Star Teacher (10 page)

Suzi-Quatro had already learned the direct approach in her young life. ‘What's your first name, Miss?'

‘It's Pat.'

‘Our dog's called Pat,' contributed Alison.

‘Oh,' said Pat.

Suzi-Quatro considered this for a moment. ‘Pat? … That's a great name for a dog.'

They wandered off to watch the older girls skipping while Pat pondered on the innocence of youth.

Across the village green on the other side of the High Street Nora Pratt was sitting behind the counter in her Coffee Shop and reading her
Woman's Own
. She was studying an advertisement for
Ambrose Wilson, Britain's No. 1 Corsetry Catalogue
that boasted ‘all the benefits of the right foundation garments'. Then she glanced down at her plump figure, sighed and turned the page. Her horoscope caught her eye. It read, ‘Distant places could play a big part in your love life. This could be the time to reorganize your affairs.'

It was then she thought about her boyfriend, Tyrone, who had just returned from ‘a distant place'. He had been all the way to Hull to attend a training day entitled ‘The Introduction of Bar Codes in the World of Packaging'. Tyrone Crabtree was a short, balding man with a Bobby Charlton comb-over. Now in his fifties, he had risen to become the manager in charge of cardboard boxes at the local chocolate factory. Nora was proud of his achievements and thought that perhaps it was time to go out with him every Saturday instead of once each month.

She wondered if Tyrone would be coming to the shop tonight and looked once again at the large poster in the window that read:

Nora's assistant, Dorothy, had taken delivery of some cheap doughnuts and was stacking them in what she considered to be an attractive pyramid.

‘So who is 'e, Nora?' asked Dorothy.

‘'E studies astwology,' said Nora, who had never quite managed to pronounce the letter ‘R'.

‘Ah think ah'll tell 'im that ah'm an Aquarian,' said Dorothy, fiddling with her chunky signs-of-the-zodiac bracelet. ‘An' it were lucky that ah married my Malcolm, cos 'e's a Gemini an' that makes us a perfect match.' Dorothy, the five-foot-eleven-inch would-be model with four-inch heels and peroxide-blonde hair, had married our five-foot-four-inch refuse collector just over a year ago and they were blissfully happy living above the Coffee Shop.

‘That's a good idea, Dowothy,' said Nora, ‘an' ah'll ask 'im about my Tywone as well.' In recent months Tyrone had become the man of Nora's dreams.

At the end of school Stacey Bryant and Lucy Eckersley were in excited conversation.

‘Stacey's coming to our house for tea, Mr Sheffield,' said Lucy.

‘And we're going to watch
Grange Hill
at ten past five,' added the precise Stacey.

‘And we're a bit worried about Zammo,' confided Lucy.

‘Yes, Mr Sheffield,' confirmed Stacey, ‘he can't seem to do anything right.'

I didn't know who Zammo was … but I sympathized with his predicament.

When their shift was over, Big Dave and Little Malcolm called into the Coffee Shop for a mug of tea before they returned their bin wagon to the depot.

‘Ah've got dry 'air, Malcolm,' said Dorothy, lifting a handful of her back-combed, peroxide-blonde hair and pointing to an article in Nora's
Woman's Own
. ‘It says 'ere ah'm short o' lanolin.'

Malcolm nodded sympathetically and carried two huge mugs of milky sweet tea back to the table.

‘What's wrong wi' your Dorothy?' asked Big Dave. ‘She's gorra face like a wet weekend.'

‘Dunno, Dave,' said Malcolm, shaking his head and slurping the hot tea. ‘Summat t'do wi' linoleum.'

‘Tell 'er we've got some spare carpet offcuts that Mrs Dudley-Palmer chucked out. It's proper Axminster.'

‘Thanks, Dave,' said Little Malcolm. It was another problem solved in a busy life.

After school I was sitting at my desk when the telephone rang. It was Beth.

‘I'll probably be home first this evening,' she said. ‘I've only got a brief meeting with the infants staff before I leave.'

‘Fine, I'll be home by six,' I said, ‘and there's a talk in the Coffee Shop tonight. It's about Halley's Comet.'

‘That's interesting,' she said. ‘My top juniors are doing a project on it.'

‘Well, why don't you go?' I suggested. ‘Vera said she's going with Anne and Sally.'

‘It would be good to catch up,' she said. ‘Yes, I think I will.'

At six o'clock John Grainger was busy with his workbench project in the garage. It was a huge construction that completely dominated the far wall and Anne stared at it in dismay. It seemed to sum up their life together. Standing on its eight four-inch-square sturdy legs it was a reflection of her husband – strong, functional but, ultimately, utterly boring.

‘So when are we going out?' she asked.

‘I need to finish this,' replied John without looking up. ‘The glue hasn't set yet.'

Anne noticed he had become a man with a constant sprinkle of sawdust in his curly unkempt beard.

‘I thought we were going for a meal,' she said, thinking that his fading suit in the wardrobe was for weddings and funerals only, but never for a surprise meal at the Dean Court Hotel in York.

‘Sorry, not tonight,' he said. ‘Too busy.'

At Bilbo Cottage, by the time I had put John to bed and washed up the plates after our sausage and mash evening meal, Beth had left for Ragley and I settled down with the
Radio Times
.

Blankety Blank
with Les Dawson was about to start, followed by
Dynasty
at ten past eight. Apparently the relationship between Krystle and Blake, played by Linda Evans and John Forsythe, was destined to take a nosedive. Meanwhile, Joan Collins as the scheming Alexis was sure to encourage the rift.

Instead I selected a good book.
Far from the Madding Crowd
seemed an appropriate novel in the sanctuary of our home.

On The Crescent, meanwhile, life wasn't so relaxed.

‘Halley's Comet?' queried John, a little uncertain of the pronunciation.

‘Yes,
Halley
,' repeated Anne. ‘Rhymes with
valley
. It's the famous comet about to come into view again after seventy-five years.'

‘Oh, that one,' said John. ‘It was mentioned on the news.'

‘Well there's a talk in the Coffee Shop this evening,' said Anne.

John was writing in a dun-coloured notebook. ‘Dome-headed screws,' he murmured to himself.

‘I'm going now,' said Anne, buttoning up her coat.

John didn't look up. ‘Fine,' he said absent-mindedly and continued with his list. ‘Two feet of half-inch dowelling …'

Anne walked out, relieved to breathe in the cold night air.

The Coffee Shop was full, mainly with the ladies of Ragley village. Tea had been served along with somewhat dubious jam doughnuts and Edward Clifton had captivated his audience.

‘Halley first observed the comet in 1680,' he told them, ‘and predicted it would return in 1759 … and it did.'

Anne was sitting alongside Vera, Beth and Sally and they nodded in appreciation.

‘He was a remarkable man,' continued Edward, ‘and his inventions in the seventeenth century also included the diving bell.'

At the end he was surrounded by adoring women.

Beth, Vera, Sally and Anne were chatting near the door when Edward was about to leave and they walked out together on to the frosty pavement. His car was parked across the road outside the village hall and, as he put his satchel in the boot he called out, ‘Would you ladies like to join me for a nightcap?' and gestured up the High Street towards the welcoming orange lights outside The Royal Oak.

‘I have to get back home,' said Vera, ‘but thank you all the same.'

Beth looked at her wristwatch. ‘Yes, I ought to go – early start tomorrow.'

Sally looked at Anne. ‘I could stay a while,' she said quietly to her colleague.

‘And what about you, Sally … and Anne?' called Edward.

‘Come on,' whispered Sally. ‘He's an interesting man.'

Anne paused. It was just a thread, a strip of tarmac between them. She stepped off the kerb and walked confidently towards Edward. Under the glow of the street lamp he was smiling.

Sally was keen to know Edward's background and it proved to be an interesting story. He was born in 1929 in Napier, New Zealand, and as a small child had survived the terrible earthquake of 1931. It had measured 7.8 on the Richter scale and changed the landscape dramatically, with a huge area of sea bed becoming dry land and the land on which Napier stood being raised by an astonishing eight feet. When the earthquake struck, Edward's sister had lifted him from his cot seconds before it was crushed by falling masonry. There was sadness in his voice as he recounted that his mother, a nurse, had perished along with other hospital staff in the nurses' building. The steel reinforcement rods had been removed prior to construction to save costs. The city was rebuilt in the style of Santa Barbara to become the art deco centre of the world, but before then Edward's father had brought him and his sister to England to begin a new life.

‘So that's my story,' he said.

Outside they paused under the black velvet sky. Anne shivered. ‘I had better get home.'

‘Shall I drop you off?' offered Sally.

‘Please … allow me,' said Edward.

‘I live on The Crescent off the Easington Road,' said Anne.

‘That's on my way,' he said.

‘Well, thank you, that's very kind,' she replied.

Sally said goodnight and Anne and Edward walked back down the High Street as a bitter wind suddenly blew. ‘Sorry, Anne, I wasn't thinking. You must be cold.' He slipped off his winter coat and draped it carefully over her shoulders. Anne held it close, feeling the rough fabric and the warmth of his body as it permeated through to her skin.

As they drove back to The Crescent, she looked at his large hands gripping the steering wheel. There was no wedding ring.

Her house was in darkness when they pulled up outside. Edward got out, opened the passenger door and for a brief moment they stood facing each other.

‘So it's coming back again,' said Anne.

‘Yes, and in Anglo Saxon chronicles it was referred to as “a source of tears”.'

‘That sounds sad,' she said.

Edward smiled and stared into the light of an ethereal sky. ‘The mystery of the stars and planets is nothing when compared to life itself,' he said softly.

Anne said nothing. She merely drank in the words of this strange but appealing man.

Inside the house all was silent and she crept quietly into the bedroom where John lay asleep. She reflected that the two men were like the sun and the moon, like fire and ice. With Edward, for a brief time, she had bathed in his warmth, but here with John each night she lay cold and still. The young, clean-shaven and vigorous man she had married many years ago had gone now. There was no spark, no excitement.

As she undressed she recalled the gentle touch of Edward's fingertips on her collar and his cool appraisal of her slim figure. She opened her wardrobe and on impulse slipped on her favourite black nightdress. As she smoothed the silky fabric over her hips she thought of Edward.

The devil had come to call and, as the church bells of St Mary's chimed out the hour, she gave a whimsical smile at her sinful thoughts.

Mrs Pringle began practice for the school Nativity play. A response was sent to County Hall following their request to fill the vacant role of local authority governor. Ms Brookside organized a staff night out at the Odeon Cinema in York.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 6 December 1985

It was Friday, 6 December and a severe frost crusted the rutted back road to Ragley village. Beyond the frozen hedgerows the bare forests on the distant hills had lost their colour and their skeletal leaves had fallen. In the harsh wind the first flakes of snow were drifting down from a gun-metal sky and they tapped gently against my windscreen, a reminder of the harsh winter weather that was about to descend on the high moors of North Yorkshire.

The bitter cold had frozen the surface of the pond on the village green but this did not seem to deter the early-morning brigade. They were in evidence as I drove slowly up the High Street. Deke Ramsbottom was perched on a noisy tractor heading up towards the Morton Road, while Heathcliffe Earnshaw was delivering the last of his morning papers before returning his canvas bag to Prudence Golightly. Ernie and Rodney Morgetroyd trundled past on their electric milk float and the postman, Ted ‘Postie' Postlethwaite, gave me a wave as he drew close to completing his first round of the day. However, as he pushed each package and envelope through each letterbox, little did he know the impact today's correspondence would have on his customers.

Behind the closed doors of Ragley a few surprises were in store.

‘Don't Break My Heart' by UB40 was playing on my car radio as I turned right at the top of the High Street and drove through the school gate. A group of children had been dropped off by their working mothers and, unperturbed by the biting wind, lined up like a guard of honour to greet my Morris Minor Traveller as it crunched over the cobbled drive.

When I walked from the car park Ruby was sweeping the steps in the entrance porch. ‘Morning, Ruby,' I yelled above the wind.

‘G'morning, Mr Sheffield,' she replied. ‘A bit parky this mornin'.' Ruby's only concession to this freezing day was a headscarf double-knotted beneath her chin. She was made of strong stuff.