Star Teacher (30 page)

‘Good to share stories,' Bismarck said to me. He stood up. ‘Well, come on then, Timothy,
tempus fugit
… time flies.'

‘Good luck,' I said.

Bismarck grinned. ‘
Carpe diem!
'

‘Seize the day,' I translated with a smile, and I followed them out to the High Street.

Outside school, Ruby was with George Dainty, standing next to her car.

‘How are you, Ruby?' I asked.

‘Ah'm 'avin' a drivin' lesson.'

‘How's it going?'

‘Ah'm 'appy as a pig in muck, Mr Sheffield,' she said cheerfully as George opened the driver's door for her. ‘Ah'm doin' summat
positive
.'

‘Well, you can't say fairer than that,' I said.

‘Ah don't want t'sit at 'ome, Mr Sheffield, an' turn into a vegetarian,' she said.

‘You'll always be young at heart, Ruby,' said George with a smile.

Timothy and Bismarck were on the Upper Foss bridge. ‘This is t'start,' said Timothy, ‘an' t'finish is that bend.' He pointed fifty metres downstream. ‘T'local Scouts will be there wi' nets t'collect all t'ducks.'

‘The current is very slow and steady, less than walking speed, and it narrows nicely at the finish,' observed Bismarck with a keen eye. ‘It's perfect.'

‘There's two prizes,' said Timothy, ‘f'children an' adults.'

At that moment Petula Dudley-Palmer jogged into view in her new leisure suit and Chris Evert trainers. She had lost many pounds during her fitness programme and Bismarck admired her slim figure as she paused to take a breather and drink some water.

‘'Ello, Petula,' called out Timothy. ‘Ah see y'still gettin' fit then.'

Petula smiled at the two men. ‘Yes, thank you,' she said.

‘This is m'cousin,' said Timothy. ‘Ah'm jus' showing 'im where t'duck race is tekkin' place.'

Petula looked up at the handsome stranger.

‘I'm Bismarck,' he said. ‘A pleasure to meet you.'

Petula smiled. ‘Hello,' she said. ‘This really is a picturesque spot. I love this bridge and the river.'

‘Yes, I can see why … but, of course, all rivers are different,' said Bismarck. ‘Look at this one, for instance. It looks as though it flows evenly, but there's a back-eddy over there about twenty metres away.'

‘A back-eddy?' repeated Petula.

‘Yes,' replied Bismarck, ‘it's when the current flows in the opposite direction.'

Petula nodded in acknowledgement. ‘So you would want to avoid that in a duck race.'

‘Quite right,' said Bismarck.

Timothy was puzzled. ‘'Ow come?'

‘You would need to float an object from the left-hand side of the bridge,' explained his cousin.

‘But it's 'ardly movin' down there,' said Timothy, peering into the sluggish water near the left bank.

‘Yes, but more haste, less speed,' said Bismarck with a wry smile in Petula's direction.

‘Well, lovely to meet you,' she said, with a final searching glance at this interesting man.

‘I hope we shall meet again.'

‘So do I,' said Petula and she could hardly believe she had said the words. With a secret smile she jogged down to the path towards Ragley.

‘A delightful lady,' said Bismarck almost to himself. ‘
Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re
… gentle in manner, resolute in deed.'

‘Yes,' agreed Timothy, ‘a shame 'er 'usband doesn't appreciate 'er.'

It was Bank Holiday Monday and as we drove past the village hall cascades of blossom lay heavy on the branches like fragrant snowflakes. Ragley High Street was stirring into life. Jimmy Poole's Yorkshire terrier, Scargill, was snuffling around Timothy Pratt's stock of plaster-cast garden gnomes. It was his new range, featuring Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Sadly, Happy had no reason to appear cheerful as Scargill cocked his leg and urinated on his bright-red hat.

We parked in the school car park and walked up the Morton Road. A huge crowd had gathered on the Upper Foss bridge and along the banks of the stream that meandered down towards York and the River Ouse. The entrepreneurial Earnshaw brothers were selling bottles of what looked like home-made Tizer from a wheelbarrow, while Timothy was preparing to blow a whistle to start the race. Bismarck was positioned on the finish line – namely, a length of baling twine held just above the surface of the water by members of the Ragley Scout troop. Other boys in wellington boots paddled in the sunshine, carrying nets to capture the plastic ducks as they trundled by.

Petula Dudley-Palmer was leaning against the parapet of the bridge with her younger daughter, twelve-year-old Victoria Alice. Her husband, Geoffrey, had taken Elisabeth Amelia into York for her violin lesson. Petula was looking at Bismarck by the bend in the stream as he issued instructions to the boys around him and she thought about their conversation. ‘Victoria,' she said, ‘let's go to the far side of the bridge.'

I was holding John while Beth kept a firm grip on his plastic duck as Timothy called out, ‘One, two, three,' then blew the whistle. With a loud cheer parents and children tossed their ducks into the water below. John repeated, ‘One, two, three,' then added ‘four' for good luck and shouted, ‘Bye-bye, duck,' as he released it into the water.

Then everyone hurried down to the bank sides to cheer on the bobbing multitude of plastic ducks. Some bounced off stones, others caught up in tussocks of grass and many ended their adventure in Bismarck's ‘back-eddy', where they swirled around in ever-decreasing circles.

It was impossible to identify the numbers of the few that reached the finish line, but the clear winner was one that had enjoyed a steady, trouble-free journey down the left-hand side of the stream.

A happy and relaxed group of villagers gathered near the finish while Timothy collated the results on his clipboard. Bismarck presented a certificate to the winners: ‘The winner of the adult duck race is Mr Maurice Tupham and the winner of the under-sixteens is Victoria Alice Dudley-Palmer.'

A shy Victoria Alice stepped forward for her prize with her mother.

‘
Veni, vidi, vici
– I came, I saw, I conquered,' said Bismarck with a smile, and Petula returned his gaze.

Fifteen minutes later Beth and I were sitting with John at a picnic table outside The Royal Oak enjoying a soft drink in the sunshine.

‘Petula Dudley-Palmer looks animated,' said Beth perceptively.

At another table Petula and Victoria Alice were enjoying Bismarck's company. ‘I remembered your comments about the flow of the stream,' said Petula.

Bismarck stirred his coffee thoughtfully, then looked into her eyes. ‘There's a Latin saying,' he said, ‘
exitus acta probat
… the end justifies the means.'

That evening Geoffrey Dudley-Palmer glanced across the lounge at his wife. She had changed in recent months and once more resembled the young woman with whom he had fallen in love long ago. His secretary was history now, gone if not forgotten. He considered his wife once again and realized what he was missing.

‘I was thinking of booking a holiday,' he said, ‘for the four of us … perhaps New York.'

There was a long pause.

‘Or maybe Newquay.'

Newquay had been their first holiday together when they were young lovers.

‘In fact, wherever you wish,' offered Geoffrey.

‘I'll think about it,' replied Petula. She was holding the prize-winning plastic duck and smiling.

The Revd Joseph Evans took morning assembly. The school agreed to loan plates, cutlery and beakers to the village hall committee to support the afternoon tea event on the day of the forthcoming royal wedding.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 4 July 1986

A pink dawn crested the horizon and caressed the fields around the village of Kirkby Steepleton. After a night when mist lay heavy on the sleeping earth, a humid summer day had dawned and Bilbo Cottage was bathed in the sunshine. It was Friday morning, 4 July, and John's cereal included freshly picked raspberries. Yesterday we had been in the garden and the sweet air of summer had refreshed the soul as we collected the ripe fruit. Beth was busy at the kitchen table while I fed John with his breakfast. She had cut out an advertisement and was completing a reply slip.

‘Jack, if we save fifty pounds each month with this Sun Alliance scheme we'll have twenty thousand by the millennium.'

‘Really?' The year 2000 was fourteen years away and at that moment it seemed like an eternity. ‘Fifty pounds sounds a lot of money,' I said.

Beth was concentrating on the small print. ‘I know … but by then it could be worthwhile to have such a huge lump sum available to us. John may need support and it would be a nest egg for us at a time when retirement might be on a not-too-distant horizon. I'm thinking of our
future
.'

‘Why now?' I asked. ‘Life seems a little uncertain at the moment. I've not had a reply yet to my application for the headship.'

‘That could come any time soon,' she replied. ‘Interviews will need to be completed by the end of term.'

‘That's only three weeks away.' I was becoming concerned.

‘So what do you think?' urged Beth, pointing with her pen at the form. ‘We would, of course, have to consult a financial adviser first.'

‘Do you have to complete it now?' I asked.

She smiled. ‘Not exactly, Jack, but if I send it off now, we'll get a free carriage clock.'

When I walked out to my car it was a beautiful morning but the heat was building and a summer storm was forecast. I wound down my windows and turned on the radio. Thankfully, last month Doctor and the Medics had pushed ‘The Chicken Song', from
Spitting Image
, from the top spot and I hummed along to their version of ‘Spirit in the Sky'. Beyond the honeysuckle in the hedgerows, the sibilant whispers of the branches of the high elms provided an accompaniment to the swaying dance of the bright golden barley in the fields. Cattle looked up as I drove by, swishing their tails to deter the persistent flies. It was high summer in North Yorkshire and ladies in summer frocks were shopping in the General Stores.

When I pulled up on the High Street I was surprised to see Edna Trott, who had been school caretaker before Ruby and was now closing in on her eightieth birthday, parking her brand-new mobility scooter.

‘Good morning, Mrs Trott,' I said. ‘That looks impressive.' The label on the side read: Rascal Electric Supertrike.

Edna saw my surprise. ‘Electric mobility, Mr Sheffield,' she said. ‘You wait an' see … it's t'future for folks like me.'

I guessed she was right. It was another giant stride for new technology.

In the General Stores Prudence was serving Mrs Ricketts, who had the vociferous and forthright Suzi-Quatro by her side.

‘Miss Golightly, why doesn't your skin fit your face?' asked Suzi-Quatro. Mrs Ricketts bought a large sliced loaf and hurried out as fast as she could drag little Suzi-Quatro after her.

Prudence held up my newspaper and pointed to the headlines. ‘Here you are, Mr Sheffield – more silly ideas, I'm afraid.'

The Peacock Committee had reported that, by the end of the century, pay-as-you-view television would be the norm and the licence fee would be put out to tender. ‘And I knew that young man had a problem,' she added. There was a photograph of Boy George, who was reported to have admitted to being a heroin addict. ‘Where is it all going to finish up?' wondered Prudence.

‘Who knows?' I said and hurried out.

Meanwhile, thinking back to Suzi-Quatro's observation, Prudence looked at her reflection in the mirror on the stockroom door. She decided to call into the Pharmacy at her earliest opportunity and buy a large jar of face cream. The passage of time was remorseless.

As I drove past the village hall, the cast-iron arrow on the weather vane on the roof creaked as the first hint of a breeze sprang up. With the grinding of metal it turned slowly towards the distant hills and the gathering clouds. A storm was coming.

In the school entrance hall Ruby was excited. She had told Vera that another driving lesson was in store and she was enjoying the experience. As Ruby hurried back to her caretaker's cupboard with her mop and galvanized bucket, Vera smiled at her enthusiasm. We walked into the office. ‘If anyone can take away the sadness in Ruby's heart, then it's George,' said Vera. ‘He's such a loving soul.'

An Austin A40 pulled into the car park. ‘And speaking of loving souls, here's another one,' I said mischievously. Joseph Evans had arrived to take morning assembly.

I went to my classroom while Vera typed a letter to the village hall committee to say we should be happy to loan our plates, cutlery and beakers from the kitchen. An afternoon tea was to be organized to celebrate the forthcoming royal wedding.

The school hall was stifling hot, so we opened the windows and made sure all the children had a drink of cold water before our morning assembly began with Sally's recorder group. They presented a well-rehearsed round of ‘Frère Jacques', followed by a solo on her clarinet by Dawn Phillips. Finally, Joseph told the tale of Cain and Abel. When he had finished, he invited questions but really should have known better by now. Damian Brown was the first to raise his hand.

‘What is it, Damian?' asked Joseph.

‘Well, ah were jus' thinkin', Mr Evans, that their mam could 'ave sorted it out, no bother.'

‘Really?' said Joseph, a little surprised.

‘Yes,' said Damian, ‘she should 'ave given them their own rooms, like me an' my brother.'

I was on duty at morning break and I watched the children play in the sunshine. Katie Parrish and Mandy Sedgewick had become firm friends and they were practising three-legged racing prior to next week's sports day. It was their private world of here and now, and I smiled as I reflected that they had one thing in common. They believed they would be friends for ever.