05 Please Sir! (21 page)

After a lunch of shepherd’s pie, which the children in Class 3 insisted was in fact rabbit pie, the staff all gathered in the staff-room to chat with Miss Makepiece. She proved a fund of stories and gave me an insight into what life at Ragley School was like all those years ago.

‘Best of all,’ she said, ‘I earned ninety-two pounds a year, and guess what I spent my savings on – a two-and-a-quarter horsepower Raleigh motorcycle.’

‘Impressive,’ said Sally.

‘I bet that caused a stir in the village,’ said Jo.

‘Well, I certainly turned heads,’ said Miss Makepiece. ‘I wasn’t what you might call a
conventional
schoolteacher.’

Vera was in awe of this very special lady. ‘It must have been exciting coming to school in those days on a motor-powered bike,’ she said.

‘It certainly was. I recall the pond was full of geese and when I roared past the village green they used to chase me. I can see them now: running, with their necks stretched out, and hissing at me.’

We all laughed and continued to swap stories until the bell rang for afternoon school.

At the end of the school day I had just finished reading the next chapter of our new class story, ‘Tom’s Midnight Garden’, and the children had hung on to every word. Few of them ever had the opportunity to enjoy a good story in homes where the television set blared out constantly and adults were too busy to take time to read to their children.

After putting their chairs up on their desks and saying our end-of-school prayer, the children in my class hurried out into the darkness. They set off to their homes to watch
Animal Magic
with Johnny Morris, featuring a seal sanctuary in Cornwall, followed by a new eighteen-episode series of
Grange Hill
. Life was never dull for ten-year-olds in 1982.

For my part I had a pile of paperwork to complete and I walked back to the school office. Jo was classifying some of the books in our non-fiction library and Michelle Cathcart was helping her. I could hear the clink of teacups in the staff-room, where Anne and Sally were reminiscing with Miss Makepiece on a successful day, while, back in the school office, Vera had prepared Form 8, the annual report for County Hall, for me to complete with our numbers on roll and staffing hours.

‘Sorry, it’s that time of the year again,’ said Vera. ‘I’ve done most of it but you need to check my figures.’

‘Thanks, Vera,’ I said and sat down with a sigh. I had just removed the top of my fountain pen when there was a hurried knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ I said.

It was Ruby and she was out of breath.

‘Oh ’eck, ah’m all beside m’self, Miss Evans,’ said Ruby, panting.

‘Are you all right, Ruby?’ I asked.

‘Yes, Mr Sheffield, beggin’ y ‘pardon.’ It wasn’t like Ruby to sit down in the school office but she flopped down on the visitor’s chair.

‘What is it, Ruby?’ asked Vera.

‘Ah’ve ’ad some news – wonderful news.’

Vera sat back in her chair and gave Ruby her full attention.

‘It’s our Racquel: it’s ’appened at last,’ she said, the words tumbling out.

‘Oh, I’m so pleased for you,’ said Vera.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

Vera gave me her sympathetic
he’s only a man
look and Ruby appeared puzzled. ‘Ruby’s come to tell us that Racquel is pregnant, Mr Sheffield. So she’s going to be a grandmother for the first time.’ She stood up and gave Ruby a hug. ‘Congratulations, Ruby,’ she said.

‘Great news,’ I joined in.

‘And when is it due?’ asked Vera.

‘July, Miss Evans,’ said Ruby, dabbing her eyes. ‘Ah’m thrilled t’bits,’ and she rushed off to the staff-room to tell Anne, Sally and Miss Makepiece.

Vera closed the door. ‘I’m so pleased for Ruby,’ she said and went to collect her coat.

I sat down at my desk and a few minutes later there was a loud knock on the door and it burst open. Stan Coe had returned and he was breathing fire.

‘Ah’ve ’ad enough o’ this,’ he shouted: ‘kids everywhere y’look an’ strollin’ bold as brass past my pigs.’

‘Probably because they’re walking home, Mr Coe, and the lights in your pig sties attract them. It’s only natural to look and I can’t see what harm they’re doing.’

‘So that’s it, is it, Sheffield?’ he yelled. ‘Ah might ’ave known ah’d get no ’elp from a bloody down-at-’eel school teacher.’

The noise had attracted Ruby, Anne, Sally and Miss Makepiece from the staff-room and they stood in a line in the entrance hall, witnessing Stan Coe’s tirade. Suddenly a firm, commanding voice was heard. ‘It’s young Stanley Coe, isn’t it?’

Stan turned in surprise. ‘Who’s asking?’ he said gruffly.

Lily Makepiece bristled and walked to face him. ‘You don’t remember me, do you, Stanley?’

‘No, ah don’t.’

‘I’m Miss Makepiece.’

‘Bloody ’ell!’ exclaimed Stan, taking a step back. He looked as if he’d just come face to face with the Ghost of Christmas Past.

‘Yes, Stanley, I was your teacher when you bullied all those girls. As I recall, you were excluded for three days in November 1932.’ Stan took a step back towards the entrance door in alarm. ‘I rarely forget a face and I could never forget yours, Stanley Coe,’ said Miss Makepiece firmly. ‘So you had better go home and stop all this nonsense before I alert the local police that you’re bullying again.’

Stan Coe ran out and we heard the skid of tyres as he raced down the drive.

Spontaneous applause broke out. Miss Makepiece turned to me, eyes bright with mischief. ‘Thank you for a lovely day, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased to see that Ragley School is still in good hands,’ and, with that, she walked out with Sally into the darkness.

An hour later I was alone in school. Anne, Vera and Jo had set off home with Ruby, while Mrs Cathcart, after a successful trip to York, had collected Michelle. It had been a day of long hours and the ticking of the school clock echoed mournfully around Ragley’s Victorian rafters as the casements shook in the bitter wind.

I was surprised by another knock on the door. It was Beth. She looked tired. ‘Wondered if you’d like a drink and a meal in the Oak,’ she said.

‘Great idea,’ I said, clearing my desk.

‘What sort of day have you had?’

I thought for a moment as I grabbed my coat and scarf. ‘Well … you know … the usual.’

Two First World War veterans visited school as part of Class 4’s Food project. Miss Evans sent a revised copy of our history syllabus to County Hall for the attention of their ‘common curriculum’ working party
.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:

Friday, 29 January 1982

There are times in the life of a village headteacher that live long in the memory. The day I met Billy and Harry Gaskin was such a time. It was during the bitter winter of 1981/82 and it began with a loaf of bread.

The last Friday morning in January was one of the coldest I had known during my time in Ragley village. Outside my classroom was a frozen bird table constructed from an old tree branch and the oak seat of a broken chair. It was primitive but effective and each morning three ‘bird-table monitors’ from various classes took turns to load it with scraps from Shirley’s kitchen and the bacon rind left-overs from Ruby’s regular breakfast fry-ups. This morning it was the turn of children in my class and three ten-year-olds, Sarah Tait, Amanda Pickles and Theresa Ackroyd, wrapped in scarves, gloves and bobble hats walked out on to the playground and waved back at the school windows as if they were intrepid Antarctic explorers. A large thermometer, a recent purchase from the Yorkshire Purchasing Organization catalogue, hung from the bird table, swaying in the bitter wind. Sarah, by far the most able of the three, noted the line of mercury, and remembered the reading.

‘It’s minus fourteen degrees Celsius, Mr Sheffield,’ said Sarah excitedly when she came back into class.

‘Could you record it please, Sarah?’ I asked and she trotted off to our temperature chart on the display board above the bookcase in our Reading Corner and put a small cross close to the bottom edge of the squared paper.

‘Any colder an’ we’ll ‘ave t’move t’bookcase,’ remarked eleven-year-old Jonathan Greening, the ever-practical farmer’s son.

It was a busy morning during which I managed to complete the mid-year reading tests using the Schonell Word Recognition Test. The children applied themselves to their School Mathematics Project workcards followed by written work in their English exercise books. This often produced some imaginative responses, not least from Amanda Pickles, who, in answer to the question ‘What was Sir Walter Raleigh famous for?’ had written, ‘He invented bicycles,’ and I put a tiny red question mark in the margin.

When the bell went for morning playtime, Joseph, who had just completed his weekly Bible stories lesson with Class 3, was in the corridor in animated discussion with Heathcliffe Earnshaw.

‘If we can’t see God, ‘ow do we know what’E looks like?’ asked an indignant Heathcliffe.

‘God
is
all around us,’ said the Revd Joseph Evans in a knowing voice.

‘Well, ah can’t see’im,’ said Heathcliffe with conviction, ‘an’ anyway, my dad said if God were from Barnsley, ‘E’d ‘ave knocked Satan into t’middle o’ nex’ week an’ ‘ad Sat’day off as well as Sunday.’

Joseph smiled uncertainly, pleased that his lessons were having some impact on young minds, but too nonplussed to reply.

In the school office, Vera had completed her late dinner-money register.

‘Any messages, Vera?’ I asked when I walked in.

‘Yes, Mr Sheffield,’ said Vera, checking the shorthand notes on her pad. ‘County Hall want yet another updated history syllabus, Shirley’s got everything organized for the bread-making demonstration and the major is bringing the Gaskin brothers into school after lunch to support your Food topic.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting them.’

‘They’re both sidesmen at church, Mr Sheffield,’ said Vera; ‘lovely men, both in their eighties, and inseparable friends. Both of them lost their wives a few years ago and they moved from Leeds into one of the little cottages on Morton Road.’

I noticed that Vera was especially elegant today with yesterday afternoon’s perm at Diane’s Hair Salon looking especially striking. It crossed my mind that perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence as the major was visiting school today.

It was just before twelve o’clock when the ever-watchful Theresa Ackroyd made her latest announcement. ‘Major’s posh car comin’ up t’drive, Mr Sheffield.’ Theresa never missed a trick. It was just a shame that her observational skills outweighed the written work in her Health Education project folder. The questions had been set by Staff Nurse Sue Phillips after a recent talk to the class. In answer to the question ‘What is a fibula?’ Theresa had written ‘a small lie’. However, next to her, the new girl Tracy Hartley was displaying an interesting view of human development. She had written: ‘My big sisters say when we grow up, the next stage is puberty and the one after that is adultery.’

Major Rupert Forbes-Kitchener smiled when he walked into the school office and his steel-blue eyes twinkled when he saw Vera. ‘Good afternoon, Vera,’ he said, ‘and how are you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Rupert, in spite of this dreadfully cold weather.’

‘Too true my dear,’ he said and his gaze softened but he didn’t reveal what had passed through his mind. Behind him were two elderly men who looked remarkably similar: both short, balding and wiry and more like twins than brothers a year apart. They wore thick tweed three-piece suits, huge old-fashioned greatcoats and each carried an old leather bag. When they smiled there was laughter in their eyes.

‘And I’ve brought two jolly brave men with me, Vera, who I believe you know … Mr Billy Gaskin and Mr Harry Gaskin,’ he said.

The two men bowed. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Evans,’ said Harry, ‘and thank you for t’invitation. Billy’s been practisin’ ‘is speech all mornin’ for t’bread-making. ‘E’s more of a do-er than a talker, is our Billy.’

‘An’, er, this is f’you, Miss Evans,’ said Billy Gaskin, reaching into his leather bag, and he held out a freshly baked loaf wrapped in tissue paper. ‘Oh, what a treat, Mr Gaskin,’ said Vera, looking as if she’d just been presented with the crown jewels.

‘An’ one for t’ ’eadmaster,’ said Harry, and Billy produced another loaf from his bag.

‘That’s very kind, Mr Gaskin,’ I said. ‘It looks … and smells wonderful.’ I weighed it in my hands. The loaf was dark and surprisingly heavy. It lacked the symmetry of mass-produced loaves and the smell was scrumptious. ‘Perfect,’ I said appreciatively.

‘Mr Gaskin is known as “Billy the Bread” in church, Mr Sheffield, and he and his brother are great supporters,’ said Vera. ‘Every week, Billy gives Elsie, the organist, a loaf of home-made bread.’

‘That’s very generous of you, Billy,’ I said.

‘Well, my way o’ thinkin’ is that we pass this way but once,’ said Billy, ‘so we might as well do a bit o’ good on t’journey.’

‘’E’s reight there,’ said Harry.