Star Teacher (11 page)

Vera was already busy behind her desk as I hung up my coat and scarf. She opened the last of the morning's post and gasped.

‘What is it, Vera?' I asked.

‘Oh no,' she said. All colour had left her cheeks as she scanned the official-looking letter with the crest of County Hall.

‘It's from the School Governor Services Department at County Hall, Mr Sheffield. It says that they note from our records that, following the retirement of our local authority governor, Ragley-on-the-Forest Church of England Primary School does not have its full complement on its governing body.'

‘That's correct,' I said. ‘We have a vacancy following the retirement of Albert Jenkins.'

Vera shook her head. ‘But you won't believe what follows. It goes on to say they would like to recommend the services of
Mr Stanley Coe
to fill this position, as they understand from his application that he is an active member of the local community and has significant previous experience in the role of a governor. It requests a reply by thirteenth December.'

‘They can have it now,' I said. ‘It's NO!'

Vera sighed. ‘Thinking back, we didn't tell them the reason for him leaving in the first place.'

I recalled the unpleasant circumstances towards the end of my first year at Ragley when Stanley Coe had caused nothing but trouble. ‘Yes, Vera, you're right. It was all very sudden as I remember.'

Stan Coe, local pig farmer and serial bully, had been
persuaded
to resign back in 1978 and we were all relieved when he had departed.

‘It's just like the man to try to get back on a governing body,' said Vera. She scanned the letter again and looked thoughtful. ‘I presume this letter will have gone to many schools in the area. As we know, governors come and go.'

I looked out of the window. A little white Austin A40 had pulled into the car park. Joseph had arrived to take his weekly Bible stories lesson.

‘Let's see what Joseph says,' I said.

Vera held up another envelope with a Northallerton postmark. ‘This is addressed to Joseph as chair of governors. It's probably the same letter.'

Joseph sensed the tension as soon as he walked into the office and we explained our concern. He opened his letter and sighed. ‘Yes, it's the same as yours,' he said.

‘And what is your response, Joseph?' asked Vera, sounding very much like the big sister.

‘Well, I suppose there's not a great deal we can do about it,' said Joseph rather lamely. ‘Maybe his absence from our governing body will have taught him a lesson and he will have realized that bullying at any level does not pay.'

‘I very much doubt that,' replied Vera.

Joseph shook his saintly head. ‘Well, I would hate to show hard feelings after all these years. Perhaps he deserves a second chance.'

‘Absolutely not, Joseph,' said Vera firmly.

‘Oh dear,' sighed Joseph and looked at me for help.

‘Joseph,' I said quietly, ‘this man causes trouble wherever he goes. I don't mind a governor who challenges the work of the school but we need
support
as well. I can't see Stan Coe providing that. We need to stand firm on this. He was a notorious bully and that's why we dispensed with his services as a governor – although Governor Services were not made aware of this at the time.'

‘I have to agree,' said Vera.

Joseph was clearly taken aback and looked at his sister in surprise. ‘I see. Well, in that case I'll reply to say he is not an acceptable candidate for the post of governor given previous issues. Leave it with me.'

‘Thank you,' I said.

Vera patted her brother's sleeve affectionately. ‘Don't forget, you're leading assembly this morning, Joseph.' She gave him an encouraging smile.

Joseph was holding a few pages of crumpled notes and he looked down at them. ‘Yes, I know,' he said cautiously.

‘Well,' said Vera, ‘now that we've decided what to do with that despicable man, what's your theme?'

‘Love thy neighbour,' said Joseph with a sigh and walked out to the assembly hall.

Vera gave me a knowing stare. ‘Oh dear,' she murmured as she returned to her dinner-money register.

At nine o'clock the bell rang to announce the start of the school day. Ruby packed away her mop and galvanized bucket and tapped on the door of the office.

‘Come in,' called Vera.

Ruby walked in. ‘It's me, Mrs F,' she said. ‘Ah need some advice.'

‘Of course, Ruby,' replied Vera. ‘How can I help?'

Ruby handed over a card. ‘Ah got this in t'post this morning an' ah'm wond'ring what t'do.'

It was an invitation from George Dainty for Ruby to accompany him to the Yorkshire Fish Fryers' Christmas Lunch at the Queen's Hotel in Leeds.

‘Mr Dainty is a true gentleman, Ruby, and this is a kind invitation.'

Ruby's cheeks were flushed. ‘Y'don't think it's all a bit too soon after my Ronnie?'

‘Not at all,' said Vera.

‘Ah don't know what m'children would think.'

‘Talk to them about it and let them know how you feel.'

Ruby considered this and nodded. ‘Y'right, Mrs F, ah'll do jus' that.'

‘You deserve some happiness,' said Vera, ‘and here's a wonderful opportunity.'

‘Thank you,' said Ruby. ‘Ah'll look out a nice dress.'

‘Good idea, and you'll enjoy going to Leeds.'

‘An' there might be a chance t'look round some posh shops. There's something ah'd really like f'Christmas.'

‘What's that?' asked Vera.

‘A 'lectric deep-fat fryer,' said Ruby.

Vera smiled. ‘An excellent choice,' she said and Ruby went out to hang up her overall.

Sally was using the morning assembly to practise a few carols in preparation for our fast-approaching Christmas Nativity. She propped her songbook,
Carol, Gaily Carol
, on her music stand, opened it to number 9 and the choir and recorders launched into ‘Baby Jesus, Sleeping Softly'.

Nine-year-old Rosie Appleby, following her starring role last year on television, was due to reprise ‘Silent Night', accompanied by an ex-pupil, thirteen-year-old Elisabeth Amelia Dudley-Palmer, on her violin. Since commencing her secondary education at the Time School for Girls in York, Elisabeth had excelled in her music lessons and, as her school was due to close for the Christmas holiday a day before Ragley School, she was free to support.

Expectations were always high in the village for this annual production and Anne, as ever, did her best to encourage the youngest children in our school to enjoy the experience.

Meanwhile, in Class 2, Joseph was keen to start his lesson, but he was surrounded by six- and seven-year-olds who wanted to share their news.

‘I'm six now, Mr Evans,' announced Julie Tricklebank.

‘That's good,' said Joseph.

Julie smiled and nodded, pleased this strange man with his collar the wrong way round was taking interest. ‘It's the oldest I've ever been,' she added.

‘Yes, I suppose it would be,' agreed Joseph. Julie was clutching her library book about dinosaurs.

‘That's an interesting book,' said Joseph.

Julie looked thoughtfully at the bright cover with a picture of a smiling stegosaurus. ‘Do dinosaurs have birthdays, Mr Evans?'

‘I suppose they do,' replied a bewildered Joseph.

Julie smiled again, then paused and looked up curiously at our friendly vicar. ‘Mr Evans,' she said.

‘Yes?'

‘Why has your hair slipped backwards?'

Joseph stroked his balding pate. ‘I suppose it just happens to some people.'

‘Well, never mind. Jesus will make it better.'

Sam Whittaker looked up with a puzzled frown. ‘Did Jesus have a first name, Mr Evans?'

Joseph sighed and, once again, he marvelled about the secret garden that was the world of young children.

At morning break Pat Brookside was busy. She had a list of names attached to a clipboard.

‘So is everyone all right for this evening,' she asked, ‘before I make the block booking?' Pat had adopted the role of person in charge of staff social events and tonight staff and their partners had been invited to an evening at the Odeon Cinema in York.

‘Well, John took some persuading,' said Anne, ‘but I'm sure he will be there.'

Vera turned to Pat. ‘Is your young man coming?'

‘Yes, David has promised to meet us outside after his conference in York.'

Vera smiled. She was looking forward to meeting the young doctor.

Sally was on playground duty, so Pat slipped on her coat and walked out to confirm arrangements with her.

‘Yes, Colin's coming,' Sally said, ‘and my mother is coming round to look after our daughter, Grace.' Pat ticked off their names.

Around them, children, impervious to the cold, were playing happily, although not quite everyone had entered the Christmas spirit.

Alison Gawthorpe was playing with Tracey Higgin-bottom when Madonna Fazackerly strode up to the infant with the blonde ringlets. ‘What's your name?' she asked.

‘Alison,' said the little girl.

‘Alison … y'mean like Wonderland?' said Madonna.

‘Wonderland?'

‘Yeah, y'know, Alice in Wonderland.'

‘No, ah'm jus' Alison.'

Madonna tried another tack. ‘Your big sister, Michelle, says you 'aven't got any stairs in your 'ouse.'

‘No, we live in a bungalow,' said Alison. ‘There's no upstairs.'

‘Your mam and dad mus' be poor then,' said Madonna unkindly and walked off.

By the shelter of the school wall a group of small girls wanted to skip. Mary Scrimshaw was talking to Patience Crapper while she unravelled a skipping rope for her.

‘We've been doing maths this morning,' said ten-year-old Mary proudly, ‘and I'm on the blue box.'

Our School Mathematics Project workcards were graded into coloured boxes and the children gradually progressed through the course depending on their ability. By the time they reached my class the range of ability was already very wide, with the most able children already two years ahead of many in their age group.

Patience Crapper wasn't particularly interested in mathematics. She preferred talking about her collection of Barbie dolls. ‘Ah don't like maths,' she said.

‘I'm doing fractions,' said Mary as she untied the final knot.

Patience brightened up at this news. ‘My mummy fell and she 'ad a fraction in 'er leg,' she said.

Mary decided to give up on this conversation and let Patience concentrate on winding the skipping rope.

Mandy Kerslake was talking to her friend Zoe Book in the shelter of the boiler-house doors when Ted Coggins approached. He looked at Mandy as if she had landed from another planet. ‘Hayley Spraggon says you were
adopted
, Mandy,' he said. ‘What does that mean?'

Mandy was a sensitive little girl and she thought for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose it means I have two mummys and I live with one of them … but my mummy says I grew in her heart and not in her tummy.'

Ted had no idea what she was talking about and wandered off to find a boy to talk to who made some sense.

After Ryan Halfpenny had rung the bell to announce the end of morning break, little Alfie Spraggon was panting hard as he returned to Anne's classroom and sat down.

‘Are you all right, Alfie?' asked Anne. ‘You sound out of breath.'

Alfie looked puzzled. ‘No, Miss, ah've got a lot more.'

I should know better by now
, thought Anne, and picked up her flashcards of simple words.

Meanwhile, on the High Street the post delivered by Ted Postlethwaite was beginning to have an effect. In the butcher's shop Old Tommy Piercy was looking glum. He had received a letter from his sister in Thirkby announcing she intended to visit her younger brother. He was discussing the problem with his grandson.

‘What's she like?' asked Young Tommy.

‘Well … she's no oil painting.'

‘No, ah meant 'er personality.'

‘Personality?' repeated Old Tommy, looking puzzled. ‘She 'asn't got one.'

Next door in the village Pharmacy, the morning post had been received with more enthusiasm. Eugene Scrimshaw was excited. His order for a new
Star Trek
uniform had been confirmed and payment received. He had converted his loft to resemble the flight deck of the Starship
Enterprise
.

All that remained was to explain to his wife why it was important to look the part when acting out his fantasies as a Starship warrior.

He wasn't confident Peggy would understand.

Further up the High Street in the Hardware Emporium, Timothy Pratt was equally thrilled. In the post was a letter from his dear friend, Walter Crapper. Walter, a local accountant and, like Timothy, a single man, wanted to prepare a special Christmas dinner as described by Delia Smith. Timothy decided to reply saying he would be delighted to be Walter's guest and promised to bring his old Meccano set for an after-dinner entertainment.

By the end of the school day the winter sun was setting, flame red in the western sky, and the children trudged home excited by the thoughts of a fresh snowfall and a weekend of winter sports.

In the General Stores Prudence hadn't received a letter, but there was one she would read anyway. It was one she read each evening before she went to bed.

She was about to serve her last customer of the day and Ted Coggins had a difficult decision to make. He had been given some money for his birthday by a visiting aunt and had purchased a Curly Wurly, but he still had a few pence left over. On the bottom shelf of Miss Golightly's glass case there was a display of many of his favourites. Ted stared in wonder at the Rainbow Drops, Aniseed Balls, Love Hearts, Liquorice Torpedoes, Sherbet Dip Dabs, Gobstoppers, Candy Cigarettes and Black Jacks. He sighed and took a deep breath. ‘Two ounces of Aniseed Balls, please, Miss Golightly.'
If you suck them slow they will last for ever
, he thought.