Star Teacher (32 page)

‘Mr Sheffield, is that God takin' a picture?' asked little Alison Gawthorpe.

It passed over as soon as it had begun. Finally, sharp orange sunlight gilded the distant hillside like molten gold and our world was silent once again.

‘Thank goodness we didn't have to drive through that,' said Pat. She had organized another staff night out at the cinema and a relaxing start to the weekend was in store.

It was six thirty, Natasha was babysitting and we had set off for York. Beth was driving and Rod Stewart was singing ‘Every Beat of My Heart' on her car radio. During the ten-mile journey we discussed Jim Fairbank's proposal for the lectureship at the college and Beth was encouraged. ‘This is positive news, Jack,' she said. ‘Things are looking up.'

We parked outside a launderette with a big sign in the window, ‘Drop Your Pants Here', smiled and walked on hand in hand. All the staff had assembled, but their partners were otherwise engaged. Rupert was attending a Rotary Club meeting, Pat's partner was on call at the surgery, Colin Pringle was looking after daughter Grace, and John Grainger was varnishing his new tool rack. The film was
Back to the Future
and proved to be light-hearted escapism. Michael J. Fox played the main character, Marty McFly, who travelled back in time to 1955 in ‘Doc' Emmett Brown's DeLorean car. There he met his parents as teenagers in Hill Valley. The car had something called a ‘flux capacitor' and the speed of 88 m.p.h. was critical for its success in travelling through time.

It was an enjoyable evening and good to catch up with news on this balmy summer evening. When we returned to the car and drove north on the A19 I found myself thinking about my own past. Arriving in Ragley village and taking on my first headship had provided both challenge and purpose.

‘You're quiet,' observed Beth.

‘Just thinking,' I said.

‘About time travel?' she quipped.

‘Not exactly,' I said. ‘Although hindsight is useful.'

Meeting Beth back in 1977 had been life-changing. In that moment it seemed as though a future had been determined for us both. However, during this academic year external forces over which I had little control had been at work.

It was a different world and the rules had changed.

On Saturday morning I rose early and made a decision that would go towards determining my own future. I filled my pen with black Quink ink and began to complete an application form for the Master of Education degree at York University beginning in the autumn term.

It was a part-time Educational Management course over three years, including two years of evening tutorials and a final year during which a dissertation had to be undertaken under the supervision of a personal tutor. I was busy with it when Beth appeared with John. She peered over my shoulder.

‘That's good,' she said quietly and kissed me on the cheek. Then she took John outside into the garden to pick strawberries, but mainly to leave me in peace.

I had just finished it and read it through carefully when the morning post arrived. Beth came back into the kitchen, sifted through the letters, paused and passed over a large cream envelope with the crest of North Yorkshire County Council. I opened it quickly, scanned the letter and smiled.

‘Well?' she asked.

‘Good news … I've got an interview for the Ragley and Morton headship. It's on Thursday, twenty-fourth July in Northallerton,' I glanced up at the calendar on the wall, ‘the day before the end of term.'

Beth stretched over the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Well done,' she said. ‘And so it begins …'

The school supported the royal wedding celebrations in the village hall. The pupils' report books were completed prior to being sent home at the end of term.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Wednesday, 23 July 1986

It was Wednesday, 23 July and, as I drove up the High Street, colourful bunting was displayed outside the village hall and the parade of shops. The royal wedding had captured the imagination and, even though it was officially a normal working day, much was being done for the folk of Ragley to join in the celebrations. The owners of each of the village shops had made their own unique contribution to this special day.

Prudence Golightly was giving away small cardboard Union Jacks with every newspaper and Jeremy Bear was sporting his new sailor suit. Old Tommy Piercy had displayed a large tray of ‘Royal Wedding Sausages' in his window that looked very much like the usual tray of pork sausages that were there every day of the week. In the Pharmacy, Peggy Scrimshaw had draped a string of flags of St George over her new range of cod liver oil capsules and Neutrogena hand cream. Timothy Pratt was displaying a royal family of garden gnomes on a trestle table outside his Hardware Emporium, including one of Prince Charles with particularly large ears. Nora Pratt had advertised ‘Prince Andrew Cream Horns' in her Coffee Shop, while Dorothy was standing in the doorway, swaying her hips and singing along to Robert Palmer's ‘Addicted to Love'. Diane Wigglesworth had put a photograph of Sarah Ferguson on the door of her Hair Salon under the words ‘Would you like Titian locks?' Diane wasn't entirely clear who Titian was, but she had read that particular description of Sarah Ferguson's flowing red hair in an old
Cosmopolitan
magazine. Finally, outside the Post Office, Ted Postlethwaite and Amelia Duff had draped a huge Union Jack around the postbox prior to returning to the back room and their well-thumbed copy of
The Joy of Sex.

On the village green, Shane and Clint Ramsbottom were unloading the Ragley Scouts' marquee from the back of a trailer, while Rupert Forbes-Kitchener supervised the raising of the flag of St George on the flagpole in the centre of the village green. Meanwhile, Sheila Bradshaw, in a bright red boob tube, blue skintight hot pants and white high heels, was putting up a parasol above each of the picnic tables outside The Royal Oak and she blew me an extravagant kiss as I drove by.

There was no doubt that Ragley village loved a wedding.

Ruby was emptying the playground litter bin when I walked in from the car park.

‘Good morning, Ruby. How are you?' I asked. It was noticeable that she was looking a lot happier these days.

‘Fair t'middlin',' she replied cheerfully. ‘Ah've gorra drivin' lesson wi' George this mornin'.'

‘How's it going?'

‘George says ah'm doin' well an' we're gonna do 'mergency stops soon.'

‘He's a good friend to you, Ruby.'

‘Thing is, Mr Sheffield, 'e's too gen'rous to a fault … allus
givin
' me stuff.'

‘I'm sure he just wants to help.'

‘Mebbe so an' ah'm grateful, but ah've told 'im till ah'm blue in t'face not t'be allus puttin' 'is 'and in 'is pocket f'me,' she said forcefully, ‘but would 'e listen? Would 'e 'eck!'

‘Well, he's a kind man and obviously thinks a lot of you.'

Ruby pondered this for a moment and smiled. ‘'Appen 'e does. Like m'mother allus says, there's nowt so queer as folk,' and with that she carried her black bag of rubbish to the boiler house.

It was good to see Ruby returning to her old self and I walked into the entrance hall. Vera, in a beautiful summer dress of delicate lilac, stood facing Miss Valerie Flint, attaching a rose to the buttonhole of her linen safari trouser suit. ‘An exciting day, Mr Sheffield,' said Vera.

‘Yes, indeed,' I agreed.

‘There now, Valerie, straight from my garden,' went on Vera, ‘a beautiful
Rosa mundi
with a splash of crimson to match your zest for life.'

‘Thank you,' replied Valerie. ‘A fitting gesture on a special occasion.'

‘Yes, the royal wedding.' Vera smiled up at me.

‘Well, actually, Vera,' said Valerie with a slightly strained look in my direction, ‘I was thinking more of me taking over your secretarial duties. This is outside my comfort zone – I feel like a probationer again.'

‘We're all grateful to you, Valerie, for coming in to help out,' I assured her.

‘Well, I couldn't let my dear friend miss a royal wedding,' said Miss Flint with a slight frown. She loved teaching, but taking over in Vera's office was intimidating to say the least.

A week ago I had realized that such a staunch royalist as Vera would be heartbroken to miss the wedding of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson. It was a relief when I heard that her friend, Miss Flint, had offered to take over in the office while Vera was out of school. Vera proposed to leave at 10.30 to go to the village hall to watch it live on the large television. She would also help to prepare the tea party for the villagers and children arriving there after school. She had assured Miss Flint she would be back by afternoon break, much to our supply teacher's relief.

Also, as Vera was officially a part-time clerical assistant – although no one would have dreamed of referring to her in that way – she was entitled to the time off.

‘Beautiful roses,' I said.

Vera had a pale-pink rose in her buttonhole. ‘A “Blush Noisette”, Mr Sheffield, the first rose ever presented to me by Rupert eight summers ago.' She glanced down and smiled at the memory. There was a clatter of crockery from the kitchen. ‘In the meantime I had better check with Shirley that all is in hand,' she added.

We had agreed to loan our crockery and cutlery, plus our Baby Burco boiler, to the village hall committee and Shirley and Doreen were busy in the kitchen counting out plates and beakers prior to them being washed after school dinner and delivered to the village hall.

‘Never fear, Valerie, I shall be back to go through your duties once again,' said Vera over her shoulder as she hurried off.

‘Oh dear,' murmured Valerie.

It was a busy morning, with the end of term in sight and the children's report books to complete. Also the children were excited at the thought of a party in the village hall after school.

For my part, with my interview only twenty-four hours away, I had other concerns. It was a relief that Sally had offered to lead morning assembly and I was able to gather my thoughts at the back of the hall. Her theme was an appropriate one, the ‘Kings and Queens of England', and this promoted much discussion, particularly concerning Henry VIII, Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth II.

‘Will our Queen retire when she gets t'sixty or sixty-five, Miss?' asked Lucy Eckersley.

I recalled having the same conversation with Vera, who was adamant that Queen Elizabeth II was in the job for the duration … and that meant
life
.

‘I don't think so, Lucy,' said Sally.

‘If I was king, ah'd banish cabbage,' said Rufus Snodgrass defiantly.

‘An' boys,' added Jemima Poole with feeling.

Meanwhile, outside Pratt's garage, Ruby had just experienced her first setback as a learner driver. During her mid-morning lesson with George she had driven on to the forecourt of Victor Pratt's garage, where our local mechanic was filling up Deadly Duggie's hearse with petrol. Duggie had just polished his pride and joy and it stood there gleaming in the morning sunshine. However, Ruby had been a little slow pressing the brake pedal and George's last-minute attempt to pull on the handbrake had been in vain. The little Austin had bumped gently into the back of the hearse.

Deadly Duggie ran round the back of his vehicle to check the damage. Fortunately there was only the merest scratch.

Ruby wound down her window. ‘Sorry, ah didn't see y'luv.'

Duggie looked at his mother in astonishment. ‘But Mam, m'flippin' 'earse is big an' black an' eighteen foot long!' he exclaimed.

George changed places with Ruby and reversed the car a few feet, then he got out and approached Duggie. ‘Ah'll see y'right, Duggie, if there's any damage,' he said.

Duggie knew that George was a man of his word and respected him for the offer and, not least, for the care he showed his mother. ‘Nowt t'speak of, George,' he said. ‘No damage done. Bit o' spit an' polish an' it'll be good as new.'

‘Thanks, Duggie,' said George and then whispered in his ear, ‘Ah wouldn't want to upset y'mother,' and he climbed back into the car. Ruby was still looking concerned. ‘Don't worry, Ruby,' George reassured her, ‘we'll practise emergency stops next time we go out.'

‘Thanks, George,' said Ruby reflectively. ‘Ah don't want t'pack in cos of a setback.'

‘Ah don't want to
ever
pack in,' said George quietly and Ruby stared out of the windscreen at Duggie's hearse. The road to healing was a long one, but she felt that she was close to journey's end. Perhaps it was time to sing again.

It was during afternoon break that Vera reappeared looking like the cat that got the cream. Sally was on duty and I was helping Valerie with the late-dinner-money register while Anne and Pat were checking each other's report books.

‘So what was it like, Vera?' asked Anne.

‘Simply wonderful,' said an elated Vera. ‘We really do this so well in England, don't we?'

‘Did it all go to plan?' asked Valerie.

‘Of course,' said Vera. ‘Sarah arrived in a glass coach with her father, Sir Ronald, only a couple of minutes late.'

‘What was the dress like?' asked Pat.

‘Quite spectacular,' enthused Vera. ‘Ivory silk, stitched with crystals and beads to depict her coat of arms of thistles and honeybees, plus a train over seventeen feet long.'

‘Sounds magnificent,' said Valerie.

‘Yes,' Vera went on, ‘and it was fitted beautifully and showed off her slender waist to perfection.'

‘I heard it cost eight thousand pounds,' remarked Sally with a shake of her head. Sally was not a fan of royalty.

‘Worth every penny,' retorted Vera.