Star Teacher (33 page)

The bell rang and Vera resumed her work as secretary, much to the relief of Miss Flint, who left for the village hall. Meanwhile, we returned to our classrooms. Anne and Pat were discussing the possibility of a marriage in the offing for Pat, while I brought up the rear with Sally, who was grumbling about paying taxes to keep a privileged family in luxury.

At the end of school the children ran out into the sunshine, where a posse of mothers greeted them and marched down the High Street to the village hall for the royal wedding tea party.

I was in my classroom completing record books at my desk when Pat and Sally called in.

‘We just wanted to wish you well for tomorrow, Jack,' said Sally.

Pat nodded and smiled. ‘It goes without saying that I want to continue working with you,' she said. ‘I owe you a lot and I feel I'm just settling in. Next academic year should be exciting. So I'm looking forward to working alongside you and Sally and Anne.'

‘You've made a wonderful start in the school and I appreciate your support,' I said. ‘And thanks to you, Sally.'

‘I'm sure it will be fine, Jack,' said Sally, ‘and you know we'll be here wishing you all the best.'

‘Thanks. I promised to ring Anne when I know the decision and she will get in touch with you all.'

When they left and closed the door I looked around at my familiar classroom, the books and paintings and the chalk dust at my feet. Ragley School was my life and to lose it would be like the passing of an old friend.

Half an hour later I had completed all the record books. At the end of term, each pupil would receive a sealed manila envelope containing a written report in an A5-size booklet that had to be signed by the parent and returned to school. It was an arduous but important task, and particularly helpful for those parents who worked long hours and rarely had the opportunity to visit school and communicate as much as they would have liked. Like most village teachers, I knew all my pupils well and it was the brief after-school conversations, usually at the school gate, that were often far more valuable than any written reports.

Finally, I left everything prepared for Miss Flint to take over my lessons tomorrow and, on impulse, walked into Anne's classroom.

She had just finished tidying the Home Corner and had begun to prepare large individual folders of artwork and writing for each child to take home at the end of term.

‘Hello, Anne. I thought I would confirm that all is well for tomorrow.' Anne would be acting headteacher for the day.

She sat down on one of the low, plastic-topped tables and looked at me patiently. ‘It will be fine, Jack. Val Flint knows what she's doing and you'll be back on Friday for the final Leavers' Assembly. I'll make sure everything is prepared for that. The PTA have delivered the books for each school leaver and Joseph is leading assembly.'

There was a pause and she walked over to the window. ‘I hope tomorrow goes well, Jack.' She appeared tense and almost tearful. I guessed she was simply tired.

‘Thanks,' I said, ‘and I'll ring you when I have news.'

She nodded and stared out at the empty playground. ‘It's a strange feeling,' she said quietly. ‘I can't imagine Ragley without you. You really
must
get the job for the sake of everyone. It really does affect us all.'

I felt there was a hidden message. Anne had never sought a headship and was happy in her role as deputy. We had forged an effective partnership over the years and I wanted it to continue.

‘We've made a good team,' I said, ‘and you know how much I have appreciated your work over the years.'

‘I'm not altogether sure what I shall do if you don't get the job.' She forced a smile. ‘Good luck,' she said quietly.

When I walked into the office Vera was giving the framed photograph of her three cats a final polish before leaving her desk in its usual immaculate state. She looked up at the clock. ‘I'm going now, Mr Sheffield,' she said. ‘Are you calling into the village hall before you go home?'

‘Yes, no doubt I'll see you there.' She looked up at me with a steady gaze. ‘And best wishes for tomorrow.'

‘Thank you, Vera. I'll ring Anne with any news and she will contact you.'

Suddenly, outside, there was the familiar rattle of a galvanized mop bucket.

‘Well, at last,' said Vera. ‘Just listen to that.'

Ruby was singing ‘Edelweiss'.

It felt as though we had witnessed her life come full circle.

We stood there in silence listening to her clear voice. Then there was a long pause and, in the distance, the bells of St Mary's rang out. Vera smiled and squeezed my arm. ‘For whom the bell tolls, Jack,' she said quietly.

The village hall was almost full when I walked in. The television had been set up on the stage and a semicircle of chairs had been arranged for the grown-ups to watch the broadcast in comfort while children sat cross-legged on the floor.

The ladies of the village hall committee, many of them also members of the Women's Institute, had provided an impressive afternoon tea in the marquee. Cold meats, pork pies, pickles, hard Wensleydale cheese and freshly baked bread had been laid out on a snow-white cloth. There were dainty cucumber sandwiches and a host of butterfly buns and pastries that would attract the children. Jugs of home-made elderflower cordial, orange juice and lemonade stood alongside. It was a veritable feast and it included a huge plateful of Vera's raspberry-jam tarts.

Vera, Joyce Davenport and a few ladies from the village hall committee were serving tea and cake at the back of the hall and bright bunting decorated the trestle tables. Elsie Crapper was handing out little flags for the children to wave and Clint Ramsbottom, in his imitation Sylvester Stallone aviator sunglasses, had taken charge of the television set and had tuned it in to perfection. He had videotaped the ceremony and was replaying what he described as ‘the best bits'. Two large speakers on either side of the stage ensured everyone could hear.

I collected a cup of tea and stood to one side as David Dimbleby explained there was a worldwide television audience of five hundred million watching the events unfold in Westminster Abbey and that the US First Lady, Nancy Reagan, and the Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, were among the guests. I saw Elton John sitting with his wife, Renate, on the front row, along with Michael and Shakira Caine and David Frost and Lady Carina. Billy Connolly and Pamela Stephenson appeared happy to be on the fourth row.

Sarah Ferguson spent four minutes walking slowly down the aisle to Edward Elgar's
Imperial March
while two thousand guests looked on. It was interesting to note that, unlike Diana, Sarah agreed to
obey
her husband when reciting her wedding vows.

We were told that ninety minutes before the ceremony the Queen had conferred the title of Duke of York on Prince Andrew, last held by King George VI and traditionally reserved for the sovereign's second son. Prince Edward was the best man for his twenty-six-year-old brother and Prince Charles read the lesson. The service was conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Robert Runcie, and everything appeared to be perfectly rehearsed, even though Sarah stumbled by repeating one of her husband's middle names. Finally, the bride marched Andrew down the aisle and winked at two of her former boyfriends.

At the back of the hall, Petula Dudley-Palmer was about to walk up the High Street to meet her husband when she spotted her neighbour, Pippa Jackson, queuing for a cup of tea.

‘It's the interview tomorrow for the headship of the school,' said Petula.

‘I heard he might be going back into academia,' said Pippa.

Next to the picture of the Queen on the Scouts' noticeboard was a map of the world. Behind them, Betty Buttle studied it thoughtfully. ‘Where's that then?' she murmured. Academia sounded like a far-off place.

As I left the village hall, the bells of Westminster were ringing and the young couple were no doubt thinking not so much of the wedding party at Claridge's hotel but rather their honeymoon in the Azores and a long life together.

The marquee on the village green outside The Royal Oak was full of villagers who preferred to buy an alcoholic drink and then sit at one of the picnic tables and enjoy the late-afternoon sunshine. Much of the conversation concerned the royal couple, but teenagers Claire and Anita had pop royalty on their minds. At the end of June they had attended the Wham! Final Concert at Wembley Stadium, where the duo had performed for the last time in front of seventy-three thousand adoring fans. Nearly a month later, Claire and Anita were discussing all the details of their special day out for the thousandth time.

As I walked across the village green I saw the astronomer Edward Clifton carrying a tray of drinks to a table where Anne, Pat and Sally were sitting.

Behind the trestle table where Don had set up a barrel of Chestnut Mild, he was talking to Big Dave and Little Malcolm. It was clear the tall David Soul lookalike had created some interest.

‘Who's 'e then?' asked Little Malcolm.

‘Ah 'eard Mrs Pringle saying t'my Sheila summat abart 'e'd gorra doppelgänger,' said Don.

‘That'll upset Old Tommy,' said Big Dave, ‘what wi' all 'is war medals.'

‘'Ow come?' asked Don.

Big Dave shook his head in dismay. ‘Well, when 'e finds out 'e's gorra German car.'

‘Y'reight there, Dave,' said Little Malcolm.

I decided not to intervene, bought a half of Chestnut Mild and stood for a while surveying the summer scene.

Petula Dudley-Palmer had been joined by her husband, Geoffrey, at one of the tables. Their daughters were attending private music lessons in York at St William's College and Petula was about to leave to collect them.

‘Why don't we go out for an expensive meal tonight?' suggested Geoffrey.

‘Let's see how the girls feel,' said Petula.

‘Or you could use your new video recorder around the house and gardens,' said Geoffrey eagerly.

Petula sighed and got up to leave. ‘I've passed it on to Elisabeth to use for one of her history projects at school.'

Geoffrey was perplexed. ‘But it was a special anniversary gift.'

‘Anniversary?' said Petula. ‘Of what exactly, Geoffrey – your indiscretions?'

‘Please …' said Geoffrey. ‘I was wrong … so wrong.'

Petula gave him a level stare. ‘Yes, you were.'

‘And I'm sorry,' he added, but Petula had walked away.

A different kind of conflict was occurring at the next table. Peggy Scrimshaw was not happy. Eugene had worn his new
Star Trek
uniform under his white coat. When Peggy told him it wasn't appropriate to serve in a chemist's shop dressed in such a way he had sworn at her in Klingon.

‘And don't think that I haven't worked out that when you call me “Worf” you're referring to a Klingon-human hybrid,' snapped Peggy in disgust. ‘Why can't you find a normal hobby, like Timothy with his Meccano set or Old Tommy with his dominoes?'

‘Sorry, luv,' said Eugene. He had obviously gone too far this time, but life was always tough when you had to run a shop as well as an inter-galactic spaceship.

Meanwhile, Sally and Pat had got up to leave. As Anne Grainger and Edward Clifton both reached to pick up the empty glasses, Edward's fingers brushed against hers. It was just a touch.

In their private cocoon, Anne looked at Edward and his blue eyes did not waver. For a moment it was a meeting of minds and Anne wondered if, one day, it might be a meeting of souls.

Finally, I walked to my car as the clock tower of St Mary's chimed out the hour, followed by another peal of bells to celebrate the events of the day. I stopped and looked up at the school with its familiar tower. This was my school. By this time tomorrow I hoped it would still be so.

It was much later that Vera ventured out into her kitchen garden. She had created it within sight of her kitchen window and it was bordered on three sides by an ancient hawthorn hedge. There was a comfortable bench under a gnarled old apple tree that caught the late-afternoon sun and Vera had taken to sitting there while compiling shopping lists, drawing up the rota for church flowers and, when the light was sufficient, completing a cross-stitch pattern.

‘So here you are, my dear,' said Rupert. He sat down beside her. ‘What a beautiful evening.' He looked around at the bountiful garden with its abundance of climbing roses, vegetables and ripe fruit ready for harvesting. ‘You really have worked wonders here in such a short time.'

‘Your gardeners do much of the heavy work,' said Vera graciously, ‘but I do enjoy this little corner. It's a haven of peace for me.' She held Rupert's hand. ‘It's a good place to
think
.'

‘And what's on your mind, as if I couldn't guess?'

Vera smiled. It was often the words Rupert didn't express that had the greatest gravitas. ‘School, of course,' she said quietly, ‘and what might happen to Mr Sheffield tomorrow.'

Rupert settled back and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Yes, let's hope it goes well … but I sense you have something else on your mind.'

There was silence between them while butterflies circled the purple blooms on the buddleia bushes in the nearby border.

Finally, Vera turned to face her husband. ‘If Mr Sheffield does not continue as headteacher … I shall hand in my resignation.'

They sat together for a long time, hand in hand, as the sun slowly descended towards the far-off hills and the shadows lengthened.

The headteacher attended for interview at County Hall, Northallerton, prior to the amalgamation of Ragley and Morton schools. A. Grainger (acting headteacher).

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Thursday, 24 July 1986

It was a new dawn and I had barely slept. A disc of golden light had risen in the eastern sky and the Hambleton hills shimmered in the morning heat haze. I showered quickly and dressed in my best suit. The countryside was waking and a breathless promise hung over the land. An eventful day was in store.