Star Teacher (28 page)

Deke Ramsbottom, with his sons, Shane, Clint and Wayne, had built a cowboy scarecrow, with a similarity to John Wayne, and it had been tied to the fall pipe outside the pub.

In all there were around twenty scarecrows, including one
inside
Oscar Woodcock's shed, which seemed not in accord with the fundamental purpose of a scarecrow. Word had it that Oscar merely wanted some company during the many lonely nights he spent in his shed. My two favourites were the Elvis scarecrow outside the Coffee Shop and the policeman scarecrow outside the red telephone box, a joint effort by Natasha Smith and her new boyfriend, PC Pike.

The May Day celebrations always attracted large crowds to the village green. The Scout troop had completed the erection of the marquees with their bright strands of bunting. The sun shone down and the rich aroma of Old Tommy Piercy's hog roast attracted a queue of ravenous villagers. The Ragley & Morton Brass Band played ‘Jerusalem' and the Scout troop raised the flag of St George on the flagpole. The Morris dancers were waiting their turn to perform in their white linen shirts with coloured ribbon tied around their cord trousers. Meanwhile, Sheila Bradshaw in her sparkly flag-of-St-George boob tube, white leather mini-skirt and red high heels was serving them with drinks.

In the centre of the village green Rupert Forbes-Kitchener had supervised the preparations for the maypole. It was topped with eight bell garlands and Sally Pringle gathered together the group of children who were waiting to perform their first intricate dance.

First came the parade of the May Queen from the village hall up the main street to the village green. This year it was the turn of seventeen-year-old Cathy Cathcart, who had been in my class back at the start of the eighties. Her mother, Daphne, with her distinctive pink candy-floss hair and tombstone teeth that resembled Stonehenge, was the proudest woman in the village. It was a day when her regular habit of blushing went unnoticed. Her younger daughter, thirteen-year-old Michelle, clung on to her mother's arm and stared in wonderment at the sight of her big sister waving to the crowd.

The Jackson twins, Hermione and Honeysuckle, were the May Queen's attendants. With a band of flowers in their golden ringlets and matching white dresses with lacy collars, they looked like angels. Cathy sat on her ‘throne' on a trailer towed by Deke on his tractor and the crowd cheered. It was a sight to gladden the heart. Meanwhile, Deke's sons had prepared a semicircle of straw bales to create instant seating and a natural theatre-in-the-round for the various performances. Children settled on the bales to watch Captain Fantastic's Punch and Judy show while Vera and her colleagues began serving cream teas at one end of the Women's Institute marquee.

George Dainty was standing next to Ruby. ‘Ah recall when you were May Queen in 1950,' he said. ‘You looked a picture.'

Ruby's cheeks flushed at the memory. ‘But best day were in 1980 when our Natasha were May Queen.'

‘Ah bet she looked reight bonnie,' said George.

‘She did that, an' my Ronnie were proud that day.'

George was thoughtful and said nothing.

Joseph Evans was in the queue for refreshments when a scuffle began among a group of the children, followed by some pushing and pulling.

‘Now boys, remember what I said,' Joseph cautioned them.

‘What's that, Mr Evans?' asked Damian Brown.

‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'

Damian considered this for a moment. ‘Thing is, Barry did it unto me first so ah thought ah'd do it unto 'im.'

The logic left poor Joseph stranded.

Meanwhile, at the end of the queue, Scott Higginbottom on his eighth birthday had taken a liking to Patience Crapper.

He spat on his hands, rubbed them together and then attempted to smooth down his spiky hair.

‘Patience,' he said.

‘What?' asked Patience, not wishing to be interrupted.

‘When is it OK for me t'give you a kiss?'

Patience gave him a withering look. ‘When you're rich,' she said with feeling and turned away.

That were a waste o' spit
, thought Scott as he trudged back to his friends.

‘What 'appened?' asked Sam Whittaker. ‘Did she give you a kiss?'

‘No,' said Scott. ‘Mebbe nex' year.'

‘Ah don't like girls,' declared Sam.

‘Problem is,' said Scott knowingly, ‘you'll 'ave t'marry one one day.'

‘'Ave ah got to?'

‘Yes,' confirmed Scott.

‘Why?'

‘Cos you'll need someone t'clear up.'

‘Ah see,' said Sam and thought about it.

‘Can you whistle?' asked Sam suddenly.

‘Not like Ted Coggins.'

‘Let's go an' ask 'im t'teach us,' said Sam and so, with girls forgotten until another day, they ran off.

George and Ruby were staring at the Coes' scarecrow. The Tudor monarch was certainly impressive.

Deirdre and Stan came over. ‘Y'lookin' at t'winner,' said Deirdre. ‘Rest don't stand a chance.'

Ruby and George turned to walk away.

‘Don't look down y'nose at me,' Deirdre called after them. George pulled Ruby's sleeve, but Ruby glowered at Deirdre. ‘Don't sit on yer 'igh 'orse,' continued Deirdre. ‘There's changes comin' t'that school o' yours, Ruby Smith.'

‘There'll be
big
changes come nex' year,' leered Stan.

‘Well, there's plenty of us t'mek sure it dunt 'appen,' retorted Ruby.

‘An' don't reckon on you an' Sheffield gettin' y'jobs back.'

‘Who sez?' asked Ruby, her face flushed.

‘You've no chance, caretaker skivvy,' jeered Deirdre.

‘There's no need for unkind words, Deirdre,' said George.

‘Get back t'yer fish-an'-chip shop,' growled Stan.

George flexed his burly shoulders and took a pace forward. He stared up into Stan's eyes. ‘That's enough now, Stanley,' he said quietly, ‘else it won't be just fish that gets a batterin'.'

Stan Coe blinked and took a step backwards. George was Dainty by name but certainly not by nature. He stood like a gladiator ready for battle.

‘Tek no notice,' said Deirdre with an evil grimace. ‘We've got better fish t'fry.'

‘Y'reight there,' agreed Stan with a nervous smile.

‘If y'can't say owt nice, then don't say nowt at all,' said Ruby.

‘Judgement day is comin' f'you an' y'fancy man,' said Deirdre. ‘My Stanley
knows
things.'

‘You'll gerra clout if y'don't shurrup,' said Ruby.

Stan gave his sister a sharp look. ‘Let's gerroff,' he said, taking her by the arm.

‘Good riddance,' muttered George as they walked away.

‘It's a worrying thought, George,' said Ruby. ‘E's gorra lot o' effluence 'as that Stanley Coe.'

‘Actually it's “influence”, Ruby,' began George, ‘… but, on reflection, ah think you were right first time.'

Beth had taken John to watch the Punch and Judy show while I bought soft drinks from Vera in the Women's Institute tent.

‘A successful day, Mr Sheffield,' she said. ‘The maypole dancing was excellent.'

‘It certainly was.' I looked around me. ‘Ragley really is a special place,' I said.

She looked up at me. ‘And always will be.'

I noticed the familiar sight of Edward Clifton in animated conversation with Anne. They looked relaxed together and it was good to see Anne enjoying her day.

Suddenly a flustered Ruby appeared. ‘That Stan Coe an' 'is sister 'ave been rude an' sayin' unkind things about what's goin' to 'appen to t'school.'

‘Take no notice, Ruby, it's just hot air,' said Vera.

‘Mebbe so, Mrs F, but like ah've allus said – there's no fire wi'out smoke.'

‘No smoke without fire,' corrected Vera gently.

‘That an' all, Mrs F,' said Ruby nodding in agreement. ‘It's like a game o' chess wi' 'im an' we're one o' them prawns.'

‘Can I buy you a drink, Ruby?' I asked, ‘And perhaps one for Mr Dainty?'

George Dainty was chatting with Old Tommy next to his hog roast.

‘Thank you, kindly, Mr Sheffield,' said Ruby and she hurried off with two large glasses of Vera's home-made elderflower lemonade.

Suddenly Major Rupert Forbes-Kitchener's voice could be heard over the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, your attention please. Gather round … it's time to hear the results of the scarecrow competition, to be announced by our esteemed judge, Mr Drinkwater.'

Clarence Drinkwater stood up and tucked his shirt into his underpants. His moment of fame had arrived.

‘Thank you, everybody, an' it's wonderful t'see so many scarecrows 'ere t'day.' He stared into the distance. ‘There's no sight more satisfying than a scarecrow flappin' in t'breeze in t'English countryside.' There was no doubt Clarence loved his scarecrows.

‘So in third place are t'Girl Guides an' t'Scouts, who combined t'mek t'scarecrow from t'
Wizard of Oz
.'

Everybody clapped.

Clarence took a deep breath. ‘Second an' first were difficult to sep'rate cos they were both so good. They were what ah would call
authentic
, in t'true spirit of scarecrow construction.' He surveyed the crowd. ‘An' ah mus' say at this point … ah don't alt'gether 'old wi' usin'
mannequins
.'

‘Oh dear,' whispered Vera.

Deirdre Coe leered from a distance.

‘Nor do ah 'old wi' 'irin' costumes like that King 'Enry.'

Deirdre looked as if she were about to explode.

‘So, in second place is … Mr Ramsbottom's cowboy scarecrow.'

Cheers echoed around the village green and Clarence knew he was guaranteed an evening of free drinks.

‘'Owever, after much deliberation an' wi' a lot o' thought, the winner is … Heathcliffe Earnshaw and his brother Terry with their excellent likeness of our local 'eadmaster, Mr Sheffield.'

Midst thunderous applause, Heathcliffe and Terry, wreathed in smiles, walked forward to receive the first prize of £5.

‘Cor, we're rich, 'Eath',' said Terry.

We returned to our car with the Earnshaw brothers. Terry had taken charge of John in his pushchair.

‘Well done, boys,' I said.

‘Thanks, sir,' said Heathcliffe.

John stared once again at the scarecrow propped against the school gate. ‘Daddy,' he said again. He clambered out of the pushchair, stretched up, grabbed the cardboard spectacles and put them on.

‘Like father, like son,' said Beth and everyone laughed.

The
Herald
photographer captured the moment and it is a photograph I treasured in the years to come … but not the headline by a certain Mr Merry that read ‘Local Headteacher Looks Like a Scarecrow!'

School closed today for the Spring Bank Holiday and will reopen on Monday, 9 June.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 23 May 1986

It was Friday, 23 May, the final day before school closed for the two-week Spring Bank Holiday, and I was in good spirits as I drove to Ragley. In Twenty Acre Field the sunlight on the green, unripe barley created sinuous shadows and the distant hills were streaked with purple heather. Above my head a flock of starlings wheeled in close formation over the vast tableland of the North Yorkshire moors. It was good to be alive on a morning such as this.

When I pulled up outside the General Stores Timothy Pratt was admiring the huge poster that dominated the window of his Hardware Emporium. It read:

GRAND DUCK RACE

In aid of the Village Pond Restoration Fund

Meet on Upper Foss Bridge at 1.00 p.m.

Spring Bank Holiday Monday, 26
^th
May

Buy your official plastic duck from

Pratt's Hardware Emporium

Adults 20p Children 10p

‘Fine morning, Mr Sheffield,' shouted Timothy. As always he was smart in his collar and tie, neatly pressed trousers, shiny black shoes and a brown overall with three pens in his top pocket.

‘It certainly is,' I replied.

‘Are you entering the duck race?'

‘Yes, I need to buy one for John,' I said. ‘He'll love to see all the ducks bobbing down the river.'

‘I'll put one aside for you. They're all numbered.'

‘Thanks, Timothy,' I said. ‘It should be a good event.'

‘Well, we 'ave t'keep t'village pond in good order an' safe for all t'children.'

‘Quite right,' I agreed. I was always impressed by this conscientious, pernickety little man and his devotion to his village. ‘And how are you?'

‘Fine thanks, jus' gettin' everything shipshape for m'cousin visitin' from down south.'

‘Oh yes, and who is that?'

‘Our Bismarck.'

‘Bismarck?'

‘Yes, 'e's a sailor.'

I suppose he would be
, I thought.

I walked into the General Stores, where Prudence was serving Old Tommy Piercy with his weekly supply of Old Holborn tobacco. He had also spent eighteen pence on today's
Daily Mirror
and was scanning the news while he passed the time of day with his next-door neighbour, Miss Golightly.

A photograph of Joan Collins at the Empire Theatre in London's West End had caught his eye. ‘Now there's a fine woman,' he said. The
Dynasty
soap queen had tried to upstage Princess Di in a sexy, split-skirted green dress, complete with glittering jewels. Prudence had no doubt who had carried the day, but kept her opinion to herself.

‘An' that Ian Botham's at it again,' went on Old Tommy, who admired the England cricketer in spite of him playing for a southern team. The larger-than-life sportsman had been smoking pot.