Star Teacher (6 page)

‘No,' said Pat with gravitas. ‘He told his father the
truth
.'

There was a stunned silence, finally broken by an exclamation from Sam Whittaker. ‘Cor!' he said.

‘What 'appened nex', Miss?' asked Rosie Spittlehouse, unable to contain herself.

‘Well,' continued Pat, ‘and this may surprise you … but his father
didn't
punish him.'

There was a gasp of incredulity.

‘So, everybody think hard,' said Pat as the moral of the story was finally revealed. ‘Why didn't George's father punish him?'

‘Ah know, Miss,' called out Ted Coggins.

‘Well done, Ted.' Pat gave him an encouraging smile. ‘So what do you think?'

‘Mebbe,' said Ted thoughtfully, ‘cos George were still 'oldin' that big axe that y'mentioned.'

Pat sighed deeply. ‘Good try, Ted,' she said with feeling and then explained the true reason. Finally, it was time to cut her losses. ‘Hands together, eyes closed,' she said.

Over morning coffee Pat was a little deflated as a result of her aborted attempt to develop the concept of honesty, and an article in Vera's
Daily Telegraph
rubbed salt into the wound. It appeared that Lambeth Borough Council was desperate to employ computer programmers and offer them a remarkable £1,500 on top of their basic £8,100 salary. She sighed and, for once, wondered if she was in the right profession. However, soon she was engaged in conversation with Sally about other events. Alex Higgins, the snooker player, had been arrested at his home in Cheshire following a ‘breach of the peace' complaint, while Robert Maxwell, the publisher, was determined to sue the International Thomson Organization after the collapse of the deal to buy the Withy Grove printing group.

I joined in when the discussion turned to Halley's Comet. Excitement had been building, as the famous comet was due to reappear next month. Its last visit had been in 1910 and, with this in mind, I had begun an astronomy topic with my class. This important event was often regarded as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but I realized that many of the children would still be around when it appeared again in the twenty-first century.

Meanwhile, outside on the schoolyard, Anne was on playground duty when she heard Patience Crapper being unkind to the chubby, red-cheeked Julie Tricklebank. Julie was munching her way through a bag of crisps.

‘You'll be fat when y'grow up,' shouted Patience, ‘an' y'won't be able t'run.'

Julie considered this for a moment. ‘Yes but ah'll be able t'
roll
,' she replied defiantly.

Good answer
, thought Anne as she stepped in to deal with this first hint of bullying.

Ruby was in the General Stores and had shared the news about her missing racing pigeon with Prudence Golightly. Unfortunately, Deirdre Coe, the unpopular sister of Stan Coe the local pig farmer, was leaving the shop at that moment and, as always, spoke up in an unpleasant manner.

‘They're vermin, them pigeons,' she declared, her double chin wobbling in indignation. ‘An' my Stanley will shoot 'em if they fly over our land.' The door crashed behind her and the little bell jingled madly.

‘Take no notice, Ruby,' said Prudence. ‘I'm sure it must be very distressing for you.'

‘Ah'm sick o' that Deirdre Coe,' complained Ruby. ‘In fac', if looks could kill ah'd be dead as a doornail ten times over.'

‘So, definitely deceased then,' said Prudence sympathetically but with a wry smile.

‘Ah told 'er
pacifically
t'keep 'er nose out o' my business,' Ruby continued.

‘Take no notice,' Prudence said again. ‘Now then, Ruby, I've got that lovely crusty bread that you like …'

Ruby walked up the High Street to the village green, then decided to rest her legs for a short while and sit on the bench that had been dedicated to her late husband. She found solace sitting here and enjoyed recalling happier times, even though they were few and far between.

‘Y'look deep in thought,' said a familiar voice. It was George Dainty, a short man in his early fifties with a ruddy face and a gentle smile. He removed his flat cap to reveal his balding head. ‘Now then, Ruby, may ah sit down?'

‘O' course, George.'

‘Ah 'ope nowt's troubling you,' he said and moved a little closer.

Ruby sighed. ‘Well, there's a lot goin' on.'

‘Y'can tell me,' he said gently.

George had become a well-loved character in the village. As a young man he had shown entrepreneurial spirit when he left Ragley to open his own shop, The Codfather, a popular and lucrative fish-and-chip shop in Alicante in Spain. He had returned to his home village a couple of years ago and bought a luxury bungalow on the Morton Road. Rumour had it he was a millionaire, but George never spoke about his wealth. However, it was well known he had thought highly of Ruby ever since she had been the village May Queen as a young girl. It was on that day that the teenage George had fallen in love with the pretty girl with the wavy chestnut hair and the ready smile.

‘You've been crying,' said George tenderly.

Ruby rubbed her cheeks with dumpy, work-red fingers. ‘Ah cry a lot these days.'

George rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a large handkerchief and offered it to Ruby. She blew her nose vigorously and loudly.

‘You keep it,' he said and Ruby put it in the pocket of her old raincoat.

‘Our Duggie's racin' pigeon 'as gone astray,' explained Ruby. ‘'E promised 'is dad 'e would look after 'em.'

‘Don't fret, Ruby. Ah'm sure t'bird'll turn up.'

‘Mebbe so, George.'

George glanced over his shoulder. ‘'Ow about a nice cup o' coffee in Nora's?'

Ruby looked down the High Street towards the clock on the village hall. ‘Ah'm not due back at school 'til jus' afore twelve t'put dining tables out,' she said.

‘Then, come on,' said George, taking her hand, ‘an' cheer up, it might never 'appen.'

‘An' pigs might fly,' retorted Ruby with a smile.

Last month's number one, David Bowie and Mick Jagger's ‘Dancing in the Street', was playing on the jukebox when they walked into the Coffee Shop. Ruby sat down while George bought two frothy coffees. He seemed to spend an age adding sugar and stirring his coffee.

Finally Ruby broke the silence. ‘C'mon, out wi' it. Or 'as t'cat got y'tongue?'

George sipped his coffee, looked up and took a deep breath. ‘Ruby luv … ah were seventeen an' you were sixteen,' he began. ‘You were t'most beautiful girl in Ragley and ah were smitten. Then when ah plucked up t'courage to ask you out y'mother wouldn't 'ave none of it … an' ah got m'marchin' orders.'

Ruby put down her cup and looked into the eyes of this quiet, gentle man while Bonnie Tyler's ‘Holding Out for a Hero' started up on the juke-box.

‘Ah believe you, George, but thousands wouldn't,' she said.

There was a long silence.

‘Do y'miss 'im?' asked George.

‘'E were like blisters, were my Ronnie,' said Ruby with a mournful shake of her chestnut curls.

‘
Blisters?
'

‘Yes, y'know … 'e never turned up 'til work were done.'

‘Ah see,' said George.

‘If ah said it once ah've said it a thousand times … 'e were neither use nor ornament, were my Ronnie.' Then a smile crossed Ruby's flushed face. ‘'Cept ah were blessed wi' six lovely children.'

As Bonnie Tyler finally faded into the distance the Coffee Shop went quiet for a few moments.

Finally George spoke up. ‘Ah were saddened when y'married Ronnie.'

‘Ah didn't know that, George,' replied Ruby thoughtfully.

She had begun to wonder what might have been.

At lunchtime Vera was flicking through her newspaper. The Labour Party Conference was taking place in Bournemouth and she frowned. Nor was she interested in Frank Bruno, the Wandsworth heavyweight, who was due to fight at Wembley to take the European crown from Anders Eklund of Sweden. However, the ladies' tennis news caught her attention. In women's tennis her favourite player, forty-year-old Virginia Wade, had lost her latest match.
All good things come to an end
, thought Vera. Meanwhile, though she missed Sue Barker, she was confident that the teenager Annabel Croft showed promise.

Her friend, Miss Valerie Flint, had arrived to take my class during afternoon school. Now in her early sixties, she was an imposing teacher and renowned for her excellent classroom management and strict but fair discipline. We were fortunate to have such a ‘safe pair of hands' as our supply teacher.

She was chatting with Pat and recalling that, at six feet tall, she had been an enthusiastic netball player in her younger days. Valerie was an elegant figure in a beautifully tailored trouser suit, her favoured style of dress. While the traditional Vera still frowned at female staff wearing trousers, Miss Flint had become a firm ally of mine on my first day at Ragley when I had ended this particular outdated restriction on female clothing implemented by my predecessor.

Finally it was time to leave for the headteachers' meeting.

‘Good luck, Mr Sheffield,' said Vera and I wondered just how much she knew. Her husband, Rupert, mixed in higher circles and was familiar with local politics.

It had been difficult not to reveal the professional confidence shared by Richard Gomersall. The possible amalgamation of Ragley and Morton would have a huge impact on our school and community. However, soon I was driving along the Ripon Road in the hope that all could be resolved.

The wheels of my car crunched along the winding gravel driveway towards a magnificent Georgian mansion set in five hundred acres of the finest Yorkshire countryside. High Sutton Hall was a distinctive country house with a lake and a walled garden, and was a superb venue for meetings. It provided a welcome retreat for teachers to talk and share ideas, and the cuisine was always excellent.

The room was filling with men and women in grey suits and sombre expressions. I collected my package of booklets and leaflets and wondered how many trees had been sacrificed to facilitate this gathering. I found a seat and it wasn't long before Rufus Timmings, the headteacher of Morton Primary School, sought me out.

Rufus was a short, squat, barrel-chested man, more a bulldog than a greyhound, although he moved at a surprisingly fast pace through the crowd when he spotted me. Although only in his early thirties, he was balding prematurely and reminded me of the irrepressible Gerald Campion, the actor who played the part of Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School.

He immediately engaged me in conversation. ‘Hello, Jack, how are you?'

I noticed that his smart grey three-piece suit made me look a little shabby in comparison. ‘Fine, thank you, Rufus,' I said. ‘So, have you settled in?'

‘Yes, of course,' he said with confidence. Then he lowered his voice and added in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘But Miss Tripps had let things slide rather badly and I'm restoring order.'

I wasn't happy about him criticizing his predecessor, a dedicated lady who had always given her best for the children in her care. ‘Miss Tripps was a wonderful servant to Morton village,' I said, ‘but change is inevitable, I suppose.'

‘Too true, Jack, and never more than now. My school will almost certainly be closed with such a small number on roll.'

‘That's difficult news for the village,' I said.

‘Yes, but it doesn't make
economic
sense to keep it open.' He tapped the cover of his spiral-bound booklet. ‘That's why we're here today.'

His candour puzzled me. There was an obvious vibrancy and vigour about this young man. He spoke with an outgoing confidence, clearly comfortable in his own skin. I was surprised at his relaxed manner.

‘You don't seem too concerned,' I observed.

He sniggered rather than laughed and tapped the side of his nose with a stubby forefinger. ‘Well, the Morton headship is just a stepping stone for me … simply the first rung on the ladder towards a bigger headship.'

‘I see,' I said. The bell rang to signal the commencement of the conference. ‘Well, good luck, I hope it works out for you.'

We shook hands and he hurried off to claim a seat in the front row.

Richard Gomersall introduced the agenda for the afternoon and began by emphasizing the finite resources at the disposal of the County Council. ‘Maggie has tightened her purse strings,' he joked, but no one laughed. It was depressing to hear his view that we were becoming ‘the poor neighbours of public service' while the salaries of Britain's senior company directors had risen by seventeen per cent this year.

There was a variety of speakers, mostly grey men in dark suits with degrees in economics, who ground down our spirits as the afternoon wore on. Finally Richard Gomersall reappeared to sum up. ‘I've managed to visit the schools for whom the impact will be most felt,' he concluded. ‘We must handle the coming events with particular sensitivity as the decisions we are making will affect many facets of local communities.' There were imperceptible nods of reluctant agreement from those around me.

Miss Barrington-Huntley sought me out as the meeting closed. ‘I was delighted for Beth,' she said with enthusiasm. ‘She will do well at King's Manor.'

‘I know she's looking forward to it,' I said.

‘Yes, Hartingdale's loss is King's Manor's gain,' she replied.

‘In the meantime, I'm obviously wondering about the future of Ragley,' I said pointedly.

I could see her considering her response. ‘I understand your concern, Jack, and I'm aware Richard has spoken to you.'

‘Yes, he mentioned the possible amalgamation of Ragley and Morton, and I haven't discussed this with anyone else … as he requested.'