You can hear a pin drop. The students are all gone. Summer is upon us. The sun’s already shone. The window left ajar in MFL room six, means displays of jaunty numbers slowly blow unfixed. The racks of tools in D&T start to gather dust. Looming academic EBacc means they may forever start to rust. The school hall has fallen silent but the coat of arms inspires. The ghosts of old terms finished flutter through undisturbed. A sport’s day trophy stands up proud alongside other shiny medals. An empty lunch queue doesn’t wind, and there’s no break at two. A football field dares to send forth more shoots of emerald green. A locker room is left bereft, of all but a lonesome lace and someone’s forgotten shoe. A waft of bleach pervades the staffroom, where coffee stained cups have disappeared. The worktops have been wiped down and a fresh coat of wall paint has appeared. The head teacher’s office seems pregnant let vacant, still ominous – patiently waiting for serious meetings with next year’s errant students. The English textbook storeroom is well stocked, filled to the brim – ready to bestow cultural wealth and capital of literature with excitement, vigour and vim. The interactive whiteboards are all quietly left unplugged. Projectors are on vacation and so do not hum. The library of course is also shut – its tomes of knowledge obediently tucked up asleep on reliable shelves of sturdy wood, the organic matter finding transformed synergy, although having long left trees. The school snores now and its slumber is restful. The grounds are all in peace. The teachers are on holiday: at home, by the coast, perhaps Greece.