(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green (6 page)

'And while Harold's doing that,' said Ella, 'you can come and see my parsley. You know you said you wanted a root to take you through the winter.'

'Very well, very well,' muttered Dotty, allowing herself to be led away.

Joan Young accompanied Harold back across the green. Her expression was troubled.

'You know, she really shouldn't be allowed to drive that car.'

'I absolutely agree,' said Harold, 'but what's to be done?'

'I don't know, but I feel sure there's going to be some awful accident if Dotty is going to drive around these parts.'

'That might be a blessing in disguise,' said Harold, opening his gate. 'If she had to go to court she might be taken off the road for a while.'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that,' exclaimed Joan.

'There was a lot to be said,' remarked Harold reflectively, 'for a man with a red flag going ahead of a car in the early days of motoring.'

'Dotty could do with one,' laughed Joan, 'but I wouldn't volunteer for the job if I were you.'

'No fear!' said Harold, making for the garage.

5 Skirmishes At The Village School

T
HE
serenity of September gave way to a blustery October, and Thrush Green was spattered with dead leaves.

The chestnut avenue shed its massive leaves, brown and crisp as cornflakes, and the children of Thrush Green School spent every available minute scuffling about happily, looking for conkers brought down by the wind. It was as much as their life was worth to throw sticks up into the branches to bring down the coveted nuts, for Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty, not to mention the occupants of the three houses which faced the avenue, kept a sharp eye on offenders and delivered swift punishment. Legend had it that a long-dead gardener, by the name of Dobb, had once clouted a young malefactor caught in the act of stick-throwing, with such severity, that he had been taken to Lulling Hospital with mild concussion. In such a rough and ready way had the beauty of Thrush Green's avenue been maintained over the by those who loved it.

One tempestuous morning, the three teachers of Thrush Green School were sipping their tea in the infants' room and watching the school at play in the windswept playground.

It was young Miss Potter's turn for playground duty, but she continued to stand in Miss Fogerty's room, out of the weather, and enjoy, her tea in comparative peace.

Miss Fogerty found this irritating for two reasons. In the first place, the girl's duty was to patrol the playground, no matter how inclement the weather, and to keep an eye on her charges.

Secondly, this was one of the few occasions when she could have had Miss Watson's attention, without the unwelcome presence of this newcomer. There were one or two little matters, such as the disappearance of the emergency knickers from the lower shelf of the infants' cupboard, which she needed to discuss with her headmistress. Miss Fogerty did not care to embark on the subject of knickers – even infants' knickers – with Miss Potter present. There was a coarse streak in the girl, Miss Fogerty feared, which might lead to some ribaldry – a thing which Miss Fogerty detested.

'Could I have some more coloured tissue paper from the stock cupboard?' asked Miss Potter.

'Of course, my dear,' replied Miss Watson. 'If I give you the key, you can help yourself.'

Miss Fogerty drew in her breath sharply. To be given a free hand in that holy of holies was something which she herself had never been granted, and which she would certainly never have expected.

Miss Watson, rummaging in her large handbag, produced a bunch of keys, indicated one, and handed over the bunch.

'Thanks,' said Miss Potter perfunctorily. 'I'll bob along now, I think.'

At that moment a piercing wail from outside the window called attention to some infant misdemeanour.

Miss Watson looked hastily at the wall clock, and remembered her responsibilities.

'You should be in the playground,' she said. 'Get the paper afterwards.'

'OK,' said Miss Potter, moving languidly towards the door. Miss Fogerty felt her cheeks flushing with anger. OK indeed! And to her own headmistress!

'Really!' she exclaimed as Miss Potter vanished, 'I don't know what the world is coming to!'

Miss Watson smiled indulgently.

'Times change, Agnes dear, and you must remember that not all teachers had the advantage of your excellent upbringing.'

Miss Fogerty, who had been looking, for all the world, like a little ruffled sparrow, allowed her feathers to be smoothed.

Head teachers, if they are worth their salt, are past masters of such diplomacy.

The wailing, it transpired, came from young Jeremy Prior, the son of Phil Hurst by her first marriage.

Miss Potter led the child into the lobby, glad to be once again out of the bitter wind. Her charge, still weeping, bled profusely from his right knee, and studied two scratched palms through his tears.

'It will soon be better,' said Miss Potter. 'We'll just wash you clean.'

'I will do the washing,' said a stern voice. Miss Fogerty had entered the lobby, and now advanced upon the pair.

'Your place,' she said firmly, 'is in the playground. I will look after Jeremy. After all, he is in my class. You'd better hurry outside again before there are any more accidents!'

Miss Potter tossed her unkempt head and sniffed contemptuously. Interfering old busybody! Always got her knife into me! Her gestures communicated her feelings as plainly as if she had spoken, but little Miss Fogerty remained unmoved.

She fetched the first-aid box, and sat down by the tearful boy on the shoe lockers. She had never seen Jeremy crying before. He was a tough, cheerful child, who got on well with his classmates.

'How did it happen?' she asked, dabbing gently at the grazed knee with wet cotton wool.

'Johnny Dodd tripped me up,' said Jeremy, trying not to wince.

'Then I shall have something to say to Johnny Dodd,' replied Miss Fogerty.

The dabbing continued. A weak solution of antiseptic liquid was applied, and finally Miss Fogerty began to cut lint and unroll bandages.

Jeremy, whose tears had now ceased, watched with some alarm.

'Will it stick?' he asked tremulously.

'Hardly at all,' said Miss Fogerty, combining comfort with honesty. She remembered, all too clearly, her own broken knees in childhood, and the horror of soaking off bandages made of old clean linen sheeting. She felt great sympathy for the little boy. He had endeared himself to her from the first, and she wondered now if it might not be a good thing to take him to his home across the green, for the rest of the morning.

Permission, of course, must be obtained from Miss Watson.

'Is mummy at home?' she enquired, rolling the bandage deftly round the quivering leg.

'Yes. She waved to me when I was playing just now.'

Miss Fogerty slit the end of the bandage and made a neat bow.

'Go into the classroom and keep warm. I'll be back in a minute.'

She found Miss Watson in her room, and told her what had occurred.

Miss Watson's face began to assume a stern expression. Miss Fogerty knew, from long experience, that her headmistress was in one of her 'What-will-the-office-think?' moods.

She moved swiftly to the attack.

'I think it's one of those occasions when you can afford to be lenient,' said Miss Fogerty, with unwonted determination. 'After all, if you can stretch a point about fetching our own stock from the cupboard, I should think Jeremy could be sent home to get over the shock for a couple of hours. He will be back this afternoon, I have no doubt.'

Miss Watson gazed sharply at her assistant. Her glance took in the militant gleam in Miss Fogerty's normally mild eye.

She answered with due deference.

'As you think best, Agnes dear. You know I have every confidence in your judgement.'

She watched the little figure wheel about and march towards her own classroom.

Miss Watson sighed, and turned to face her reflection in the dusky glass of 'The Light of The World', behind her desk, which served as a somewhat unsatisfactory mirror.

She patted her hair into place in readiness for the return of her class.

'I must walk warily with dear Agnes,' she told herself. 'Even worms will turn!'

Mrs Hurst, thought Miss Fogerty, behaved perfectly when she presented her with her wounded son a few minutes later.

'Hello, then,' she said, in some surprise. 'You've been in the wars, I see.'

She bent to give him a swift kiss and led him and his teacher indoors out of the wind.

'How very kind of you to bring him,' she said to Miss Fogerty. 'Do sit down.'

'I really musn't stop,' said Miss Fogerty, glancing around her at the chintz covers, the table littered with papers and the typewriter open and in use. A log fire burnt in the grate, and a cat was stretched before it warming its stomach blissfully. How snug it all looked!

She explained about the accident and how it had seemed best to let Jeremy come home at once.

'He was very brave,' she said.

Jeremy's answering smile touched her heart.

I cried a bit,' he told his mother.

'Hardly at all,' said Miss Fogerty stoutly. 'A very brave boy.'

She turned towards the door.

'And now I must hurry back. My class has some work to do, but I don't want Miss Watson to have to keep an eye on the children for too long. She has enough to do with her own class.'

Phil accompanied her to the door, repeating her thanks.

'He'll be quite fit to come this afternoon, I feel sure,' she said.

'I
must
go,' said Jeremy. 'It's my day to fill in the weather-chart.'

'Then that settles it,' agreed his mother, exchanging glances with his teacher.

'Then I'll see you at two o'clock,' said Miss Fogerty, as Phil opened the front door.

They both started back. For there, about to ring the bell, was Winifred Bailey, the doctor's wife from next door, and there were tears on her cheeks.

Miss Fogerty was the first to collect herself. She acknowledged the doctor's wife, made swift farewells and set off briskly across the green.

'Not Donald?' queried Phil.

'I'm afraid so, and my telephone's out of order. I must get young Lovell immediately. He's in a very poor way.'

'Shall I go into him while you ring?'

'No, no, my dear. Jenny's there, and I'll go straight back.'

Phil left her by the telephone, and took the child into the kitchen, so that Winifred might have a little privacy.

'What's the matter with the doctor?' asked Jeremy, in far too loud a voice for his mother's liking.

'We don't know. That's why Doctor Lovell's coming.'

'But if he's a doctor,' began Jeremy.

'Hush, hush, for pity's sake,' pleaded his mother. 'Come and change your shoes, and help me to make an omelette for lunch.'

She was beating eggs when Winifred came into the kitchen. The older woman looked less strained.

'Thank you, Phil. He's coming immediately. I'll let you know how he gets on.'

Phil followed her to the door.

'Please,'
she begged, 'let me do anything to help. I could take a turn at watching him or –'

Winifred put her hand on the girl's arm.

'You would be the first person I should turn to,' she assured her, before hurrying down the path.

Little Miss Fogerty, returning briskly to her duties across the wet grass of Thrush Green, was both excited and saddened by the scene which she had just witnessed.

It is always exhilarating to be the first to know of something of note, particularly in a small community, and Miss Fogerty's quiet life held little excitement.

On the other hand her grief for Doctor Bailey's condition was overwhelming. He had attended her for many years, and she remembered, with gratitude, his concern for her annual bouts of laryngitis which were, fortunately, about the only troubles for which she had to consult him.

His most valuable quality, Miss Fogerty, considered, was his way of making one feel that there was always plenty of time, and that he truly wished to hear about his patient's fears and perplexities. It was this quality, above all others, which had so endeared the good doctor to Thrush Green and its environs. He had always been prepared to give – of his time, of his knowledge, and of his humour. His reward had been outstanding loyalty and affection.

Miss Fogerty pushed open the school door to be confronted by Miss Potter. Her arms were full of sheets of tissue paper in various colours, and her expression was unbearably smug, to Miss Fogerty's eyes.

She held the door open for the girl to pass. Miss Potter, without a word of thanks, allowed the older woman to shut it behind her, and made her way across the playground to the terrapin.

Miss Fogerty seethed with a mixture of emotions, but remained outwardly calm as she returned to her classroom.

The children were virtuously quiet. The door between the two rooms was propped open with a waste paper basket, and Miss Fogerty put her head into the neighbouring room to express her thanks and to report back on duty.