Sally

A primary school teacher for thirty four years, Sally was fond of children. She certainly never wanted to nearly kill one.

She had grown up as part of a large family, and was always going to teach, having spent so much of her childhood hearing tales of her father’s days as a caretaker at the local secondary school.

As a teenager and a young woman, Sally grew fond of a couple of gentlemen but circumstances got in the way and it never really went further than a few dates and furtive fumblings. At a rather early age, around 25, she decided to dedicate her life to education and forget about ever settling down with a companion – well, a male one at least. Rather, to compensate for the absence of a man, Sally got a dog, a Cocker Spaniel, Daniel.

One day in 1983, she was going walking with her mum & Daniel in the Lake District. As children, the family had always visited a park near Lancaster, under that strange domed building people pass on the M6 and make the joke ‘that’s where the Queen keeps her bees’ (she doesn’t, of course).

As it was near the anniversary of her father’s death, she decided to call in at the park, and reminisce with her mother. Stretch the legs, give the Daniel a run. There’s a small boating lake in the park, and it was there that it happened.

Admittedly, the small boy was stood close to the edge, but then Daniel should have been on a lead.

Thankfully, the boy’s father was on hand to drag him out of the water. My father.

Sally made her apologies and left the scene of the unfortunate incident, embarrassed not just by her dog, but the fact that she realised she might never have a child to worry about situations like that happening to.

As time went on, she forgot that day in the park when she’d come so close to being responsible for someone else’s life. Gradually she gained confidence and became a deputy head, but as siblings drifted away and set up families of their own, she was left to care for mother and could not commit to going any further in her career or geographically.

Eventually she was offered a part-time contract and she took advantage of the opportunity to spread her wings a little when her mother passed away, shortly before the Millennium. Sally joined the Womens’ Fellowship and enjoyed several trips out across the north west.

One such excursion was to the museum in Liverpool. A great day was had by all, tea and sandwiches in the cafe followed by the Egyptians, Africans, and stargazing in the Planetarium. The museum was due a huge regeneration project, and supporters were asked to make a small donation towards the cost, with the reward being not just the knowledge that one had made a difference, but also a photo displayed in a framed montage by the entrance.

Little did she know then, that that young boy her dog had nearly killed, was an art student in Liverpool, fascinated by passport photographs, and visiting the same museum later that day.

She’s happy enough now, retirement has affected her health but she stays positive, reflecting on what good she did for her community and hundreds of young people. She doesn’t want to think about the bad stuff.

I can still see the England’s Glory match box on the lake bed.

Sally can still see where it all went wrong.