Changing Times

by Jack Sheffield

  Time and circumstances had changed everything. A child, loved by them both, had ultimately driven them apart. Their family was not to be. Rudi had wanted the very best for his son and so had given him up to Florence, Lily’s mother, in the firm belief that he would prosper in England and be accepted among his own. Back in post-war Britain, he could never have given the boy the stable home and family life he deserved.

  He was grateful to receive a short annual update from Lily on Freddie’s progress and to see his school photograph. The resemblance to himself was clear.

  Now he had opened her letter with trepidation. The words were a jumble on the page. Freddie wanted to meet him and had visited his apartment. Rudi had heard from his neighbour that a relative from England had called while he was away on business, but the details appeared confused and he had not given it much thought.

  Lily wanted Rudi to go to England – but how could he? He recalled the moment eleven years ago when from afar he had watched Freddie playing cricket. He remembered the meeting that had followed, arranged by Lily when Florence was away from home. It was the last time he had seen his son.

  And, of course, there was Tom. How Rudi wished it could have been different.

  To go to England now and rake up all these emotions again … he didn’t know whether he had the strength. With deliberate calmness he carefully folded the letter and placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

  Back in Ragley village, the countryside at this time of year always lifted Lily’s spirits as she drove up the High Street and turned right at the village green. She caught sight of a young woman in the shade of a horse chestnut tree puffing on a cigarette. Her bright orange waistcoat, lime green blouse and mustard-coloured bell-bottom trousers clashed horribly with her bright red hair. She was carrying a heavy satchel, a hessian shoulder bag and, incongruously, six shoeboxes tied together with string.

  Lily slowed and wound down her window. ‘Hello, are you the student?’

  The tall, freckle-faced young woman looked startled. ‘Yes,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette with the sole of a slip-on sandal. ‘I’m Sally Nobbs.’

  ‘Come on in,’ said Lily. ‘I’m Lily Feather. You’re working in my class.’

  Lily parked her car and hurried over to help. She picked up the parcel of shoeboxes. ‘These look interesting,’ she said with a grin.

  The newcomer relaxed and smiled. ‘Yes, tricky to carry on the bus, but I thought they would capture the imagination of the children – a way of introducing myself.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Lily, ‘and welcome to Ragley.’

  They left the shoeboxes in the entrance hall and walked into the school office, where Vera was busy sorting the morning mail. She was in a good mood after reading the report that the Queen’s baby son was to be named Edward. A good name, she thought.

  Her peaceful reverie was disturbed when Lily walked in.

  ‘Good morning, Vera. This is Miss Nobbs,’ said Lily. ‘Sally, let me introduce our school secretary, Miss Evans.’

  Vera was rarely lost for words, but she simply stared in astonishment when she saw the newcomer.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Evans,’ said Sally, ‘pleased to meet you.’ She stretched out her arm to shake hands, but her satchel fell off her shoulder and landed on the edge of Vera’s desk. The morning mail tumbled on to the floor. ‘Oh no!’ cried Sally, stooping to retrieve the letters. Then her shoulder bag fell from her other shoulder and its contents scattered over the floor. Vera stooped to collect her precious mail. A packet of Embassy cigarettes, a box of matches and a sticky, half-eaten bar of chocolate had landed on top of the letters.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Sally as she retrieved her belongings and stuffed them back in the bag.

  It was at this moment John walked in.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Pruett,’ said Vera. She gave a disparaging glance towards Sally. ‘Our student has arrived.’

  John Pruett was taken aback by the vision before him. A kaleidoscope of uncoordinated colours swam before his eyes. ‘Oh yes,’ he said hesitantly. ‘It’s Miss Nobbs, I recall.’

  Lily decided to take over. ‘I’ll get Sally settled in and we’ll catch up with you later.’

  They hurried out to Lily’s classroom.

  John Pruett closed the office door. ‘That was unexpected.’

  Vera took a tissue and removed a few streaks of chocolate from the topmost envelope. ‘Yes, somewhat nonconformist,’ she replied.

  ‘The college said she was an excellent student,’ said John.

  ‘Really?’ Unimpressed, Vera returned to her work without another word.

  In Lily’s classroom, Sally was red-faced. ‘Sorry about that. An inauspicious start.’

  Lily smiled. ‘Never mind, I’ve planned a good day for us and we’re blessed with good weather. I’ll start off the day and you can support the children with their reading, writing and mathematics. Then after break I thought you could introduce yourself and get to know the children.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sally, smiling at last. ‘That’s what the shoeboxes are for, some simple detective work.’

  ‘Fine, let’s see how that goes, then after lunch we’re visiting the local churchyard. There are lots of opportunities for history, geography and natural sciences, a project you may wish to follow up on your teaching practice. We can discuss all this at the end of school.’

  By morning break Lily had realized that the report on Sally was correct. She was clearly a born teacher and, although unorthodox, she established good relationships with the children, supported their needs with confidence during the morning activities and was receptive to any advice from Lily.

  When Sally collected her cup of coffee from Vera, it was clear the school secretary had significant reservations, not least concerning Sally’s outlandish appearance. However, the young student owned no conformist clothing. She did not want to mirror the fashion of her parents. She was a product of a new, free-thinking generation released from stagnant conformity.

  Sally had recently read the groundbreaking book Sex and the Single Girl by Helen Gurley Brown. She loved the author’s revolutionary concept of encouraging sex before marriage and had herself enjoyed experiences with a number of men during her college career. At twenty-one years old she regarded herself as a modern sixties woman, so her first encounter with Vera was a clash of contrasting cultures.

  A similar clash was taking place at Easington School. The fifth-form girls had been summoned into the school hall by a very determined Miss Plumb.

  ‘It’s come to my attention that some of you girls are ignoring the rules concerning school uniform.’ Dressed in thick tweed, she stood like a sergeant major inspecting the troops. ‘In particular, I’m concerned about the length of your skirts. So, all of you, kneel down now.’

  The girls were used to this. When they knelt down the hem of each skirt had to be touching the floor. However, even by leaning forward, half a dozen or more of the girls could not disguise the fact that they had shortened their skirts. Miss Plumb, with a face like thunder, wrote their names in her notebook.

  Then came the part they all dreaded.

  ‘Underwear, now, ladies.’

  There was a unanimous groan. Lizzie Buttershaw whispered to the girl next to her, ‘It’s nineteen sixty-four for goodness’ sake … this is humiliating.’

  It was compulsory to wear voluminous green knickers made from heavy-duty material supported by thick elastic. They were affectionately known to the fifth form as their ‘Harvest Thanksgiving Knickers’: all is safely gathered in!

  ‘Raise your skirts please,’ ordered Miss Plumb.

  The girls complied.

  Lizzie was wearing her brief lacy black knickers.

  Miss Plumb frowned and added another name to her notebook. ‘Detention, Miss Buttershaw.’

  It was eleven o’clock and Miss Nobbs had the attention of all the children in Class 2. They were seated in six groups, a shoebox on each table.

  ‘Now,
listen carefully everybody, we’re going to be detectives, or perhaps archaeologists who dig up interesting bones or treasure. Each box contains a variety of items that are clues. I want you to spend five minutes checking the contents and write down what you think it tells you about me.’

  The boxes contained photographs, old comics, train tickets, certificates and sweet wrappers, and the children were soon engrossed.

  ‘Now, who would like to start?’

  It was unusual to see Clint Ramsbottom raise his hand first. ‘Y’like Jelly Babies, Miss.’

  ‘Well done, Clint.’

  Lily was impressed that Sally had already learned the names of the children.

  ‘An’ y’wash y’clothes in Blue Tide,’ volunteered Henry Tonks.

  ‘And you’ve been to Morecambe on the train,’ added seven-year-old Pauline Simpson.

  ‘Does it mean that’s where my home is?’

  Good question, thought Lily.

  ‘No, Miss,’ said Pauline, ‘because there’s lots of receipts in our box for coffee shops in Leeds, so we think you might live there.’

  ‘Or go there to meet your boyfriend,’ remarked the mischievous eight-year-old Angela Pickles. There was some laughter.

  ‘Excellent thought,’ said Sally. ‘Well done.’

  The lesson gathered momentum and the children looked disappointed when the bell rang for lunchtime.

  ‘Good work,’ said Lily when all the children had left the classroom. ‘A really effective opportunity for deductive reasoning. The children loved it.’

  At one o’clock Lily gathered her children together on the playground. They were carrying clipboards, Lily had a shoulder bag filled with books about trees and Sally was carrying a bulky carrier bag with rolls of paper and boxes of thick crayons. The children were used to walking in twos across the village green and up the Morton road towards St Mary’s Church. They attended many of the church festivals, but today was different. They were detectives. Also, three parents, Muriel Tonks, Minnie Ramsbottom and Ruby Smith, had volunteered to help supervise the children.

  ‘Now boys and girls,’ said Lily, ‘we shall divide up into the three groups we decided on. My group will be going in Farmer Tonks’ field to identify trees; Miss Nobbs’s group will be here doing gravestone rubbings; and Miss Evans will be taking her group into church to look at the stained-glass windows. Any questions?’

  Muriel Tonks raised her hand with a smile. ‘Jus’ thought ah’d mention, Mrs Feather, that Mr Tonks ’as put Buttercup in t’field before taking ’er to t’May Day Show in Thirkby. She’s ’is prize cow but gentle as can be. Jus’ remember t’close t’gate.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Tonks,’ said Lily. She glanced over to the vicarage in search of Vera, who was due to join them. ‘And that goes for the church door as well. We don’t want any little birds flying in.’

  The children nodded their heads. They knew the rules.

  ‘You ladies can join whichever group you prefer.’

  ‘Ah’d like t’go in church wi’ Miss Evans,’ said Ruby.

  ‘An’ ah better go in our field,’ said Muriel.

  ‘Well, ah’m ’appy looking at t’graves,’ said Minnie with a smile.

  Vera appeared from the vicarage tugging on her cardigan. The children were already in the church waiting patiently by the altar and Ruby had remembered to close the church door. Vera had been preoccupied with her Radio Times following the news of the launch last week of BBC2, the UK’s third television channel. In anticipation of cultural programmes of quality, she had earmarked a film based on Resurrection, a novel by Leo Tolstoy, which was due to be broadcast that evening. In consequence, she had missed Lily’s briefing and hurried into the church.

  The children stared in awe at the wonderful stained glass while Vera told them about the history of the church from its origins in the Saxon period and the first known reference in the Domesday Book of 1086.

  Soon all the children were hard at work. Sally was on her hands and knees round the rear of the church with her group. Chris Wojciechowski and Henry Tonks were alongside her, holding a large sheet of paper against a gravestone, while Duggie Smith rubbed furiously with his crayon and a perfect image appeared as if by magic.

  ‘Ah’m enjoyin’ this, Miss,’ said Duggie with enthusiasm.

  ‘Miss, what’s an archie-ologist?’ asked Chris.

  ‘It’s an archaeologist, Christopher,’ said Sally. ‘They dig for bones of animals from long ago and sometimes they find buried treasure.’

  ‘We buried some treasure, Miss,’ said Duggie.

  ‘Really? What was that?’

  ‘A bracelet. It were in t’woods.’

  ‘It ’ad a funny little man hangin’ on it,’ added Chris.

  ‘A leprechaun,’ explained Duggie.

  ‘I see,’ said Sally thoughtfully.

  ‘My mam ’ad one jus’ like that,’ said Henry. ‘M’dad were real upset when she lost it.’

  Sally nodded. The penny had dropped. ‘Could you find where you buried it?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ the boys said in unison.

  Lily’s group had gone into the adjoining field and Muriel Tonks had shut the gate behind them. Soon they were in a copse of trees and hidden from view. Children were collecting leaves and using the information books to identify the wide variety of trees. Meanwhile, Buttercup was on the other side of the field contentedly munching grass under the shade of a beech tree.

  In the church, while the children were sitting in the pews and completing their drawings of the figures in the stained-glass windows, Vera had an idea. She whispered in Ruby’s ear, ‘I have lots of home-made lemonade. I’ll put it on the picnic table outside the vicarage with the box of plastic beakers we used for the church fête. I’ll tell Miss Nobbs and Mrs Feather. Back soon.’

  She opened the ancient door and hurried round the back of the church, where she had a quiet word with Sally. ‘Before we return to school there will be some lemonade outside the vicarage.’

  Then Vera walked lightly across to Farmer Tonks’s field and opened the gate. Finally she found Lily and her group hidden in the trees.

  ‘I thought the children would enjoy some lemonade before we go back,’ she said.

  ‘Wonderful idea,’ agreed Lily. ‘We’ll gather our things together.’

  As Vera left the edge of the wooded area, Mrs Tonks called after her, ‘Don’t forget to close the gate, Miss Evans.’

  Vera waved in acknowledgement. She had left it open when she entered the field but now she closed it securely after her. Soon she was busy collecting jugs of lemonade from the vicarage kitchen.

  Sally looked at her wristwatch. It was around ten minutes since Vera had announced the offer of refreshments. ‘Come on, children, collect all your work and we’ll go round to the vicarage where Miss Evans has prepared a soft drink.’

  It was when Sally was passing the church door that she noticed it was open, so she closed it quickly and hurried after the children.

  Outside the vicarage, Vera was pouring the lemonade and the children were sitting in groups discussing their detective work. Lily was especially pleased. It had been a successful educational visit.

  A chilly breeze sprang up and Sally noticed Vera was shivering. ‘I’ll carry on serving the lemonade, Miss Evans, if you want to go in and get a coat.’

  Although she didn’t approve of this young woman, Vera recognized a Christian gesture. ‘That’s kind. I left my cardigan in church.’

  Sally saw a further opportunity to redeem herself. ‘I’ll get it for you if you don’t mind keeping an eye on my group.’

  She walked across the gravelled courtyard then along the winding path to the front of the church. Around her all was silent apart from the wind in the trees. There was no one in sight. Sally was aware of the peace in this special place. She walked under the huge entrance porch and pushed open the heavy oak door on its great iron hinges.

  The sight that met her eyes was one she would never forget.

/>   Buttercup the cow was standing there, inside the church, staring at her lugubriously. However, it was Buttercup’s rear end that gave Sally greater concern. A powerful jet of urine was splashing against the stone font.

  ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed.

  She realized it was up to her to act quickly and do battle with over half a ton of prime beef. Also, it wasn’t something she wanted the children to see. Someone must have left the gate open and she felt partly responsible. She and Lily were supposed to be in charge.

  With no little trepidation, she gently tapped Buttercup’s substantial bottom and to her relief the cow responded and began to lumber back outside at her own pace. After relieving herself, she was in a placid mood and looking forward to returning to her familiar field.

  Sally guided Buttercup through the five-barred gate and closed it. Then she hurried back to the church, found Vera’s cardigan and joined the others.

  Everyone had finished their refreshments. ‘Thank you,’ said Lily. ‘That was a kind thought.’ She turned to the children. ‘What do we say to Miss Evans, everyone?’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Evans,’ they chorused.

  ‘Now, boys and girls, I want you to sit down in your groups and we shall hear what you have discovered this afternoon.’

  Sally spoke quietly to Lily. ‘Could you excuse me for a moment? I want to thank Vera personally.’

  Lily smiled. ‘Of course. I’ll start off the discussion with the children.’

  Sally caught up with Vera, who was returning the jugs and beakers to the vicarage.

  ‘Miss Evans, may I have a word?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Vera. ‘Come into the kitchen.’

  She put down her tray on the worktop. Vera was curious. There was a hint of anxiety about this young woman.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news, Miss Evans.’