The Crossing Patrol

Courtesy of www.telegraph.com

I don’t like the phrase ‘Lollipop Man.’ I was in the military.

You see it all. Hyper-vigilant mummies, pampering. Cooing. They share their concerns with me: a homeless man or teenager, loitering. They clutch hands and huddle over pushchairs.

Then the dizzy ones. They natter in sing-song voices as if the world is jolly and safe, while their children run in the road.

Some mums don’t turn up at 3.30 – their kids like abandoned lambs. Misfits. Outcasts. The teachers usually take them in. But one day they won’t. I have picked one out. I watch and wait.