The Times Magazine 11est Pennard Primary School sits
framed by the gigantic yew tree
of St Nicholas’ church next
door – its tower a 1482 slab of
serenity surrounded by daffodils
and rolling Somerset hills. This
is England at its most idyllic- the stuff of picnics, poetry and
misty-eyed expat longing. The
birdsong is only interrupted by
the odd lowing cow or the sound of children
chanting nursery rhymes in the playground.
Mr Wheat is the headmaster of West
Pennard – there’s a half-eaten chocolate
cornflake nest on his desk (“I’ve already eaten
the Mini Eggs, I’m afraid. Too delicious”), and
all the talk in the corridors, from the children,
is of the forthcoming Easter bonnet-making
session. If you wanted to paint a picture of
serene, untouched English rural life – much
the same now as it was a century ago – give
or take a Cadbury’s Mini Egg, it’s here. Good
old, unchanging, constant England.
Except, as Mr Wheat explains, there is a
second story – one of regular new arrivals - interwoven with the fabric of this place.
“In the war, there were lots of children
evacuated here. My receptionist, who came
here in the Sixties, would be able to tell you
about lots of the evacuees who came here and
stayed. Old members of the community now.”
He gestures out of the window, to the hamlets,
and farmhouses. “And then, in 2003, when
I was a very young teacher, I was working in a
school in Frome when a bomb went off at the
international school in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia,
and we evacuated a lot of British expats and
international school students to the tiniest
village – Upton Noble. That year, we went
from 20 children to 38 in my class. Some
of the locals were still coming to school by
horse – and then suddenly we had these
kids from the other side of the world arriving
that summer. It was...” he pauses, clearly
remembering, “wonderful.
“And now...” he continues, “and now, we’re
absolutely ready to do it again.”
On his chest, he wears the tiny blue and
yellow ribbon of Ukraine – “A pupil’s been
making them and giving the money to a
refugee charity. A very successful business!”
Everyone in the school seems to be wearing
them. On the wall, the pupils – in their
careful, primary-school handwriting – have
written their prayers: “I prayed for Youcrane.”
“Dear God, thank you that we are not at war,
and please look after Ukraine’s people and
the people in Russia who don’t want a war.”
“Look after them as you look after us.” “Please
help the war.” One outlier has prayed for
improved results for their favourite football
team – but overall, the sentiments are
redoubtably Christian and outward-looking.
West Pennard School has been preparing
over the country – gradually settling into the
communities who’ve signed up to greet them.
But, instead, there is... nothing. No one’s
here. No one’s coming.Emily Eavis stands in the middle of a meeting
room at the Glastonbury Festival offices at
Worthy Farm – both her family home and
home to the biggest arts festival in the world.
After a two-year hiatus due to Covid, the
festival is back on – and with 70 days to go
until the gates open and more than 200,
people start streaming across these fields,
today’s schedule involves both a Gold Level
security meeting (“Planning for terrorist
attacks, riots – you know, the usual”) and
approving a line of vintage Glastonbury
T-shirts to be put back into production.
“This one’s so Eighties, and pink,”
Eavis says cheerfully, pointing to one on a
mannequin. “Gen Z are going to love it.”
The building is both full of countless
awards for the festival and signed photographs
from artists who’ve headlined here. The one
from the Rolling Stones has the message
from Keith Richards: “You were right- it was a great day.” Interspersed with all
the paraphernalia and global acclaim for the
festival are several certificates from local
agricultural fairs – to remind us that this is
still, even as the festival comes and goes, a
working farm in the middle of a close-knit
rural community.
W
for a month now to welcome Ukrainian
refugees whom those in the local community
have volunteered to sponsor. One of those
sponsors is Emily Eavis – co-runner of the
Glastonbury Festival and former pupil of this
school. She has offered to host Veronika and
her nine-year-old son at her farm, and has
been zooming the family in Kyiv regularly. She
has arranged a school place for Veronika’s son
at West Pennard – he will be in the same class
as one of her children. “Everyone’s so excited
to have them get here.”
This feature was supposed, initially, to be
seeing how these refugees were settling in- see how the massive public outpouring of
offers for housing, jobs, schooling and refuge
for those fleeing the war was now working out
in this tiny, idyllic village.
However, after an increasingly fraught
month of government and civil service chaos,
and catastrophic visa delays, this is now a tour
where, everywhere I go, there is a notable,
aching, frankly enraging absence. There
should be Ukrainian women and children
here – here, right now, standing in this
playground, looking out across the fields
to Glastonbury Tor. Starting the long, slow
business of recovering from the Russian
invasion; rebuilding their lives here, where
so many have offered genuine, practical help
and love. Boris Johnson has praised British
“generosity” to refugees. There should be
tens of thousands of these new arrivals all
The annexe for Veronika has a bedroom, kitchen, music
room – ‘David Bowie slept here.’ It looks lovely, but empty
Veronika and her son at home in KyivMIKHAIL PALINCHAK