Nine Till Three and Summers Free

by Mike Kent

  Not just yet, anyway.

  MAY

  A VISITOR, TROUBLE AT THE TOWER, AND MRS GARRETT

  The day after my evening with Samantha I’d been relieved to learn that Miss Bottle would be supervising my teaching practice. I thought a lot of Miss Bottle. Her science lectures were practical and interesting, she tried very hard to relate everything she did to primary classroom practice, and she also managed to maintain a high academic standard, her kindly disposition concealing a capable and determined nature. I’d considered using the River Thames as the theme for my teaching practice after she had given several lectures on water.

  The topic had certainly gone well with the children. Dorothy had stripped the back wall of the room to give me a lot of display space and together the children and I had created a huge painted frieze of the Thames, showing its beginnings high in the Cotswolds and its journey down to the sea. The children had found out about the Thames through the ages, written poems and stories about the great ships that bring cargoes along it, painted pictures of the docks and wharves, constructed bridges from boxes and balsa wood, experimented with techniques for purifying muddy water and then learned how Thames water was being made suitable for the return of some wildlife.

  As I became increasingly enthusiastic about the work, so did the children. I still found them a challenging class to teach, but they were certainly more co-operative now. Dorothy and Brian had given constant encouragement, watching my progress with interest, but taking care never to undermine my confidence. Even Rouse had become enthusiastic; after an initial remark about ‘not seein’’ much point in learnin’ about a load of water’, he had subsequently made one of the best models in the class.

  On the morning Miss Bottle was due to arrive, I was in school an hour earlier than usual to make sure everything was just right. I’d planned the children’s work for the morning with meticulous care, so that I’d have time to talk to Miss Bottle and discuss the work I’d done, while ensuring the children were quiet and absorbed. As Samantha had said, it wasn’t essential to receive an outstanding report from this practice, especially as it was my first. Nevertheless, if I was going to be a teacher I intended to be a good one, and Dorothy had already set me a high standard. As I stood in front of the class at register time, I wondered how much I should tell the children about Miss Bottle. Then I just decided to say they would be having a visitor.

  ‘I’d like you all to be especially good today,’ I said. ‘There’s an important lady coming to see you, but I’m not sure what time she’ll arrive.’

  Rouse looked up with interest. ‘Is it the queen?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not exactly. But she’s still very important and I’ve told her you’re the best class I’ve ever taught.’ ‘Cor,’ exclaimed Susan Davis. ‘You ain’t ‘alf nice, ain’t yer, Sir.’

  ‘Only if you behave. And especially this morning. But I’m sure you will.’

  ‘Sounds like a bribe to me,’ Badger commented suspiciously. ‘I don’t like the sound of it. ‘Oo’s this visitor, anyway?’

  ‘Tell us, Sir?’ Adams pleaded, his voice rapidly joined by the voices of the other children. ‘Then we’ll know ‘ow good we ‘ave to be. I mean, if it’s just your auntie we don’t ‘ave to be as good as if it was the Prime Minister or someone.’

  ‘You’ll just have to ask her, won’t you?’ I replied, immediately realising this might not be a very good idea. ‘Anyway, she’ll probably tell you herself when she gets here.’

  ‘Well, if it’s the queen, we’ll recognise ‘er,’ said Rouse. ‘I’ve seen the queen.’

  Eyes turned to him in interest at this latest development.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been knighted, John?’ I said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I wondered if I might be addressing Sir John Rouse?’

  Rouse screwed up his face in puzzlement and looked at me. ‘What d’yer mean?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Anyway, let’s get on and finish what we were doing yesterday. We want the classroom to look really interesting by the time she comes. I’m proud of your work, and I want her to like it too.’

  But the time had passed and Miss Bottle had not appeared. I was annoyed because I was desperately tired, and the work schedule I’d planned for the morning was likely to be wasted. I also felt disappointed for the children because I wanted their topic to be seen and admired. After all, I thought, even Mr Reed had visited the classroom the day before and been mildly impressed.

  When the bell rang for lunch, my disappointment changed to annoyance. I finished my teaching practice in a week’s time, and now it looked as if nobody was going to come at all.

  ‘Well, she ain’t turned up, ‘as she, Sir?’ said Adams, stuffing his work into his tray. ‘P’raps she couldn’t find the school or somethin’.’

  ‘It looks like it,’ I said. ‘Put your things away everyone. Susan, you’ve dripped paint under your table. Can you clear it up before you go?’

  ‘Yes Sir,’ she said. ‘Can Susan Brennan ‘elp me, Sir?’

  ‘I suppose so. But don’t be late down.’

  The children went out slowly, disappointed at losing the opportunity to show off what they had created. Rouse hovered by the front table and waited for me to put the topic folders in a pile.

  ‘That story you’re readin’ us,’ he said. ‘Is it in the library?’

  ‘Not the school one, no. At least, I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘I’d jus’ like ter read it, that’s all.’

  ‘You can’t read that. It’s too ‘ard,’ jeered Susan Davis.

  ‘Oo asked you? I ain’t talkin’ ter you.’

  ‘Well, you can’t.’

  ‘I could ‘ave a try. What’s it ter do with you? Anyway, ‘ow d’yer join the other library?’

  ‘Just go round after school and ask at the desk,’ I replied, pleased that Rouse liked the story so much he wanted to read it for himself, even though I knew it would be too difficult for him. ‘The assistant will give you a card that your parents have to sign. Then you take it back and the assistant will give you a plastic card you use each time you go and choose books.’

  His face clouded over.

  ‘Oh. It’s a bit of a bother then, ain’t it? I thought it ‘ud be a bit easier than that. Me mum ‘ud say she ain’t got the time and me dad ‘ud say what do you want to join for anyway. ‘E can’t read much ‘imself, so it ain’t much good askin’ ‘im.’

  ‘Fetch the card and I’ll sign it, then,’ I said.

  ‘Nah. I don’t think I’ll bother.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not difficult.’

  ‘I don’t like ter go down there on me own,’ he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets in the characteristic gesture he showed when he was frustrated about something.

  ‘I’ll go with yer,’ Susan Davis offered. ‘I’m going tonight. You can come round there with me if you want.’ Rouse turned away shyly.

  ‘Well, there you are,’ I smiled. ‘If you want to join, it’s up to you now. And you couldn’t have a nicer young lady to go with.’

  ‘What, ‘er?’ he retorted incredulously.

  ‘Aw Sir,’ cried Susan, ‘You would ‘ave to say that. Anyway Rousey, you comin’ tonight or what?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘I think it’s very kind of Susan,’ I said. ‘Anyway, finish now and have your lunch.’

  I followed them into the corridor and almost collided with Mr Reed.

  ‘Ah, Mr Kent,’ he said briskly, ‘I was just coming in to have a word with you. I’ve had a telephone call from your college. Rather inconvenient I have to say, because I’d just locked my room up. Miss… ahm… Bottle was unable to see you today because she’s been asked to cover another tutor’s lecture. She sends her apologies, but she has made arrangements for a Dr Williams to come and see you this afternoon instead. He’ll be
here by two o’clock.’ He looked vaguely down the corridor in the direction of the stairs for a moment, and then strode off to do lunch duty.

  My mind reeled with the news. I hadn’t planned to teach the class at all in the afternoon, but now I’d have to. And showing Dr Williams what I’d been doing didn’t appeal to me at all. Being one of the college’s ancients, short sighted and hopelessly out of date with primary education, he would probably tread on the children’s models, or fall asleep at the back of the classroom. Nevertheless, something had to be attempted. Not a lesson on goldfish, that was for sure.

  I ate my corned beef salad gloomily, gradually piecing the afternoon together in my mind. I could use the lesson I’d planned for the next morning, and talk about the link boys who’d worked on the river bank in Tudor times. I’d already prepared some effective worksheets describing them, with plenty of follow-up ideas for the children to do afterwards. Feeling more relaxed I finished my chocolate pudding and lumpy custard and went back to the classroom to fetch the sheets from my bag. Only the master sheets were in the bag and with a sinking feeling I remembered that the worksheets I’d carefully duplicated were still on my desk at college. Determined not to panic, there was still time to duplicate another set in the staffroom. After all, I only needed twenty five copies.

  When I reached the staffroom I saw that the copying machine was in several pieces on the table. A service mechanic was poring over it, adjusting a metal plate with a screwdriver and spanner.

  ‘Is this going to take long?’ I asked, a slight desperation in my voice.

  ‘No idea, chum,’ said the mechanic cheerfully. ‘You can never tell. It looks as if somebody’s been feeding the wrong kind of paper into it. It’s not built for that thickness.’ He thrust a pair of tweezers underneath the roller, tweaked out some crumpled paper, and dropped it into the bucket.

  There was no time to waste. I could just about get to college and back if Dorothy had the class for the first half hour after lunch. I scribbled a note, asked the first child I found to go and give it to her, and hurried out of the school gate. A lunchtime helper supervising the children in the playground looked at me suspiciously, as if I was leaving the premises without permission. A train drew into the platform just as I arrived at the station and I hurried onto it, running over the lesson possibilities in my mind. I’d talk for ten minutes or so… not too long because it was never easy with another adult in the classroom. Then I’d ask a few questions, and the children could work on the sheets while a group of them showed Dr Williams round the Thames topic. The train rumbled into a station, and the doors clattered open. I looked at my watch. Three stations to go. It would be terrible if I wasn’t back to school by two.

  The top corridor of the college was deserted. A trickle of jazz piano filtered from an open door at the end of the corridor, the only sign that anybody else was around. I fumbled with my keys, stumbled into the room, and hurried to the desk. The work I’d spent so much time on was not there either. I stood still for a moment, not quite sure what I should do next. There was nothing for it, I’d just have to teach another lesson; perhaps read them a story, but Dr Williams would hardly be able to assess my teaching skills on that. In a panic, I hurried back to the station, tired, hot and very angry. How could the worksheets just disappear like that? Unless Rousey had been down my bag and sabotaged the lot. No, that was unfair; he’d been so much better since he’d built that model of Tower Bridge.

  When I arrived back at school, I recognised the battered Austin Cambridge that belonged to Dr Williams parked at the side of the road. So he was here already. There wasn’t even going to be enough time to browse in the library for five minutes and gather a few thoughts together. The bell rang as I entered the gate, and I rushed up the stairs ahead of the children. Mr Reed was waiting outside Dorothy’s classroom, red-faced and tapping his foot on the floor with irritation.

  ‘Where the devil have you been?’ he snapped. ‘You realise, I suppose, that your tutor is already here? I would have thought you could at least have made yourself available in the lunch hour. Mrs Bridgewood has kindly agreed to look after your tutor while you at least gather your wits together. This really isn’t very satisfactory, is it?’ There was nothing I could say. I stormed into the classroom as the children followed behind me noisily.

  ‘Get your reading books out,’ I snapped. ‘I’m going to do something in a moment. Meanwhile, it would be helpful if you kept quiet.’

  ‘Are you having us this afternoon then, Sir?’ asked Dudmish, wiping the dust from his face with a dirty handkerchief after playing football.

  ‘Yes,’ I said forcefully. ‘Why, did you wish to make a formal objection or something?’

  His mouth dropped open. ‘Pardon, Sir?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Is there some reason why I shouldn’t be taking you this afternoon?’

  ‘No Sir. But Mrs Bridgewood said…’

  ‘Well then, read!’

  ‘Sir,’ said Rouse loudly, waving his hand under my nose. ‘Can I go to the lav?’

  ‘What?’

  Rouse sensed that this might not be the best moment to leave his seat.

  ‘’Er… nothin’’, he said. ‘I’ll wait. I’ll ‘old it.’

  There was silence, broken only by the sound of pages being turned. Eyes occasionally lifted from books to see if I was still angry, and several minutes later the door swung open and Dorothy came in.

  ‘My, they’re quiet,’ she said approvingly. ‘What have you done, put sleeping pills in their pudding?’

  ‘’E ain’t ‘alf mad with us, Miss,’ said Susan Davis. ‘Dunno why.’

  ‘I bet I can guess, though,’ said Dorothy. ‘Look, Mike, don’t worry. She’s…’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Yes. Miss Bottle. You were expecting her this morning?’

  ‘But I thought she couldn’t get here. I thought Dr Williams…’

  ‘Well, I don’t know who Dr Williams is, but a very smartly dressed lady calling herself Doris Bottle has been sitting in the staffroom for the best part of half an hour being entertained by Brian. And Brian thinks she’s delightful. She’s gone down to look at his classroom and then she’s coming in here. She seems very sweet.’

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I was certain Miss Bottle would be sympathetic to what had happened and I breathed a sigh of relief. She was bound to understand.

  ‘I’ll go,’ whispered Dorothy. ‘I don’t like to disturb the peace in here. Have you got something ready?’

  ‘I’ll think of something. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you at playtime.’

  I turned to the children, now busily chatting to each other, sensing the danger was over.

  ‘What are we going to do then, Sir?’ asked Rouse politely. ‘Can we get on and finish our river work?’

  ‘You still look a bit worried, Sir,’ said Badger kindly. ‘And a bit off colour, too. I knew a bloke once…’

  ‘Gawd, ‘ere we go,’ moaned Susan Davis, and there was a chorus of sympathy. I groped for an idea to start the lesson, and with inspiration born from desperation I launched a sudden idea.

  ‘This afternoon,’ I said, ‘we’ll have a debate. Now, listen carefully…

  ‘A what?’ interrupted Rouse.

  ‘A debate?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Shut up and we’ll find out,’ Adams suggested.

  ‘I know, Sir,’ called Dudmish. ‘It’s when you have a sort of argument about something and some people agree with it and some people don’t. They have them in parliament. You start with… um… a motion, I think it’s called. Then when people have argued about it everybody decides who they agree with.’

  ‘’E’s good, ain’t ‘e, Sir,’ said Fred admiringly. ‘’E explains things so you understand ‘em, don’t ‘e.’

  ‘Well done, Jamie,’ I said. ‘We won’t make it that c
omplicated though. Lets have a short debate about punishment in school. Then if our visitor comes in you can jot down a few notes while I…’

  ‘I thort we’d ‘ave to write somethin’’, said Rouse. ‘I thort we’d get round to that bit. Why don’t you just pick me? I’ll come out and talk to the class.’

  ‘We couldn’t stand it. You’d bore us all stiff,’ said Dudmish.

  ‘You could get ‘im to sing, though,’ suggested Adams. ‘’E ain’t got a bad voice really. ‘Ow about gettin’ ‘im to sing?’

  ‘Gawd!’ exclaimed Susan Davis. ‘Do we ‘ave to?’

  Fortunately there was no time to pursue this idea as there was a sudden tap at the door and Miss Bottle came into the room. The children’s heads turned in unison to look at her. Their visitor was here at last.

  ‘I do apologise, dear,’ Miss Bottle said earnestly. ‘It’s been such a confusing morning. And then I managed to re-arrange my timetable and my car wouldn’t start. Dr Williams kindly lent me his. I felt as if I was driving a bus. Anyway, enough of my troubles. How are you getting on?’

  ‘Well Sir,’ said Rouse triumphantly, ‘She’s ‘ere’. Yer visitor’s ‘ere.’

  I smiled weakly and shook her immaculately white gloved hand.

  ‘Come in Miss,’ shouted Adams enthusiastically. ‘We was expectin’ you earlier.’

  ‘Not too badly,’ I said in answer to her question. ‘Things seem to be going fairly well. We’ve only just started the lesson, actually. John, can you fetch a chair for Miss Bottle from the library, please?’ There was a murmur of good humoured laughter as the children repeated her name.

  ‘Okay Sir,’ said Rouse. ‘We thort you was comin’ this morning, Miss Bottle. We was all on our best behaviour this mornin’, wasn’t we, Sir?’

  ‘Get the chair, please John,’ I said firmly.

  ‘It’s quite all right, young man,’ said Miss Bottle. ‘I’m not going to sit down. I’m not that old yet! I’m going to come round and see what you’ve all been doing.’ She beamed at Rouse and he retreated in awed silence.