01 Teacher, Teacher!

by Jack Sheffield

  In his Little Giddings ‘Four Quartets’, T. S. Eliot had written,

  We never cease from exploration

  And the end of our exploring

  Is to arrive where we started

  And know the place for the first time.

  It had taken a year but I realized that I had become a member of a community in which the school played a vital part. This really was a special place to live and work.

  I had also had dinner with Beth twice in the last week, once in York and once at Bilbo Cottage where the Good Housekeeping recipe book guided me through the onerous preparation of a chicken casserole. We had planned our holiday together and I knew it was the start of something very special. Beth’s secondment was almost over and she was due to return to her deputy headship in Thirkby after the holiday in September.

  Anne brought a cup of tea for me from the staff-room.

  “Penny for them, Jack,” she said with a tired smile. “We’re nearly there, the finishing line is in sight.”

  I realized how lucky I had been to have such an outstanding deputy headmistress as a trusted colleague.

  “Thanks for everything, Anne,” I said. “I couldn’t have managed without you, particularly during the last few weeks. No wonder you’re tired, teaching a Reception class and running the school.”

  We sat down on the low wall that bordered the cobbled driveway where we could overlook both the playground and the field.

  “Well, I must say, I’ve enjoyed working with you, Jack. We were all a little scared when John Pruett left and you arrived but it’s worked out well.”

  Anne appeared to be thinking out loud. I glanced across at her. There were a few grey hairs I had not noticed before. Then she pointed to the group of leavers relaxing together on the school field.

  “And there’s the proof of it. That’s what we’re turning out: confident, literate, numerate young people who love learning, regardless of their abilities. Some will be doctors and some will dig ditches but all of them will look back fondly on Ragley School and the start in life we’ve tried to give them. Let’s hope the government doesn’t introduce that central curriculum they’re talking about and mess it all up for the next generation. If they do, then I think I’ll look for early retirement.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said and we supped our tea together until the bell summoned us for the final afternoon of the school year.

  It was a tradition for children to play games on their last afternoon. In the carpeted book corner, Kenny Flanaghan was playing tiddlywinks with Claire Bradshaw and Wayne Ramsbottom. It wasn’t until I saw the pack of cards and heard Claire Bradshaw say, “My flush beats your two pairs,” that I realized the plastic counters were being used as currency in a poker school.

  I turned a blind eye and went to join in a game of Scrabble with Anita Cuthbertson. Losing to the worst speller in the class did my self-confidence no good at all and it was almost a relief when the bell went for afternoon playtime.

  Jo and Sally volunteered to do playground duty together whilst Vera and Anne were in the staff-room discussing arrangements for an informal get-together immediately after school. They had organized tea and cakes in the school hall and all the staff were invited plus a few friends and colleagues. George and Mary Hardisty were the principal guests and Mrs Hardisty had offered to bring along one of her strawberry tarts. Albert Jenkins and Roy Davidson said they would call in and Beth had told me she would come straight from County Hall where a small presentation was to be made to her at half past two.

  At a quarter past three, the infant children went home and Ruby came into the hall with a large broom and a collection of dusters. Little Hazel had stayed with her to help. I left my class to enjoy their games and walked into the school hall. Ruby was quietly singing ‘My Favourite Things’ to herself whilst she swept the hall floor. Alongside her, Hazel was dusting the piano with the flourish of an expert. They made a happy pair, with Ruby singing the words and Hazel humming the tune as they worked side by side.

  “Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm, my fa-vor-wit fings,” sang Hazel.

  Ruby jumped when I came into her line of vision.

  “Oh, I ‘ope y’don’t mind, Mr Sheffield,” said Ruby, nodding towards Hazel. “Only, there’s no one at ‘ome to look after ‘er.”

  “That’s not a problem, Ruby. I just came to see if you would like some tea and cake in the hall at the end of school. We’re all gathering together before the holiday begins.”

  “That’ll be lovely, Mr Sheffield. Shall I bring some buns?”

  “Just see Vera and Anne, if you don’t mind, Ruby. They’re organizing it.”

  Vera suddenly appeared in the doorway from the entrance hall.

  “Mr Sheffield, two parents have called in,” said Vera, “they’ve got something for you.”

  Sue Phillips and Sheila Bradshaw were in the entrance hall. Sue passed over a neatly wrapped parcel to me. Sheila pointed to the large label that said ‘Thank you’.

  “The parents of the leavers have signed it, Mr Sheffield,” said Sheila.

  “It’s just a small token of our appreciation for all you’ve done this year,” said Sue.

  Vera was hovering and Ruby, never one to miss anything, was leaning on her broom and waiting for me to open it.

  I unwrapped the heavy parcel and found three hardback books inside.

  “The Lord of the Rings trilogy,” I said out loud in delight, by J.R.R. Tolkien. “That’s a wonderful gift. Ifs my favourite book by my favourite author. How on earth did you know?”

  “We asked your young lady,” said Ruby in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Vera gave her a stern look and Sue and Sheila looked amused.

  “I presume you mean Miss Henderson, Ruby,” I said.

  “I think that Ruby didn’t quite mean it the way it came out,” said Vera quickly, in a vain attempt to paper over the cracks.

  Sue Phillips regained the sense of decorum, opened The Fellowship of the Ring and showed me the list of signatures. “We couldn’t track down Mrs Brown,” said Sue, ever the diplomat, “otherwise, every parent has signed it.”

  “I’ll always treasure it,” I said and I meant it.

  At a quarter to four the bell rang again and all the junior children left, many cheering at the thought of the long holiday, some sad because it was their last day. I shook hands with all the leavers and they went off to say goodbye to Val Flint who had just arrived in the hall and was helping Anne and Vera to put doilies on plates and arrange a selection of home-made cakes and biscuits.

  Joseph Evans and Albert Jenkins met George and Mary Hardisty on the school drive and walked into school together. The three men began to collect the comfortable chairs from the staff-room and carry them into the hall. Mary Hardisty displayed her magnificent strawberry tart and Ruby went with Hazel to her storeroom to hang up her overall. Sally and Jo helped Shirley to wheel in a large metal trolley from the kitchen on which a collection of cups and saucers were arranged alongside a large jug of milk and a Baby Burco boiler that steamed with boiling water. Two cars arrived in convoy in the school car park and Beth Henderson and Roy Davidson walked in together.

  Vera served them both with tea and directed them towards plates, serviettes, forks and cakes. John Grainger wandered in from work with the dust of wood shavings still on his eyebrows and Anne put her David Soul record on the turntable of the music centre to provide background music. Gradually, everyone relaxed, drank tea, had an extra serving of Mary Hardistys strawberry creation and chatted about the highs and lows of the academic year that was now indelibly written into the school logbook.

  Roy Davidson had attended Beth’s leaving presentation at County Hall.

  “Biggest bunch of flowers I’ve ever seen,” said Roy, “and Miss Barrington-Huntley made a lovely speech.” He walked away with his refilled cup and left Beth and I by the tea trolley.

  “She also sent her best wishes for the holiday,” said Beth. “She definitely thinks a lot of you, Jack. It m
ust be that shy unassuming manner of yours. It’s certainly not your cooking.”

  “I followed the instructions for that casserole to the letter,” I said indignantly. “Anyway, you didn’t complain.”

  “How about me doing the cooking in Cornwall and you buy the croissants in France?” said Beth with a grin.

  “I’ll bring my cookery book for you.”

  She gave me a friendly dig in the ribs and went off to talk to Sally and Jo.

  I watched her step lightly across the hall floor and thought of Ruby’s description of her as ‘your young lady’. I hoped it would always be so.

  Joseph Evans was standing with Vera and Ruby and he beckoned me over. “In a few minutes I would like to say a few words, Jack, if you don’t mind, just to say thank you to the staff.”

  “Thanks, Joseph, and I’ll respond if I may.”

  Suddenly, a look of alarm crossed Ruby’s face.

  “Just look at that,” said Ruby, pointing out of the window. “Mark my words, no good will come of that.”

  “Do you mean him?” I asked in surprise.

  Stan Coe was walking purposefully up the drive.

  “No,” said Ruby, “look at the magpie on the school field, there’s only one of ‘em.”

  Ruby could see from our blank expressions that we didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Don’t you remember the old saying?” said Ruby. “One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth.”

  “Ruby’s right,” said Vera, “it’s well known that a solitary magpie is a sure sign of misfortune.”

  Stan Coe disappeared from sight and the magpie flew away in fright. The front door banged and we could hear his heavy footsteps in the school entrance hall. Joseph and I sensed trouble and walked to the double swing doors to meet him. In his customary manner, he walked straight in and thrust a brown envelope into Joseph’s hand.

  “What’s this, Stanley?” asked Joseph.

  “That’s my resignation, Vicar,” he said bluntly. “Ah’ve got other strings t’my bow.”

  Joseph belied his gentle, retiring nature and fixed the florid-faced farmer with a steely gaze.

  “Well, we won’t keep you, Stanley, you’re obviously a busy man,” said Joseph with an unfamiliar hint of sarcasm.

  Stan Coe blinked in surprise. He wasn’t used to the mild-mannered cleric standing his ground. Every face in the hall turned towards him and no one spoke. With that, Stanley Coe, full-time bully, part-time farmer and one-time school governor, turned on his heel and walked out. His corpulent figure bounced down the cobbled drive and the solitary magpie hopped behind him as if it was saying, “Good riddance!”

  Vera looked with pride at her brother.

  “More tea, Joseph, and perhaps a piece of Mrs Hardisty’s excellent strawberry tart?” she said theatrically in a voice suited to a stage in the West End.

  “With pleasure, Vera,” said Joseph, looking a little ashen-faced. He went to stand beside her and gently squeezed her hand.

  “Teacher, teacher!” It was Hazel Smith. She had been playing on the school field and had run into the hall, holding a small bouquet of tiny daisies.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Sheffield,” said Ruby. “Off you go, ‘azel, can’t you see Mr Sheffield is busy? And you shouldn’t run in school.”

  Little Hazel stopped in her tracks.

  “That’s all right, Ruby, no harm done,” I said.

  I knelt down on one knee to face the little girl and she thrust a pretty little posy of newly picked daisies into my hand and gave me a big smile that only lacked her two front teeth.

  “Thank you, Hazel, they’re lovely,” I said.

  Beth leaned over and sniffed them appreciatively.

  “What beautiful flowers,” she said.

  I extracted one tiny daisy and held it up to her.

  Beth took it and held it delicately between finger and thumb and gave it a thoughtful stare. Her mind seemed elsewhere.

  Little Hazel looked up at me and then to Beth holding the flower.

  “Mr Sheffield,” said Hazel.

  Everyone stopped talking and stared at the little girl with the cheerful round face, bright pink cheeks and tangled hair. It was the first time she had spoken to me and not started with the words ‘Teacher, teacher’.

  “Yes, Hazel, what is it?” I asked.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Mr Sheffield?” she repeated.

  There was a long pause.

  “Go on then, ‘azel,” said Ruby, “tell Mr Sheffield what it is you want to say.”

  “Mr Sheffield,” said Hazel slowly and clearly, “can I ask you a question?”

  Everyone smiled at Ruby’s little pride and joy.

  “I’m listening, Hazel. Now what is it you want to ask me?”

  Her little brow was furrowed. She took another deep breath and pointed at Beth.

  “Are you going to marry this lady?”

  For once I was speechless.

  I looked at Ruby who had gone bright red.

  I looked at Anne who gave me an encouraging nod.

  I looked at Vera who was smiling at Beth.

  Finally, I looked at Beth and her green eyes were shining.

  The moment was suddenly shattered as Ruby pointed out of the window.

  “Well ah never,” she cried, “just look at that.”

  Three magpies had just landed on the school field.

  And in a heartbeat I knew what I wanted.