Over Hill and Dale

by Gervase Phinn

  It was with some trepidation, therefore, that I headed for the dreaded meeting. The school inspectors occupied the top floor of what could only be described as an Edwardian villa, some distance away from the main County Hall. We saw little of the occupants of the ground floor – the educational psychologists – who, like us, spent most of their time in schools. One of the villa’s former bedrooms had been converted into our office, another was used as a store and the third, which was not much bigger than a box-room, was where Julie worked. The trip from our office to County Hall was a pleasant stroll on a bright summer’s day and a bracing walk on a fresh winter’s morning, but when the weather took a turn for the worse, I would arrive for a meeting wet and windblown and wishing I worked in an office near to the main Education Department.

  But then I would be closer to Mrs Savage which would be worse, I now mused as I quickly skirted the formal gardens, well-tended lawns and neat footpaths which surrounded the grey stone edifice of County Hall. It was a dark, rain-soaked evening and a ragged grey curtain of cloud hung from the sky and the wind drove the rain at a sharp slant, thoroughly soaking me. Once inside the main building, wet and cold, I headed for the cloakrooms where I dried my face and combed my hair in preparation for the ordeal ahead of me. I then set off for the Annexe and Mrs Savage’s room.

  The interior of County Hall was like an empty museum, hushed and cool, with a succession of wandering marbled corridors, long leather-covered benches and ornate highly polished doors. The walls were full of portraits of former councillors, mayors, aldermen, leaders of the council, high sheriffs, lord lieutenants, members of parliament and other dignitaries, many of them bearded and all of them looking gloomy. They stared from their gilt frames in solemn disapproval, adding to my dismal mood. A jagged streak of lightning lit up the dark corridors, followed seconds later by a grumbling of thunder and a downpour of rain which lashed fiercely at the windows. As I turned the corner leading to Mrs Savage’s room, the clock on the County Hall tower struck six deep, melancholy, echoing notes. It sounded like a funeral bell.

  The office of Dr Gore’s Personal Assistant was at the very top of a modern three-storey structure attached to the rear of County Hall. The Annexe clung to the sturdy imposing Victorian building like some great glass limpet and looked entirely out of place. The architect, no doubt constrained by the Finance Department, had designed something large, utilitarian and cheap and had made no attempt to match the style or construction of the original building. The Annexe housed the administrative and clerical support offices and the Print Room.

  Mrs Savage’s office was palatial compared to mine. The desk, which dominated the room, was a vast asymmetrical affair in rich mahogany. There were filing cupboards and cabinets of various sorts, an expensive-looking bookcase, an occasional table and two easy chairs. The walls, which were plain and the colour of sour cream, had four large paintings in metal frames, positioned at exact distances from one another. They were the sort of art Sidney described as meaningless, abstract splatters. There was a thick shag-pile carpet and long pale drapes at the window. Mrs Savage was sitting stiffly at her desk with icy imperturbability, a computer humming away on a console beside her.

  ‘Do come in, Mr Phinn, and take a seat,’ she said, catching sight of me hovering in the doorway like a naughty schoolboy waiting to see the Headteacher. ‘I won’t be a moment.’ There was a note of sharp command in her voice. I sat in one of the easy chairs, crossed my legs casually and flicked through my diary, attempting to give the appearance of being entirely at ease. Inwardly I felt as nervous and anxious as a patient waiting to hear the results of some medical test. Mrs Savage scratched away with a sharp pencil, for what seemed an interminable amount of time, glancing up occasionally as if to make sure I was still there. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She looked haughtier than ever. I had not seen her since the previous term and, as Julie had remarked recently, she seemed to have lost weight and a number of wrinkles and creases into the bargain. She was dressed in a close-fitting, pale green silk suit splashed with great crimson poppies which matched exactly the colour of her lipstick and nail varnish. She certainly was a striking-looking woman.

  ‘Now then, Mr Phinn,’ she said suddenly, looking up from her papers, ‘thank you for coming up to see me.’ She was making it perfectly clear that we were no longer on first-name terms. So be it, I thought.

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Savage,’ I replied, attempting to sound relaxed. ‘I believe you mentioned that it was urgent?’

  ‘It is,’ she said sharply. ‘It’s about the Feoffees.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The Feoffees,’ she repeated, picking at the word like a pigeon with a piece of bread. She stared and waited and it was clear that she had no intention of enlightening me as to what a Feoffee actually was. Well, two can play at this cat and mouse game, I thought to myself.

  ‘What have the Feoffees got to do with me, Mrs Savage?’ I asked.

  ‘As you may be aware, Mr Phinn, Lord Marrick, the Vice-Chairman of the Education Committee, is to take up the office of Greave and Chief Lord of the Feoffees in the New Year.’ She paused for effect.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Next year is the five hundredth anniversary of the foundation of the Feoffees. I don’t know whether you knew?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Lord Marrick, who is a great one for tradition, as you know, is keen to mark this very significant juncture in the Feoffees’ history by hosting an open day at Manston Hall at the end of May, and he wants various events, involving a wide range of local institutions and organisations, to celebrate such an auspicious occasion.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, nodding and trying to appear knowledgeable. I had not the first idea what a ‘Fee-Fo’, or whatever it was called, was but I was not going to let on to Mrs Savage. ‘And how do I come in?’

  ‘Dr Gore wishes you to attend a planning meeting at Manston Hall in November in his place. I have checked your engagement sheet and note that you have no important commitments at that time. Of course, Dr Gore would have represented the Education Department himself but it is quite impossible for him to attend the meeting. As you are no doubt aware, he has been asked by the Minister of Education to sit on a major Government committee and will be exceptionally busy for the foreseeable future. It is, of course, a great honour for the CEO to be invited by the Minister to be part of such a prestigious group.’ She gave a slight smile as if she were privy to some secret. ‘Dr Gore would not, under normal circumstances, have delegated such an important task to someone else, particularly to a relative newcomer to the county, but Dr Yeats is leading a major school inspection in November and is not available. Dr Gore understands that you had a number of dealings with Lord Marrick last year so he is not unfamiliar to you.’

  ‘I see,’ I said again, still totally in the dark.

  ‘He would have seen you personally to explain what is involved but he is the guest speaker at the Fettlesham High School Presentation this evening so has asked me to deal with it. He would like this matter expedited immediately.’ She leaned over her desk and clasped her hands before her. There was a huge solitaire diamond ring on one red-nailed finger and a cluster of gold hoops on another. ‘He has also, Mr Phinn, asked me to liaise with you over this.’ Her voice had taken on an even sharper edge. ‘I sincerely hope that we will, in fact, liaise and that you will not take it upon yourself, as you did with the HMI visits, to do everything on your own.’

  I had guessed that she would raise that little matter but decided not to get into a further discussion about it.

  ‘Yes, of course, Mrs Savage,’ I said pleasantly. ‘And what does this particular initiative involve?’

  ‘It involves joining the planning group and contributing where appropriate. Of course, the Education Department will have a significant part to play in the celebration of five hundred years of the Feoffees. I guess it will mean displays of various sorts, children’s presentations, that sort of
thing, reflecting the life and work of the Feoffees.’ It was as if she were speaking in a foreign language.

  ‘Of course,’ I nodded.

  There was a portentous pursing of the lips. Mrs Savage eyed me for a brief moment before continuing. ‘Dr Gore has asked me to deal with all the administration. I have already informed Lord Marrick that you will be representing the Education Department and I shall send you the agenda and the accompanying papers for the meeting just as soon as I receive them.’ She paused and gave me a frosty look. ‘And I would be very appreciative, Mr Phinn, if you would see to it that I am kept fully informed. It makes my life so much easier if I know what is happening, when it is happening and how it is happening. I hope I make myself clear.’

  ‘Perfectly clear, Mrs Savage.’

  She ran her eyes over me critically as a doctor might observe an interesting patient. ‘Good,’ she said. I stood up to go. ‘One moment, Mr Phinn, I haven’t finished with you yet.’ She gave a small, quick smile before rising from her chair and straightening the creases in her skirt. I felt a tingle of apprehension. Was she going to leap across the desk, launch herself on top of me in wild abandon, drag me on to the thick shag-pile carpet, throw me over the occasional table? I stepped back as she moved stealthily around the desk like a predatory cat. I could smell her heavy perfume. The eyelashes began to flutter. My apprehension turned to cold fear. This was going to be a re-enactment of the earlier deeply embarrassing incident. I was going to have to fight the woman off!

  ‘What about a date?’ she asked.

  ‘Date?’ I whispered. ‘What date?’

  ‘You need a date for the meeting at Manston Hall.’

  ‘Ah,’ I sighed, ‘that date.’ In my anxiety to get the meeting over quickly, I had completely overlooked that the date had not yet been mentioned. I had thought, for one appalling moment, that Mrs Savage was propositioning me for a date.

  ‘The twenty-fifth of November at ten o’clock.’ I stared, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, rooted to the spot as if looking into the face of Medusa herself. ‘Is there something else, Mr Phinn?’ asked Mrs Savage.

  ‘No, nothing,’ I replied and headed at a brisk pace for the door.

  Sidney and David were putting on their coats when I arrived back at the office.

  ‘You managed to escape unscathed then,’ commented David, straightening the papers on his desk.

  ‘He does look a little flushed and out of breath, don’t you think?’ said Sidney. ‘I hope your dealings with Mrs Savage were entirely professional, Gervase. What did she want?’

  ‘Have either of you heard of the Feoffees?’

  ‘Are they a pop group?’ asked David.

  ‘I once went out with an amazing American girl at Oxford called Fifi,’ sighed Sidney. ‘Very good sculptor. Had wonderful muscles and flaming red hair. Ate nothing but lentils. Remarkable woman.’

  ‘I have a drawer in my filing cabinet marked “Fifi”,’ said David. ‘It’s stuffed full of papers, dead documents, reports and memoranda. Stands for “File it and forget it”. Most of Mrs Savage’s missives are consigned to that drawer.’

  ‘Will you two be serious for a moment,’ I said. ‘It’s not “Fifi”, it’s “Feoffee”. I have to attend a meeting at Manston Hall. Evidently Lord Marrick is becoming the top Feoffee, whatever that involves, and wants to arrange some events to celebrate it. Could it be some sort of Masonic order?’

  ‘Druids,’ suggested Sidney, putting on his raincoat. ‘Probably the Yorkshire version of the druids. Old men in white sheets dancing around the monoliths at Brimham Rocks. Like the daft sort of thing the Welsh go in for. Dressing up in those funny costumes and waiting for the eclipse.’

  ‘Daft!’ exclaimed David. ‘I’ll have you know that the druids are part of a long cultural tradition which stretches back centuries. They do not dress up in funny costumes. The Celts –’

  ‘Oh, please spare us the Celts,’ begged Sidney, ‘or we will be here all night.’

  A heavy laboured tread could be heard on the stairs leading up to the office.

  ‘Well, I can’t offer any more help,’ announced David, glowering in Sidney’s direction before reaching for his umbrella.

  ‘But those light steps on the stairs,’ said Sidney, cupping his hand around his ear, ‘tell me that our esteemed leader is about to enter and I feel certain he will be able to furnish you with detailed information about these Feelies.’

  ‘Yes, you’d best ask Harold, Gervase,’ agreed David. ‘There is nothing on which Harold Yeats is not an expert.’

  ‘Isn’t that a double negative?’ asked Sidney. ‘ “Nothing on which he is not”. I think it would be rather better expressed as “Harold is an expert on everything”.’

  ‘I am going to do something extremely unpleasant with this umbrella in a minute, Sidney, if you don’t shut up! Firstly I am picked up on my knowledge of Greek mythology, then you have a go at the druids and now you see fit to correct my grammar.’

  ‘Well, we have the English expert here, he can arbitrate. Am I right or am I right, Gervase? Was that not a double negative?’

  ‘Don’t bring me into it,’ I said, ‘I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.’

  At this point Harold breezed in, wet and windblown, but smiling a great toothy smile. The Senior County Inspector was a giant of a man. Six foot, three inches in height, he looked a daunting figure with his great broad shoulders, heavy bulldog jaw, large watery eyes and prominent teeth but he was the gentlest and most unassuming person I had ever met. He was a man of sincerity, generosity and unfailing courtesy, someone who always looked for the best in everybody and had a deep interest in the needs of children. He was also a walking encyclopaedia and turned out to know everything there was to know about the Feoffees. He became quite animated when asked to explain what they were and what they did.

  ‘A very interesting group of men, the Feoffees,’ he enthused. ‘They were originally a collection of civic worthies and dignitaries, usually prominent landowners and gentry, founded in the reign of Henry VII to keep law and order. All justice in a parish or town was administered by them and they ensured the sick and needy were cared for. They were responsible for no end of things – repair of bridges and roads, keeping the water supply fresh, isolating plague victims, making sure the pillories and ducking stools were kept in good working order.’

  ‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing, Harold?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. The Feoffees served a very important function in Tudor and Stuart times. They appointed the swineherd, clerk of the market, overseer of the roads and provided all the liveries for the beadles, pipers, town criers and organ blowers – the whole company of minor officials. Of course, the Feoffees varied from area to area but –’

  ‘That’s fine, Harold,’ I interrupted, ‘but what is their function today?’

  ‘Well, it is largely a charitable institution. Why are you so interested in the Feoffees anyway, Gervase?’

  I explained about the meeting with Mrs Savage, the proposed visit to Manston Hall and my involvement in the forthcoming celebrations.

  ‘I see,’ said Harold. ‘It sounds a very interesting undertaking. I would have very much liked to have attended that meeting myself. I mean I am the inspector who covers history. It’s strange that I wasn’t approached.’

  ‘Mrs Savage said that you are leading an inspection on the twenty-fifth of November when the meeting takes place but if you can re-arrange things, Harold, I should be delighted for you to go instead.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Harold. ‘I can’t cancel an inspection. Mrs Savage is quite right.’

  ‘It would have been nice to have been asked or at least consulted though, wouldn’t it, Harold?’ said David. ‘That woman takes far too much on to herself. She’s only an office clerk, for goodness sake. Anyone would think she was the CEO, the way she carries on.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad she didn’t approach me!’ said Sidney. ‘It sounds a complete and utter wast
e of time! What has all this got to do with education? I thought our job was to inspect schools not join a group of anachronistic, undoubtedly well-heeled geriatrics who have nothing better to do than spend their time repairing pillories and ducking stools, and isolating victims of the plague.’

  ‘Sidney,’ snapped Harold, ‘it has everything to do with education! First, the Feoffees are part of our rich, cultural heritage, which is something we should be proud of and cherish.’

  ‘Like the druids,’ interposed David.

  ‘It is important,’ continued Harold, ‘that young people should know about the history of their country. Furthermore, the Feoffees still help the poor and afflicted, particularly orphans and deprived children. They continue to promote good conduct in the rising generation, provide financial support and give scholarships and bursaries to deserving causes.’ The clock on the County Hall tower began to strike seven but Harold, who had now got the bit firmly between his teeth, continued undeterred. ‘The Feoffees, who number amongst their ranks of anachronistic, well-heeled geriatrics our own Dr Gore, do a great deal of good, so when you ask –’