Star Teacher (23 page)

At seven o'clock Richard Gomersall welcomed everybody and described the purpose of the meeting. He outlined the timetable for the closure of Morton School and the arrangements to accommodate the children at Ragley. This was followed by brief supportive statements from Joseph Evans and Wilfred Bones. The good news was that they seemed of one accord, so the meeting got off to a peaceful start. Even so, Wilfred was a slow and methodical man and, throughout his sixties, he had become acutely deaf with the result that now, at the age of seventy-two, he was regularly likened to a post.

Hands were raised and various views expressed by the villagers until the eager Rufus Timmings attracted the attention of Richard Gomersall. I was surprised, as I didn't think the headteachers would be expected to contribute. It appeared Richard thought the same and he frowned as Rufus stood up and addressed the audience from the front row. He looked immaculate in a tweed three-piece suit, a crisp white shirt and old school tie, black leather shoes with shiny toecaps and a silk handkerchief in his top pocket. He took out a sheet of carefully typed notes from his pocket.

‘Distinguished guests,' he began with a nod towards those on the stage, ‘ladies and gentlemen, good evening and thank you for the opportunity to say a few words on this momentous occasion. The end of an era is almost upon us.' He paused for effect and continued in a well-rehearsed manner. ‘I know I speak for all those who have cherished Morton village school over the years.' He glanced down at his prompt. ‘As you all are aware, I have been proud to be headteacher of our wonderful school and hope the children who move on to Ragley School will not suffer in any way. It is imperative that the excellent progress they have achieved is sustained.'

There were nods of approval from some of the Morton parents and some puzzlement on the faces of Ragley folk. Joseph looked down from the stage in my direction and his concern was clear to see.

Rufus continued with confidence. ‘Whoever is appointed to be the headteacher of the new school must provide a full and meaningful education. This should combine the best of the past with the challenges of the future. We are now in the eighties, an age of computers and information technology … and who knows what the nineties will bring? So let us embrace the challenge that awaits us and welcome this opportunity.' He surveyed the room in a statesmanlike manner. ‘Thank you for listening,' he concluded and resumed his seat to loud applause from Stan and Deirdre Coe and a group of the Morton parents.

Richard Gomersall looked in my direction. ‘Perhaps we should give an opportunity to Mr Sheffield to speak.'

I took a deep breath and stood up. All faces turned towards me. Rufus was smiling. ‘You all know me,' I began. ‘This is my ninth year as headteacher in Ragley village.' I looked down at Rufus, then up towards the stage. ‘I don't intend to use this forum to promote my educational philosophy – suffice to say, I love my work. Quite simply, it is my life. Whatever decisions are made for the future, the needs of the children must come first.' I sat down and, after a pause, there was applause that gradually spread around the room.

Stan Coe and Deirdre were sitting along with a few of his friends who frequented The Pig & Ferret in Easington. He raised his hand and, without waiting to be acknowledged, stood up and began to speak. The years had not been kind to Stan as he festered on his pig farm on the outskirts of Ragley. His greed had consumed him over the years and, while his sister Deirdre railed at his drunkenness, he continued to buy land and his estate had grown steadily. A web of veins formed purple tracks across his ruddy cheeks and gathered round his blackened nose.

‘Ah'd jus' like t'say that we need t'be careful when t'new school opens. Ah went t'Ragley School an' we learned
right
from
wrong
.' There was an intake of breath from Vera. Stan pointed a finger towards me. ‘An' ah'm sick an' tired of asking 'im t'keep t'children from trespassin' on my land an' damagin' t'fence nex' t'my pigs.' He turned to Rufus Timmings. ‘'Ere we 'ave a chance t'give t'new school a proper 'eadteacher wi' p'lite children an' up t'date wi' these compooters an' suchlike. We 'ave t'look towards t'future.' He sat down and his sister and a few of his cronies began to applaud.

Vera raised her hand and Richard Gomersall nodded in her direction. She stood up and surveyed the audience. ‘I'm disappointed to hear Mr Coe's comments,' she said in a calm, controlled voice. ‘Ragley School has the highest reputation for good behaviour and excellent leadership. I would simply ask you to consider
facts
rather than biased innuendo.' She sat down and, once again, there was a smattering of applause.

Stan Coe wouldn't know innuendo from a bacon sandwich and looked puzzled. His sister came to the rescue and jumped to her feet. She gave a murderous look towards Vera and her double chin wobbled with every syllable. ‘We all know Mrs 'igh-an'-mighty wants t'keep 'er job an' that's why she's supportin' Mr Sheffield.'

The Major raised his hand and waited patiently for Richard to give him the floor. He stood up and in a strong, steady voice, as if he were addressing his troops, he said, ‘Good evening, everybody, and thank you to Mr Gomersall and the education authority for providing the opportunity for this meeting.'

He stepped from behind his seat into the aisle and paused while he looked at Stan Coe with eyes of cold ice. ‘This is not a forum for personal attacks and I have no intention of descending to that level.' Then he smiled and studied the faces around him. ‘We are in fact of one accord – the best for the next generation of children from our two villages. Decisions on the leadership are for another day and will be taken by the proper authorities. What is important now is to ensure the children of Morton are safe and secure in their new school and that County Hall provide the necessary resources to give them an excellent education. I have every confidence that will happen.'

It was at this moment that Vera realized she had little to worry about regarding Rupert's state of mind. The meeting ended after a measured summing-up by Richard Gomersall and we all left the hall with plenty to think about.

On Saturday morning Beth and I drove into York, with John nodding his head in time to Cliff Richard and the Young Ones singing ‘Living Doll' on the car radio. Beth looked in dismay at my old sports jacket. ‘It'll have to go, Jack. It really has seen better days.'

It was like saying goodbye to an old friend.

‘But there's still plenty of wear left in it.'

Beth looked up at me sympathetically. ‘Perhaps in the garden,' she said.

‘Well, I suppose it would keep me warm,' I acknowledged.

Beth smiled. ‘Actually, I meant we could put it on a scarecrow.'

We parked in the centre of York and walked to a department store. ‘You need a nice, lightweight, comfortable suit that you can wear for school and college,' decreed Beth once we were inside. ‘It's time to move on.'

My colour blindness did not help the process of selection as we picked out a few of the suits.

Beth looked at me quizzically. ‘Jack, what colour is this?'

‘Grey,' I said.

‘And what about this?'

‘Light grey … or possibly blue.'

In the end we selected a smart grey three-piece suit and, unexpectedly, some casual clothing. I emerged from the changing room wearing a blue jacket, cotton trousers in pacific blue and a patterned sweater.

‘Perfect!' said Beth. ‘At long last, an
eighties
man.'

‘Really?' I said. ‘I thought I was fine.'

‘To be perfectly honest, Jack, when we first met I thought you were a lovely man but a bit, well … dull.'

‘Dull?'

‘Yes – but of course I mean your
clothing
, not you. It just wasn't all that exciting.'

‘I see. So why did you say yes … why me?'

She smiled. ‘Because I fell in love with
you
and not what you wear.'

‘And I love you … always have, always will.'

She squeezed my hand. ‘But it's not about what
I
want you to wear, because you need to feel comfortable in your own skin.'

‘I really do want to get a bit more up to date,' I admitted. Above me on the wall by the changing room was a huge poster and I smiled. ‘A bit like him.' It was Don Johnson in
Miami Vice
. ‘Seriously, though … last night's meeting convinced me of that. Rufus Timmings would be impressive in an interview.'

I looked at my reflection. It wasn't exactly a beautiful butterfly that had emerged from the cocoon of my life – it was just a new man!

Perhaps I had looked inward for too long.

I had finally stepped outside the boundaries of my life. I had been a shuttered lamp for too long … it was time to move on.

School reopened today for the summer term with 101 children on roll. During the Easter holiday Mr Sheffield attended the headteachers' conference in Stratford-upon-Avon on 5–6 April.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Monday, 7 April 1986

It was twilight on Friday, 4 April as Beth and I drove through the Warwickshire countryside. The National Headteachers' Conference in Stratford-upon-Avon was taking place the following day and, little though we knew it then, an eventful weekend was in store.

During the Easter holiday we had spent a few days with Beth's parents at Austen Cottage in Hampshire and had left our son in their safekeeping. My father-in-law, John Henderson, had been his usual relaxed self, but Diane was still clearly irritated that her daughters appeared to prefer to be far from the family home. Beth had chosen to seek a larger headship in Yorkshire while her younger sister, Laura, was leading a helter-skelter life in Australia, where she was taking the Sydney fashion scene by storm and enjoying a string of wealthy boyfriends.

According to the programme, the conference was due to begin at 9.00 a.m. on Saturday and conclude with a plenary session in the late afternoon. There was to be an opening address by a Birmingham headteacher, followed by a series of five-minute presentations by various educationalists. After coffee we were due to divide into working parties to discuss the conference theme, ‘The Eighties Curriculum'. Beth, as a newly appointed headteacher, had been invited to lead one of these groups. Predictably it had been Miss Barrington-Huntley who had made the arrangements and an apprehensive Beth had agreed.

‘Tired?' I asked quietly.

Beth was staring through the windscreen of my Morris Minor Traveller. ‘A little … but excited as well.'

Ahead was the busy market town of Stratford-upon-Avon, birthplace of William Shakespeare and home of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. We passed a huge poster advertising the grand opening on 8 May of the new Swan Theatre and finally reached our destination. Situated between the Bridgeway and the River Avon was the impressive Moat House Hotel, previously the Stratford Hilton but now transformed into a thriving centre for business meetings. The reception area was busy when we checked in. There were over two hundred bedrooms and, at first impression, it appeared most of them were occupied by conference delegates and American tourists.

After our evening meal we were keen to settle into our room for a good night's sleep. We loved our son but, somewhat guiltily, we both agreed that a little precious time to ourselves was always welcome.

As we left the dining room we heard a familiar voice. ‘Hello there, you two – so pleased you have made it.' It was Miss Barrington-Huntley, resplendent in a sparkling purple dress, and looking very much the lady of the manor. ‘And how are you both and your little boy?'

Beth explained we had left John with her parents and they were due to drive up to the hotel on Sunday morning to return him to us and have a family lunch together.

‘Delightful,' she said. ‘It's important to have support in your busy lives.' She waved the programme in Beth's direction. ‘I'm sure you will be fine leading your group, and do remember that you will be expected to provide a succinct feedback. All the flipchart summaries will be displayed in the conference room prior to the afternoon session so that delegates can evaluate the findings of each group.'

‘Yes, I understand,' said Beth confidently.

Miss Barrington-Huntley smiled at her and nodded in acknowledgement to me before hurrying away.

‘You're definitely her blue-eyed girl,' I said.

Beth grinned and blinked her green eyes. ‘Incongruous, Jack … but I know what you mean.' She held my hand. ‘Now, Mr Sheffield,' she whispered in my ear, ‘we're alone at last without John clambering into our bed at some ungodly hour.'

The message was clear.

We kissed when we reached our room. Our love had always been one of ice and fire and I had learned to understand this beautiful woman. It was time to relax together.

On Saturday morning I slipped quietly out of bed and padded barefoot across the bedroom. When I pulled back the curtain the first light of a pale sun gilded the rooftops of Stratford and the sights and sounds of this remarkable place filled my thoughts. Beth was still asleep and I stood there while the sibilant sounds of her breathing brought comfort to my soul. Under the feather duvet she was naked. We had made love long into the night, and I gave secret thanks to Beth's parents for looking after our son and also to Miss Barrington-Huntley for persuading Beth to take part in the conference. I crept back into bed and snuggled up to her once again.

‘Oh, Jack!'

‘What?'

‘Your feet are freezing.'

‘Sorry,' I said, passion rapidly subsiding. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?'

‘Yes please,' she murmured, but before the kettle had boiled she had fallen asleep again.