The Heart of the Dales (42 page)

At our first meeting, when I had visited the school to introduce myself and offer what help and advice I could, I very soon discovered that this overweening and arrogant man felt he was in little need of any assistance or guidance from anyone, least of all a school inspector who, I guess, he thought was still wet behind the ears. I had been subjected to a lengthy monologue in which he had described his impeccable credentials in the education world and his vast experience. I had bristled when he had launched into a diatribe of the previous headmaster. His predecessor, Mr Blunt, (‘Blunt by name and blunt by nature') was a large, bluff and outspoken York-shireman yet, despite his brusque manner, I had rather liked the man.

‘I am afraid, Mr Phinn,' Mr Pennington-Smith had confided in me at that first visit and fixing me with his cold, fishy eyes, ‘that the former incumbent tended to – how can I put it diplomatically? – to let things drift. I don't wish to be too unkind and I have no doubt that, at one time, Mr Blunt ran a tight ship, but sadly things got slack.' I quickly discovered that he was very big on nautical metaphors, and thoroughly deserved the nickname we inspectors soon bestowed on him – Captain Bligh. I had thought at the time that such observations about his predecessor were unfounded and I had told Mr Pennington-Smith as much. Under Mr Blunt's leadership, the
school had achieved commendable examination results, was relatively successful in sports, had a thriving brass band, staged good-quality drama productions and there was a positive atmosphere. It wasn't the county's flagship school but it certainly was not in the doldrums.

At the school's prize-giving ceremony and speech day that I'd attended, it had been clear to me and everyone else hearing Captain Bligh's ‘performance' behind the lectern that only the most successful students in the various academic subjects and those who did well in sport would be presented with any awards, and that the emphasis in the school, under Mr Pennington-Smith's leadership, would be on the more able and the high achievers. So, when young Andy, standing in the garden at Peewit Cottage, had assessed his headmaster as being ‘only bothered abaat bright kids and them what are good at sports,' he reinforced an opinion I had already formed.

After a little over a year in the job, things had not altered at all for the better at West Challerton High School. In fact, if anything, they seemed to have worsened and my colleague inspectors had submitted a series of critical reports, all of which had been challenged by the headmaster, supported by his chairman of governors, none other than Councillor, Mr Deputy Mayor, George ‘pain in the neck' Peterson.

‘I've come about bullying,' I told Mr Pennington-Smith now.

‘Bullying,' he repeated.

‘Yes. I have reason to believe that one of your pupils is being bullied.'

‘You sound like a policeman, Mr Phinn,' he said raising an eyebrow. ‘“Reason to believe”?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I am not certain of the facts but –'

‘And you have made a special visit to inform me about one pupil,' he interrupted.

‘Yes, I thought I should draw it to your attention.'

‘I would have thought that you have many more pressing matters than making a special visit to the school over a single pupil. I am sure a telephone call would have sufficed.'

‘Perhaps,' I said, ‘but I thought I should acquaint you personally with the situation.' I realised with horror that I had unwittingly aped Savage-speak. ‘I am sure that you take bullying as seriously as I do, and if it is one or one hundred pupils being bullied it is important to tackle it. In fact, the boy concerned could very well have been killed.'

‘Well, you had better come to my room,' he said. I followed him down the corridor. He glanced at a shiny watch on his wrist. ‘I have a Senior Management Meeting to chair at ten o'clock and several pressing matters to deal with – but I can spare you ten minutes.'

He sat at his desk and, to my surprise, listened impassively and without interruption as I related the incident with Terry Moss up and how I had very nearly knocked him down.

‘But from what you have told me,' he said when I had finished, ‘this incident took place off school premises and out of school hours. Am I right?'

‘It did, yes,' I replied.

‘I can hardly be expected to police society as a whole, Mr Phinn,' said Mr Pennington-Smith pompously. ‘What am I expected to do – escort the student home, patrol the highway, stand on street corners on the look-out for bullies? I deal with things which happen in my school, and have no control over what happens out of it.'

‘But would you not agree,' I asked him, ‘that the bullying of one of your pupils outside school should concern you since the bullying is more than likely to continue on school premises.'

‘Of course I'm concerned with the pupils in my school,' he said, ‘and I shall take any action I deem fit.'

‘May I ask what action you might take?' I asked.

‘I shall ask my deputy head teacher, Mr Stipple, to investigate the matter. If, indeed, this is a case of victimisation, I shall deal with these three boys you can be certain of that. I will not tolerate any form of bullying in West Challerton High School. As you may be aware, I have a very thorough and well-tried anti-bullying policy.'

‘May I ask–' I started.

‘One moment, please. I will get you a copy of our policy.' He pressed a buzzer on his desk. A disembodied voice asked, ‘Yes, Mr Pennington-Smith?'

‘Mrs Rogers, would you bring me a copy of our anti-bullying policy, please?'

The headmaster smiled. ‘You might wish to take it with you when you leave,' he said.

On my way to the car, I came upon a knot of large boys having a crafty smoke well out of sight of the main building. The cigarettes miraculously disappeared as I approached. I smiled, recalling the time when I was their age and had snuck off with several pals behind the bicycle sheds to do the same. I was not a very successful smoker and after several bouts of vomiting gave up the dreaded weed for good.

‘Morning, boys,' I said cheerfully as I passed.

One of the group, a large pink-faced lad with coarse bristly brown hair and enormous ears, emerged from the group of lads, flicking his cigarette stub into a bush.

‘Hey up, Mester Phinn.'

‘Hello, Andy,' I said.

‘Ere on hofficial business, are tha?' he asked.

‘Something like that,' I told him.

‘Are tha closin' t'school down, then?' he asked.

‘No,' I replied.

‘Pity.'

‘By the way, the garden is looking really good.'

‘An' t'gutterin'?'

‘Fine.'

‘An' no more squirrels?'

‘Not one.'

‘'As thy'eard abaat mi Uncle'Arry?' the boy asked.

‘No, what?' I replied.

‘'E's been barred.'

‘Barred?' I repeated.

‘From t'Royal Oak. New landlord got sick on'im
complainin' all t'time, moanin' abaat all t'changes so'e barred'im. Telled'im not to come back an' to tekhis pals wi' im.'

‘All four have been banned?' I asked. ‘That's a bit much.'

‘Well, to be'onest, Mester Phinn, it were a bit cheeky-like fer mi Uncle'Arry to get up this pertition an' ask people comin' into t'pub to sign it.'

‘I suppose it was,' I said, although it was just the thing Harry Cotton would do, I thought to myself.

‘Any road,'e's in a reight temper these days, angry as an'ungry ferret in a sack.'

‘I'll remember to keep out of his way,' I said.

‘Well, let us know if there's owt else I can'elp thee wi'.'

‘There is something,' I said, having a sudden and inspired thought. ‘Could you walkwith me to the car? I'd like a quiet word with you.' When we were out of earshot of the other boys, I stopped. ‘Andy,' I said, ‘there's a boy in the first year here at West Challerton called Terry Moss up. He's a bit of a loner, small for his age with ginger hair.'

‘Aye, I reckon I've seen'im abaat. Funny kid. Allus on'is own.'

‘Well, he's had a fair bit of trouble in his life and I thinkyou can be of help.'

‘What's tha want me to do then, Mester Phinn?' he asked.

‘He's being bullied by three older and much bigger boys and it occurred to me that –'

He finished my sentence. ‘Tha wants me to put a stop to it.'

‘Well, what I was thinking was, that you might –'

‘No problem, Mester Phinn,' he said. ‘I'll fettle it for thee. Nob'dy'll pickon'im from now on. I'ates bullies, there's summat up wi'em. Anyone who likes to mek others upset must be a bit tapped in t'ead.'

‘I don't want you to do anything in particular, Andy,' I said. ‘Just keep a watchful eye on Terry.'

The boy winked. ‘I follow yer drift, Mester Phinn,' he said knowingly, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I'll not do nowt in particular.'

‘Thank you,' I said.

‘But there's summat tha can do fer me,' he told me.

‘Yes, of course,' I replied. ‘What that?'

‘Keep thee gob shut abaat t'smokin'.'

On a morning towards the end of November, I visited King Henry's College in Brindcliffe to observe some English lessons. On my previous visit, I had been mostly impressed with the quality of teaching. The exception was the head of department, Mr Frobisher, a pale-complexioned individual, with large hooded eyes magnified behind rimless spectacles. He seemed to be totally devoid of humour and had the arrogance of a Spanish conquistador.

Following my very critical report, he had decided to take early retirement.

I was surprised this morning, however, to find Mrs Todd back at King Henry's. When I had first met her, here at this school, she had recently retired as the head of the English Department in a large comprehensive. She had been persuaded to do some supply teaching at King Henry's and had been there during the Frobisher affair. She had told me some time later that she was moving on to The Lady Cavendish High School for Girls, to cover for a maternity leave. She was a petite woman with neatly-permed, tinted hair and clear rather piercing blue eyes behind small round spectacles. Having sat in on one of her lessons, I knew she was someone who clearly enjoyed the challenge presented her by lively, intelligent but sometimes rather difficult and demanding students, and that, I suppose, was why she had been prevailed upon to return to the classroom once her own family had grown up.

She met me now outside the staff room, and she explained as we walked together to her classroom.

‘My contract at The Lady Cavendish ended when the teacher I was covering for returned to work. She had a little boy called Harry, by the way.'

‘And you were persuaded to come back here as the acting head of department?' I said.

‘Dragooned more like.' She laughed. ‘After Mr Frobisher left, they appointed a teacher who I believe they were pleased with. Most unfortunately, however, she had to stand down when her teenage son was involved in a serious motor cycle accident during the summer holidays, and now requires round-the-clock care at home. The school got in touch with me, and here I am.'

‘It's nice to see you again,' I said warmly. ‘And you don't mind being back in the old routine?'

‘No, I am very happy to be back in the classroom. It didn't take much to persuade me. When I'm away from school, I miss teaching terribly.'

The sixth form group stood up when we entered the classroom.

‘Do please sit down, boys,' said the teacher. She faced the class and smiled. ‘It will not have escaped your notice that we have a visitor with us today. This is Mr Phinn.'

‘Excuse me, sir.' The speaker, sitting at one of the front desks, was a gangly boy with lanky brown hair and angry acne across his forehead and cheeks. ‘I know you, don't I?'

I recognised the boy immediately. Who could forget such a character? I had met Hugo Maxwell-Smith on my last visit to King Henry's. He had been extremely obstreperous, constantly challenging Mr Frobisher, trying to catch him out, or making some clever comment and demonstrating his undoubted ability. He was an extremely bright but belligerent student. I wondered how Mrs Todd was coping with such a tricky and troublesome individual.

‘Do you?' I asked the boy innocently.

‘You're the school inspector,' said the boy. ‘The man in black who sits in the corner of our classroom with his little note book and a set of questions. I'm sure you remember.'

‘Ah, yes,' I said, recalling well the occasion when the boy had grilled me. ‘Who exactly are you?' he had asked ‘And what is it that you do?' When I had informed him that it was usually
the inspector and not the pupils who asked the questions, he had replied, ‘But surely in a good school, the pupils are encouraged to ask questions, are they not?'

‘You will have to be careful, Mrs Todd,' Hugo told her with a smirk on his face. ‘It was after Mr Phinn's last visit to King Henry's that Mr Frobisher suddenly and mysteriously left. I think the term is “The Kiss of Death”.'

‘I shall have to watch my step then, Hugo, won't I?' replied Mrs Todd pleasantly. ‘Now, why don't you get out your books and we can begin.'

The lesson was extremely well taught but, as expected, Hugo was at pains to be clever and an insufferable show-off. When asked by the teacher what was Romeo's last wish he replied, ‘To get laid by Juliet.'

The innuendo was not lost on the teacher who remained unflustered and affable. ‘By that, do you mean Romeo wished to be buried in the crypt next to Juliet, Hugo, or to have sex with her? You really have to be more explicit in what you mean.'

The boy didn't give up and continued to try and embarrass the teacher. ‘There's a lot of erotic imagery in the play,' he observed, ‘isn't there, Mrs Todd?'