06 Educating Jack (30 page)

However, Terry’s maths had improved recently and he did a quick calculation. ‘But in ten years, when ah’m grown up, it’ll be t’
Nineties
, miss.’

‘I stand corrected,’ said Vera with a smile.

In Anne’s class I was enjoying my story time with the youngest children in Ragley School. I had just finished reading Eric Carle’s
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
when, predictably, they all wanted to impart their latest news.

‘My grandma and granddad are coming to stay at our house for the weekend,’ said little Rosie Spittlehouse.

‘And where do they live?’ I asked.

‘At the bus station,’ she replied sweetly.

‘The bus station?’

‘Yes, Mr Sheffield. We go there when we want them to come an’ stay and take ’em back there when my mummy says we’ve ’ad enough of ’em.’

Not for the first time, I recalled that conversations with reception class children were definitely
different
.

That evening I arrived home earlier than usual. Beth was in the kitchen steaming some vegetables and the appetizing smell of fish pie drifted from the oven. She had one eye on the little portable television set. Channel 4’s
Countdown
was just finishing and Richard Whiteley was teasing Carol Vorderman, a shapely young woman who seemed to be good at mathematics.

In
my
eyes Beth had never looked more beautiful. Now in the thirty-third week of pregnancy, her floral smock rested against her precious bundle as she leant back against the kitchen worktop. Splashes of paint flecked her old denim jeans. ‘I think it’s finished now, Jack. Would you like to come and look?’

Since Beth had begun her maternity leave she had devoted her time to making our second bedroom into a perfect nursery. I followed her upstairs and as we stood in the doorway I wrapped my arms around her. ‘It’s wonderful; everything is just right,’ I said and I kissed her neck softly. The scent of lavender was in her hair. However, sharp reality quickly spiked my dreamy thoughts when she said, ‘I thought we could put a changing mat on the sofa, Jack – what do you think?’

On Saturday morning, in the back garden of Bilbo Cottage, butterflies danced with silent wings around the arched branches of the buddleia bushes and the drone of bees hung heavy in the heat haze. Beth had begun a herb garden and a new world of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme had appeared in a raised bed next to the wooden frame of the compost heap. She was looking a little hot and bothered in her loose, knee-length, floral-patterned maternity dress as I helped her hang out the washing on this warm summer morning. When we set off for Ragley she wound down the car windows and enjoyed the welcoming breeze in her hair.

The shopping list was interesting, as Beth seemed to have discovered a new craving for food, particularly mashed potatoes and baked beans, plus the occasional bag of sherbet lemons. When we emerged from Prudence Golightly’s General Stores, all the villagers seemed to be in good spirits … that is, until we met the sombre Deke Ramsbottom.

He raised his cowboy hat in greeting. ‘G’morning Mr Sheffield, an’ ’ow y’keepin’, Mrs Sheffield?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ said Beth. ‘And how are you?’

Deke pointed to his black armband. ‘June eleventh, nineteen seventy-nine,’ he said, ‘saddest day o’ my life.’

The anniversary of the death of John Wayne, Deke’s favourite cowboy, was always a sad day for this local character. Predictably, his thoughts were elsewhere and later that lunchtime, when he lost at dominoes, he didn’t even complain.

Outside the General Stores Ruby was chatting with her daughter Racquel. The pushchair beside them was full of shopping and Ruby was holding her granddaughter, Krystal. ‘Your turn soon, Mrs Sheffield,’ she said cheerfully.

‘She’s beautiful, Ruby,’ said Beth. ‘You must be very proud.’

‘I am that … ah love ’er t’bits.’

‘Shall ah tek ’er, Mam?’ asked Racquel.

‘No, let me ’old ’er a bit longer,’ said Ruby.

‘She’s going to be a real beauty,’ I said.

Ruby stroked the little girl’s chestnut curls. ‘Y’reight there, Mr Sheffield, an’ ah’ll tell y’summat, she’ll ’ave a good life … better than ’er grandma.’ Ruby looked up at me and her eyes were shining. ‘She’ll go far, this little un, Mr Sheffield. Y’know what they say – t’world’s ’er ’amster.’

‘Ah think it’s
oyster
, Mam,’ said Racquel.

But Ruby didn’t hear. She was stroking Krystal’s perfectly smooth hands with a work-red calloused finger.

‘But ah do worry sometimes, Mr Sheffield,’ continued Ruby. ‘They say ’er who lives opposite to our Racquel – ’er wi’ t’gammy leg and cut-price curtains – is a G-Hovis witness. Y’don’t know who y’gettin’ f’neighbours these days.’

‘C’mon, Mam, time to get ’ome,’ said Racquel.

‘See y’Monday, Mr Sheffield. Let’s ’ope it’s another lovely day f’yer zoo trip. Our ’Azel can’t wait.’

So it was that on a perfect Monday morning in bright sunshine William Featherstone’s cream-and-green Reliance coach parked by the village green and the children clambered aboard. As was his way, William, in his brown coach driver’s jacket, welcomed each passenger by doffing his peaked cap. Sue Phillips and four other mothers went to sit on the back seat and Sally and I shared the front seat behind the driver.

A horde of parents waved us off as if we were about to emigrate to Australia, while the children tested the springiness of their seats and wondered how soon they could eat their packed lunches.

‘Nice day for t’outing, Mr Sheffield, Mrs Pringle,’ said William, double de-clutching into first gear. It was a steady journey. We travelled north on the Scarborough Road and then on the A64 beyond Malton. Eventually William joined the A169 towards Pickering and Whitby, and finally turned left on the Kirby Misperton Road.

Theresa Ackroyd was reading a Flamingo Land brochure to her friends. ‘It sez ’ere they’ve got African lions, camels, chimpanzees, a reptile ’ouse an’ a bird ’ouse.’

‘Ah’m not sure about reptiles,’ said Michelle Cathcart nervously.

The Buttle twins were squashed on either side of her. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Rowena.

‘We’ll look after you,’ added Katrina.

Undeterred, Theresa pressed on. ‘An’ giraffes, zebras, tigers, sea lions, parrots an’ peacocks.’

‘What about a ’ippopotamus?’ asked Dean Kershaw.

Theresa scanned the list again. ‘Yes … a ’ippopotamus an’ all. They’ve got ev’rything, even pink flamingos.’

Finally we pulled up in the car park. ‘’Ere we are, Mr Sheffield, safe an’ sound,’ said William.

As a teacher I found over the years that there is usually something that children remember above everything else about a school educational visit, and it isn’t necessarily connected with the intention of the experience. After a trip to London to see the wonders of the Natural History Museum, a child will invariably get back to school and write about the escalators in the Underground. Likewise, a visit to the wonderful grounds of Fountains Abbey will be recalled by another as the day his best friend was sick on the coach. Our day in Flamingo Land was to prove such a day.

It began with a startled cry. ‘Miss!’ shouted nine-year-old Molly Paxton. ‘Miss, come quick!’

Sally turned on her heel and hurried back towards Margery Ackroyd’s group.

‘What is it, Molly?’ asked Sally.

‘It’s a funny zebra, miss,’ said Molly.

‘No, it’s a
zebroid
, girls,’ said Sally calmly. ‘You can tell by its faint stripes.’ She couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. ‘It’s half zebra and half donkey.’

Mrs Ackroyd was looking perplexed and, surprisingly for Ragley’s most vociferous gossip, she appeared quite speechless.

‘But it’s got
five
legs,’ said Hazel Smith. Ruby’s daughter’s eyes were wide in amazement.

Sally stepped closer to the fenced enclosure and looked down. Her cheeks reddened instantly. Sally had certainly witnessed some sights in her life – but nothing like this. The zebroid had the biggest erection she had ever seen. It was huge and, from a certain angle, it certainly looked like a fifth leg.

Sally’s whispered explanation to me on the coach home of how she handled the ensuing questions was priceless.

At the end of the school day we arrived back safely and forty-five tired children disembarked from the coach outside the school entrance. As they reminisced about their day at the zoo, Lillian Figgins had taken up her station by the side of her zebra crossing. Ruby was in the school office collecting litter from the wastepaper basket and Vera beckoned her over to the window. ‘Ruby, I need to organize a cleaner for the vicarage. What do you think of Miss Figgins?’

‘Lollipop Lil’,’ said Ruby, ‘she’s one o’ best cleaners i’ Yorkshire. She used t’do f’that Lady Blakelock in that big ’ouse at ’Igh Sutton. In fac’, she were jus’ like you wi’ a cloth on t’table even when y’not expectin’ company, an’ one o’ them fancy Prussian rugs in ’er ’allway.’

‘That’s very interesting, Ruby,’ said Vera … and she meant it.

The zebra crossing was clearly a novelty for the children and they waited in small groups to cross the road safely to get to the shops on the other side of the High Street.

Molly Paxton and Hazel Smith stood behind the kerb edge and looked up at Lillian. ‘Miss Figgins,’ shouted Molly, ‘is this
your
zebra crossin’?’

Lillian smiled. ‘Well ah s’ppose so, ah’m in charge o’ it.’ She walked to the centre of the road and held up her sign like Boadicea going into battle.

As they walked across, Molly Paxton said, ‘We saw a zebra t’day, Miss Figgins.’

‘Well that’s lovely,’ said Lillian.

‘An’ it ’ad
five
legs,’ said Hazel.

Margery Ackroyd was next to cross with her daughters, Theresa and Charlotte.

‘Well ah’ve ’eard it all now,’ said Lillian, ‘them little uns ’ave jus’ said they saw a five-legged zebra t’day on t’school trip.’

Margery Ackroyd whispered in her ear.

‘Really,’ said Lillian, ‘that long? By gum, that’s enough t’mek y’eyes water,’ and with a chuckle she realized she would definitely enjoy this job. In fact, she thought, you could write a book about it.

Mrs Grainger and Mrs Pringle collected a wide range of artwork from all classes to be displayed at the Ragley and Morton Agricultural Show on Saturday, 25 June. Class 1 had a teddy bears’ picnic on the school field
.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:

Friday, 24 June 1983

‘WHAT DO YOU
think, Ted?’ said Miss Amelia Duff, the Ragley postmistress.

In the back yard of the post office Ted Postlethwaite, the Ragley postman, picked up an old watering can and gave Amelia’s potato plant a generous drink. Back in March, at the Women’s Institute, Mary Hardisty had given an even-sized tuber to all the members for their annual competition. The rules were simple: put it in a twelve-inch pot, add compost of your own choice and in June, at the Ragley and Morton Agricultural Show, the lady with the greatest weight of potatoes would be the champion.

‘Well, this looks a winner t’me, Amelia,’ said Ted with an encouraging smile. After he had finished his morning round he had called in for his usual cup of tea. He enjoyed doing extra little jobs for Amelia; it made him feel wanted. He could be close to the woman he loved … and he wondered if she knew. It was Friday, 24 June, a beautiful summer’s morning, and, across the High Street, the bell rang for the beginning of another school day.

Immediately after registration, the fourteen school leavers in my class hurried down to the school gate. It was the day of their preliminary visit to Easington Comprehensive School and they climbed on to William Featherstone’s Reliance coach. Most of them had now passed their eleventh birthday and they were growing up fast. Predictably, many of the girls towered over the boys, whose growth spurt would come later. I stood in the playground with the remainder of my class, the third-year juniors, and we waved them off.

‘Our turn nex’ year, Mr Sheffield,’ said Hazel Smith as we walked back into our classroom and, once again, I reflected on the cycle of school life for a village teacher. The carousel of children simply went on while I got a year older and hopefully a little wiser. With such a small class it was a busy but quiet morning and, by breaktime, I was intrigued to see how new forceful characters had emerged now that their older classmates were absent.

Meanwhile, across the hall, Anne was in conversation with Shirley the cook, who had volunteered to help after lunch with Class 1’s teddy bears’ picnic on the school field. For once their conversation was uninterrupted, as this was one of the few occasions in the school day when the infant children were silent. They were all drinking their milk, sucking furiously at their bent straws and watching the level of milk drop magically in the third-of-a-pint bottles.

Jo had agreed that her children would help serve drinks and sandwiches at the picnic, which was a treat in store. However, in morning assembly they had just listened to Joseph’s story of Moses and the parting of the Red Sea and all had not gone smoothly. Ben Roberts had taken some time to settle and so, when the bell went for morning break, Joseph looked down benevolently at the little boy.

‘Ben,’ he said, ‘you were naughty this morning, but Mrs Hunter has told me you have worked hard so you
can
come to the picnic.’

Ben looked unhappy. ‘Oh dear,’ he said.

‘I thought you would be pleased,’ said Joseph.

‘No, it’s too late now, Mr Evans,’ said Ben, clearly full of remorse.

‘Why is it too late?’ asked Joseph.

‘I’ve already prayed for rain,’ said Ben sadly, ‘and, like y’said, Mr Evans, God is always listening.’

At morning break Vera was scanning the front page of her
Daily Telegraph
and frowning. ‘That dreadful young man John McEnroe has been misbehaving again at Wimbledon,’ she muttered, and then read the next article, ‘and the Commons are debating whether to bring back hanging.’

‘That should keep the umpires happy,’ said Sally, but Vera didn’t hear.