A landmine exploded yesterday shattering staff relations. Jovial Maura had stormed into the staffroom. She slammed a spoonful of Nescafe into a brown ringed mug while waiting for the Burco to boil. Angry eyes darted as Fergal recounted how the football team lost when the Andy Cole of fifth class, Joshua, missed an open goal.

"Sure that fella is up half the night watching videos," Eamon agreed. "He doesn't do a tap of homework."

Maura detonated. "My one wants to do nothing - like all that shower." Cold turkey caffeine addicts awoke. "You can't say that," Aisling retorted. "You'd well know you don't have to teach them. You try teaching Grace. She's three years behind everyone else. She can't read or write English and she only wants to do art all day."

Noelle interjected: "You can't say they're all lazy. Some Irish people are thick but look at how people reacted when Eastenders showed us that way."

Brigid differed. "Isn't it all over the papers how they come here only to scam on the dole?" Aislin gulped her herbal tea and said: "That's not true. Many are political refugees and had to escape persecution."

Barbs continued to fly. Blame was directed at the principal for accepting Grace and Joshua in September.

"Seamus only wants to keep numbers up to maintain his pay allowances," attacked Eamon. Fergal answered: "He had to take them. They live in the parish."

"Parish, don't make me laugh - they're not even Catholics," contributed Catherine, the remedial teacher, who up until now was like a ball-girl at Wimbledon. The bell rang. After an awkward silence, the polar bears and penguins returned to their poles.

Later, a knock came to the classroom door. Laura, the door-girl, sprang into action. We witnessed a rare sight. Grace's sunlit smile had climbed the stairs and was on the upper corridor. With one hand concealed, she stretched the other out for balance. Jennifer steadied her and led Grace towards me. Her good leg hopped, while her ill-fitting, wooden leg thudded like a distant explosion in a Mozambique field. Her beaded and braided hair danced in rhythm with her eyes.

"Teacher send me round to show." Proudly her right hand raised a coloured woven place mat. "Teacher really nice. Give me wool." Sixth class who, days previously, had taunted Joshua with cries of "Free at last" began clapping. Grace beamed, waved and bowed before hobbling to the door.

There are lots of changes on the way from Mozambique. Who needs to change more?