a person would not counsel, but would respond appropriately and get further help for the child where necessary. There are many children who need someone who knows how, and who has the time, to listen.

Please note that all names, except mine, have been changed.

Further Readings

Living with grief in school - guidance for teachers Family Reading Centre
Children and Bereavement Wendy Duff (NS/CHP,0 7151 4846X)
Counselling Children Pauline Pearson (Caring, Summer 1995, no.19; also Carer and Counsellor, Vol 6 no.2

 

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