The live group rattled the walls, Clint Ramsbottom played his records and everyone danced. I had never seen Ruby look happier and, by popular demand, Old Tommy Piercy played the piano and the bride stood on the stage and sang ‘Edelweiss’.
It was a moment to savour and everyone stood up to applaud.
Later, when the festivities were dying down, Ruby and George set off for Whitby. Beth was talking with her friends while John played hide-and-seek under the tables with Krystal. I walked out and welcomed the fresh air, then on impulse decided to call in to school for a final check before the holiday.
I unlocked the old oak door and stepped into the entrance hall. A shaft of light lit up the office door and I remembered the first time I had seen it. On that day almost a decade ago, my predecessor, a smiling Mr Pruett, had opened it and invited me in. It had been the beginning of a journey I would never forget. Then I opened the double doors that led to the school hall and recalled the generations of children singing hymns and listening to stories in morning assembly. The empty school was filled with the echoes of those who had gone before – the five-year-olds who were now teenagers … Elisabeth Dudley-Palmer, Heathcliffe Earnshaw, Jimmy Poole, Hazel Smith and so many more.
I returned to the office and looked around at a room I knew so well. There was Vera’s empty desk, the filing cabinet that was her domain and hers only, the smiling faces of the children in the photographs, memories of times past. Finally, I locked the door and said a silent goodbye to the academic year 1986/87. It had been an eventful one and I wondered what the future would bring.
When I walked down the drive I paused at the gate. My name was there on the school sign and I was proud to have played my part in the history of this little village school.
It was a warm, sultry evening and the earth was returning the heat of the sun. Beth was sitting on the village green playing with John. She waved and I went to join them.
‘Jack,’ she called out to me, ‘there’s something I want to tell you.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been waiting for the right time. It’s a surprise.’
I pushed a lock of honey-blonde hair from her eyes. ‘Really?’
‘Yes – but a good one.’
She beckoned me towards Ronnie’s bench and tugged my arm. ‘Let’s sit here.’
We settled down side by side and I put my arm around her shoulders. ‘So, what is it?’
‘We’re lucky aren’t we – having all this?’
We surveyed the scene around us.
‘Yes, we are.’
John was playing with handfuls of the new-mown grass under the weeping willow. Nearby, Old Tommy Piercy was smoking his pipe as he fed the ducks on the pond. Deke Ramsbottom with his three sons, Shane, Clint and Wayne, waved to us as they wandered into The Royal Oak for a drink. Down the High Street Margery Ackroyd and Betty Buttle were discussing the wedding, while outside the village hall Heathcliffe Earnshaw was chatting with Mo Hartley, who in later years was to become his wife. His brother Terry looked on from a distance with a puzzled frown. Meanwhile, Timothy Pratt was shooing away Scargill the Yorkshire terrier from the forecourt of his Hardware Emporium.
Life in Ragley village was getting back to normal and continuing its timeless cycle.
In front of us my school stood like a silent sentinel with its bell tower and steeply sloping slate roof. Summer sunshine reflected from the Victorian windows, the avenue of horse chestnut trees swayed in the gentle breeze and I recalled the first time I had experienced this tiny part of North Yorkshire many years ago. Over time I had grown to love it … my world, my land, my home.
Finally Beth decided to break the silence.
‘I’ve got some news,’ she said softly.
I looked into her green eyes, wide and loving, open pages of affection. ‘What is it, Beth?’ I asked.
Gently, I kissed her neck and the breath of roses filled my thoughts.
She held my hand while I said nothing, simply waiting.
‘Can’t you guess?’ she said with that mischievous smile I knew so well.
I sat back and shook my head.
‘Oh Jack, you’re a lovely man but sometimes you just miss the obvious.’
‘Go on then,’ I said, ‘tell me.’
She took a deep breath, held me close and whispered in my ear. ‘I’m expecting a baby.’
And in a heartbeat my life was complete.
About the Author
Jack Sheffield was born in 1945 and grew up in the tough environment of Gipton Estate, in North East Leeds. After a job as a ‘pitch boy’, repairing roofs, he became a Corona Pop Man before going to St John’s College, York, and training to be a teacher. In the late 70s and 80s, he was a headteacher of two schools in North Yorkshire before becoming Senior Lecturer in primary education at Bretton Hall near Wakefield. It was at this time he began to record his many amusing stories of village life. He lives in York and Hampshire.
Visit his website at www.jacksheffield.com
Also by Jack Sheffield
Teacher, Teacher!
Mister Teacher
Dear Teacher
Village Teacher
Please Sir!
Educating Jack
School’s Out!
Silent Night
Star Teacher
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First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Bantam Press
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Copyright © Jack Sheffield 2017
Cover illustration by Robert Crawford
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Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473525108
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