Changing Times

by Jack Sheffield

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘Yes, Clint?’

  ‘Do cows ’ave a langwidge?’

  ‘I bet they do,’ said Tobias. ‘There will be different sorts of moos, just like we have different words.’

  Sally thought there was more to Toby than met the eye.

  Jane Grantham had finished her meal. ‘My grandad says little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice.’

  ‘No they’re not,’ exclaimed Toby. ‘They’re made of bones and blood.’

  Sally stared at the remains of her meal. She was beginning to feel a little nauseous.

  Toby put down his knife and fork. ‘I like my belly button,’ he declared.

  Sally felt she had to ask. ‘Why?’ she said quietly.

  ‘It stops my food falling out.’

  Sally gave up on her meal, wondering if this was going to be her life for the next forty years.

  During afternoon school there was no let-up in John Pruett’s classroom. The children were waiting with ink pens poised and English exercise books open at the next clean page.

  ‘I want you to write three or four sentences about each of the following on the blackboard.’ He had written:

  (a) The ascent of Everest

  (b) Westminster Abbey

  (c) William Shakespeare

  As he sat there, he could hear Lily’s voice encouraging her children as they played rounders on the school field. He walked to the window and stared out. The children who could see his face wondered why he looked so sad.

  It was just before closing in the General Stores and Mrs Ollerenshaw had called in to collect her box of groceries.

  ‘My Janet is disappointed about Mrs Feather leaving. She was so looking forward to going into her class.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Prudence, ‘she’s been a wonderful servant to the school, but she has to follow her husband to his new job up north.’

  ‘That’s the way it has always been. Perhaps one day it will be the other way round.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Prudence with only a hint of conviction.

  ‘I wonder who the new teacher will be.’

  ‘No doubt we’ll find out in good time.’

  ‘Whoever it is, I can’t imagine she will be as good as Mrs Feather. She’s always been wonderful at sorting out problems.’

  Prudence said nothing as Mrs Ollerenshaw collected the box and hurried out of the shop. She merely glanced up at Jeremy Bear and felt sure he knew what she was thinking.

  It was shortly before seven o’clock when Freddie dropped off Lily at the Ragley village hall.

  ‘Enjoy your evening,’ she said. ‘Vera has invited me back to the vicarage after the talk, so you can pick me up from there. Don’t make it too late.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Freddie and drove up the Morton road to the McConnells’ house.

  The village hall was full and Vera, as Events Secretary of the Ragley & Morton WI, stood up to introduce the speaker and the subject for the evening – ‘Baking with Be-Ro’.

  Lavinia de Coercy was an experienced speaker and held her audience in rapt attention. Far from being animated, her face was serene. There was a tranquillity about her person, an aura of peace. Small and frail, she looked as if a strong gust of wind would blow her away. However, there was an inner core of strength to this lady.

  As she held up a bag of flour in triumph she said, ‘I know what I’m getting with Be-Ro. It’s always the full weight and doesn’t include the packaging. So I suggest you start with the one-pound bag. Eventually, work your way up to the three-pound and six-pound bags as you become more of a home baker and encourage your daughters to do the same.’

  Prudence Golightly on the back row gave a satisfied smile. She had ordered a delivery of extra bags of flour.

  Lavinia was working up to her big finish. After praising the advantages of Be-Ro ‘Ruff Puff’ pastry within the gospel of economical home baking, she declared, ‘Remember the rules, ladies: handle your flour lightly, keep it cool and do use a hot oven.’

  The evening ended with huge applause and a surfeit of perfect scones.

  It was after nine o’clock when Vera and Lily walked back to the vicarage.

  ‘A successful evening, Vera. You must be pleased.’

  Vera smiled. ‘I agree – and time for a nightcap, I believe.’

  As they crunched across the gravel courtyard Vera paused. ‘Joseph will be in, so I’ll ask you now. How is Freddie?’

  ‘The same,’ said Lily. ‘I’m still his sister as far as he is concerned.’

  ‘And what about you and the future?’

  ‘Tom is clearly looking forward to his new job and, as for me, I presume I’ll apply for a new post when we’re up in Durham.’

  There was a long pause. ‘I’ll miss you, Lily.’

  ‘And you have been a very dear friend.’

  They walked into the vicarage together, each with her own thoughts and with many words unspoken.

  For Rose it was an evening she would never forget. Freddie had collected her from her home and they had driven up the A64, through Malton and on to the pretty village of Thornton-le-Dale.

  They had parked near the village green and sat in the evening sunshine outside one of the pubs. As they sipped on local beer, they could hear the calming sound of a stream, the Thornton Beck, as it meandered through the streets. It was a picture-postcard setting.

  ‘This is a beautiful place,’ said Rose with a gentle smile.

  She knew there was something on Freddie’s mind and hoped he would share his concerns.

  ‘I can’t keep it to myself any longer,’ he said suddenly.

  Rose put down her glass. She could barely say the words. ‘Is there someone else?’

  Freddie was shocked. ‘No, it’s not that, not ever. How could you even think such a thing?’

  There was a moment of relief. ‘So what’s troubling you?’

  He drank deeply from his pint glass. ‘There’s a secret I need to share.’

  Rose stretched out and held his hand. She could feel his pain. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘It’s about Lily.’

  ‘Your sister?’

  Freddie shook his head. ‘No, Rose, she’s not my sister.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Lily … well … she’s my mother.’

  Rose remained silent, trying to comprehend. She squeezed his hand.

  ‘It came out at New Year. I found a photograph of someone who looked just like me. It was a picture from the end of the war. He was a German prisoner of war. Lily was in the Land Army. She said they fell in love.’ He looked steadily into Rose’s eyes. ‘I’m their child.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rose quietly.

  ‘Lily’s mother, Florence, said she had brought shame on the family. She was forced to pretend to be my sister and I was brought up believing Florence was my mother. Lily has carried this lie with her all my life and Tom supported her.’

  Rose gathered her thoughts. This was so unexpected. ‘I’m sure they had their reasons, Freddie.’

  ‘But I hate the deception and at first I hated her.’

  ‘Freddie, remember when Mr Morris quoted Martin Luther King: Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.’

  Freddie nodded. ‘I remember … but I still see her as my sister, nothing else.’

  ‘But think how lucky you are. At least you’ve been brought up in a loving home.’

  ‘So during the Easter break I went to Germany to find my father. His name is Rudolph Krüger.’

  For the next hour a liquid stream of tender words eased his pain like a gentle caress. It was after nine o’clock, when the summer sun was beginning to set and the sky was turning from pink to purple, that they set off back to Ragley.

  ‘I’m glad you shared this with me, Freddie.’

  His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. ‘So am I.’

  John Pruett had settled down to his evening meal and was reflecting on the day. He had been impressed with the uncon
ventional Sally Nobbs. It occurred to him that she would add a great deal to any school.

  He sighed deeply and stared at his plate. It was his favourite salad, with a sliver of ham and a large slice of Wensleydale cheese.

  For the Ragley headteacher it had been a life of cheese and chalk … but mainly chalk. For as long as he could remember, hope and disappointment had been constant companions.

  It was much later that he poured himself a gin and tonic, switched on the radio and sat down in his armchair. As he sipped his drink he thought of Lily and of a life without her. He gave a sad smile as the Peter and Gordon hit record ‘A World Without Love’ was introduced. The disc jockey explained that Paul McCartney had written it at the age of sixteen. Then in 1963, when the Beatle had moved in with his new girlfriend, Jane Asher, her brother, Peter, had asked if he could use the song.

  When the sun finally sank in the west at the end of a long day, John had at last accepted that the love of his life was leaving and his world would never be the same again.

  It was nearly midnight when he went upstairs to bed. Before closing the curtains he stared up at the cold stars and the crescent moon. Around him there was doubt in every shadow. That night in his dreams there was only a cracked mirror and a love that could never be.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fond Farewells

  It was Friday, 3 July and as Lily drove to school a pink dawn had crested the horizon and announced a perfect summer day. Beyond the hedgerows the branches of the sycamores stirred with a breathless promise and a morning mist hung over the fields of golden barley. Lily felt relaxed, but, of course, she had no awareness of the events that were about to unfold.

  When she parked her car in the school car park a blackbird was trying to crack open the shell of a snail to discover what was hidden within. Secrets are often revealed at the most unexpected moments, and a time of arrivals and farewells was in store.

  In the staff-room John Pruett and Joseph Evans were in animated conversation when Vera popped her head round the door.

  ‘Excuse me. That was Mr Pickard on the telephone. He said he would call in at lunchtime.’

  ‘Thank you, Vera,’ said John. It was a brisk response, almost curt, but Vera knew why. The shortlist for the post of deputy headteacher had proved unsatisfactory and tensions were running high.

  ‘It would appear no practising Christian applied,’ said Joseph mournfully.

  John Pruett kept his thoughts to himself. First and foremost, he wanted a good teacher. ‘Let’s see what Mr Pickard has to say.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘I’ll be back at lunchtime.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘I presume you approached Mrs Grainger?’

  ‘Yes, she didn’t apply because she doesn’t want the extra responsibility.’

  ‘A pity,’ said Joseph and hurried out.

  When Vera returned to the school office, Sally Nobbs was waiting for her.

  ‘Yes, Sally, what can I do to help?’

  Sally smiled. ‘Actually it’s the other way round. I know you will be busy tomorrow morning preparing for the village fair and I wondered if I could assist.’

  Vera recognized a kindred spirit. ‘Yes, please, thank you so much. Help is always welcome in the WI marquee, so if you come along to the cricket field it would be most helpful.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll be there.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Vera, ‘and I know it’s the final day of your teaching practice today, so do enjoy it. The children will be sad to see you go.’

  ‘As I shall when I say goodbye.’

  ‘What are your plans for the future?’

  ‘Hopefully, a teaching post in Leeds. I’ve got a few interviews.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck and do keep an eye on vacancies here at Ragley in the coming years. You never know what turns up.’

  ‘I shall and, talking of turning up, I’ve been told my teaching practice tutor, Miss Puddifoot, will be in shortly.’ Sally looked a little anxious. ‘So I’m hoping for a trouble-free morning.’

  She hurried off to prepare the classroom while Vera reflected on her first meeting with the effervescent young student and recalled her mother’s advice to never judge a book by its cover.

  Sally’s English lesson was going well. The children had been asked to write about where they were going for their summer holidays when Miss Puddifoot walked in.

  A stick-thin woman of severe appearance, in spite of the hot weather she was wearing a tweed suit and sensible lace-up shoes. After a brief handshake with Lily, who was sitting in the book corner hearing Shane Ramsbottom read, she gave a curt nod towards Sally and sat down at the teacher’s desk. Sally’s teaching-practice file was open with her lesson notes neatly displayed. The pernickety tutor flicked through the pages, her lips pursed. Everything was in order. Then she scrutinized the children, heads bowed, all engrossed in the task, and she appeared satisfied.

  She opened her duplicate notebook, inserted the carbon sheet between two pages and began to prepare what was commonly known to the students as their ‘crit’ –a tutor report on their lesson. She wrote, ‘Miss Nobbs has prepared an effective writing lesson, discipline is good and the children are attentive.’

  Then she stood up and walked to the first group of children, who were writing in their English exercise books. Dictionaries had been placed in the centre of each group and the children were checking spellings and writing them in their vocabulary notebooks. It was clearly a well-organized lesson, the children were all working hard and Sally was moving from one group to another supporting individuals according to their needs. Miss Puddifoot relaxed with the awareness of an effective student at work.

  However, in a primary classroom the unexpected is always just around the corner.

  Duggie Smith looked up at the stranger. ‘’Scuse me, Miss, but are you a teacher?’

  Miss Puddifoot was slightly taken aback by the direct approach of this bristle-haired boy. ‘Yes, I am.’

  Next to Duggie, Henry Tonks showed sudden interest. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Can you ’elp me wi’ a spellin’, please?’

  Miss Puddifoot was impressed the little boy knew his manners. ‘Of course. What is your name?’

  ‘Ah’m ’Enry, Miss. What’s yours?’

  Sally heard the exchange and glanced up anxiously.

  ‘I’m Miss Puddifoot.’

  Henry looked perplexed. ‘Puddlefoot?’

  Miss Puddifoot sighed. It was close enough and she had been called worse. Henry had opened his word book, pencil poised. ‘So what word do you require?’

  ‘Well, Miss … ’ow d’you spell fuck?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Miss Puddifoot thought she had clearly misheard.

  ‘Ah said … ’ow d’you spell fuck?’

  ‘Pardon?’ She had definitely not misheard and stepped back in horror.

  Henry assumed this strange lady was as deaf as his grandma and he always had to shout when speaking to her. ‘AH SAID … ’OW D’YOU SPELL FUCK?’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Miss Puddifoot, her cheeks flushing rapidly.

  Lily was about to leap up from the book corner when Sally took over, crouching next to the stocky son of a local farmer. She spoke quietly. ‘Tell me, Henry, why do you want that word?’

  ‘It’s where we’re goin’ on our ’olidays, Miss.’

  ‘But what has that word got to do with it?’

  ‘Well, m’mam an’ dad are tekkin’ me on a boat.’

  ‘A boat? But why do you want that word?’

  ‘Well, Miss, ah know ’ow t’spell Nor but ah don’t know ’ow t’spell fuck.’

  Sally wrote Norfolk in Henry’s word book while a relieved Miss Puddifoot returned to the teacher’s desk and added in her notebook: ‘Questions were handled with calm professionalism.’

  She tore out the duplicate page, attached it to Sally’s lesson plan with a paperclip … and smiled.

  At morning break Anne was on duty and Vera carried two cups of tea to the playground. For the Ragley School secretary t
ime was both a thief and a benefactor. It had taken away her youth but given back a wealth of experience. She was about to put it to good use.

  The sun was shining and Vera and Anne leaned against the school wall and watched the children at play.

  ‘They don’t change, do they?’ observed Vera. ‘We get older and they stay the same.’

  Anne gave a sigh. ‘Very true, Vera. This is the second generation of Ragley children I’ve seen through the school. Those I first taught are teenagers now.’

  ‘Ragley is lucky to have you.’

  They sipped their tea and enjoyed the warmth under the dappled shade of the horse chestnut trees.

  ‘I did have a thought,’ said Vera. ‘A favour, in fact.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, with Lily leaving we need some continuity and, as you know, no appointment has been made so far for the post of deputy.’

  ‘I presumed John would ask Miss Flint to take over Lily’s class in the interim while another advertisement is placed.’

  ‘That’s right, but Mr Pickard may simply bring in a teacher from another school to give them experience in a deputy headship. That’s the unknown, whereas you would be perfect for the post.’

  Anne gave a wry smile. ‘You know why I didn’t apply, Vera. I enjoy my teaching too much and don’t want the extra responsibility.’

  ‘I do understand, but I have a solution.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, I love this school and we need some stability during the coming months. It would help Mr Pruett if you would be willing to consider being acting deputy head in the interim. That way you are not committed, the school benefits and you retain choice in whatever you decide.’

  ‘I see,’ said Anne thoughtfully. Vera was a hard person to refuse. ‘And what does John think about all of this?’

  ‘It is his idea, of course,’ said Vera. ‘I am just explaining it.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘If you’ve finished your tea, I’ll return your cup,’ said Vera.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And if you could decide before lunchtime it would help,’ added Vera with determination. ‘Mr Pickard is coming in from County Hall and I could tell John that you would be willing to help out in our hour of need.’