There was what I felt to be an interminable silence before the Chief Inspector spoke. ‘You are right,’ she said at last, ‘you should have followed things up. It’s all very well writing critical reports on schools but if nothing is done about them it is a pointless exercise.’
‘I see that,’ I said quietly.
‘Having said that, there are several hundred schools in the county and we are a small team and it is to be expected that things, at times, slip through the net. The head teacher and indeed the governors should have been more proactive, of course, and sought help.’
‘I don’t think the governors and the head teacher exactly see eye to eye,’ I told her.
‘I see.’
‘To be fair to him, the head teacher did try and implement some of the recommendations and there have been changes for the better but I think you need to read the whole report to get the full picture.’
‘Since it wasn’t just English in which the children were under-achieving, your colleagues too should have been into the school with support and advice. I take it you acquainted them with your concerns?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And did they go in?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied feebly.
‘You’re not sure?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t think to check?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Well, I think there are a number of people who are at fault here.’ I felt a little better after that remark until she added, ‘Having said that, Gervase, it was really down to you to have dealt with the situation since you instigated it.’
The words of Mr Hornchurch suddenly came to mind. I had certainly ‘cocked-up’ this time.
‘I know it’s a case of closing the stable door after the horse has bolted,’ I said, ‘but I’ve suggested in this current report that the team undertakes a full inspection of the school and that competency proceedings be considered with regard to the two teachers.’
‘That might not be necessary,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘You see, Ugglemattersby Junior is on the list of five schools we are thinking of closing.’
‘Closing!’ I exclaimed.
‘We have it in mind to amalgamate the Junior and the Infant Schools,’ she told me. ‘Numbers in the Juniors are declining and the Infant School is on a spacious site which could be further developed to accommodate the older children. It seems the best course of action in the present circumstances.’
‘I see,’ I murmured.
‘Quite fortuitous really, isn’t it, Gervase?’ said the Chief Inspector, giving a small enigmatic smile.
On my way back down the top corridor I literally bumped into Mrs Savage at the top of the great staircase. My mind was on the surprising news that Miss de la Mare had just divulged about Ugglemattersby Juniors and, hurriedly turning the corner, I collided with the CEO’s Personal Assistant, knocking the files she was carrying out of her hands.
‘For goodness sake!’ she snapped. ‘Watch where you are going!’ There was no mistaking that sharp, disapproving voice.
‘So sorry, Mrs Savage,’ I said.
‘Oh it’s you,’ she replied, her eyes bright with indignation. She drew her lips together into a tight little line.
I bent to retrieve the files. ‘I apologise,’ I said, ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘No, you were not!’ she exclaimed. ‘Coming down the corridor at that speed. I could have been seriously injured. I might have suffered whiplash.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ I said again.
‘And now I shall have to sort out all these files,’ she said crossly. She meant, of course, that a clerical assistant would have to sort them out. There was no way she would concern herself with such a menial task. ‘Actually, Mr Phinn, I’m glad to have this opportunity of having a word with you.’
‘I’m in rather a rush,’ I replied. ‘I’ve got a school appointment this morning.’
‘This will only take a moment of your time,’ she said frostily.
‘Very well.’
‘It has come to my attention that the school inspectors are parking their vehicles in the designated bays outside County Hall. I noticed this morning, for example, as I was looking out of my office window, that you yourself have parked your car in an area specially allocated and marked off for the use of County Councillor Morrison.’
‘I should hardly think that Councillor Morrison is likely to be at County Hall this early in the morning,’ I told her.
‘That is neither here nor there,’ replied Mrs Savage. ‘I should like to point out to you, and perhaps you will convey this to your colleagues, that the bays are reserved exclusively, I repeat exclusively, for the elected members, chief officers and senior members of staff, and not for other people, particularly those who have their own specified parking spaces near their place of work.’
‘Sometimes, Mrs Savage,’ I said, ‘we have to collect a report or deliver a document and we just stay for a few minutes, or when we attend a meeting with Miss de la Mare or Dr Gore.’
‘Mr Phinn,’ she said, stiffening, ‘I don’t think I have made myself entirely clear. There is no excuse for parking in the designated bays be it for the full day or for a few minutes. The modus operandi at County Hall will only be successful if everyone abides by the rules. To be frank, the inspectors believe they are a law unto themselves. I have had occasion to speak to Miss de la Mare about the failure of some of your colleagues to send in their weekly programmes on time and –’
‘I thought this was about parking,’ I commented.
‘It is,’ she replied. ‘Your office is but a short distance from County Hall and it is not that onerous, I am sure, for the inspectors to walk. The biggest offender is Mr Clamp who appears to think he can parkthat large and unsightly estate car of his wherever he pleases. It was in Councillor Peterson’s bay last week. Councillor Peterson was not best pleased and he raised the matter with Dr Gore who, of course, asked me to deal with it.’
‘I will pass your message on,’ I told her, ‘and, now, if you will excuse me.’
‘Those who illegally parkwill have their vehicle immobilised,’ she continued. ‘Instructions have been given to Security that there will be no exceptions. I shall be sending a memorandum over to the inspectors’ office later this week reminding you all of the parking regulations and informing you that any offender in future will be clamped.’
‘It will be read with interest, as we do all your memos,’ I told her, ‘and now if you –’
‘I haven’t finished yet, ‘she said sharply. ‘There is another matter.’
‘Yes,’ I sighed.
‘It has also come to my attention that some of the inspectors appear to be making personal calls from their office telephones. This has got to stop. County Council regulations dictate that no personal calls of any kind, except in the most severe emergencies, may be made in work time and from office telephones. I have raised the matter with Miss de la Mare, and my staff will be keeping a close check on all calls. You might acquaint your colleagues with the fact that –’
‘I suggest you put it in a memo, Mrs Savage, along with all the other complaints,’ I interrupted and, brushing past, I hurried down the stairs. ‘Frightful woman!’ I said under my breath.
11
Andy was a large pink-faced bear of a boy, with coarse bristly brown hair and enormous ears. I had just come down to the kitchen on Saturday morning the following week in my old towelling dressing gown, and was making an early morning cup of tea, when his great beaming face appeared at the window.
‘You must be Andy?’ I said as I let him into the kitchen.
‘That’s reight, Mester Phinn,’ he said. ‘Up wi’ t’lark and rarin’ to go.’
‘Well, it’s very early and I’ve just –’ I began.
‘Is that a pot o’ tea tha brewin’?’ the boy asked, eyeing the teapot on the stove.
‘It is. Would you like a cup?’ I asked.
‘C
up o’ tea gus down a treat this time o’ t’mornin’,’ he said, seating himself at the kitchen table. ‘Mi Uncle ’Arry ’appen telled thee I’d be comin’ up this mornin’, did ’e?’
‘Yes, he did,’ I replied, ‘but not quite this early. It’s only eight o’clock.’
‘Well, tha sees,’ he said, leaning back on a chair, ‘there’s things to do. After I’ve sooarted thy garden out, I’m down to owld Missis Poskitt’s to paint ’er iron yats, then Mester Umpleby ’as need o’ me to do a bit o’ muckin’ out an’ ’elp fotherin’ ’osses. Then I’ve got sheep to fettle and beeasts to feed an’ toneet I’m goin’ to Young Farmers pea and pie supper.’
I passed the boy a mug from the dresser. ‘Busy man,’ I said. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Can’t complain,’ he replied, getting up and reaching for the teapot and pouring himself a mugful. ‘I’m tryin’ to save a bit o’ money, tha sees, to get me through college. When I leave school next year, I’m ’opin’ to go to Askham Bryan Agricul tural College, best college in t’north, but there’s fees an’ such.’
‘So I hear. It’s a very good college,’ I told him. ‘My wife’s cousin lectures at Askham Bryan – Dr Iain Bentley. He’s a specialist in horticulture. You might come across him.’
‘Sheep are my specialism,’ said Andy, before putting some milkand two heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar in his mug and stirring the tea vigorously. ‘Though I’m all reight wi’ plants an’ I can turn mi ’and to owt. I like pigs an’ all an’ I ’ave a few goats. Thing is wi’ beeasts is that a dog looks up to you, a cat looks down on you but a pig looks you straight in t’eye. Tha knaas where thy are wi’ pigs. Not like that wi’ most fowk, is it? As mi Uncle ’Arry says, ‘There’s nowt as queer as folk. They’re all on ’em queer, bar thee and me – an’ sometimes ah’m not that sure abaat thee.” He laughed. ‘I can’t wait to leave school. Can’t see t’point missen o’ doin’ halgebra an’ geometry an’ leaarnin’ French an’ writin’ soppy poetry.’
‘You’d be surprised how it comes in useful in later life,’ I told him, sounding like his teacher.
‘What, poetry?’ He laughed loudly. ‘It’s all la-di-da and bloody daffodils.’
‘I’ll tell you something, Andy,’ I said, ‘and you must never tell Mrs Phinn I told you, but poetry is the very best way to get a girlfriend. A little love poem, I have found, works wonders on the female heart.’
‘Nay, nay Mester Phinn,’ he spluttered, shaking his head vigorously, ‘I’m not into that sooart o’ thing at t’moment. There’s plenty time fer that later on. There’s this big lass at t’Young Farmers called Bianca, wi’ red hair an’ spots, who’s set her cap fer me but I’m not hinterested. I just want to leave school and do summat worth doing.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘school and passing your exams are important.’
‘I can’t see how what tha does at school’l ’elp me wi’ sheep. I’d be better leaarnin’ ’ow to repair a drystone wall, dig a dyke, chain ’arrow, lamb a yow, milka cow an’ ’andle a collie. Can’t see how workin’ out circumference of a circle or writin’ abaat flowers and fairies is gunna ’elp me much in t’line o’ work I wants to do.’
‘Which school do you go to?’ I asked him.
‘West Challerton ’Igh. ’Eadmaster, Mester Pennington-Smith, is only bothered abaat bright kids an’ them what are good at sports. Wunt know me from Adam.’
‘Really?’
‘I liked t’other ’eadmaster, Mester Blunt, better. Tha knew where tha were wi’ ’im. Bit like what I was sayin’ abaat pigs.’
I decided not to probe any more. ‘So,’ I said, ‘do you think you can sort out my garden?’
‘Oh, I can fettle it all reight. I can see there’s a fair bit o’ workneeds doin’, mind. It’s like a jungle out theer. Garden’s full o’ wickens.’
‘Whatever are they?’ I asked. They sounded as if they might be some sort of strange furry creature with sharp teeth.
‘Weeds, Mester Phinn, weeds – dandillylions, twitch grass, nettles, docks, daisies, you name it, you’ve got it. An’ I don’t know when’s last time tha mowed tha lawn.’
‘I’ve not had much time to do it lately,’ I said. ‘I meant to make a start after we got back from our holidays but didn’t and now autumn is here.’
‘T’recent downpour’s med it grow ageean,’ said the boy. ‘Nivver thee mind, Mester Phinn, I’ll soon ’ave it fettled.’
‘We haven’t discussed your –’ I started.
‘I reckon I’ll do your borders fust,’ he told me, taking a great gulp of tea and smacking his lips noisily. ‘Good tea, this. Mi grandma allus likes her tea strong enough to stand a spoon up in it. Proper Yorkshire tea. Just the ticket. Any rooad, I reckon I’ll mek a start on t’lawn this mornin’. Needs mowin’ an’ rakin’ an’ spikin’ and grass food purrin on. Then I’ll do t’diggin’ next week. Best to wait till next month to tackle yer trees. Lot o’ prunin’ needs doin’ theer.’
‘I can see you’ve done your homework,’ I said.
‘Aye, I’ve ’ad a quick look round.’ He tookanother great gulp from the mug.
‘About payment,’ I said.
‘We can sooart that out later,’ he told me, ‘when tha’s seen what I’ve done. I’ll do a good job for thee, Mester Phinn. Tha’ll not be disappointed.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said.
‘Tha needs a compost ’eap, tha knaas,’ the boy continued. ‘I’ll build thee one round t’side, if tha likes. Oh, and there’s three panes o’ glass wants replacin’ in yer cold frame. I’ll measure ’em up and tha can ’appen ger ’em for me for next week, an’ some putty an’ all, an’ some black paint an’ brushes.’
‘Right,’ I said, scribbling a note. ‘Is that everything?’
‘Yer gutterin’ needs replacin’ round t’side otherwise tha’ll get watter comin’ in. An’ a couple of yer slates are loose. I’ll fix ’em, an’ all. I’ll bring mi ladders next week. I could clean yer winders while I’m at it. Might as well, since I’m up theer anyway. They needs doin’ by t’looks on ’em.’
Andy drained the mug and banged it down onto the kitchen table just as Christine came into the kitchen with the baby. She at least had dressed.
‘You must be Andy,’ she said.
‘I am, missis,’ he replied, standing up and extending a hand as large as a spade. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He then pushed his large pinkface close to the child. ‘And this must be t’little un. Hey up, he’s a bobby dazzler, in’t ’e?’ Andy tickled little Richard gently under his chin. ‘Oochy coochy coo,’ he burbled. ‘Oochy coochy coo.’
The baby immediately started screaming.
‘I allus ’ave that effect on kiddies,’ Andy said laughing. ‘I’m all reight wi’ sheep an’ beeasts but when it comes to babbies, they allus start a-rooarin when I look at ’em.’
‘I think he’s hungry,’ Christine explained. ‘Don’t take it personally, Andy.’
‘I nivver do, missis,’ said the boy, beaming. ‘Life’s too short to tek things personally.’
‘So,’ said Christine, rocking the baby in an attempt to quieten him, ‘is everything arranged?’
‘It appears so,’ I said.
‘So what’s wi’ t’squirrels, then?’ Andy asked.
‘Who told you about the squirrel?’ I said.
‘Well, I’ve seen ’em’,’ he replied.
‘Them?’ Christine and I asked in unison. ‘There’s more than one? Where?’
‘There’s a brace on ’em round back in a cage,’ replied the boy, ‘runnin’ around as if somebody’s put a fireworkup their backsides.’
As he had promised, Maurice Hinderwell had delivered a squirrel cage to the office at the beginning of the week. When I arrived home that evening, I had done as he had suggested and had positioned the rectangular wire cage with the trap door a short distance from the house in a corner of the back garden, secluded yet quite close to the squirrel’s point of entry under the eaves. I stocked it with a handful of
honey-coated peanuts. However, much to my dismay, our nocturnal visitor obviously had a liking for our roof, and my slumbers were greatly disturbed by the pitter-patter and scratching above me of a squirrel that didn’t seem to need the sleep that I did, by a nervous wife who prodded me in the back whenever she was woken by the squirrel, not to mention a fractious baby who wanted feeding. Each morning, I would checkthe trap but it remained irritatingly empty. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to call in Maurice Hinderwell to help me.
‘So we’ve caught two squirrels?’ I asked Andy now.
‘Big uns, an’ all,’ said the boy. ‘Dust tha want to look at ’em?’
Christine picked a shawl out of the carrycot and gently covered Richard with it, then the Phinn family went out into the garden with Andy to view our bushy-tailed captives, which were cowering in the furthest corner of the cage.
‘Ahh,’ said Christine, ‘aren’t they sweet?’
‘You didn’t say that last night when they were scratching and scraping in the loft,’ I grumbled. ‘I’m black and blue with all that poking.’ Andy gave me a strange look.
‘They lookrather scared,’ said Christine, peering down into the cage, ‘but at the same time very cute with their little furry faces and bushy tails. Just like in the picture books.’
‘Tree rats,’ said Andy bluntly. ‘Does tha want me to get rid of ’em for you?’
‘Not kill them!’ exclaimed Christine, looking aghast. ‘You don’t mean to kill them, do you, Andy?’
‘Best thing, missis,’ replied the boy. ‘They’re vermin. ’Armful to game, crops, farm animals, vegetation, an’ they carry disease an’ all. Best thing to do is kill ’em. I’ll just drop t’cage in your watter butt an’ drown t’little devils.’
‘No, no,’ said Christine firmly, ‘I won’t let you do that.’
‘They’re no good as pets, if that’s what yer thinkin’, Missis Phinn,’ he told her.
The Heart of the Dales Page 16