03 Dear Teacher (18 page)

‘Oh, I see,’ I said.

‘What about you?’ he asked.

‘Usual,’ I said defensively: ‘getting fit and suchlike.’

‘And how’s it going?’ said Dan, sinking the rest of his pint.

I emptied my glass slowly and put it down on the table top. ‘I’m starting tomorrow.’

The next morning bright light pierced my eyelids and I recoiled at the pain. My head was thumping and I decided to drive into Ragley for a black coffee in Nora’s Coffee Shop.

Three miles away, Anita Cuthbertson, Jodie’s big sister, had the same idea. She was sitting behind the sofa reading her
Jackie
magazine. For ten pence this was teenage heaven. While the article ‘How not to get talked about’ had been mildly interesting, it was the ‘Problem Page’ that had captivated her attention. The question ‘Should you keep your eyes open or closed when kissing a boy?’ had reverberated round her teenage brain all morning. Suddenly, Anita realized what her New Year resolution must be. But first she had to do some research. She needed to talk and that meant only one place.

In the days before mobile phones, opportunities for discussion on the important things in life – namely, boys,
music
and clothes – were limited. However, in Ragley village the obvious answer was to meet a fellow soulmate in the ultimate forum for village gossip – namely, Nora’s Coffee Shop. So, after watching Noel Edmonds present
Multicoloured Swap Shop
on BBC1 while she ate a bag of Monster Munch, Anita decided to hurry down the High Street, sit in her usual table next to the jukebox and wait for her best friend, Claire Bradshaw, the cheerful daughter of Don and Sheila Bradshaw.

I got there at the same time as Anita. ‘Hello, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. Anita had been in my class when I first arrived in Ragley.

‘Good morning, Anita,’ I said, ‘and a happy New Year.’

‘Thanks, Mr Sheffield,’ said Anita. ‘Ah’m gonna work ’ard at school this year – it’s me resolution.’

‘Well done, Anita,’ I said as I ordered a jam doughnut and a black coffee from Dorothy behind the counter.

‘Do teachers mek resolutions, Mr Sheffield?’ asked Dorothy.

I looked down at the large, sticky doughnut. ‘Er, sometimes, Dorothy,’ I replied and hurried away.

Anita put her current favourite record, ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’ by the Boomtown Rats, on the jukebox for the umpteenth time, accompanied by a despairing groan from Nora Pratt. ‘Ah’m sick o’ them Boomtown Wats,’ she shouted from behind the counter. ‘ ’Ow about a pwoper song like “Day Twip t’Bangor” by Fiddler’s Dwam?’

Anita’s expression made it clear what she thought of
a
day out in a Welsh seaside resort and she hung her sparkly Blondie shoulder bag over a plastic chair. She glanced at the clock above the peeling posters of the Ragley Amateur Dramatic Society’s recent pantomime. The photograph of Nora in her Alpine corset staring appreciatively at Aladdin’s magic lamp, which was actually a gravy boat covered in tinfoil, stared down over the coffee machine. Anita knew with absolute certainty that, once Claire Bradshaw had read the same article, she would make a beeline for Nora’s Coffee Shop to seek mutual solace for her equally troubled teenage mind.

Behind the counter, Nora Pratt was filling the plastic display case with slightly stale currant teacakes, while her assistant, Dorothy Humpleby, was reading her brand-new
1980 Top of the Pops Annual
. For Dorothy it was sixty-four pages of heaven. A photograph of a youthful Paul McCartney was on the front cover and the full-page colour pin-ups of the Bee Gees and Legs & Co would soon decorate her bedroom walls. She was flicking through the features on Blondie, David Essex, The Who, Status Quo, Barry Manilow and Thin Lizzie when Anita placed her order.

‘A Milky Way an’ a frothy coffee, please, Dorothy,’ said Anita.

‘ ’E’s dreamy,’ mumbled Dorothy, pointing to the photograph of David Essex.

‘ ’E’s a bit old f’me,’ said Anita. As Dorothy transformed the splash of lukewarm milk into a bubbling inferno,
Anita
had a thought: ‘If y’kissed ’im would y’keep y’eyes open, Dorothy?’

Dorothy looked across to the table where Big Dave and Little Malcolm were enjoying their mugs of sweet tea. Before Dorothy could answer, Nora leaned over the counter. ‘D’you weally want t’know?’ asked Nora.

Anita nodded vigorously.

‘Allus keep ’em open, luv, else you’ll wegwet it. Y’can’t twust men.’

When Nora returned to the till, Dorothy whispered, ‘Some aren’t that bad, Anita, but mebbe y’ought t’keep ’em open till y’sure.’ Then Dorothy cast a wistful glance at Little Malcolm, who was listening to Big Dave’s complaints about New Year resolutions concerning shopping with women.

On Saturday evening my fridge was still empty so I drove to the fish-and-chip shop in Easington. By six forty-five I was settled in front of the television, eating a large battered haddock, double chips, mushy peas and four thick slices of white bread. Meanwhile, Jimmy Savile on
Jim’ll Fix It
was showing me how to eat spaghetti correctly, go tracking with bloodhounds and how to make model trains. This was followed by
All Creatures Great and Small
and
The Dick Emery Show
, during which time I enjoyed a Mars bar and a cup of coffee. In
Dallas
, Sue Ellen was romantically attracted to a lean, fit, rodeo cowboy whose diet appeared to be different from mine.

It was about that time I realized my resolutions were reluctant ones and I wasn’t destined to become a ‘new-age-eighties-man’. In fact, I was two pounds heavier, felt completely unfit and understanding women was as likely as a knighthood for Bob Geldof.

Chapter Eleven

Sex and the Single Teacher

The Ragley and Morton Weight Watchers Club have hired the school hall from the County Council for their weekly meetings
.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Thursday, 31 January 1980

‘HE WANTS TO
take me to a nudist beach!’ exclaimed Sally.

‘Pardon?’ said Vera, presuming she had misheard and almost spilling her Earl Grey tea. She took off her spectacles, polished them vigorously and stared at Sally.

‘Colin says he wants to spice up our life,’ said Sally, shaking her head in dismay.

‘Did you say a nudist beach?’ asked Anne, almost choking on her garibaldi.

‘Where is it?’ asked Jo, suddenly interested and closing her
Ladybird Book of the Weather
.

‘It’s in Yorkshire,’ said Sally.

‘A nudist beach in Yorkshire!’ exclaimed Anne.

‘Yes. It’s near Bridlington,’ said Sally, staring forlornly at the colourful brochure.

Anne and I put our coffee mugs down with a nervous clunk on the staff-room table.

‘Don’t tell my Dan about it,’ said Jo nervously.

It was the last day of January and the travel agents in York had begun their annual onslaught on the local population. Scores of assorted holiday brochures had been pushed through the letterboxes of everyone within a ten-mile radius of the city centre.

However, Sally’s brochure was very different. ‘It’s in here,’ she said and pointed to the cover. Two shapely young women were holding huge, brightly coloured beachballs at a strategic height in front of their supposedly naked bodies. Nearby, two broad-shouldered men with Charles Atlas biceps were setting up a badminton net while standing behind a row of dwarf conifers. Fortunately the conifers were not so dwarf as to expose the parts that would otherwise not see the light of day.

‘You don’t look too happy about it, Sally,’ I said cautiously.

‘I’m not,’ replied Sally. Her response left everyone in no doubt that this was not the time to pursue Colin’s unusual idea of a romantic holiday for two.

Vera felt concerned about Sally, who had seemed low in spirits for some time. It was obvious to the women on
the
staff, if not to me, that everything was not as it should be between Sally and her husband Colin. For several years now, the love of his life had been woodwork and Sally was seeking consolation in the biscuit jar. As the bell rang for afternoon school Sally lifted herself from the chair. ‘And there’s something wrong with my washing machine,’ she said. ‘It shrinks every pair of jeans I put in it.’

Vera replaced her spectacles and stared hard at Sally. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m not, Vera,’ said Sally. ‘I really don’t want to be one of the first customers at a nude bathing beach in Bridlington. It’s not my idea of romance.’ Then, suddenly, she burst into tears.

‘I’ll keep an eye on your class,’ I said and sidestepped quickly into the entrance hall. I knew from past experience that Sally was best left in the capable hands of my ever-dependable secretary. Vera ushered Sally into the school office and the floodgates opened as she told her how fed up she was with life.

‘Oh, Vera,’ she said, ‘I’m only a couple of birthdays away from forty and look what’s happened to me.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Vera, offering Sally her handkerchief.

Sally dried her eyes and then fingered the lacy edge of the handkerchief. ‘When I first met Colin we had such fun,’ she said, staring out of the window. ‘He had long hair then, you know,’ she added with a strained smile. Vera looked suitably surprised. ‘Yes, he did!’ continued
Sally
, suddenly animated. ‘He was so adventurous and we did lots together. We went dancing … I suppose that helped to keep me slim and active. But then … slowly things seemed to change. He wasn’t as interested in doing anything any more.’ She dabbed her eyes once again. ‘Well, that’s not quite right. He enjoys his woodwork class … but he’s got no time for me.’

Vera realized this was a time to stay quiet. She smiled gently at Sally, who seemed to gain momentum with the story.

‘You see, Vera, I’ve just had enough! I told him to buck up his ideas and get some romance back into our lives or else. And then he comes up with this ridiculous idea. Well, that’s it!’

Vera’s startled look must have registered with Sally, who shut up immediately and the tears began again.

‘Sally, why don’t you come to the vicarage for a couple of days?’ said Vera. ‘It would give you time to think things through.’ Vera had recently read that the number of divorces had reached a peak of 143,000 and she did not want Sally to add to that statistic.

‘Thanks, Vera,’ said Sally. She took a deep breath, ‘I think I will.’ Then she dried her eyes, readjusted her tightly fitting skirt, and they both walked back to her classroom.

Vera nodded at me to indicate all was in hand and Sally gave me a brave smile as she passed me in the doorway. ‘Thanks, Jack,’ she said. When she walked in and stood in front of the blackboard, Sally moved smoothly into
teacher
mode. ‘Now, girls and boys, please put on your painting shirts.’

‘Mr Sheffield,’ said Vera, ‘I need your help.’ Vera was at her best in a crisis and her organization was second to none. ‘I need you to contact Colin and ask him to meet you this evening after work.’ I looked nonplussed. ‘You need to talk to him about getting some romance back into his life.’

‘I don’t think I’m the best person to be doing that, Vera!’ I said ruefully, given the lack of success I was having with my own love life.

‘With respect, Mr Sheffield, if you say what I tell you to say,’ she replied, ‘you will be fine.’ Vera had that look of absolute confidence about her that I had come to admire.

Colin was puzzled when he took my call but agreed to meet me in The Royal Oak that evening. ‘I’m free this evening,’ he said. ‘Intermediate woodwork is on Tuesdays and the advanced class is on Fridays.’

After school, Sally drove home and packed her overnight bag with a heavy heart. As she rummaged round her cluttered wardrobe she smiled grimly as she discovered their copy of the classic seventies sex title
The Joy of Sex
. It featured the iconic bearded man in a variety of athletic positions. Then she sighed deeply as she recalled it was shortly after buying the book that Colin had become clean-shaven and boring.

* * *

At seven o’clock, as I drove back from Kirkby Steepleton towards Ragley, I reflected on the story that Sally had shared with us all in the staff-room at the end of school. She had met Colin in 1965 at the Ragtime Ball at Wembley and for her it was love at first sight. She was twenty-three years old and, with her geometric haircut, hoop earrings and black and white ‘op art’ PVC coat, Sally felt like a Carnaby Street model. Colin, in his navy-blue duffel coat, shoulder-length hair and faded, skin-tight jeans, told her he was a ‘beatnik’ and she was definitely ‘with it’. While Sally wasn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ was, after sharing a few of Colin’s mind-blowing, roll-up cigarettes she had ceased to care.

They had agreed to meet up again in Colin’s home city of Leeds and so it was that, on a summer night in the swinging sixties, Colin arrived under Dyson’s Clock in the city centre, clutching a bunch of flowers. This was a popular meeting place for young lovers and he stared at the ornate clock with the roman numerals and watched the minutes tick by. Above the clock, Old Father Time, with his hourglass and scythe, stared down silently as each new generation of lovers smiled nervously and young men handed over bunches of roses with the awkwardness of youth.

Sally loved the fashionable Colin who changed his image with the times. His 1966 Native American look, adopted after watching Sonny and Cher singing ‘You Got Me, Babe’, had been quickly dispensed with in 1967 when he began to wear a beret after seeing the film
Bonnie
and
Clyde
. In 1969, after Joe Cocker’s performance at Woodstock, he adopted psychedelic tied-and-dyed shirts. Then in the seventies, with his Elton John platform boots, he had increased his height by four inches. Finally, he had found his true identity and settled for an Afghan sheepskin coat, John Lennon circular spectacles and rapidly receding hair with an ever-widening centre parting.

But the dreams of youth had long since gone. When Sally had started her teaching career at Ragley School, Colin began work as a filing clerk at the local architects’ department in York. He became just another man in a suit and it was about this time they had begun to drift apart. Sally spent her evenings marking children’s work and preparing music lessons while listening to the Carpenters, her favourite group. She loved their songs and in 1973 she sang along to ‘Rainy Days and Mondays’ and ‘Goodbye to Love’. However, by the time ‘Please, Mr Postman’ was released in 1975, Colin was spending more time in the shed at the bottom of the garden.