Star Teacher (20 page)

‘It seems like the way ahead is clear,' I replied.

We both walked back into the office to begin our day's work.

School reopened today following the half-term holiday.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Monday, 3 March 1986

The season was changing and, in spite of a bitterly cold wind, the first signs of a distant spring crept over the high moors. The raucous calls of curlews announced the end of winter as a pale sun touched the land with warmth and light. It was Monday, 3 March, the first day after the half-term holiday, and I felt a new optimism as I drove out of Kirkby Steepleton. Beneath the frozen earth new life stirred and lifted the spirits of the folk of North Yorkshire – with the exception of Victor Pratt.

He lumbered out of his untidy garage as I pulled up on the forecourt alongside the single pump. ‘Fill her up please, Victor,' I said, ‘… and how are you?'

Victor's face was bright red and he wiped his brow with the back of his oil-smeared hand. ‘Ah'm sweatin' cobs, Mr Sheffield,' he said. ‘Ah think ah'm comin' down wi' summat.'

‘Oh dear,' I said, ‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘Ah get 'ot when ah bend down an' dizzy when ah get up,' he elaborated. ‘Ah don't know if ah'm comin' or goin'.'

‘Perhaps you need a pick-me-up from the chemist,' I suggested, more in hope than expectation.

‘Mebbe so,' said Victor, brightening up, ‘but first ah'm goin' t'Ruby's mother for a bottle of Uncle Billy's tonic. That'll put me right.'

‘I could ask Ruby to collect it for you and then I'll drop it in when I'm passing,' I said, trying to be helpful.

‘Thanks, Mr Sheffield, but ah've got young Kenny Kershaw comin' to 'old t'fort for me later this morning. 'E's a good lad and ah'm thinkin' o' trainin' 'im up t'be a mechanic. You've got t'give young uns a chance.'

‘Very true,' I agreed.

‘Ah'll sithee,' he said and took out a dirty handkerchief to wipe his brow.

‘Get well soon, Victor,' I said as he gave me my change.

As I drove away I thought about Victor's words and the cycle of life in the village. A new generation was finding employment in a difficult world.

Meanwhile, in the High Street, Heathcliffe Earnshaw was finishing his paper round and he gave me a wave as I turned into school. I paused before driving through the school gate. The willow had come back to life on the village green and at the base of its trunk the spears of narcissi were forcing their bullet heads through the dense layer of leaf mould. It was a sight to refresh the soul and I felt encouraged as I drove up the cobbled drive.

Ruby was sweeping the entrance porch and leaned on her broom as I approached.

‘Good morning, Ruby,' I said. ‘How are you?'

‘Fair t'middlin',' she replied.

‘Better weather now,' I remarked.

‘Mebbe so, Mr Sheffield,' said Ruby, ‘but on t'news this morning it said we were in for adverb weather conditions … so it dunt look promising.'

‘Oh well, here's to a good day,' I said, trying to be cheerful, but Ruby was in one of her sombre moods again.

She propped her yard broom against the wall and pushed a few stray strands of her curly chestnut hair under her headscarf. ‘To tell you t'truth, Mr Sheffield, ah'm beginning t'feel t'cold these days.' She looked down at her threadbare coat and gave a wan smile. ‘It's been an 'ard winter an' ah could do wi' a warm coat wi' lots o' installation.'

‘Come inside, Ruby, and warm yourself,' I said. ‘I'm sure we can find time for a hot drink.'

‘Thank you kindly, but ah said ah'd meet George Dainty in Nora's for a coffee,' and she took her broom inside to her caretaker's cupboard.

Vera was busy filing in the office when I sat down at my desk. She had stacked the morning's post neatly under my brass paperweight and I began to sort through it.

A few minutes later there was a tap on the door. It was Ruby. ‘Ah'm getting off smartish, Mrs F,' she said, oblivious to my presence. ‘Ah'm seeing Mr Dainty in t'Coffee Shop.'

‘That's lovely, Ruby,' said Vera. ‘He's a good friend.'

‘Strange,' pondered Ruby. She was clearly thinking about her changing circumstances. ‘Ah spent a life wi' my Ronnie, Mrs F, living on t'never-never an' now ah've met a man wi' a load o' brass.'

‘You certainly have,' said Vera.

‘Yes, Mrs F,' said Ruby and, after glancing in my direction, she lowered her voice. ‘So … what do you think of 'im?'

I pretended to be immersed in the latest recommendation from County Hall for making sure our future half-term holidays coincided with the local secondary school.

‘He's a very kind and generous man,' said Vera. ‘He always helps towards our church funds.'

Ruby smiled. ‘Yes, 'e's become a good friend. In fac' 'e's tekkin' me into York later t'day t'see our little Krystal.'

Vera nodded knowingly. ‘That's lovely, Ruby. It's important to spend time with your granddaughter.'

‘Our Duggie was s'pposed t'be givin' me a lift but 'e announced this mornin', large as life, 'e 'ad summat important t'do for t'funeral parlour. 'E never plans 'is life does Duggie, jus' like his dad wi' channel vision.'

‘Never mind, Ruby, just go and enjoy your time with Mr Dainty.'

Ruby paused by the door on her way out. ‘It's times like this ah wish ah could drive … but it's too late for me.'

After the door had closed I saw Vera smile. ‘We need to give Ruby a focus, Mr Sheffield,' she said, ‘something to concentrate her mind … and I think I may have the answer.' She proceeded to dial a local number.

George Dainty was surprised to receive a telephone call from the vicar's sister, but he listened intently and nodded thoughtfully when he finally replaced the receiver.

‘There,' said Vera, ‘that should do it.'

In the next village Rufus Timmings was standing outside Morton School and considering the school sign. His name was emblazoned in gold paint, followed by a string of letters that indicated he had a Bachelor of Education degree plus a number of obscure certificates and diplomas. He smiled in satisfaction. It made him appear to be North Yorkshire's best-qualified academic.

‘Mornin', Mr Timmings,' growled a voice behind him.

Rufus turned round and looked up into the weathered jowls of a heavily built, fierce-looking man.

‘Oh, good morning. Can I help?' asked Rufus, slightly perturbed at the sight of this sixteen-stone Yorkshireman who stank of last night's beer.

‘Ah'm 'ere to introduce m'self … ah'm Stanley Coe from Coe Farm in Ragley.'

Recognition dawned for Rufus. ‘Ah, Mr Coe, I've been expecting you,' he said.

‘Ah thought y'might,' said Stan. He pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his donkey jacket. ‘Ah've just 'ad this letter confirmin' ah'm t'new local authority governor.'

‘Yes,' said Rufus, ‘our chair of governors, Mr Bones, was informed of your appointment by County Hall.' He paused to appraise this local farmer. ‘So, welcome to Morton School. Would you like to come in?'

‘No, ah'm off to t'abattoir, so ah can't stop.'

Rufus looked at him, slightly puzzled. ‘If you don't mind me saying, Mr Coe, I'm surprised you want to be a governor here.'

Stan gave him a shifty look. ‘An' why's that?'

‘Well, with all the
upheaval
.'

‘Up'eaval,' said Stan with a grin. ‘That's why ah'm 'ere, lad.'

Rufus did not appreciate being called ‘lad' but let it go. ‘Well that's good to hear, but there are challenging times ahead.'

Stan weighed up this young man with his smart suit and soft features in the same way he assessed which of his animals would be slaughtered. ‘Mr Bones mentioned about the 'eadteacher's job bein' advertised for t'new school.'

‘That's correct,' said Rufus. ‘That's the official procedure with it being an amalgamation of the two schools.'

Stan stroked the side of his bulbous nose with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘An' tell me, Mr Timmings – will you be applying for t'job?'

Rufus puffed out his chest. ‘But of course, Mr Coe, I certainly shall.'

Stan recognized raw ambition with a hint of cunning when he saw it and he looked up at the school sign. ‘Then let's mek sure your name is painted over t'top o' present 'eadteacher's name.'

Rufus Timmings watched Stan Coe climb back into his Land Rover and roar off towards Easington.

Both men were smiling.

On the juke-box in the Coffee Shop, The Bangles were singing ‘Manic Monday' and George Dainty was thinking they were probably right. His response to Vera's request had to be handled carefully. When Ruby came in he bought two frothy coffees and she sat warming her hands on the steaming mug.

George thought to himself that there was no time like the present.

‘Ruby, ah was wond'ring if y'fancied learnin' t'drive?'

‘Pard'n?'

‘Yes, y'know … you drivin' an' ah could learn you.'

Ruby shook her head in bewilderment. ‘An' pigs might fly, George.'

‘No, ah'm serious,' he said. ‘It would give y'that
independence
y'need so y'could visit York an' suchlike an' see little Krystal when y'fancy.'

‘It's a bit late in t'day f'me,' said Ruby. ‘Ah'm not a spring chicken any more.'

‘Mebbe not, Ruby,' said George firmly, ‘but you could conquer anything if y'put y'mind to it.'

‘D'you really think so?'

George stretched out his hand and laid it gently on top of Ruby's work-red, swollen fingers. ‘Ah do,' he said simply.

‘Well, ah can't say ah 'aven't given it some thought.'

‘Go on, luv – nothin' ventured, nothin' gained.'

‘Well ah might as well be 'anged for a sheep as a lamb.'

George smiled gently. He knew there was a sorrow to be healed.

During morning break Vera had other concerns on her mind. ‘I can't imagine how Margaret is feeling this morning.'

We all knew that when Vera mentioned
Margaret
in that tone of voice and with reverence, she meant her political heroine. In a television interview Ted Heath had snubbed the Prime Minister no fewer than three times while refusing to endorse her leadership in the next election. It dominated the news headlines and for once Sally and Vera were united.

‘Sounds like sour grapes to me,' said Sally, ‘particularly after Maggie booted him out.'

‘She certainly had her reasons,' said Vera defensively and moved on to admiring a photograph of the Prince and Princess of Wales, who were due to open Terminal 4 at Heathrow Airport the following month.

Meanwhile, Sally took her copy of
The Healthy Heart Diet Book
from her shoulder bag and reflected that it was definitely a bargain at £3.95. However, Sally had selected to follow the Oxford Diet and appeared to be surviving on muesli, oatmeal biscuits and mixed vegetable soup. She looked longingly at the new packet of custard creams in the communal biscuit tin and sighed.

Pat Brookside was quiet as she read an article in the
Times Educational Supplement.
It confirmed that Ronald Reagan's Teacher in Space Project had been abandoned. Christa McAuliffe, with the other six astronauts on the
Challenger
Space Shuttle, had died as the rocket exploded just after take-off on 28 January. Teachers all over the world had mourned the death of this brave young woman. Pat pondered the fact that fate was occasionally a cruel mistress.

Our Reading Workshop had resumed after the half-term holiday, with parents and grandparents coming into school to hear children read. It had proved an excellent strategy to progress the children's reading at the same time as reinforcing links between home and school.

Six-year-old Julie Tricklebank was sitting next to her grandmother and pointing carefully to each word in her Ginn Reading 360 book. When she had reached the bottom of the page her grandmother smiled. ‘Well done,' she said, ‘you're a good reader, Julie. Your mother will be proud of you.' She looked around her at the old Victorian school hall and memories of times gone by flickered through her mind like an album of black-and-white reminiscences. ‘I was taught to read in this hall,' she said, ‘when I was a little girl just like you.'

‘What was it like then, Grandma?' asked Julie.

‘Well let me think,' she said. ‘I recall we used to have a wonderful time in the village when I was young. We used to pick wild raspberries, skate on Manor Pond and we made swings in the wood.'

Julie considered this carefully. ‘Ah wish ah'd got t'know you sooner, Grandma,' she said.

Her grandmother smiled and turned back to her reading book. ‘Come on then, luv, one more page.'

When George and Ruby returned from York they pulled up at the village green in fitful sunshine.

‘It's brightenin' up a bit,' he said. ‘Let's sit a while on your Ronnie's bench.'

They walked on to the green, where the delicate branches of the weeping willow caressed the new grass and kissed the glassy surface of the pond. Ruby took off her headscarf before she sat down and gave the brass plaque a cursory wipe. It read:

She stared at the letters and suddenly her shoulders shook in distress with a paroxysm of sobs. ‘Ah'm sorry, George,' she said. ‘It comes over me from time t'time.'

‘Don't fret,' said George softly. ‘Grief is the price y'pay for love. An' what's a life wi'out love?'

‘'E used t'
drink
'is pay packet, George, an' some Saturday mornings there was never a brass farthing.'