The Little Village School

by Gervase Phinn

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Malcolm never sees himself in the wrong. It is always someone else’s fault.’

  ‘He told me—’

  Elisabeth held up a hand and stopped the woman in her tracks. ‘One moment please, Mrs Stubbins. Now that you are here, and I have to say I am very pleased to see you, there are one or two things I have to say about your son. Malcolm can be a disruptive and a difficult boy, and what is more, he is lazy.’

  The woman looked dumbfounded. She opened her mouth to speak but fell silent.

  ‘He doesn’t like to work and will not apply himself,’ continued Elisabeth, ‘or do as he is told, and he disturbs the other children. His behaviour is unacceptable.’

  ‘Well, that’s not what he says,’ blustered the woman. ‘He says as how you’re always picking on him and you called him a liar.’

  ‘Mrs Stubbins, do you believe everything your son tells you?’ asked Elisabeth.

  The woman shifted in the desk, which creaked beneath her weight. ‘Not always, no, but I believe him when he says you pick on him and that he was attacked by a savage rodent. He could have got rabies or anything.’

  ‘It was a ferret,’ Elisabeth told her, ‘and if Malcolm had kept his hands out of another pupil’s bag he would not have been bitten.’

  ‘Well, that’s not what my Malcolm says,’ protested the woman in a sudden flush of anger.

  ‘Do you want your son to be a success in life, Mrs Stubbins?’ asked Elisabeth. ‘Do you hope he will get good results in his school examinations, secure a good job which he will enjoy doing, grow up into a polite, well-adjusted and caring young man and to be a credit to you?’

  ‘’Course I do, but he says you’re picking on him. Soon as you started here he says you’ve had it in for him.’

  ‘Yes, you have told me several times,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Well, I am telling you I am not in the habit of picking on children. I expect them to work hard and enjoy school but I also expect them to do as they are told and behave themselves. If they do not then they must face the consequences, like your son.’

  ‘He’s not happy here,’ said the boy’s mother, ‘not since you started. He says you won’t let him sit with his friends and you’re always picking on him. He liked it better in Miss Brakespeare’s class.’

  Elisabeth could have told the woman that he liked it better in Miss Brakespeare’s class because he was allowed to do as he pleased. She remained calm and motionless. ‘Well, as long as your son is in this school,’ she said, ‘he will behave himself.’

  ‘If that’s your attitude,’ replied Mrs Stubbins, ‘I don’t think he will be staying in the school for much longer.’ She smoothed the eyebrow again and creaked in the desk. ‘I thought I’d speak to you first and see what you have to say, but I can’t say as how I’m pleased with what I’ve just heard. You’ve done nothing but criticise my Malcolm since I sat down. So, I’ve decided to move him. Tomorrow I shall go and see Mr Richardson, the headmaster at Urebank, and get a place for my Malcolm at his school. Quite a lot of parents have sent their kids there, as you well know, and I don’t doubt there’ll be others following. I’ve heard that Dr Stirling for one has taken his son away, so he can’t be happy with the way things are going here no more than I can. I thought I’d wait and see how things went on with a new head teacher because I never particularly liked the last one, but I’ve not been happy with the way you’ve treated my Malcolm, picking on him and all.’

  Over the years Elisabeth had learnt, when dealing with antagonistic parents, the simple technique of staring until he or she became silent. It was a powerful method of overcoming opposition.

  If the woman expected her to be placatory and ask her to reconsider, to plead with her to keep her son at the school, she was very much mistaken.

  ‘Then there is nothing more to say, Mrs Stubbins,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘I hope that Malcolm settles at his new school and that no one picks on him there.’ The hint of sarcasm in the tone of her reply was not lost on Mrs Stubbins, who, with a stony expression on her round red face, eased herself out of the desk and left the classroom, brushing past Mrs Scrimshaw on her way out.

  ‘That woman,’ said the school secretary. ‘You can see where her Malcolm gets his bad manners from. Talk about rude.’

  ‘What is it, Mrs Scrimshaw?’ asked Elisabeth, sighing. ‘Not another problem, I hope.’

  ‘Chardonnay’s mother’s just phoned,’ said the school secretary, ‘Her daughter’s got nits.’

  Elisabeth sat in the school office on Friday afternoon when all the children had gone home, catching up on paperwork. The last week had been a long and dispiriting one. On the positive side, the children in her class had been attentive and interested and had produced some very good work, and she was getting on with her colleagues, but such positives were overshadowed by other thoughts that continued to prey on her mind. There had been the fight, of course, and the difficult interview with the angry parent, and there was the niggling feeling that there was far more to the prevarications from Mr Nettles about the new equipment and the teachers’ contracts. Mrs Scrimshaw’s observation that there was more to this than met the eye kept recurring in her mind.

  Malcolm Stubbins had been particularly well-behaved that day and had said very little, but Mrs Robertshaw had overheard him in the playground at morning break, announcing gleefully to anyone who would listen that he wouldn’t be picking up any litter or doing any other jobs for the head teacher the following week because he was moving to another school on Monday. He had been somewhat deflated when his revelation had been greeted with cheers from the other pupils. The information that the boy would be leaving had delighted Miss Brakespeare, of course, but not Elisabeth. She was saddened that a parent should wish to send her child to another school, for she knew that with a little more time and a firm hand the boy’s behaviour would improve. She had come across Malcolms before; children who had no strong father figure to guide them, who got their own way at home and were indulged by their mothers, boys poor at their schoolwork and disliked by the other children. Elisabeth guessed that beneath Malcolm’s bluster and impudence there was a boy who needed help.

  9

  The telephone rang.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Mrs Devine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is Robin Richardson here,’ came a cheerful voice down the line. ‘I’m the headmaster at Urebank Primary School in the next village. I thought I might catch you before you departed for the weekend.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Richardson,’ replied Elisabeth.

  ‘I just thought I’d give you a call to see how you are settling in.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I’m settling in really well, thank you.’

  ‘Good, good. I know it must be a little daunting taking the helm at a new school, so please don’t hesitate to call upon me if I can give any help or advice. I’ve been headmaster here now for three years and, even if I say so myself, I run a pretty tight ship and have a lot of useful contacts in the Education Department. I should be only too happy to give you a few tips on how to handle difficult governors and demanding parents and those visiting school inspectors who bedevil our lives. Speaking of inspectors, I guess after their critical report at Barton there is much to do.’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ replied Elisabeth. She didn’t like the sound of this condescending man.

  ‘Of course, you will discover that being a head teacher is very different from being deputy head. It is a lonely, demanding and often frustrating job that we do and the buck always stops with us. I always say that if a school is attacked, it’s the head teacher who bleeds.’ He chuckled at his own witticism. ‘Where were you deputy head teacher then?’

  ‘I wasn’t a deputy head teacher,’ Elisabeth told him. ‘I was head teacher at a large inner city school prior to moving here.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ he replied, rather taken aback. ‘You were a head tea
cher then?’

  ‘Yes, I was the head teacher there for four years,’ Elisabeth told him.

  ‘This will be something of a change for you, then.’

  ‘Yes, it will be something of a change,’ Elisabeth replied, ‘but I am enjoying it so far.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Mr Richardson.

  ‘So, I have a pretty good idea how to handle governors and parents and those at the Education Office,’ she told him amiably. ‘But thank you all the same for the offer.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said. The arrogance had disappeared from his voice. ‘I did read the report,’ he said, ‘and I must say that the leadership and management at the school came in for heavy criticism. Your predecessor, I gather, was extremely angry.’

  ‘Yes, I believe so.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Sowerbutts was of a different age,’ he continued. ‘I don’t wish to speak out of turn, but she harked back to a golden age when bobbies walked the beat, people stood up for the national anthem and children did as they were told. Of course, she could be very difficult at times, rather remote and unapproachable and not the most accommodating of people. She never attended head teacher meetings or went on courses. I have to admit our relationship was rather strained. Some would say she was a rather autistic character, cool and distant and subject to quite angry outbursts.’

  ‘Mr Richardson,’ said Elisabeth, her hand tightening on the receiver, ‘in my experience autism does not mean cool and distant, and not all autistic people are subject to angry outbursts. It is a condition with a wide spectrum. No two autistic people are alike. In my experience they can be warm and affectionate and most accommodating.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course they can,’ he said quickly. Mr Richardson was not a man who liked to be put in his place, and his voice betrayed his irritation. ‘I was using the term in a generic sense.’ There was a silence. ‘Actually, while I’m on the phone, Mrs Devine, I would like to have a word with you about another matter.’

  I guessed as much, thought Elisabeth. ‘Is it about Malcolm Stubbins?’ she asked, knowing full well that it was.

  ‘As a matter of fact it is,’ he replied. ‘I have had a request from his mother. She wants her son to come to my school here at Urebank. Mrs Stubbins came to see me yesterday and wishes young Malcolm to start on Monday.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elisabeth, ‘she mentioned that she was hoping to send him to your school.’

  ‘I gather she had something of a difference with you. I didn’t go into all the ins and outs of why she wants to move the boy,’ said Mr Richardson, ‘but it appears that she feels her son will be better suited at my school.’

  ‘I think she may be right,’ replied Elisabeth.

  ‘Really?’ He was clearly startled by that response.

  ‘I think you might possibly be able to cater for Malcolm’s needs better than we can,’ she told him. ‘Maybe a fresh start will be good for him.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Richardson. ‘We will, of course, do the very best for him.’ There was another moment’s silence. ‘I have to admit, Mrs Devine, that I find the situation of these departures of children from your school somewhat embarrassing. I want to assure you that in no way do I encourage it. This is the tenth pupil who has come to my school from Barton over the last year. I am sure it must be quite distressing for you and your teachers losing so many children.’ She could visualise the smug face at the other end of the line. ‘Yes indeed, it must be quite upsetting.’

  ‘I’m disappointed, of course, Mr Richardson,’ replied Elisabeth with forced cheerfulness in her voice, ‘but once I’ve established myself and got things moving in the right direction here, I hope to stem the flow. One has to accept that parents have the right to send their children to another school if they so wish.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said the headmaster. ‘I have to admit that I don’t particularly like it myself, but that is the situation we are in. It’s the world of parent-power. I try to dissuade them when they come to me wanting to move their children to my school, but if they are insistent what can I do?’

  You can start by not putting advertisements in the local paper advertising your school, Elisabeth thought to herself, recalling her conversation with Mrs Robertshaw.

  ‘Are you still there?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m still here.’

  ‘I was just saying that if a parent wishes to move a child from one school to another there is little one can do about it.’

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ agreed Elisabeth.

  ‘Exactly so,’ he replied. ‘I just thought as a courtesy I would let you know.’

  ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Mr Richardson,’ Elisabeth told him.

  He appeared oblivious of the sarcasm in her voice and cleared his throat. ‘I suppose if your numbers decrease any more the Education Committee will have to consider whether or not it is viable to keep the school open. I do so hope that they don’t decide to close Barton.’ When Elisabeth didn’t reply, he continued. ‘I don’t suppose you have heard anything?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ replied Elisabeth.

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ the headmaster remarked unconvincingly. ‘It’s just that I have heard rumours. Probably nothing to get too concerned about. Well, it’s been good talking to you, Mrs Devine. Do come and have a look around my school if you have the time. We’ve got quite a few exciting things going on here at the moment. By the way, Mrs Stubbins tells me young Malcolm is a very good footballer.’

  ‘Amongst other things,’ said Elisabeth.

  She thumped down the receiver. Odious man, she thought, with his ‘my school this’ and ‘my school that’. Mrs Robertshaw was quite right about him. Elisabeth stared out of the office window for a moment. So that was that why the Chairman of Governors and the education officer had been so evasive about expending money on the equipment, and the reason for the temporary contracts. That was why Mr Nettles was eager not to have a governors’ meeting early in the term. They were intent on closing the school. They’d probably known that when they had appointed her. She could feel the blood rising to her face. Well, if that was their intention they had another think coming. She would fight them all the way.

  Walking back to her classroom Elisabeth was surprised to see the deputy head teacher still at her desk.

  ‘Friday afternoon and you’re still here?’ she said.

  ‘I just wanted to finish off a bit of work,’ replied Miss Brakespeare. ‘The material you gave me on the Vikings to try with the children went down a treat and I’ve got some lovely writing. Oh, and those new books for the classroom library are very welcome.’

  ‘You seem very happy in your work.’

  ‘I am,’ replied Miss Brakespeare. ‘It’s been so much easier with the smaller class and the children are better behaved without a certain unruly element to distract them. I wish Malcolm Stubbins’ mother had moved her son to another school before now. He was such a thorn in my side was that boy, always answering back and refusing to do his work. I didn’t tell you, but when the inspectors were in school he was determined to be difficult.’

  ‘I thought he was away during the week of inspection,’ said Elisabeth innocently, recalling what Chardonnay had told her.

  ‘No, no, he came in,’ said Miss Brakespeare. ‘I prayed he wouldn’t but he showed up as cheeky and disruptive as ever. When he was asked by one of the inspectors, a very frightening-looking man in a black suit called Mr Steel, what he was doing he told him to “Bugger off!”’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Elisabeth shaking her head.

  ‘He was outside Miss Sowerbutts’ room for the rest of the day. So good riddance to the boy, I say. The school will be a lot better off without him.’

  ‘I reckon with a bit more time we could have sorted that young man out and got him to behave himself,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘I will be interested to learn how the teachers at Urebank cope with him,’ said Miss Brakespeare, a smug smile on her lips. ‘I freely admit I found him ve
ry difficult. I dreaded coming into school some days. And I can’t say that Miss Sowerbutts was that much help in that direction.’

  It was the first time Elisabeth had heard her colleague speak critically of the former head teacher and it had quite a cheering effect. When she had started at the school she had prepared herself for Miss Brakespeare and the staff to constantly remind her that the former head teacher used to do things in a certain way and that they would be resistant to change. She had assumed wrongly, for her predecessor was rarely mentioned, and if she was it was never in a particularly favourable light. Furthermore, the staff had embraced the changes willingly.

  ‘Miss Sowerbutts often used to make the Stubbins boy stand outside her door when he misbehaved,’ continued Miss Brakespeare, ‘which he was quite happy doing because he got out of doing any work. He could also be very insolent when he spoke to her. Once he wrote something extremely rude in spray paint on the back wall of the school which took Mr Gribbon a full morning to remove. Of course the boy denied it and it couldn’t be proved, but I knew it was him because the other boys in the class could spell “bitch”.’

  Elisabeth gave a small smile. ‘Well, let us hope no more parents decide to take their children away.’

  ‘They won’t,’ said Miss Brakespeare. She touched Elisabeth’s arm. ‘You know, Mrs Devine, you’ve made a great difference to the school in the short time you’ve been here. It’s a happier place. The children are happier now and the staff are too. You’ve been a tonic.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Elisabeth said. She could feel tears pricking her eyes. ‘After a long dispiriting day I can really do with that encouragement.’ She thought for moment. ‘I think they want to close the school.’

  ‘Close the school,’ Miss Brakespeare repeated. ‘Stuff and nonsense! They’ve been talking about closing the school for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘I have an idea that they are serious about it this time,’ Elisabeth told her. ‘I’ve just had Mr Richardson from Urebank on the phone and he certainly gave me the impression that the Education Committee is keen on the idea. I think he knows more than he was letting on.’