‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘I have asked you to call me “miss”,’ said Elisabeth, standing over him and looking him straight in the eyes. ‘Please do so in future or you and I will fall out. Do I make myself clear, Malcolm?’
‘Yes, miss,’ he grumbled.
This was going to be a battle of wills, thought Elisabeth, but it was a battle she was determined to win.
‘So, how have you liked your first day at Barton-in-the-Dale, Mrs Devine?’ asked the school secretary. She had called into Elisabeth’s classroom at the end of school.
‘I’ve had a most pleasant day, thank you, Mrs Scrimshaw,’ she replied. ‘I think I am going to be very happy here.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ said the secretary. ‘I have to say, I do like my office now that all the cabinets and drawers have been moved into the new staff-room. There wasn’t the space to swing a cat before.’
‘While I was teaching, was there a phone call from the Education Office?’ Elisabeth asked. ‘A Mr Nettles?’
‘No, there’s been no one,’ replied the secretary.
‘I was expecting a call. I rang him at lunchtime but there was no reply, and I left a message on his answering machine asking him to give me ring. It said he was tied up.’
‘They want to tie them up permanently at the Education Office, if you ask me,’ observed Mrs Scrimshaw, pursing her lips. ‘And he’s one of the worst. He’s about as much use as a chocolate fireguard is that Mr Nettles. He used to be in charge of school transport and made a pig’s ear of that. Buses arriving late or not at all, and a right mix-up with the timetables. And you could never get hold of him. He was always in a meeting or tied up.’
‘Well, I’ll try again later,’ said Elisabeth. ‘You get off home, Mrs Scrimshaw.’
At the school office Elisabeth dialled the number of the Education Office.
‘Hello.’ It was a young woman’s matter-of-fact voice.
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Nettles, please.’
‘He’s tied up at the moment,’ came the reply.
‘When might he be free?’
‘I’ve no idea. He’s in a meeting.’
‘I did leave a message asking him to give me a ring,’ Elisabeth told the speaker. ‘This is Mrs Devine, head teacher at Barton-in the-Dale Primary School. I shall be here for the next hour, so if he could ring me, I should be very grateful. It is important.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ said the young woman curtly and put down the receiver.
‘Hello, miss.’ Danny stood at the office door.
‘Hello, Danny,’ she replied. ‘You should be getting off home.’
‘I wanted to see you, miss.’
‘Come in.’ She sat on the end of the desk. ‘Now what is it about?’
‘Is it reight that Jamie’s not comin’ to this school no more, miss?’
‘It is,’ replied Elisabeth. ‘His father thinks St Paul’s will suit him better.’
‘It won’t.’
‘Well, I am pleased you think he would be happier here,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I would like him to have stayed, but it’s his father’s decision to send him to another school and there’s not really much I can do about that.’
‘He dunt want to go,’ said the boy.
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘Yeah, I saw ’im yesterday. We were at t’duckpond fishin’ for sticklebacks and he said ’e weren’t comin’ back ’ere. ’E were really upset, miss.’
Elisabeth thought for a moment. ‘James talks to you a lot, doesn’t he, Danny?’
‘Yea, I suppose ’e does,’ replied the boy.
‘Why doesn’t he talk to anyone else, do you think?’ she asked.
Danny shrugged. ‘I dunt know, ’e just dunt. Jamie stopped talkin’ to other people after ’is mum ’ad t’accident. ’E talks to his dad sometimes, but it’s mainly me ’e talks to.’
‘He must feel really comfortable with you, Danny,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I guess he thinks of you as a very special friend.’ The boy nodded and looked embarrassed. ‘And James told you he doesn’t want to go to another school, did he?’
‘Yeah, ’e did, miss.’
‘And has he told his father this?’
‘No, miss, ’e dunt want to upset ’im. ’E thinks if ’e tells ’is dad it’ll make ’im unhappy. ’E says ’is dad gets real sad these days. Sometimes ’e telled me ’is dad looks out o’ t’window for ages and ages, starin’ at nowt.’
‘I see.’
‘Will you speak to his dad then, miss?’ asked the boy.
‘It’s difficult, Danny,’ she replied.
‘Why?’
‘Well, you see, his father and I have had a bit of a disagreement. I don’t think he will take any notice of what I say. He is determined that James will start at his new school when term starts there.’
‘’Asn’t he started there yet then, miss?’ asked Danny.
‘I don’t think so. St Paul’s starts later than we do.’
‘Then ’appen you could change his dad’s mind before it’s too late.’
‘I doubt it,’ Elisabeth told him. ‘James’s father’s mind seems made up.’
‘You could try, though. Will you try, miss?’ The boy twiddled his hair nervously. ‘Please.’
‘All right, Danny,’ she said, ‘I’ll try.’
Elisabeth called at the surgery on the way home. She sat in the waiting room with a sneezing hay fever sufferer, a pale-looking woman with a tragic expression, an elderly man with a bent back, a whinging toddler and his harassed mother and Mrs Sloughthwaite.
‘Hello, Mrs Devine,’ said the shopkeeper, shuffling up the bench so Elisabeth could sit next to her. ‘Not badly on your first day at school, I hope?’
‘No,’ Elisabeth replied. ‘I’m fine.’
‘There’s a lot going around. Bugs and such like. Vicar’s wife’s took to her bed with it, I hear. Mind you, Mrs Atticus is of a weak constitution at the best of times. You’re not coming down with something then?’
‘No.’
Since she was getting nowhere extracting information about Elisabeth’s health, Mrs Sloughthwaite changed the topic, never missing a chance to glean more news to channel around the village.
‘And how’s the cottage coming along?’ she asked.
‘Nearly finished,’ Elisabeth told her. ‘Mr Stainthorpe’s done an excellent job. I’m very pleased with it.’
‘And what’s your first day at school been like?’
‘It’s been very good,’ replied Elisabeth. ‘I think I shall be very happy there.’
‘A lot to do, I suppose?’
‘Indeed.’
‘I see Mr Gribbon has been hard at work sprucing up the place. I can’t say as how I’ve ever seen him so industrial. Let’s hope it lasts.’
‘He’s made a great difference,’ Elisabeth told her.
‘And I gather you’ve changed quite a bit around in the school already?’
‘Yes, there have been one or two changes.’
‘Mrs Pocock was in the shop telling me this afternoon. Her lad told her it’s not like the old school. You’ll have to keep your eye on him, by the way. Regular little tearaway is Ernest Pocock. And that Malcolm Stubbins is another. Nothing’s safe on the counter when he’s in my shop. Unfortunate-looking lad and no mistake, isn’t he though? He could eat a tomato through a tennis racket with those teeth. He’s the spit-and-image of his father. Buck teeth run in his family like that lad’s nose. His father was a ne’er-do-well and left his mother for a mousy little woman who ran a boarding-house in Clayton. ’Course, the boy’s mother can’t cope and lets him get away with murder. I hope he’s behaving himself for you. I know Miss Brakespeare had problems with him. Speaking of Miss Brakespeare, how does she like the changes?’
‘She seems very happy with them,’ said Elisabeth, wearying of the interrogation. ‘You’ll have to ask her when she comes into the shop.’
Mrs Sloughthwaite was quiet for a while, but
it wasn’t in her nature to keep silent for long. ‘I’m sorry to hear that Dr Stirling’s taking his son away.’
My goodness, thought Elisabeth, news travels fast in the village.
‘Yes, so am I,’ she replied, determined not to elaborate on events.
‘Mrs Pocock was saying that at this rate there won’t be any kiddies left to teach.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite got to that stage yet, Mrs Sloughthwaite.’
‘Let’s hope not. It will be a sorry day if the village school closes.’
‘I don’t think you need to worry on that score.’ Elisabeth changed the subject. ‘I hope you are not unwell.’
‘I’ve been in bed with my kidneys,’ the shopkeeper confided under her breath. ‘They come and go. And then there’s my swollen joints, amongst other things. Never been right since I fell off the ladder. I’ve been proper poorly in my time but you struggle on, don’t you?’ She winced. ‘I’m a martyr to my joints. All that bending and stretching.’ She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and pointed a finger downwards. ‘And I’ve got downstairs problems.’ She pointed discreetly. ‘Dr Stirling reckons I’m a walking pathological marvel, way I carry on what with all my ailments.’ She sniffed noisily before returning the conversation to the school. ‘So, are you here to see Dr Stirling about—’
‘Mrs Sloughthwaite,’ the receptionist called. ‘Doctor will see you now.’
‘Oh, I’d better go,’ said the shopkeeper, easing herself to her feet. ‘I’ll be seeing you again, no doubt, Mrs Devine.’ With that, she waddled off in the direction of the consulting room.
Elisabeth had explained to the receptionist that she would wait until Dr Stirling had seen all his patients, as this was a personal matter of some importance.
Eventually the waiting room emptied and Elisabeth was told by the receptionist that the doctor was now free to see her.
‘Ah, Mrs Devine,’ said Dr Stirling, managing a small smile. He rose from his desk. ‘Do come in.’
Elisabeth noticed again how neglectful he was of his appearance. His hair had been combed untidily and it was clear he hadn’t shaved that day. His linen jacket was creased and had a button missing and his shirt had not been ironed properly.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘what seems to be the problem?’
‘I’m here about James,’ Elisabeth told him. The mention of his son’s name resulted in a change to the doctor’s countenance. He inhaled noisily, scratched his tousled hair and tapped his fingers impatiently on the top of his desk. ‘Look, Mrs Devine, I have made my decision. If you are here to ask me to let James stay at the school, you are wasting your time. I appreciate that you are losing another pupil, which is distressing for you, and that you want to keep as many as possible at Barton, but as I thought I had explained to you, I feel St Paul’s will offer my son a better education and one more suited to his – ’ he struggled to find the word, ‘to his situation.’
‘Have you asked your son if he wants to go to St Paul’s, Dr Stirling?’ asked Elisabeth.
He sighed and continued to tap his fingers on the desk. ‘James and I have discussed it,’ he replied, ‘and he sees the sense in what I have decided, that the move is in his best interests.’
‘I don’t think he does,’ said Elisabeth.
Dr Stirling bridled. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I said I don’t think James wants to move school.’
‘And how would you know that?’ he asked.
‘Because his friend, his only friend and the one he speaks to the most, told me so.’
‘This would be the young man who lives in the caravan with his grandfather?’
‘That’s right,’ she replied. ‘Danny seems to be the only one in the school James speaks to, and he confides in him.’
‘Look, Mrs Devine, I appreciate your interest—’ began the doctor.
‘No, Dr Stirling, I don’t think you appreciate my interest at all,’ she interrupted. ‘You are assuming, quite wrongly, that I am here to persuade you to let James stay at the school for my own selfish reasons, that I don’t wish to lose yet another pupil, particularly the son of the local GP who is influential in the village and a member of the governing body.’
‘As I told you, Mrs Devine,’ said the doctor, his jaw set firm, ‘it is my intention to resign from the governing body at the next meeting. I sympathise with your situation, but I repeat that I must do what I feel is right for my son.’ A small muscle jumped in his cheek.
‘If I thought James would be happier at another school,’ Elisabeth told him, ‘I would be the first to suggest it, because, believe it or not, I do have the child’s best interests at heart, as I have for all the children in my care. In my opinion, a move to another school, one to which he doesn’t wish to go, could set him back. Dr Stirling, your son has a problem that you seem unable to accept. I ask you—’
‘Mrs Devine,’ the doctor said, a slight tremble in his voice, ‘we have had this conversation before. As I see it, I am doing the best for my son. James is to start at St Paul’s in a couple of weeks and that is the end of the matter. Now please, please, let it rest.’
Elisabeth sat there for a moment looking at the sad, distressed figure who refused to meet her eyes and suddenly felt desperately sorry for the man. He had lost a wife he dearly loved and had a son with emotional problems; he was living a cheerless, empty life. If anyone was in need of a doctor’s help, it was the man sitting before her.
‘Very well, Dr Stirling,’ said Elisabeth softly. ‘Thank you for seeing me. As I said to you before, I genuinely hope that James will be happy in his new school.’
8
It was early Friday morning when Elisabeth, sitting opposite Mrs Scrimshaw in the school office, managed at long last to speak to Mr Nettles. When she mentioned that she had left several messages for him requesting that he call her back, he sounded dismissive.
‘Yes, yes, Mrs Devine, I do appreciate that you wished to speak to me but the first week of a new school term is always a very busy time and I have had many pressing matters to deal with.’
‘This is something of a pressing matter, Mr Nettles,’ she reminded him.
‘Well, what can I do for you?’ he asked.
‘There are quite a few things I would like to discuss,’ Elisabeth told him.
‘Well, we in the Education Office are here to help in any way we can,’ he replied in a patronising voice.
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ said Elisabeth, ‘because there are, as I am sure you are aware, a number of things in the school which need to change. I have had the opportunity of studying the inspectors’ report and it does not make very positive reading.’
‘No, it came as quite a shock to us at the Education Office,’ he replied.
‘One wonders,’ said Elisabeth, ‘why the problems were not picked up earlier.’
Mr Nettles was rather annoyed by the comment and the implied criticism.
‘You will understand, Mrs Devine,’ he said, defensively, ‘that there are a great number of schools in the county to deal with and we are a small staff here at the Education Office. Furthermore, the former head teacher was not the easiest person to get on with. She never attended any meetings and made it difficult to gain entry to the school.’
Elisabeth could have reminded him that education officers cannot be barred from visiting any school, that they have right of entry by law, but she said nothing. ‘I can assure you that this will not be the case with me. I welcome and indeed I would appreciate any help, support and advice you may wish to give.’
‘I am pleased to hear it, Mrs Devine,’ he said, somewhat mollified. ‘Now, how may I be of help?’
‘Has the Chairman of Governors been in touch with you?’ asked Elisabeth.
‘I did speak to Major Neville-Gravitas after the Education Sub-committee meeting earlier in the week,’ he told her.
‘So you are aware of the requirements that I set out in my letter to him. I sent a copy to the Education Office for your informatio
n. I hope you received it.’
‘Yes, yes, I did receive your letter.’ He remembered that he had put it at the bottom of the pile.
‘Then you will be aware of the refurbishments required and the equipment which I need, in particular new tables and chairs.’
‘I have considered your request regarding the tables, and the thing is, Mrs Devine, it might prove difficult, in the present economic climate, to meet it at present.’
‘Why is that?’ Elisabeth asked.
‘As you will no doubt be aware, we have to make savings, and expenditure of this nature needs to be budgeted for. Indeed, the Education Sub-committee meeting this week was to discuss the proposed savings. It will be lean times for us all, I am afraid.’
‘So other schools in the authority have to make do with desks which are old and unsuitable like the ones at this school, is that what you are saying, Mr Nettles?’ Elisabeth asked.
‘Miss Sowerbutts liked the old-fashioned desks,’ Mr Nettles told her.
‘So the major told me, and I told him I do not,’ said Elisabeth, ‘and neither did the school inspectors and the sooner they are replaced the better. Growing children should not be expected to sit at small, old, lidded desks. I am sure I don’t need to remind you that the inspectors also made comments about the need for some renovations in the school – to sort out the damp and replace the linoleum in the corridor – and the need for more up-to-date reading material.’
‘I have read the report, Mrs Devine,’ said Mr Nettles, ‘and these things take time and money.’
‘And while you are on the line,’ said Elisabeth, ‘perhaps you can explain to me why the teachers at this school are on temporary contracts?’
‘Ah, well, Miss Sowerbutts requested that, so she could be entirely sure they were suitable.’
‘Mr Nettles,’ said Elisabeth, getting increasingly irritated by the evasive answers, ‘Miss Sowerbutts is no longer the head teacher here, I am, and I would like the contracts made permanent. All the governors were unanimous at the meeting, which you were unable to attend, in supporting this.’
‘That too might prove a little tricky in these stringent economic times,’ the education officer told her.
The Little Village School Page 13