The barefoot rebellion
How daisy-strewn feet and grassy giggles make the best argument for greener schools
Dear friends,
The other day, I had the utterly joyful privilege of watching a tiny human take her first tottering steps.
Well, I don’t know that they were precisely her first ones. But, given her delightful waddle and the way she was being held upright by both her little hands clasping her mother’s above her head, these steps were definitely within the first 50 of her life.
It was so peaceful and gentle. I was in the Botanic Garden in Cambridge, sheltering from the summer heat (if you’ve read my previous newsletters, yes, I was here again). Seated on a wooden bench beneath a beech tree, I couldn’t help but watch this special moment unfold next to me, signalled by her enchanting giggle as she wobbled across the grass about 15 metres away.
I loved the way her little bare feet swung round sideways with each step, the soft cushion of daisies, clover and grasses catching and tickling her small toes and providing the ideal playground for her to practice, learn and laugh—a soft, cool surface, shaded from the stifling sun above.
I found myself recalling something a teacher had once said to me as part of a survey back in 2019. I was trying to find out information about the amount and quality of green space in UK primary schools, and how this was being used in teaching. At the end of the survey, I asked teachers to share with me any thoughts that hadn’t come up elsewhere.
Quite unsolicited, one teacher told me about her school’s struggles with injuries on their tarmacked playground. Apparently, the children at this school weren’t allowed to play on the grass field if it had been raining, presumably because their shoes got muddy. Her words struck me as so very logical and yet so very bizarre at the same time.
Here’s what she told me in her own words:
“Children are only allowed to play on the field at break times if it hasn't been raining, which can lead to tumbles and injuries when they play on the tarmac. This needs replacing, but we don't have the funding to do so.
Staff and children love the good weather because pupils can spread out, play games, sit and read and climb trees, and there are far fewer injuries than when playing football on the hard ground. Children also eat lunches on the grass in good weather.
Our wooded area has recently been deemed unsafe due to a dry summer last year and high winds, but we don't have the funding to have the trees made safe. This has impacted on play times and outdoor learning, since we used the area for science activities.”
How heartbreaking. I can quite see how a long series of sensible decisions, based on nothing but good intentions, have led to this situation. Schools have limited budgets. There is nothing in the curriculum to necessitate the use of natural, outside space. Natural environments are hard to predict and control. No one wants children to get injured. And yet, the end point of all of this is that more children are getting hurt on artificial play surfaces, which are deemed safer than trees and grass.
Fewer children are able to experience the joy of running barefoot across grass and are instead being confined to tarmac.
I don’t have answers here. This is a complicated situation with so many factors at play: school budgets and curricula, limited space, limited teaching staff, a philosophy that children are safer when they are in a controlled, human-made environment, the feeling that schools must be seen to create and control the safest environments possible—everyone involved is just doing their best. But it seems that, somewhere along the way, we have started seeing natural, green spaces as a problem, and this worries me.
In the Botanic Garden, I had watched that tiny human fall flat on her face at least three times. But, after looking a little dazed for a couple of seconds, she smiled. She was gently helped back up to her feet. She could barely contain her eagerness to give this walking business another try.
The same scenario on tarmac—with no shade from a beech canopy, no gentle cushion beneath her bare feet—is unimaginable. I am no parent, but I imagine there would have been tears, a grazed knee or two, maybe a reluctance to try again.
I realise that children old enough to play at school and those learning to walk are very different. But we’ve gone wrong somewhere if our logical, well intentioned decisions are leading us to deem natural spaces unsafe, to replace them with tarmac which, by this teacher’s own admission, leads to more injuries—haven’t we?
I have not been able to uncover any research on how the rate of injuries at school relates to play surfaces. This research strikes me as important to do. Data to prove (or disprove) my musings here, beyond my one comment from a primary school teacher, would likely help make the case for more green space in schools.
On the other hand, these changes are urgent, and research can take a long time. There is already such a large body of evidence supporting the behavioural, wellbeing and educational benefits of outdoor learning and greener school environments, that I think the case for more green space in schools is already strong enough. There is justification to have made these changes yesterday.
In the meantime, let’s calmly and kindly go about correcting the false assumption that the natural world is full of danger whenever we see this perspective raise its head.
Everyone only wants to protect a child, to prevent that painful wasp sting. This mindset only comes from our desperation to control children’s environments such that, if they do get hurt, we can put our hand on our heart and say we tried our best.
But maybe the risk of a rare wasp sting, the odd brush of a stinging nettle, are risks worth accepting if it means children can enjoy beautiful, green environments. Maybe we need to be able to sit with that risk instead of forcing them into human-made environments that are hard, rough and less friendly, even if they can be controlled.
I know I would want my child to know the joy that comes from feeling blades of grass gently tickling the soles of their feet, the calmness from feeling cradled and held by the soothing softness of moss and clover and daisies, the pure freedom from running barefoot across the earth. These are things all children should know. Not all children are lucky enough to have a garden, but they all have a school. We owe them better than tarmac.
Does this ring true for school playgrounds where you live? What memories do you have of being outside at school?
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From experience of working in a rural primary school for 7 years, despite an extensive green play field and its own wooded area, children were still not allowed to play on the grass after rainfall. The top 2 reasons for this seemed to be because it became a slip risk to the children, and because the grass would get churned up in it's damp state. As you've already said though, the tarmac area then became crowded due to a reduction in space avaliable and in itself then becomes dangerous. As a rural school, the children were exceptionally lucky, but city schools don't always have the same benefits. A friend of mine who works as a nursery teacher in a large town only has a tarmac area available for the young children. Her approach was to grow grass seed in tough trays for the little ones to sit and play on, as well as have tough trays with bark, sand and soil for them to explore through sensory play. 🌱
Fundraising and grants are always the best approach to tackling improvements in outdoor spaces at schools, but it requires active parents and staff that are willing to put the time and grit into it.
Fantastic article as always! 💚
An observation that truly matters! I feel so sad to think about those children who aren’t allowed to walk barefoot.
I’d like to share how this issue is approached in Finland, where I live. Every child has a subjective right to early childhood education (daycare). Daycare yards are not asphalt, but instead consist of sand, grass, plantings, trees, tree stumps and rocks. Even a decaying tree trunk has been left on the playground to bring more biodiversity. Children get to go nearby forest to play at least once a week. They are allowed to climb, run, lay in mud pudde and so on.
School yards are maybe bit more asfalt, but there is are no rules against taking shoes off or playing in grassy or foresty areas, no matter weather (at least in my kids school, first grade). Once a week they they have scheduled three hours of ’FOREST’ in their timetable, and most of that time is for playing. These things are becoming more and more common. 🌱💚