02 Mister Teacher (26 page)

The giant policeman proved to be very popular with the children and, at the end of the assembly, he answered their many questions carefully and accurately. At ten-thirty, Anne rang the bell for morning playtime and we all met in the staff-room. Dan was packing up some of his equipment into a police-issue bag before taking it out to his little grey van.

‘What’s that?’ asked Jo, pointing to a small green plastic box with a hinged lid, about the size of a soap dish.

‘It’s one of the new breathalyser kits,’ said Dan, opening the box.

We all looked inside at a collection of tubes that appeared to be full of crystals.

‘It’s an electronic Alcometer SL2,’ said Dan proudly. He laid out all the parts for us to see.

‘How does it work?’ asked Sally.

‘You cut the end off one of the tubes, fix one end to the mouthpiece and the other to the plastic bag. Then you blow, with one continuous breath, into the mouthpiece, and the change in the colour of the crystals gives the result.’

It was a well-rehearsed routine. He had been well trained.

‘So you know when a driver is over the limit?’ asked Jo.

Dan nodded. ‘All the lads at the station are looking forward to trying it out,’ he said, with a huge grin.

Sally pointed to one of Dan’s posters that read ‘Think Before You Drink Before You Drive’.

‘I’m putting that on the notice board outside the village hall,’ said Dan, rolling up the poster and putting a rubber band round it.

‘I’ll have to be careful,’ said Sally thoughtfully. ‘Colin will have to drive me to the pub quiz at the Oak tonight.’

‘You’re in a quiz team, Sally?’ I asked, in surprise.

‘Well, yes,’ she said, rather sheepishly. ‘All the girls in the Ladies’ Keep Fit evening class decided to end the evening with a chat in the pub after class. Then Don and Sheila asked us if we wanted to enter a team in their monthly quiz.’

‘I’m sure you’ll do very well,’ said the ever-supportive Vera.

‘Remember to stay on soft drinks, or even that new bottled water,’ said Jo. ‘Just in case any of Dan’s uniformed friends are lurking outside.’

‘That’s right,’ said Dan, zipping up the bag. ‘They’ll have you for “Drunk and Disorderly” or “Conduct Liable to Cause Breach of the Peace”.’

For the remainder of morning playtime, Dan was only too willing to help his fiancée recycle a multicoloured ball of slightly hard Plasticine in preparation for her next lesson. True love clearly manifested itself in many ways.

After a lunch of spam fritters and baked beans followed by semolina, I walked across to the village green, carrying a chair and a collection of pond life identification charts.
Soon
all the children were sitting round the pond, observing, dipping and sketching.

‘These water boatmen are swimmin’ backstroke, Mr Sheffield,’ said Tony Ackroyd, full of his usual enthusiasm. He pointed to a group of strange aquatic insects, each about half an inch long, with a brown body and reddish eyes. With their long back legs like oars, they paddled around without a care in the world.

Eleven-year-old Micky Buttle had sketched a wonderfully detailed drawing of the dark, slender body of a pond-skater that was balancing, incredibly, on the surface tension of the water. Jodie Cuthbertson and Dominic Brown were stretched out by the water’s edge, watching the slow progress of pond snails, and eleven-year-old Mandy Ollerenshaw was doing a colourful pastel drawing of a mallard with a dark-green head and a ring of white feathers around its neck.

After half an hour, Sheila Bradshaw came out of The Royal Oak and propped outside the front door a large chalkboard announcing ‘Pub Quiz Tonight’. She glanced up, saw all the children and quickly reappeared with four jugs of orange juice and a stack of plastic beakers. We all stopped work for a welcome break and sat in the sunshine, enjoying the unexpected refreshment.

‘Nice t’see ’em working so ’ard,’ said Sheila, as she walked round topping up our beakers.

‘Thanks a lot, Sheila,’ I said. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘Anything for t’children … and, of course, you, Mr Sheffield,’ she whispered as she stooped to give me a refill and, in doing so, displayed her ample bosom.

The revving of an engine suddenly shattered the peaceful scene.

‘Ah’m paying ’igh taxes f’you t’sit ’aving a bloody picnic,’ yelled Stan Coe from the open window of his Land Rover. He had just visited the Pig and Ferret in Easington and enjoyed five pints of Tetley’s bitter with a group of his duck-shooting friends. Before Sheila or I had the chance to reply, he put his foot down and accelerated back up the Morton Road.

‘’E needs t’watch ’is language in front o’ t’children,’ muttered Sheila, as she collected the beakers and tottered away, rather shakily, her high heels sinking into the grass with each step.

Albert Jenkins, our school governor, had just walked up the High Street and witnessed the whole scene. He was a tall, smartly dressed sixty-six-year-old and he shook his head in annoyance. ‘“O! it is excellent to have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant”,’ he quoted.

Albert was a very well-read and astute man. He loved his Shakespeare.

‘
Macbeth
,’ I said, in acknowledgement.

Albert nodded. ‘I see he’s at it again,’ he said, pointing towards the yellow posters. ‘I thought we’d frightened him off last summer when he resigned as a school governor.’

‘So did I, Albert.’

He nodded towards Sheila’s chalkboard. ‘I’m here to sign up our dominoes team for the quiz night,’ he said.

‘With your general knowledge, you should have a good chance, Albert.’

‘I’m better at long ago than recent times.’

I looked at him, slightly puzzled.

‘Memories are strange things, Jack,’ he said. ‘Mine are vivid and sharp like the still water at the bottom of a full bucket.’

‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Well, it’s like this,’ he replied, hooking his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and leaning back against the weeping willow. ‘All the old memories are cold and clear at the bottom of the bucket; whereas my new memories from recent times just splash on the surface and trickle over the sides. They’re lost for ever.’

His face creased into a well-worn smile and he walked away, looking relaxed in his three-piece suit, in spite of the warm weather.

Eventually, we replaced all our specimens into the pond, where they could presumably get reacquainted and multiply, and carried all our equipment, notebooks and artwork back into the classroom. When Jodie Cuthbertson rang the school bell for the end of the day, she shouted, ‘That was a smashing day, Mr Sheffield.’ I walked out to the playground, where Jodie’s twelve-year-old sister, Anita, was waiting for her. She was leaning against the school gate with Kenny Kershaw, who had also been in my class last year. Both were now in their first year at Easington Comprehensive School.

‘’Ello, Mr Sheffield,’ said Anita. ‘Me an’ Kenny ’ad a lib’ry period.’

Kenny just nodded. Anita always had been the spokesperson for the class and nothing had changed.

She rummaged in her bag. ‘Look what I got,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘It’s a Casio calculator, Mr Sheffield. Look, when you press the buttons to do sums, they make a noise and then you get the answer. It’s easy.’

‘She’s not s’pposed t’use it, though,’ said Jodie.

‘No! Don’t y’think it’s daft, Mr Sheffield?’ said Anita. ‘Ol’ Chalky, our maths teacher, goes ballistic if ’e sees ’em in class. He meks us use slide rules an’ I get all confused moving that plastic sliding thing up ’n’ down t’ruler. All that loggy-rhythm stuff don’t mek sense t’me.’

Kenny was holding the handlebars of a racy new bicycle. Anita continued in full flow. No one got a word in when Anita was talking.

‘Kenny’s got a Chopper bike, Mr Sheffield. It’s called “The ’ot One”. In t’cycle shop in Easington it says it ’as “muscles t’spare an’ snap-action shift gears”.’

With its coil spring shock absorbers, chrome roll bar and ‘apehanger’ handlebars it looked like something from
Star Wars
.

‘Anyway, got to rush t’do ol’ Chalky’s ’omework an’ see Tucker in
Grange ’ill
, Mr Sheffield. Bye.’

With that, she rushed off home, still chattering at the top of her voice, with Jodie and Kenny following on behind. Later that evening, she helped Jodie to construct a Bay City Rollers self-assembly lampshade. When you’re twelve years old, you can pack a lot into one day.

Jo and I were the last to leave school that afternoon and we walked into the car park together.

‘Dan’s on duty tonight, Jack,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d call in to the Oak and give Sally some moral support. Why not come along?’

‘Thanks, Jo. I’ll see how the evening goes.’

Happily, I made what turned out to be an excellent decision and, at seven o’clock, I drove back into Ragley and parked by the village green.

When I walked into The Royal Oak, Rod Stewart was singing ‘Maggie May’ on the jukebox and a heated discussion among the football team was taking place at the bar.

Big Dave was beside himself with absolute astonishment. ‘Bottled water!’ he said. ‘Bottled water!’ Big Dave was so exasperated he could do no more than repeat himself.

‘Y’reight there, Dave,’ said Little Malcolm. ‘It’s water in bottles.’

‘Ah’m tellin’ y’straight,’ said Don, the barman, as he expertly cleaned a pint pot with a York City tea towel.

‘Y’mean it’s summat diff’rent t’soda water an’ tonic water?’ asked Chris ‘Kojak’ Wojciechowski, the Bald-Headed Ball-Wizard.

‘That’s reight,’ said Don.

‘But y’drink tonic water wi’ gin, an’ soda water wi’ whisky,’ said Clint Ramsbottom. ‘So ’ow d’you drink this bottled water?’

‘Y’jus’ drink it as it is,’ said Don.

‘Y’mean it’s jus’ water in bottles an’ y’drink it?’ asked Big Dave, shaking his head in disbelief.

Little Malcolm was speechless, so he just shook his head in sympathy.

Don continued to pursue the point and reveal the sum total of his newly acquired knowledge. ‘It’s from t’Continent,’ he said. ‘An’ it’s called Evian or summat.’

‘Ah, so it’s ’eavy water, then, is it?’ said Big Dave. ‘Maybe that’s why people buy it.’

‘That’s reight, Dave, it’ll be ’eavy,’ said Little Malcolm.

‘Not ’eavy,’ shouted Stevie ‘Supersub’ Coleclough, who was proud that he was the only member of the football team who had been to college. ‘It’s from France an’ it’s called Evian. It’s full o’ minerals.’

‘Mebbe that’s why it’s ’eavy,’ said Don, frowning at the bottle of Evian water in his huge fist.

Everyone stared at the bottle dubiously.

‘Well, ah’ll tell y’summat f’nowt,’ said Big Dave: ‘it’ll never catch on.’

‘Y’reight there, Dave,’ said Little Malcolm. ‘Who’s gonna buy water when y’get it from t’tap f’nowt?’

Don put the bottle of water back behind the counter, grabbed the hand pump in his wrestler’s fist and pulled a foaming pint of Chestnut mild and put it on the counter. ‘Twenty-eight and a half pence, please, Mr Sheffield.’

I gave Don thirty pence.

‘Ah’m fed up wi’ these half pences,’ said Don mournfully and he struggled to extract the tiny coins from the till with his thick fingers. ‘Still, way inflashun’s goin’, pints’ll soon be thirty pence.’

By the time Sheila turned down the Eagles singing ‘Hotel California’, the crowded lounge bar was full of
excitement
. The various teams huddled round each table with their pens and quiz sheets.

‘Number one,’ said Sheila into her crackly microphone: ‘Where are thee gods?’

‘Y’what?’ shouted Big Dave. The four brightest members of the football team, including ex-college boy Stevie ‘Supersub’ Coleclough, had been chosen and Big Dave had been feeling confident until then.

‘That’s what it sez ’ere,’ said Sheila unflinchingly. ‘Where are thee gods?’

Albert Jenkins and his dominoes team looked puzzled and started talking about the seats in the upper circle in York Theatre Royal. However, Sally Pringle smiled confidently and whispered to the already well-lubricated ladies of the Keep Fit evening class. Their teacher, a plump lady in pink flares and four-inch platform shoes, lit up a Silk Cut Ultra Mild and wrote down their first answer.

‘Question two,’ said Sheila: ‘What hinstrument did that Jack Lemming play in
Some Like It ’ot
?’

Timothy Pratt looked at his brother, Victor, and his sister, Nora, and shook his head. He was the undisputed leader of the Pratts’ quiz team.

‘It were Lemmon, not Lemming,’ said Timothy.

Tidy Tim liked correct questions.

‘All right, keep yer ’air on,’ shouted Sheila. ‘Number three: Who were Billy J. Kramer’s backin’ group?’

Ronnie Smith, the captain of the Pigeon Club team, scratched his head and prayed that this month there would be a question about football or pigeons.

At the end, Sheila read out the answers on her printed
sheet
. While she could remember twelve different drinks and four different bar-meal orders without blinking, reading unfamiliar words was not her strength.

‘Number one: Mount Holym-pus,’ said Sheila hesitantly, staring, puzzled, at the clipboard. ‘Number two: a double bass,’ said Sheila, unfortunately pronouncing it like the fish.