Text 1: Waiting for the bus, by Nia Powell

An original contemporary blog post.

At half past seven on Monday morning, twelve of us are squeezed into a bus shelter while rain drums on its plastic roof. The school bus is due in five minutes. I would prefer to be at home, where my slippers are dry and nobody expects me to understand algebra.

By a quarter to eight, the bus has still not appeared. Water creeps over the pavement and into my left shoe. Every time headlights come around the corner, we lift our bags hopefully; every time an ordinary car passes, twelve damp faces fall. The timetable beside us has one job, and it is failing magnificently.

At last, a square yellow shape appears through the rain. We cheer as if someone has scored a winning goal. Inside, the windows are misty and the heaters are working so fiercely that my wet blazer begins to steam. The driver apologises and explains that roadworks have blocked the usual route.

We arrive five minutes after assembly has begun. As we hurry through the school gates, we compare soaked sleeves and muddy shoes. The journey has not improved my opinion of Monday mornings, but at least it has given all twelve of us the same joke.

Text 2: The flooded lane, by Eliza Morton

An original diary entry written in a nineteenth-century voice; a period simulation, not an archival document.

In this diary entry from 1876, a pupil describes walking to school after a night of heavy rain.

It had rained throughout the night, and Mother urged us to remain at home. However, I could not bear to miss my lessons, so Thomas and I set out together shortly after seven.

The lane had become a brown and noisy stream. Rain was driven into our faces by the wind, and I carried our books beneath my coat to protect them. At the lowest part of the road, water covered the stepping stones. Thomas stopped and said that we must turn back, but the school bell would soon be ringing.

While we stood there, Mr Harris approached with his horse and cart. He lifted us beside him and carried us over the flooded ground. We reached the school with muddy boots and only a few minutes to spare. Our teacher allowed us to warm ourselves beside the fire before lessons began.

I was weary when I took my seat, but also proud that we had not abandoned our journey. The road had tested our determination, and the kindness of a neighbour had brought us safely through it.