by Miss Read
It was while I was eating this spare repast that I thought of Amy. She has helped us out on occasions, and there is no one I would sooner have as my companion at Fairacre School.
'Are you in the middle of your dinner?' was Amy's first remark.
'It's only the last crumb of bread and cheese,' I assured her.
'Is that all you have had?'
'Yes. Why?'
'I really do think you should be a little less slapdash with your meals,' said Amy severely. 'And on your lap, I suppose. It's ruination to the digestion, you know, these scrambled snacks.'
'Well, never mind that,' I said impatiently, and went on to tell her of our troubles.
'Could you?' I finished.
'I could come on Monday,' said Amy, 'not before, I'm afraid, as I'm helping Lady Williams with the bazaar for the Save The Children Fund on Friday.'
'Come and save my children instead.'
'And it can't be for long,' went on Amy, 'as I have Vanessa coming some time next month.'
'But you could come for a week or two?'
'Probably three weeks. James is off to Persia on some trade mission or other, and then to Australia, I believe, unless it was New Zealand. They're so close, one gets confused.'
'I believe they are thousands of miles apart, and they get pretty stroppy at being muddled up. It's like the Scandinavian countries, isn't it? Do you know which is top and bottom of that craggy looking piece of coast line?'
'No, I don't. But I remember it was always a great help to trace the outline on the way home in the train. The movement was invaluable round the fiords.'
'You are a darling to come,' I said, reverting to the main topic. 'I'll ring the office in the morning and get things straight, and let you know the result. It really is murder trying to cope alone. One grazed knee or a pair of wet knickers is enough to stop us all in our tracks.'
'Never fear,' cried Amy, 'help is on its way!'
'The relief of Mafeking,' I told her, 'will be nothing to it.'
Jubilantly, I hung up.
***
The office gave its blessing to my arrangements, and we all awaited Amy's coming with varying degrees of pleasure.
My own feeling was of unadulterated relief. The Vicar, who has a soft spot for Amy, said it would be delightful to see her again, and how very generous she was with her time when one considered that she had a husband and a house to look after.
Mr Willet was equally enthusiastic.
'I can ask her about those pinks cuttings I give her,' he said. 'Always a bit tricky pinks are, if the soil's not to their liking. I'd dearly love to go over to Bent to keep an eye on 'em, but I don't want to push meself forward.'
I said I felt sure that Amy would welcome his advice, and he retired to the playground humming cheerfully.
Mrs Pringle greeted the news with modified rapture. Amy is too well-dressed, drives too large a car, and altogether has an aura of elegant affluence which Mrs Pringle disapproves of in a teacher. I think she feels that anyone as comfortably placed as Amy should do a little voluntary work for some deserving charity, but to take on a teaching job smacks too much of depriving some poor wretch of her rightful dues.
Since taking to her slimming diet, Mrs Pringle seems to be even more martyr-like than usual. She received the news of Amy's arrival on Monday with a resigned sigh.
'Best get both gates wide open,' she said, 'for that great car of hers. I take it you'll tell the children to keep off of it? It's a big responsibility havin' an expensive motor like that on the premises, and I haven't got eyes in the back of my head.'
I reassured her on the point.
'And last time she come, she didn't eat no potatoes I noticed. Now that's a bad example to the children. We tells.'em to eat up all they've got, and then they sees their teachers pickin' and choosin.' Just drop a word, Miss Read. She's your friend after all.'
'How's the dieting?' I asked, hoping to change the subject.
Mrs Pringle's gloom deepened.
'That Dr Martin's getting past it. Fairly snapped my head off when I went to get weighed, just because I've only lost two pounds in a month! I told him straight: "Well, at least I've lost it. There's no call to get so white and spiteful. Anyone'd think I'd put on two pounds!" He calmed down a bit then, and made me write down all I'd eaten since Sunday.'
'Could you remember?'
'Most of it. And when I give him the list, he shouted out so loud that Mrs Pratt's baby started hollering in the waiting room.'
'Why, what was wrong?'
'You may well ask. He shouted: "I said no cakes, no bread, no potatoes, and no sugar!" And I said to him: "How's a body to drink tea without sugar? And what's tea time without a slice of cake? And what's a dinner plate look like without a nice little pile of potatoes?" He never answered. Just went a bit pink, and hustled me out, telling me to do what he'd said. No sense to him these days. Too old for the job, if you ask me.'
'But he's right, you know. You won't lose weight unless you cut out all those lovely fattening things.'
'I don't call them fattening,' said Mrs Pringle, with immense dignity. 'They're sustaining! A woman what works as hard as I do needs nourishment. The days I've given up me bread and that, I've felt proper leer. Me knees have been all of a tremble. With this job to do, let alone my own home, I needs the food.'
There seemed little to add. Mrs Pringle shuffled off, limping slightly, a sure sign that her bad leg was giving trouble, as it always does in times of stress.
As she went, I noticed she did up a button on her cardigan which had burst from its buttonhole under excessive strain. The two pounds had not been lost from that portion of her anatomy obviously.
Come to think of it, I pondered, watching her massive rear vanish into the lobby, it would be difficult to say just where she had lost those pounds.
The hot weather continued, showing May in all her glory. In my garden the pinks began to break, shaking their shaggy locks from the tight grey cap which held them.
On the front of the school house, the ancient Gloire de Dijon rose, planted by one of my predecessors, turned its fragrant flat-faced flowers to the sunshine in all its cream and pink splendour.
The hay crop looked as though it would be heavy this year, and the bees were working hard. A field of yellow rape made a blaze of colour across one of Mr Roberts' stretches of land, and it was this, I suspect, that attracted so many bees to the area.
The copper beech was now in full leaf, and the box edging to the garden beds gave off its peculiar aromatic smell as the noonday sun drew out all the delicious scents of summer.
The school room door was propped open with a large knobbly flint, turned up by the plough in the neighbouring field. The sounds and scents wafted in, distracting the children from their work, so that I often took them all into the grass under the trees, and let them listen—or not—to a story. The daddy-long-legs floated round us in the warm air, small birds chattered and squeaked in the branches above, and only the sound of Mr Roberts' tractor in the distance gave any hint of the village life which was going on around us. They were lovely sessions, refreshing to body and mind, and we always returned to the classroom in a tranquil state of mind.
Amy arrived on Monday morning, wearing a beautiful pale pink linen suit, but with her usual foresight had brought with her a deep rose-pink overall to ward off such infant room hazards as sticky fingers, spilt milk, and chalk dust.
Some of the children knew her already, and it was not long before her calm efficiency had made friends of them all. I closed the infants' room door with a sigh of relief, and set out to catch up with many neglected lessons with my older children.
Things went swimmingly all the week until Friday morning.
'Guess who I saw at the bus stop in Caxley,' said Amy, trying to adjust her hair by the reflection from 'The Light of the World' behind my chair.
'Haven't a clue,' I replied.
'Why don't you have a mirror somewhere? I see there isn't one in the lobby ei
ther. Where do you do your hair?'
'At home.'
'But surely, when you've been in the playground on a windy day, you—and the children, for that matter—need to tidy up.'
'We manage.'
'By just leaving things, I suppose,' said Amy. 'It's too bad of you, you know. The children should be set an example of neatness. And did you know that the hem is coming down on that frock?'
'I had a suspicion. There was an ominous tearing sound when I caught my heel in it this morning, but no time to investigate.'
'Dreadful!' murmured Amy, more in sorrow than anger. She does try so hard to improve me, with practically no success.
'You were telling me,' I said, 'about someone at the bus stop. Miss Clare?'
'At eight-thirty in the morning? Don't be silly.'
'Who then?'
'Mrs Fowler and Minnie Pringle's husband, whatever he's called.'
'What? Waiting for the bus to Springbourne?'
'It looked remarkably like it.'
I pondered upon this snippet of news.
'Do you think they might be going to collect his children from Minnie's?'
'It would be a jolly good thing if they did.' said Amy forthrightly, 'but I doubt it. They've managed quite happily without them, as far as one can see, so why suddenly want a family reunion now?'
'It certainly seems odd.' I agreed. 'Perhaps Mrs Pringle will be able to throw light on the matter.'
Sure enough, when Mrs Pringle arrived for her after school duties, it was quite apparent, from the important wobbling of her chins, that she had great news to impart.
'Well, I've got that Minnie of mine back again. I've left her grizzling in the kitchen and the children are in the garden. I've dared them to put a foot on the flower beds, unless they want to be skinned alive. I can't say fairer than that to them.'
'What's the matter this time?' I asked. Amy who had picked up her handbag ready to depart, put it down again and perched on the front desk to observe the scene.
Mrs Pringle looked at her with some dislike, but aquiver as she was with her momentous news, she decided to ignore her presence and tell all.
'That man had the cheek to come out to Minnie's this morning, with that woman who's no better than she should be, and I'll not soil my lips by repeating her name, and ask for his furniture back.'
'But can he? Isn't it the marital home, or whatever they call it in Court?'
'Whether he can or he can't,' boomed Mrs Pringle. 'He's done it. And that Mrs Fowler—'
'With whose name you wouldn't soil your lips,' I remembered silently.
'Well, she was at the bottom of it. It was that cat as put him up to it. And her nephew had his van waiting by Minnie's gate to put the stuff in. All planned and plotted you see. And off they drove, leaving our Minnie without a frying pan in the house.'
'Nothing at all?' I said horrified.
Mrs Pringle tutted with impatience.
'No, no, they never took the lot, I'll give 'em that, but they took two armchairs, and the kitchen table, and no end of china, and the upstairs curtains, and some cooking pots and the frying pan, so of course Minnie and the kids have had no dinner.'
I could not quite see why the frying pan was the only utensil needed to cook the family's food, but this was no time to go into all that, and I was beginning to feel very sorry for poor luckless Minnie, and for Mrs Pringle too, when her next remark cooled my sympathy.
'So it looks to me, Miss Read, as Minnie will be very glad to take up your offer of some work. She's got all that stuff to buy anew, and money's very tight anyway. I told her to come up and see you to arrange things some time.'
'Thank you,' I said faintly. It was an appalling prospect, and I cursed myself for ever making such an idiotic suggestion. I avoided meeting Amy's gaze. She appeared to be struggling to hide her very ill-timed amusement. Like Queen Victoria, my amusement was nil.
'Well, I'd better get on with my tidying up and then hurry back to see what damage them little varmints of Minnie's have done. When shall I tell her to come?'
'She'd better come one evening,' I said. 'There's no hurry, tell her, and if she gets a post elsewhere I shall quite understand.'
Amy suffered a sudden fit of coughing which necessitated a great deal of play with her handkerchief. At times, she can be very tiresome.
'Right!' said Mrs Pringle, shaking out a clean duster from her black oil-cloth bag. 'I'll let her know. But I wouldn't trust her with glass, if I were you, or any good china. She's a bit clumsy that way.'
She went into the infants' room and vanished from our sight.
'Come and have tea with me,' I said to Amy.
'No, I really must get back, but I couldn't possible leave before knowing the outcome of this morning's activities.'
We walked out into the sunlit playground. Overhead the swifts screamed and whirled, and the air was deliriously fresh after the classroom.
'Looks as though I'm saddled with that ghastly Minnie,' I remarked.
'You should have been firm from the outset,' replied Amy.
'I didn't get much chance,' I protested. 'She practically told me she was coming. What on earth could I do?'
'You could have said that you had offered the job to someone else, and it had been accepted.'
'What? In Fairacre? Be your age, Amy! Everyone knows I haven't a job to offer! It's as much as I can cope with having Ma Pringle bullying me about the house. I don't want more.'
'You should have thought about that earlier,' said Amy primly. 'I'm always telling you how you rush headlong into things.'
'Well, don't keep rubbing it in,' I retorted crossly. 'It's quite bad enough having to face the possibility of Minnie wrecking my home weekly, without enduring your moralising.'
Amy laughed, and patted my shoulder.
'What you need is a nice husband to protect you from yourself.'
She slid into the driving seat.
'That I don't,' I told her, through the car window. 'I've quite enough troubles already, without a husband to add to them.'
Amy shot off with an impressive turn of speed, and I waved until my maddening old friend had disappeared round the bend in the lane.
5 Hazards Ahead
ONE Friday evening, George Annett called in on his way to St Patrick's. I could see at once that he was the bearer of bad tidings.
'There's definitely something in the wind,' he said, in answer to my queries. I've had several chaps from the office measuring the school and offering me a temporary classroom to be erected across theplayground, complete with wash-basins and lavatories.'
'When?'
'No one can say definitely. Obviously, they're just making sure I can cope with the extra numbers. It may never happen. You know how these things hang on.'
'I remember Dolly Clare telling me that poor Emily Davis, who was head at Springbourne, had this closure business hanging over her for nearly ten years.'
'There you are then! Don't get steamed up yet. But I thought I'd let you know the latest. Had any luck with applicants for the teaching post?'
'Not yet. Amy is coping for a little longer, then it will be another supply until the end of term, if I'm lucky.'
George laughed, and rose to go across to his duties.
'You will be.'
He patted my shoulder encouragingly.
'Cheer up! I'd take a bet on Fairacre School remaining as it is for another thirty years.'
'I wonder. Anyway, there's a managers' meeting soon, and perhaps we'll learn something then.'
'Ask Mrs Pringle what's going on,' shouted George, as he went down the path. 'She'd be able to tell you.'
At that moment the lady was approaching, also on her way to choir practice, and had obviously heard the remark.
I was amused to notice George's discomfiture, as he wished her 'Good evening' in a sheepish fashion.
The night was hot, and I could not sleep—a rare occurrence for me.
There was a full moon, and the room was so light
that it was impossible to He still, and equally impossible to draw the curtains on such a torrid night.
The longer I stayed awake, the more I worried. What would become of me if the school closed? I had no doubt that I should be treated honourably by the education authority. Whatever teaching post I was offered would provide me with my present salary, but that was the least of my worries.
Not for the first time, I blessed my single state. I had only myself to fend for, and I thought of other teachers who were widowed with young children, or those who supported aged parents, or invalid relatives, and whose salary had to be stretched much farther than my own. Amy often told me that I led a very selfish life and perhaps it was true, but when one was faced with a situation such as that which I now contemplated, there were compensations. No one depended on me. No one offered me disturbing advice. No one would blame me for any decision I took, however disastrous it turned out to be.
I left my hot and rumpled bed, and hung out of the window. The shining rose leaves glittered in the bright moonlight. The sky was clear, and the evening star hung low over the village, as brilliant as a jewel.
Here was the heart of my grief. To leave this—my well-loved school house, and its garden, shady with trees planted by other teachers, long dead, but remembered by me daily for their works which still endured.
I could truthfully say that I relished every day that I spent in Fairacre. It was not only a beautiful place, backed by the downs, open, airy, and dominated by St Patrick's spire thrusting high above the thatched and tiled roofs around it. It was also a friendly place, as I soon found when I had arrived as a newcomer some years earlier.
The thought of leaving Mr Willet, Mr and Mrs Partridge, the Mawnes—even Mrs Pringle—was unbearable. My life was so closely bound with theirs, in fact, so closely woven with all those living in the village, that I should feel as weak and withered as an uprooted plant, if circumstances forced me to go.
As for the children, to part with them would be the hardest blow. I loved them all, not in a sentimental fashion but because I admired and respected their sound country qualities.