02 Mister Teacher (25 page)

County Hall was a huge, imposing building and dominated everything round it. As Beth reported to the reception desk, busy office workers hurried past carrying bulky manila files and bundles of brown envelopes. It wasn’t long before a stern-looking assistant, with a burgundy clipboard, beckoned us to follow her up a magnificent staircase that wouldn’t have been out of place on the set of
Gone with the Wind
.

The soles of my leather shoes tapped out a rapid heartbeat on the wide marble stairs and echoed round the vast, ornate ceiling and Corinthian columns as I followed Beth to the first floor.

‘Miss Henderson should wait in the reception area outside Room 109,’ said the lady with the clipboard. She pointed to a large brown door with a shiny brass handle. ‘Wait here until you’re called.’

‘Good luck, Beth,’ I whispered.

She smiled a nervous smile.

‘This is where I waited for my interview,’ I explained, and I squeezed her hand.

Miss Clipboard glanced up at me with a slight air of irritation. ‘Your friend can wait in the reception room at the far end of the corridor.’

It was a command rather than a request.

I mouthed a final good-luck message to Beth and walked with loud, echoing footsteps to the far end of the wide first-floor corridor. The reception room was furnished like a stately home, elegant but uncomfortable.

A large, dark and highly polished mahogany table filled the middle of the room and in its exact centre a
vase
of dried flowers added to the funereal atmosphere. Countless tiny specks of dust hovered in the sharp shafts of sunlight that bisected the room from the high leaded windows. I sat down, picked up an educational publication and noted that the lobby supporting a common curriculum in schools in England and Wales appeared to be gathering momentum.

Beth walked into the waiting room outside Room 109. Three interviewees were already there: two females in smart skirts and jackets and a portly, grey-haired man in a shiny and well-worn three-piece suit with a very crumpled waistcoat. They were sitting upright in stiff-backed chairs as if they were auditioning for
Pride and Prejudice
.

Shiny Suit glanced up forlornly. ‘Hello,’ he said weakly, and lowered his head again.

His voice, though quiet, sounded like a pistol crack in this large echo chamber and Beth nodded in recognition and forced a smile.

One of the women looked pensive and rocked gently forwards and backwards in a tense manner, as if in a trance. The other smiled with the inner glow of absolute confidence. She strode over to Beth and shook her hand.

‘Good luck,’ said Miss Confidence, in a loud voice. ‘Hope you do yourself justice. If we all perform well there can be no complaints.’

She looked as though she would have been at home introducing the Eurovision Song Contest. ‘I’m Sally, deputy head of Ollerthorpe Infants and Nursery,’ she
continued
, in animated style. ‘Julie over there is deputy of Westbrook Primary and David is already a head of a small school in the Dales and looking for a new challenge. And you are?’

Even Miss Pensive looked up to listen to Beth’s reply.

‘I’m Beth Henderson, deputy at Thirkby Primary School,’ replied Beth, clearly trying to sound confident. ‘This is my first interview for a headship in North Yorkshire,’ she added.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Miss Confidence. ‘This is my third. You’ll soon get the hang of giving the answers they want to hear.’

Miss Confidence was one of the carousel of interviewees who turned up regularly for the cycle of headship interviews. Eventually, one by one, they were appointed or cast aside. For the next twenty minutes, Miss Confidence grilled everyone. She was keen to know all she could about the opposition.

Eventually, the assistant with the charisma bypass returned and explained they were to be interviewed in alphabetical order. Beth was to be third. Miss Confidence was first and clipped across the hard floor as if on a catwalk. Depression settled heavily on Shiny Suit, who was due to be last and complained he was desperate for a cigarette. Apart from his mutterings, the only sound during the next forty minutes was the creaking of Miss Pensive’s chair as she rocked gently forwards and backwards as if she was in the front row of a Hare Krishna concert. Beth sat perfectly still, concentrating for all she was worth. As the minutes ticked by, the angle of
the
sun changed subtly until a shaft of pale sunlight lit up her honey-blonde hair.

With a sudden squeak of heavy doors and a clip-clop of shoes, Miss Confidence re-entered the waiting room, brimming with even more confidence. She glanced at her watch. ‘Exactly forty minutes,’ she said, with a forced smile.

Miss Pensive was summoned next and dropped her handbag with a resounding clatter as she hurried to keep up with the officious assistant. She reappeared thirty minutes later, looking as if she was about to burst into tears, and then it was Beth’s turn.

The journey for Beth from the doorway of the vast interview room to the interviewee’s isolated chair took an age. Back in the waiting area, a huge, circular oak-framed clock with faded Roman numerals counted out the minutes. Beneath it Shiny Suit squirmed in his seat, while Miss Confidence continued her monologue on successful interview strategies. Miss Pensive seemed to be close to collapse.

When Beth reappeared, her face was white. Miss Clipboard ushered Shiny Suit to the condemned cell and Miss Confidence began her interrogation. For Beth, this was almost as demanding as the interview. Miss Confidence wanted to know everything Beth had been asked. Eventually, a leaden-footed Shiny Suit trudged wearily into the room and sank heavily onto a chair.

‘Another one bites the dust,’ he grumbled. ‘Doesn’t help when old Mr Know-It-All asks what educational research has had an impact on your work and I say I’m
too
busy teaching, preparing topics, marking books and putting up library shelves for all that high-brow stuff.’

After a thirty-five-minute wait, in which time all of them vowed they would not go through this again, the assistant from the Colditz Charm School popped her head round the door, scanned their faces, looked down at her clipboard and announced, ‘Miss Henderson, could you come with me, please? The rest of you will wait here.’

There was a moment’s pause and then everyone spoke at once.

‘Well done – they must be going to offer you the job,’ said Miss Pensive, looking relieved.

‘Good luck,’ said Shiny Suit, reaching for his cigarettes.

‘Oh no, not again!’ said a distraught Miss Confidence.

Beth was whisked quickly through the door for the second time. While the odds were on her being offered the post, there had been occasions when the interviewing panel wanted to confirm some details and had called one of the interviewees back before making their decision.

Everyone looked up as the door creaked again and Miss Clipboard reappeared like a genie from a magic lamp.

‘Could the rest of you come with me, please?’ she said, with smooth rhetorical authority.

They all trooped out to be told they were the unsuccessful candidates but they could go home safe in the knowledge that the interviewing panel thought they had all done well and could be proud of their performances. It was the third time Miss Confidence had heard this speech.

It seemed an eternity but eventually Beth reappeared
at
the far end of the corridor. For a moment, she stood in a shaft of sunlight, getting her bearings, and I stood up and waved. Baron Von Trapp could not have moved more quickly towards his Maria across an Austrian mountainside. I sped down the length of the room and, forgetting all decorum, wrapped my arms round her waist.

‘Well, what news?’

‘I got it, Jack. They offered me the post and I said yes.’

‘Well done, Beth. I’m so proud of you.’

I gave her a hug and we descended the magnificent staircase.

During the journey home, Beth gave me an in-depth account of her interview. She related every question and every answer. Her excitement was obvious.

‘How about going out tonight to celebrate?’ she said, as we approached the outskirts of York.

‘Where would you like to go?’

‘I know just the place,’ she said. ‘I’ve been wanting to go for ages.’

‘Where’s that?’ I asked.

‘That really smart hotel on Duncombe Place, close to the Minster.’

‘Oh, you mean the Dean Court Hotel?’ I said, in surprise.

‘Yes, that’s the one. Do you know it?’

‘Yes, it’s lovely. I went there on Saturday. In fact, I went with Laura.’

Beth looked shocked. ‘Laura told me she was going out to lunch in York with a friend, but she didn’t say where. And she didn’t say who with.’

‘Oh. She mentioned that she had asked you, but you were too busy because of your interview.’

I was perplexed for a moment, wondering why Beth appeared concerned that I had gone out to lunch with her sister.

‘Our meal, Jack, will be very different,’ she said, and squeezed my arm.

I wondered what she had in mind and, as I joined the Easington Road and headed towards Morton village, I mused on Beth’s reaction to my having lunch with Laura. For the first time, I pondered the possibility that Beth might even be a little jealous, and the grin on my face gradually widened.

Later that evening, Beth and I drove into York together and we parked outside the Dean Court. Beth looked wonderful in a forget-me-not-blue dress and appeared to hold my arm tighter than usual. I was pleased that my one and only grey suit had recently been to the dry cleaner’s.

‘Good evening, sir,’ said the maître d’hôtel. ‘Welcome back.’

He obviously had a good memory for faces.

I saw the same two long-legged women at the next table, sporting even more daring maxiskirts. I presumed they must be residents. They both glanced up as we walked in and nodded briefly in acknowledgement. They appeared to look rather quizzical about my having been accompanied by two different and very attractive women in almost as many days. Far from being embarrassed, I was rather enjoying the feeling, especially as Beth was particularly attentive.

It was a memorable evening and, as we raised our glasses of champagne to celebrate Beth’s success, I recalled the last time I had sat in this luxurious dining room. There was, of course, something different this time.

Beth was sitting across the table from me.

It may have felt like déjà vu, but on this occasion, it was a different déjà vu.

Chapter Sixteen

Beware of the Ducks

PC Hunter took a road safety assembly and introduced the Green Cross Code. Class 1 visited the Ragley duck pond as part of their ‘Pond Life’ project
.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Wednesday, 18 April 1979

THE BRIGHT-YELLOW POSTERS
were on every telegraph pole in the village. Each one blared out, ‘It’s Time to Go, and Vote for Coe’, and I stared in dismay at the message. If Stan Coe was elected onto the local council, it could only spell trouble for Ragley School.

It was early morning, on Wednesday, 18 April. The Easter holiday was over and the summer term had begun. I was crouching alongside the village duck pond, staring at the teeming pond life and making a few notes in an old school exercise book.

The sun shone through a powder-blue sky and
warmed
the back of my neck. The air, fragrant with the scent of spring wallflowers, was clean and fresh after the overnight rain. Around me, the new leaves on the weeping willow weighed down the graceful branches and caressed the fresh green sward of grass, like gentle swordplay between respected friends. It was good to be alive on a day such as this.

My class had begun a ‘Pond Life’ project and, that afternoon, I intended to bring them out to our village pond armed with nets, jam jars, magnifying glasses, sketch pads and clipboards. The ducks on the pond glanced up, hopeful of titbits, as the Ragley ladies’ jogging group wobbled by in their Lycra outfits and multicoloured leg-warmers. They, like me, knew that it was important not to disturb the harmonious lives of the resident duck population. In Ragley, they were definitely a protected species. While they regularly caused traffic delays, as they played follow-my-leader across the High Street, no one ever complained about the ducks.

The notable exception was Stan Coe, who suddenly appeared from the Morton Road, turned left in front of The Royal Oak, and roared by at a crazy speed in his Land Rover. He veered at the last moment, swerved onto the grass next to the pond and swore at the ducks that scattered before him with a frantic flapping of wings.

‘’E wants tekkin’ down a peg or two,’ said Tommy Piercy, who was sitting on the bench at the side of the pond. Old Tommy had brought a bag of bread crusts to feed the ducks.

‘Good morning, Tommy,’ I said, standing up and staring
after
the speeding Land Rover as it turned left and tore up the Easington Road. ‘He was certainly in a hurry.’

‘Allus is, that one,’ grumbled Old Tommy, and he broke the crusts into bite-size chunks.

As I retraced my steps across the village green, I felt tempted to tear down the yellow poster of Stan Coe that had been pasted on the telegraph pole immediately outside school. It had come as a surprise to all the staff and governors that Stan, the local bully and pig-farmer, had put his name forward for election.

Last year, Albert Jenkins had done some shrewd detective work and discovered from the school logbook that, way back in 1933, Stan Coe had been suspended for bullying. Since then, the corpulent Stan had made his fortune and was determined to become the most powerful man in the village by browbeating his opponents. There had been dark rumours among the locals of land deals and shady building contracts and all the stories included the name of Stan Coe. Now, undeterred, he was running for the office of county councillor and that spelled trouble for anyone who crossed his path.

Back in school, a different type of poster was in evidence.

Police Constable Dan Hunter and Jo Maddison were preparing a road safety assembly. Dan had come into school to advertise the Green Cross Code campaign, aimed at showing children how to cross the road safely. He had a handful of drawing pins and was pinning up some large-scale pictures of David Prowse, the ex-Mr Universe, who was now the superhero Green Cross
Man
. Throughout it all, Jo smiled adoringly at her own moustached superhero.