‘This is Mrs Devine,’ said Mr Nettles, ushering the Director of Education in the direction of the head teacher.
Mr Preston gave a most disarming smile and pressed Elisabeth’s hand warmly. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Mrs Devine,’ he said. ‘It is a great pity that we have to meet under these circumstances.’ He then turned his attention to the major. ‘I felt, Mr Chairman, that it would be appropriate if I came to the meeting myself.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ replied the major.
‘I am very pleased to see you, Mr Preston,’ Elisabeth told the Director of Education. ‘Perhaps after the meeting you might care to look around the school?’
‘Maybe another time, Mrs Devine,’ he said. He smiled like a hungry vampire ready to sink his teeth into a neck. ‘I have another meeting later which demands my attendance and I must be away.’ He glanced at his expensive wristwatch. ‘I think we are about ready to start, are we not?’
The Chairman of Governors mumbled a few words of introduction to a stony- faced hall of people and then retreated to the side, relieved to be out of the firing line.
‘Good evening,’ said the Director of Education. He stared down at the sea of grim faces before him. It did not deter him, so confident was he in his powers of persuasion. ‘I am so pleased to see that so many of you have been able to make it this afternoon.’
There were a few mumbles and mutters in response.
‘I should like to say at the outset,’ he continued, ‘that it is important for me to hear what you have to say. This is a consultative meeting in which you will have the opportunity of asking questions and giving your views. But first of all I need to explain what the Education Department’s overall plan is for the future of the service. I wish to stress that nothing has been decided about the future of this school or any other in the authority. It is being considered, no more. It is a hard fact that the authority has to tighten its belt and make drastic savings, and one of the ways is to close some of the smaller and least viable establishments. It is very regrettable that we have to do this, but we do have to reduce our spending. The Education Sub-committee has identified a number of small schools, Barton-in-the-Dale being one, which we might consider closing.’
There were grumbles and inaudible comments from the assembly.
‘Let me be perfectly clear about this and repeat that nothing has been decided yet and that we are still looking at all options.’
There followed a series of testimonials. Mr Atticus stressed the positive changes that had taken place since the beginning of term, and pointed out how all in the village were massively supportive of the head teacher. Mrs Pocock and a number of other parents spoke of their satisfaction with the education provided. Then a small voice came from amongst the gathering.
‘Could I say a few words?’ asked Oscar. He stood up and with all the confidence of a seasoned orator delivered his opinion.
‘A great many people have said a lot of things,’ he began. ‘Well, I am a pupil here and I want to say it’s a first-rate school with good teachers and an excellent head teacher. I can’t say that I particularly enjoyed my time here very much before but I really do now and hope that it will remain open. That really is all I wished to say.’ He sat down to loud applause.
‘He should be at home doing his homework,’ remarked Mrs Sloughthwaite to her neighbour. ‘He could audition for the part of Little Lord Fauntleroy could that one.’
Mrs Pocock pulled a face. ‘Too much to say for himself that young man,’ she said.
‘He’ll either end up in prison or running the country,’ observed the shopkeeper.
The meeting proved to be less heated and noisy than Elisabeth had expected. This was as a result of the adept handling of his audience by the Director of Education. He had reached this elevated position in the education hierarchy with reason. He was a clever and articulate man who could read his audiences like a book. He had reiterated that no decision had been made yet, that he would consider all representations carefully, and that he would look at other options. He was a man practised at pouring oil on troubled waters.
The Director of Education thanked Elisabeth as she walked with him to the door and apologised for not being able to stay any longer. She placed a red folder in his hand. ‘You might wish to read my plans for the development of the school,’ she said, ‘and the most recent report from Her Majesty’s Inspector, who recently made a return visit.’
Mr Preston looked Elisabeth full in the face, not with a smile but with an intense gaze. ‘Thank you, Mrs Devine,’ he said. ‘I shall read it with great interest.’
15
It was eight o’clock when Dr Stirling knocked on the cottage door later that evening.
‘Oh, hello,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I thought I had better come and explain why I wasn’t at the meeting,’ he said.
‘Come in.’
‘You might have heard already from Mr Stainthorpe what happened.’
‘No,’ replied Elisabeth. ‘I’ve just got in myself and I haven’t seen him. Come through.’ She led her visitor into the small sitting room and gestured to a chair for him to sit down.
‘I was called out on a rather grisly emergency,’ Dr Stirling explained, sitting down and taking a deep breath. His face looked deathly pale. ‘I still feel quite queasy, to be honest.’
‘Would you like a drink?’
‘A brandy would be good,’ he said.
Elisabeth poured him a large brandy and sat opposite him. ‘So, what happened?’ she asked.
Dr Stirling took a sip and began to talk.
Fred Massey, having attached the sugar-beet cutter to his ancient tractor, had proceeded to feed in the edible roots down the long funnel for them to be mashed for cattle feed. At the foot of the machine was an auger, a corkscrew-like rod that pulped the sugar-beet as a sausage grinder might chop up meat. Such being the considerable age of the machine and its unpredictability, the beet frequently got stuck and required encouragement to go down the funnel. Mr Massey, rather than using a piece of wood as any sensible person would do, had used his foot, which descended into the machine to be pulverised with the sugar-beet. Fortunately the tractor was old too and the engine immediately cut out, but the farmer had got stuck and was in agonising pain.
It was fortunate that Les Stainthorpe had been in hearing distance of the man’s screams and was able to go to his assistance. The emergency services and Dr Stirling had been called and the fire crew had cut the farmer out. Dr Stirling, used to dealing with mumps and chicken-pox and the minor ailments of the villagers, had never had to deal with such a horrific accident and at the sight of the mangled foot had been promptly sick.
‘And how is Mr Massey?’ asked Elisabeth now.
‘He’s a very lucky man. If Mr Stainthorpe hadn’t heard him shouting for help he could very well have bled to death. He saved his life. Unfortunately I think that Mr Massey might lose part of his foot, but it could have been a whole lot worse. One sometimes wonders at the stupidity of people. Fancy pushing your foot into a machine.’
‘It must have been terrible for the man,’ said Elisabeth. ‘What an ordeal.’
‘Had it not been for the quick thinking of Mr Stainthorpe and the way he kept calm and stayed with Mr Massey, the man could very well have died of shock. He sent young Danny to phone for an ambulance and to fetch me. He’s a good lad is Danny.’
‘He is,’ agreed Elisabeth. ‘I’ve come across many children in my job and he’s one of those frank, good-natured and helpful children all teachers like to have in their class.’ Then she added, ‘And he’s a good friend for James.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ he admitted. ‘Anyway, how did the meeting go?’
When he had heard Elisabeth’s account, Dr Stirling nodded. ‘It sounds rather more optimistic, from what you’ve said. At least they are listening, and the strength of the reaction must mean they will now reconsider.’
‘I think they listened,’ Elisabeth told him, ‘but I would be sur
prised if the meeting meant that they will reconsider. The battle’s not won yet by any means. The Director of Education was very plausible and charming and reassuring and all that, but I pride myself on being a pretty good judge of character on first meeting someone and I think he’s as slippery as an eel.’
‘A good judge of character,’ the doctor repeated. ‘I’m a terrible judge of character – but you know that anyway.’ He thought for a moment, looking at the woman whom he had come to like and respect … and more. ‘I wonder how you judged me at our first meeting?’
Elisabeth smiled. ‘I sometimes get it wrong,’ she replied.
‘I think the fault was with me, to be honest,’ he said. ‘I’m not that good with words.’
‘I thought you did very well when you took the sex education lesson.’
‘Ah, well, I was on my own ground then,’ he told her. His face suddenly became flushed. ‘I didn’t mean I’m an expert on sex but on medical matters relating to sex. You know what I mean.’
Elisabeth threw back her head and covered her mouth, snorting and spluttering. ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried, weeping with laughter.
‘Was it that funny?’
She nodded, still laughing uncontrollably.
He began laughing too.
They were interrupted by a loud knocking at the cottage door.
‘I’ve never been so popular,’ Elisabeth said, getting up and wiping her eyes.
‘It will probably be Mr Stainthorpe,’ said the doctor, ‘coming to tell you what happened.’
It was not Les Stainthorpe. It was his grandson. He stood on the step, clearly upset.
‘Whatever is it, Danny?’ asked Elisabeth.
‘It’s … it’s mi granddad,’ the boy stammered, ‘’e’s been taken badly. ’E’s really poorly, miss.’ He gripped Elisabeth’s arm. ‘Please, Mrs Devine, will you come and look at him and will you phone the doctor?’
‘Dr Stirling’s here,’ she told the boy. ‘Come along, we’ll go and see your grandfather, and don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be all right.’
Later that evening, after Danny’s grandfather had been taken to hospital and the boy was tucked up in bed in the spare room at the cottage, Elisabeth sat down with Dr Stirling. She rested her head on the back of the chair and sighed.
‘What a day,’ she said.
‘You can say that again,’ he replied.
‘I think it’s me who needs the brandy now. Will Mr Stainthorpe be all right?’ she asked.
Dr Stirling thought for a moment. ‘I can’t really say. He was doubled up with pain in the ambulance. It could be anything, but it doesn’t look all that good.’
‘Oh dear. Do you think it might be serious?’
‘As I said, I can’t say exactly, but from what the registrar said at the hospital, Mr Stainthorpe is a very sick man. We’ll know more when he’s had the tests. I’ll call in at the hospital tomorrow and see how he’s getting on. He’s as stubborn as a mule is Mr Stainthorpe, and not one to go to the doctor if he feels ill. I have a feeling he’s known for some time that he’s not well.’
‘Poor Danny,’ said Elisabeth. ‘He’ll be lost without him. He was in a terrible state when the ambulance took his grandfather away. He looked so desperate.’
‘He’ll be all right with you tonight?’ asked Dr Stirling.
‘He will. Tomorrow I’ll contact Social Services and I guess they can arrange for him to be fostered for a time while his grandfather is in hospital. I am very sorry for the boy. He must feel so lonely and afraid. He’s lived with his grandfather all his life. They’ve never been apart. I don’t know how he’ll get on if he has to go to live with a new family and start a new school, maybe miles away. He could stay here I suppose, but it’s not really that appropriate – the head teacher and one of the pupils.’
‘He could stay with me and James for the time being,’ suggested Dr Stirling.
‘Really? That would be so much better for him,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I’ll see if it can be arranged. You have enough on your plate at the moment. The boy needs people around him. I’m sure James would like to have him stay with us. Danny needs his friends now.’
Elisabeth looked at the good-natured, unaffected man in the crumpled suit and scuffed shoes who sat before her. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘It’s the least I can do,’ he replied, and she noticed for the first time how his eyes lit up when he smiled.
Mrs Scrimshaw appeared at the classroom door the following morning.
‘He’s in the entrance,’ she told Elisabeth.
‘Who?’
‘Major double-barrelled,’ the secretary said, pulling a face. She lowered her voice so she was not overheard by the children. ‘I don’t know how he has the nerve to make an appearance after yesterday. As my mother would say, he’s about as welcome as haemorrhoids to a jockey. I mean, you would have thought that the Chairman of Governors at the very least would have said he was against the closure at the meeting, but he just stood there like a spare part. Anyway, I told him you were teaching but he said he’d like to see you. Shall I tell him to come back later?’
‘No, I’ll come down.’ Elisabeth turned to her class. ‘Now I have an important matter to deal with, children,’ she said. ‘I want you to get on with your work quietly while I am away. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, miss,’ chorused the class.
The Chairman of Governors stood waiting in the entrance, staring at the large plaque on the wall and stroking his moustache. He smiled rather sheepishly on seeing Elisabeth.
‘Mrs Devine,’ he said extending a hand.
‘It’s good to see you, major,’ said Elisabeth cheerfully, shaking his hand.
‘I’ve just heard about poor Mr Massey’s accident,’ he said. ‘Terrible, terrible by all accounts. And then Mr Stainthorpe being rushed to hospital. What does the bard say: “Troubles come not in single spies but in battalions”, or something to that effect. I’m sure you follow my drift.’
‘Yes, it was quite a night,’ agreed Elisabeth. ‘I’m taking Mr Stainthorpe’s grandson to the hospital this afternoon to see him.’
‘Oh, well, do pass on my good wishes.’
‘I was meaning to give you a call. It is rather inconvenient for me to speak to you at the moment because I do have a class to teach, but I am free at morning break and at lunchtime.’
‘Ah, right,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll call back.’
‘No, no,’ said Elisabeth. ‘You are very welcome to stay and join a couple of classes. I am sure you would like to see what we do in the school, and I know the teachers would be pleased to see you.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude and—’
‘Nonsense! You wouldn’t be intruding. Come along, you can start in the infants.’
Major Neville-Gravitas, with his red cheeks, bristly moustache and short cropped hair shooting up from his square head, was something of a talking point when he entered the small infant classroom. Elisabeth introduced him to Miss Wilson, saying he would be staying with her for a while, and asked her if he could be taken next door to Mrs Robertshaw’s room next and then to join her in her classroom at morning break.
No visitor could be other than very impressed with the environment the young infant teacher had provided. The former head teacher had regarded displays of the children’s work as window dressing, ‘decorating the margins of serious study’ as she called it, and as a consequence had placed little importance upon them. In contrast Elisabeth had actively encouraged her staff to make their classrooms bright and cheerful, and Miss Wilson had made a massive effort to do so. The walls were resplendent with the pupils’ paintings, sketches, drawings, poems and stories, all of which were carefully double-mounted and clearly and neatly labelled. Shelves held glossy-backed picture books, small tables had vases of bright flowers, corners had little easy chairs and large fat cushions where children could relax and read.
‘Perhaps you might like t
o see what the children are doing?’ Miss Wilson asked the major after Elisabeth had gone. ‘They are busy on a range of activities this morning. Do wander around and see what they are up to.’
‘Yes,’ he replied somewhat unenthusiastically, as he observed the sea of small serious faces staring at him. ‘I should like that.’
Major Neville-Gravitas felt uncomfortable. He had never, in Miss Sowerbutts’ time, set foot in a classroom and, having no children or grandchildren of his own and only very rarely having been in the company of small children, he was uneasy about speaking to them. In his limited experience he knew they could be very unpredictable, easily moved to tears and sometimes extremely demanding. In the army he had given an order and his command had been immediately obeyed without question. He knew this would be rather different with children. He had observed demanding children in the supermarket, and young people’s behaviour in the town centre, and had frequently complained about their activities at the bar in the Blacksmith’s Arms.
He approached a girl with shiny blonde hair in sausage-shaped curls and bright brown eyes. She looked up and stared at his round, red face with bristling moustache.
‘Are you Miss Wilson’s daddy?’ she asked.
‘No, my dear, I am not,’ he replied.
‘Are you her grandpa?’
‘No.’
‘Are you an infector?’
‘An infector?’ he repeated.
‘The man who comes in to watch lessons?’
‘No, no, I’m not an inspector.’
‘What’s that growing in your face?’ she asked, stroking her top lip.
‘A moustache,’ he told her.
‘What’s it for?’
‘It’s not really for anything. I just like it.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ said the child, wrinkling her nose before returning to her writing.
The Little Village School Page 26