From the classroom window rolled the great expanse of the Dale. The sad child in the corner stared out like a rabbit in a trap.
‘He has special needs,’ explained the teacher, in a hushed, maternal voice. ‘Real problems with his reading, and his number work is weak. Spelling is non-existent, writing poor. He rarely speaks. He’s one of the less able in the school.’
The lad could not describe the beauty that surrounded him, the soft green dale and craggy hills. He could not spell the names of those mysterious places which he knew so well. But he could tickle a trout, ride a horse, repair a fence and dig a dyke, drive a tractor, plough a field, ilk a cow and lamb a ewe, name a bird by the faded feather, smell the seasons and predict the weather. Yes, the less able child could do all those things.
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