‘Track record? What track record would that be?’ Elisabeth asked, feigning ignorance.
‘What he was like,’ said Mr Richardson. ‘I am sure that the Stubbins boy was as big a nuisance when he was with you as he is with us. You gave me no indication that he was a particularly difficult and disruptive individual.’
‘You never asked,’ replied Elisabeth.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Mr Richardson, you never asked about Malcolm Stubbins or why his mother wished to move him. You merely told me that Mrs Stubbins had been to see you and that you were intending to admit her son to your school. You pointed out, as I recall, that his mother didn’t go into all the ins and outs of the situation as to why she wanted to move the boy, just that she felt her son would be better suited at your school.’
‘Indeed,’ he said, trying to keep control of his obvious anger, ‘but had I known how rude and uncooperative and unruly he is, I should not have considered letting him come here. He has had a dire effect on my school and I have teachers and parents complaining about his behaviour. Why, only yesterday he got into a fight with another boy and last week he was insolent to his form teacher. I also have an idea it was this boy who stole some dinner money from the school office when the secretary was at lunch, and wrote some particularly obscene words on the wall in the boys’ toilets. I had the devil’s own job calming one of my dinner ladies down when he appeared in the dining room wearing a condom on his head. Yes, indeed, a condom! The boy is completely unmanageable and I do not intend to have him here any longer.’
‘You also said, Mr Richardson,’ said Elisabeth, ‘that if a parent comes to you wanting to move his or her child and is insistent, then there is nothing you nor I can do about it.’
Mr Richardson decided not to respond to that comment. ‘Mrs Devine, I am asking you to take this boy back. I should like to send for his mother and inform her that I feel he is better suited to return to Barton.’ He waited for a response but Elisabeth intentionally remained silent. ‘After all,’ the speaker continued, ‘he is in your catchment area and should by rights attend your school.’
‘Like the other children who live in the village but who attend Urebank,’ replied Elisabeth. She felt like telling him that already several parents were intending to move their children back to Barton, but she thought it judicious not to do so. He would soon find out.
There was a silence. ‘So I take it you will not have the boy back?’ he asked.
‘If Malcolm’s mother wants him to attend your school rather than mine, Mr Richardson, then there is really nothing I can do.’
‘You could have a word with his mother and tell her it would be for the best if her son returns to you.’
‘No, I don’t think that is a very good idea, Mr Richardson,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I think it is up to you to speak to her.’
‘I see,’ he said sharply. ‘Well, I shall not be letting this matter rest and shall be contacting the Education Office.’ He thumped down the phone.
Mrs Scrimshaw, who had been listening intently to this exchange, put down the papers she had been stapling together and pulled a face. ‘My goodness, Mrs Devine, you certainly told him where to go.’
‘Have you ever come across the word Schadenfreude, Mrs Scrimshaw?’ Elisabeth asked the school secretary.
Elisabeth was feeling in particularly high spirits that day. Prior to Mr Richardson’s telephone call she had shown two sets of parents around the school and been assured by them that their children would be starting there the following week. The reputation of Barton-in-the-Dale had increased so greatly over the relatively short time since she had taken on the headship that a growing number of parents of children from outside the catchment area were enquiring about sending their sons and daughters to the school. Elisabeth had not informed Mr Richardson, but only that morning she had received two letters from parents who had sent their children to Urebank and now requested that they return. For Elisabeth it was a clear vindication of all the things she had done, and she felt a great sense of pride and achievement.
One very weepy and garrulous mother had made an appointment to see her and begged Elisabeth to take her son back, sniffing and tweaking at her ring anxiously as she sat in the school entrance.
‘Mrs Devine,’ she said plaintively, ‘do please let him return. Jason has never settled at the other school. I wish I’d never taken him away. He didn’t like it here when the former head teacher, Miss Sowerbutts, was in charge. Frightened to death of her he was. I put his bed-wetting and his nail-biting and his nervous rash down to his unhappiness.’
‘Mrs Moss—’ Elisabeth began, intending to tell the mother that she would be delighted to have the boy back, but the woman continued to gabble on regardless.
‘I thought Jason would be happier at Urebank and when other parents started moving their kiddies, I did the same. I regret it now. Everyone you speak to says the school is really good now.’
‘Mrs Moss—’ Elisabeth tried again but to no avail.
‘But Jason doesn’t like Urebank any more than he did when he was here. Cries himself to sleep he does and then his rash has erupted and his bed-wetting got out of control. I’m at my wits’ end. I did go into the school but got nowhere with the head teacher, who was very offhand and didn’t want to know and then when Jason came home with a cut lip—’
‘Of course he can come back,’ interrupted Elisabeth. ‘I should be delighted to see Jason next Monday. You just need to inform Urebank of your intentions.’ As she said it Elisabeth tried to picture the face of Mr Richardson when he was informed.
‘Oh, Mrs Devine,’ sighed the parent, beginning to sniffle, ‘thank you.’
As she toured the bright, orderly building now and went into classes where the children were working purposefully and looked clearly happy, she felt a genuine pride. The school was flourishing, numbers were increasing and the haemorrhaging of children to Urebank had been staunched. All this was ammunition that she needed for the governors’ meeting that evening, when she would raise the question of the school’s future.
The three conspirators met in conclave in the corner of the Blacksmith’s Arms, prior to the meeting of the governing body.
‘I think it might be best, major,’ said Mr Nettles, ‘if you let me take the lead when we come to the first item on the agenda, about the school closure. I am fully conversant with the various procedures and processes for closing a school, and the meeting, in my experience, could be a little controversial.’
‘Oh, I think not, Mr Nettles,’ remarked Councillor Smout, draining his pint glass. ‘As I was sayin’ to you t’last time we were in ’ere, I don’t think there’ll be that much opposition. ’Owever, we need to tread carefully.’
‘I wish I could be as confident, councillor,’ observed the education officer smugly before taking a sip of his slimline tonic. ‘In my experience these meetings can be quite heated.’ Mr Nettles, in fact, had no experience in the closure of a school but his two companions were not to know that. The education officer, who had only recently moved from school transport, where he had been less than successful, was a man, despite his lack of experience in educational matters and his limited ability, supremely confident in his own talents. The fact that he had few abilities and little talent, save the ones of pushing himself forward and ingratiating himself with those who mattered, did not deter him from telling all who would listen that he was well versed in every aspect of the educational system. He was a self-satisfied and ambitious man and looked with greedy eyes to the time when he would be the Director of Education and occupy the large mahogany desk at County Hall.
‘Look, Mr Nettles,’ said Councillor Smout, ‘let’s be clear about this. T’school is small by any standards, it’s losing pupils ’and-over-fist, includin’ Dr Stirling’s lad, and ’im a governor as well, and this new ’ead teacher ’as, from what I can gather, caused a lot of waves in t’village, upsetting t’locals. And, I might add, she’s also got on t’wrong side of oth
er ’ead teachers. I’ve ’ad a call only today from Mr Richardson at Urebank about some spat ’e’s ’ad with ’er. I can’t see that there’ll be that much of a problem when we tell ’em what we ’ave in mind. Mebbe there’ll be some resistance from t’vicar but ’e’s such a weak and watery individual, ’is opinion won’t count for much. Mrs Pocock’s complained about t’teaching of ’er son more times than I’ve ’ad ’ot dinners, so she won’t kick up a fuss, and as for Mrs Bullock, well, she hardly ’ears owt what’s said and will agree wi’ owt we say. I don’t expect Dr Stirling will show ’is face now that ’is lad’s at t’other school, so I can’t see as ’ow there’ll be all that much controversy.’
‘And then there’s the critical school report,’ added the major. ‘We shouldn’t forget that.’
‘I mean,’ said Councillor Smout, ‘everyone comes out of this smelling of roses as far as I can see. Miss Brakespeare gets early retirement, a lump sum and a pension, t’school can be sold off and t’field at t’back used for a much-needed ’ousing development and bringin’ in a tidy sum to t’authority to boot, and we can easily deploy Mrs Devine to another school, p’rhaps not as an ’ead teacher but on a protected salary. I can’t see as ’ow she’ll be all that bothered.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ ventured the major. ‘I think you underestimate Mrs Devine. She is quite a formidable character and might not take too kindly to having the school close, particularly when she’s only just been appointed. She is a strong-minded woman and may put up quite a fight. It did seem to me to be a little unethical to appoint her when we had every intention of closing the school.’
‘Major,’ said the education officer, smiling like a wide-mouthed frog, ‘it was not finally decided until the Education Sub-committee met, so I don’t think we need to worry on that score.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said the major, ‘I don’t think she will take kindly to the idea.’
‘I have dealt with strong-minded head teachers before,’ said Mr Nettles, a confident smile on his face. ‘I think I can manage Mrs Devine.’
Elisabeth was waiting to greet the governors on their arrival for the meeting. When the members of the board had gathered in the entrance hall, she invited them to join her on a tour of the school to see what changes she had effected.
‘I see that you have reinstated the plaque,’ observed the major, staring at the large brass tablet in a prominent position in the entrance.
‘Lady Wadsworth was very keen to have it restored to its former place,’ Elisabeth told him, ‘and I was only too happy to oblige.’
‘You are acquainted with Lady Wadsworth then?’ remarked the major, raising an eyebrow.
‘She is a neighbour of mine,’ Elisabeth told him. ‘She called in to the school to have a look around. Do you have any problem with the plaque being displayed again? Perhaps I should have informed you.’
‘No, no,’ said the major quickly, ‘not at all. In fact, I was somewhat upset when Miss Sowerbutts refused to put it back.’ He wondered just how Lady Wadsworth would react when the plaque was removed again with the closure of the school. She had complained vociferously to him when Miss Sowerbutts had removed it but he had failed in persuading the head teacher to restore it.
Dr Stirling arrived. ‘I’m sorry I am late,’ he apologised to Elisabeth, ‘I had a call-out.’
‘Dr Stirling,’ said Councillor Smout, looking startled. ‘I’m surprised to see you ’ere.’
‘And why is that, councillor?’ he was asked.
‘Well, I understood that you ’ave taken your son away from t’school and under those circumstances, I thought that—’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ enquired the doctor. ‘James is still here and very happy.’
‘I see,’ said the councillor, giving the major and Mr Nettles a knowing look.
‘Shall we proceed?’ asked Elisabeth.
One could not fail to be impressed by the changes that had taken place in the school. The building was immaculate: clean, bright walls, highly polished floors and displays of work well mounted. Children’s paintings and poems, posters, pictures and book jackets covered every available space. Shelves held attractive books, tables were covered in shells, models, photographs and little artefacts, and there were coloured drapes at the windows.
‘Very impressive,’ said the major, in a somewhat subdued tone of voice. He could see that there would be problems ahead.
‘Yes indeed,’ murmured Councillor Smout, thinking to himself that he had been perhaps rather premature in assuming that the matter of the school closure would be plain sailing.
‘And what about you, Mr Nettles?’ asked Elisabeth. The education officer had remained silent, but, having seen the remarkable changes, shared his colleagues’ opinions that closing the school would not be such an easy task as he had imagined.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I hope it meets with your approval,’ said Elisabeth.
‘Yes, yes,’ he replied unenthusiastically. ‘Very nice.’
‘Nice!’ repeated Dr Stirling. ‘That’s something of an understatement, isn’t it? The change in the school is quite extraordinary.’
‘It’s fantastic,’ said Mrs Pocock. ‘I’ve never see the place look so lovely.’ She pointed to a large painting of a rural scene displayed to good effect on the wall at the end of the corridor. ‘That’s my Ernest’s,’ she said proudly to Mrs Bullock. ‘He’s very artificated you know.’
‘He’s what?’
‘He’s very good at painting.’
‘What needs painting?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ sighed Mrs Pocock, rolling her eyes.
‘You are to be congratulated, Mrs Devine,’ enthused the vicar, rubbing together his long hands. ‘Quite a remarkable transformation. The school looks wonderful.’
‘What is needed now, major,’ Elisabeth explained, directing her attention to the Chairman of Governors, ‘is a new set of tables for each classroom to replace these ancient desks and maybe a carpet down the corridor to reduce the noise and make it more homely. This linoleum has just about had its day.’ She pointed upwards. ‘These damp patches need seeing to as well. I would also like to have a small library in the dark corner by the toilets, with better lighting so that the children can read books there, and perhaps a wild garden and a pond at the rear of the school.’
The major glanced at Mr Nettles. The education officer gave a weak smile but said nothing.
The first topic for consideration on the agenda and one sent from the Education Department was of course the proposed closure of the school. The item was couched in the rather ambiguous phrase of ‘The future of the school’. Elisabeth had a shrewd idea what this meant and was determined to pre-empt any discussion about proposed closure. She therefore deliberately misinterpreted it.
‘I’m delighted to see this as the first item on the agenda,’ she said in an ingenuous voice. ‘In preparation I have put together for the governors my first report on the changes I have made and a detailed outline of my short- and long-term development plans. I think the future of the school is looking very bright.’
The major stroked his moustache. ‘I … er … thank you for that, Mrs Devine,’ he said. He looked towards the education officer. ‘I believe Mr Nettles has something to say on this matter.’
There was no complacent look on the education officer’s face now. He gave a small cough. ‘The thing is, Mrs Devine, the Local Education Authority, of which I am merely the mouthpiece, is of the opinion that we should consider the future of the school.’
‘Well, I agree with Mrs Devine,’ piped up Mrs Pocock. ‘That lino in the corridor is disgusting and them damp patches on the ceiling have been there for as long as I can remember. Them old desks need replacing as well. My Ernest can’t get his legs under. He’s a big lad and comes home with splinters in his knees.’
‘It’s not a question of replacing desks,’ said Mr Nettles. ‘It is a much wider scenario.’
‘Excus
e me,’ said Mrs Pocock mulishly, ‘but you don’t have to sit under them. I bet your desk at the Education Office isn’t something what came out of the Ark and you can get your legs under.’
Mr Nettles exhaled loudly. He appealed to the major, ‘Mr Chairman, if I might be allowed to proceed. As I have just said, this is not a question of refurbishment and the replacement of furniture. The future of the school is of a much broader nature.’
‘In what way?’ asked the vicar.
‘The Education Sub-committee is of the opinion that we need to consider the viability of the school.’
‘Viability? May I ask exactly what that means?’ asked Dr Stirling.
‘As you are well aware, doctor, the school is losing pupils,’ began Mr Nettles, ‘and—’
‘If I might come in here,’ said Elisabeth, ‘the school is no longer losing pupils. In fact it is quite the reverse. The parents of two children who live in Gartside, which is out of this catchment area, have decided to send their two daughters here and a new family has moved into the village and the three children will start next week. In addition a former pupil of the school, who moved to Urebank, will be joining them. I should tell you also that I have had a number of enquiries from interested parents wishing to look around the school, so I think the numbers are looking very healthy and will increase.’
‘Really,’ said the vicar rubbing his long hands. ‘That is excellent news.’
‘That’s as may be, Mrs Devine,’ said the education officer, getting rather hot under his collar, ‘but it is a fact that the school has been losing pupils and—’
‘But as I have just explained, Mr Nettles,’ said Elisabeth, ‘not any more.’
The education officer looked to the major. ‘Mr Chairman,’ he said, irritated by the interruptions, ‘if I might be allowed to finish. Barton-in-the-Dale is just one of the many small schools in the county which possibly might close.’
‘Close!’ exclaimed the vicar.
‘Nonsense!’ added Mrs Pocock.
‘Perhaps I might ask Councillor Smout to come in here,’ said Mr Nettles. ‘He is a member of the Education Sub-committee and can acquaint you with the situation better than I.’
The Little Village School Page 23