‘Well now,’ said Mrs O’Connor, brushing the boy’s shoulder with a hand, ‘don’t you scrub up well?’ She looked down at the sad face. ‘Cheer up now, Danny, sure ’tis not the end of the world.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘You look as if you’ve lost a shilling and found a penny.’
He gave a weak smile. ‘Thank you for looking after me, Mrs O’Connor,’ he said. He looked like someone on his way to his execution.
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ she replied. ‘And whatever it is you’re worried about, sure it may never happen.’ She looked at Dr Stirling and winked. He had acquainted her with his intention to have Danny stay with them but had asked her not to say anything to the boys.
‘Will I need to pack my things?’ the boy asked.
‘Not for the moment, darlin’,’ she said.
‘What about Ferdie?’
‘James will take care of him,’ she said. ‘Don’t you go worrying your head about that.’
‘Well, come along, young man,’ said the doctor cheerfully. ‘Let’s be off.’
In the car Danny was very quiet and twiddled his hair nervously. ‘Will I meet the people who are going to look after me today?’ he asked after a while.
‘Maybe,’ said Dr Stirling evasively. He smiled inwardly.
‘Have you met them, Dr Stirling?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘Are they nice?’
‘Very nice.’
Miss Parsons, senior social worker, came out of her office to meet them. She was a handsome woman with bright eyes and light sandy hair tied back to reveal a finely structured face. ‘Good morning, Dr Stirling,’ she said shaking his hand. She turned to the boy. ‘Hello, Danny.’
‘Hello, miss.’
‘Dr Stirling, I would like to have a little chat with Danny on his own, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting. We won’t be that long.’
Danny followed the woman into her office and was introduced to her colleague, Mrs Talbot, a small, smiling woman with short cropped white hair. The boy sat nervously on a hard wooden chair facing the desk, his hands locked beneath him. He felt a tightness in his chest and he was close to tears. He bit his bottom lip.
‘Now then, Danny,’ said Miss Parsons, giving him a reassuring smile, ‘don’t look so frightened, I’m not going to eat you. We’re just going to have a little chat.’ She sat behind her desk. ‘I was very sorry to hear about your grandfather. He sounded like a very special man.’
‘He was,’ Danny replied, a tremble in his voice.
‘And I know how difficult it is for you at the moment, wondering what will happen to you and where you will go.’
Danny nodded.
‘How are you getting along at Dr Stirling’s?’ she asked.
‘OK, miss,’ he replied in a small voice.
‘Just OK?’
‘Well, no. I really like it there.’
‘What’s the best thing about living at Dr Stirling’s house?’ she asked.
‘Well, there’s my best friend James there and Mrs O’Connor.’
‘She’s the housekeeper.’
‘Yes, she looks after Dr Stirling, cooks and cleans and that. She’s really nice is Mrs O’Connor. Dr Stirling’s really nice as well. And I can keep mi ferret in t’back garden.’
‘A ferret. Don’t they bite?’
‘Sometimes, but not if you know ’ow to ’andle ’em.’
‘Aren’t ferrets rather smelly creatures?’ she asked.
The boy suddenly became animated. ‘A lot of people think that, but they’re wrong. If you feed ’em rabbit and meat like that, they do smell, but if you get t’special food from t’pet shops they don’t. They’re very clean and friendly animals.’
‘You seem to know a lot about ferrets, Danny,’ said Miss Parsons.
‘I reckon I do,’ he replied. ‘I used to go ferreting wi’ mi granddad. I’d put t’ferret down t’rabbit ’ole and ’e’d chase out t’rabbits. Ferret that is, not mi granddad. Then mi granddad would catch t’rabbits in t’net an’ chop ’em on t’neck sharpish like. I got a pound a rabbit when I sold ’em to t’butchers in t’village.’
‘You’re quite the little businessman,’ said Miss Parsons.
The boy nodded.
‘And what about Dr Stirling?’ asked Miss Talbot. ‘How are you getting on with him?’
‘I like ’im.’
‘And he’s been looking after you?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘So you’ve been happy there?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Better than OK?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘What about school?’ asked Miss Parsons. ‘How are you getting on there?’
‘I like it now. I didn’t used to, but we got this new ’ead teacher and she’s really good. She dunt shout at you an’ she’s been really kind.’
‘This is Mrs Devine,’ she said, looking down at some papers in a folder.
‘Yes, miss.’
‘She says some nice things about you too. She says you’re a very cheerful and well-behaved young man.’ Danny didn’t say anything. ‘So you are pretty settled then?’
He nodded. ‘I suppose so, miss.’
‘Is there anything you want to tell me, Danny?’ she asked.
‘I’d like to stay in t’village if I can and at t’same school, but I know I probably can’t. And if I do move somewhere a long way away I’d like to tek mi ferret wi’ me.’
‘Well, we’ll see what we can do. Let’s get Dr Stirling to come and join us,’ she said, rising from her chair. Dr Stirling was asked to come into the office and he sat down next to the boy.
‘Before you came in this morning, Mrs Talbot and I had a discussion about where you should go, Danny,’ Miss Parsons told the boy. ‘We want to make sure that you will be well looked after, happy and secure and have a supportive home life. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, miss,’ said the boy.
‘Now, Danny, at the moment you are being fostered by Dr Stirling. Do you know what I mean by the word fostering?’
‘No, miss.’
‘It means that someone looks after a child or young person until they can go back to their parents. In this case, it would have been your grandfather. Well, sadly you can’t go back to your grandfather, so we have to make other arrangements.’
The boy’s eyes were brimful of tears and his face became twisted in anxiety.
His small body looked as loose and floppy as a puppet. ‘Where will I go?’ he asked, his breath coming with difficulty.
The senior social worker reached across the desk and patted the boy’s hand. ‘Well now, Danny, I have had a talk with Dr Stirling,’ she continued, ‘and he thinks it would be a good idea, as you do, that you should stay in the village and at the same school. That’s right, isn’t it, Dr Stirling?’
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed the doctor.
‘Well, we think the same.’
Danny looked up quickly, then turned to Dr Stirling and rubbed his eyes.
‘Dr Stirling wants to continue to foster you, Danny,’ Miss Parsons told him.
The boy’s bottom lip began to tremble and his eyes began to fill up again. He bit the inside of his cheek and hugged himself tightly, locking his arms around his chest.
‘And if it works out and you are happy there, he wants to adopt you. Do you know what that means?’
Danny sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come.
‘It means he wants to bring you up as his own son,’ said Miss Parsons.
‘Would you like to stay with me and James?’ Dr Stirling asked him, resting his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder.
‘Stay with you?’ Danny asked quietly, ‘You mean come and live with you and James and not go anywhere else, not never?’
‘Not never,’ said the doctor. ‘So what about it? Do you want to stay with us?’
Danny looked at Dr Stirling for a moment and began to cry. His small body shook and tears b
ubbled from his eyes.
‘Good gracious,’ said Dr Stirling, feeling tears welling up in his own eyes. ‘I didn’t think the thought of living with me and James would have this effect.’
‘I’m just happy,’ sobbed the boy.
Elisabeth was walking around the playground and came across Danny sandwiched on a bench between Chardonnay and Chantelle. The two girls were muffled up in thick gloves, bobble hats and scarves, and sported bright rubber boots. Danny was just wearing a school jumper under his coat.
‘Danny Stainthorpe!’ Elisabeth exclaimed. ‘What are you doing out here without a scarf? It’s bitterly cold. You’ll freeze to death.’
‘I’m all reight, miss,’ the boy told her. ‘I don’t mind t’cold.’
‘He’s dead tough, isn’t he, miss,’ said Chardonnay, squeezing Danny’s arm.
‘And the cold makes his cheeks dead rosy,’ added Chantelle.
The boy winced.
‘It’s good to see you a whole lot happier these days,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I am, miss,’ he said. His eyes were dancing. ‘Now I can stay wi’ Dr Stirling and James, stop at t’school and keep mi ferret, I’m dead chuffed.’
‘Well, I’m really pleased it’s turned out so well for you,’ she said.
‘I’m glad you’re staying, Danny,’ said Chardonnay, edging closer to him.
Danny wrinkled his nose as if there were a faintly unpleasant odour.
‘And I am,’ said Chantelle, fluttering her eyelids.
Danny sighed and looked heavenwards. ‘’Course, there are some things I could well do wi’out, miss,’ he grumbled.
‘Excuse me,’ Mrs Devine. Oscar had marched across the playground. ‘I think you ought to know that there is a man in a car at the front of the school. He looks to me like a suspicious character and you can’t be too careful these days.’
‘Thank you, Oscar,’ Elisabeth replied. ‘That’s very observant of you. I shall go and see what he wants.’
‘I think that would be a very good idea,’ said the boy.
The man in the car was in the entrance hall when Elisabeth arrived back in the school, staring at the brass plaque on the wall. Tall and precise-looking, he was dressed in an expensive light grey suit, silk tie and wore highly polished shoes.
‘Mr Preston,’ said Elisabeth.
‘Good morning, Mrs Devine,’ he said, putting on his professional smile. ‘I trust it is not an inconvenient time for me to call.’ He was perfectly courteous but his voice was slightly flat.
‘Not at all. I am very pleased to see you. Perhaps you might like to look around the school and meet the staff and pupils.’
‘Thank you, no. I have a very busy schedule this morning. Perhaps another time.’
‘If there is another time,’ said Elisabeth.
The Director of Education gave the faintest of smirks. ‘I don’t think there is any doubt about that. Could we perhaps go somewhere a little more private?’
In the classroom Mr Preston sat in the teacher’s chair and rested his hands on the desk. ‘The reason for my visit is to tell you that the decision to close this school has been deferred.’
‘Deferred,’ repeated Elisabeth.
‘That is correct. The Education Sub-committee has, on my advice, decided to put on hold any closure plans with regard to Barton-in-the-Dale. I have examined the inspectors’ report and the various representations from those in the community and have recommended that the school remains open for the foreseeable future. I am sure that news comes as a very pleasant surprise.’
‘Am I to understand,’ asked Elisabeth, ‘that this is just a postponement and that the future of the school is still uncertain?’
‘It is possible that the school might close at some future date, but that is highly unlikely as things stand. For the moment it will remain open.’
‘I see. It’s rather like the sword of Damocles dangling over us then, isn’t it?’
‘Hardly that, Mrs Devine,’ said the Director of Education. ‘The Education Sub-committee has reconsidered and agreed, as I have said, to leave things as they are for the time being with regard to this school. Sadly, your good fortune is another school’s misfortune.’
‘I see.’
‘And should Barton-in-the-Dale continue to be the successful school it clearly has become,’ he said, ‘and numbers continue to increase, then I have no doubt it will remain open for a long time to come.’
‘I have your assurance on that?’ she asked.
He regarded her steadily. ‘Of course,’ he said, his eyes revealing nothing of the thoughts which lay behind them.
‘That is very good news,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Thank you for taking the time and trouble to tell me personally.’
‘You have achieved a great deal since you arrived,’ said the Director of Education. ‘A great deal. It always amazes me how good leadership and management can transform a school in the way that you have done. The inspector’s report was very positive and I have received some very supportive correspondence about the changes you have made.’ He thought of the latest letter. It appeared that everyone and anyone was getting in on the act. Now the Bishop of Clayton was lobbying him.
‘Thank you,’ Elisabeth said. ‘Now that there is every likelihood that Barton-in-the-Dale will remain open for some time to come, can I assume that the two teachers here will be offered permanent contracts?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And the desks will be replaced?’
‘I shall ask Mr Nettles to see to it.’
‘And the damp?’
‘It will be dealt with.’
‘And we can have a library?’
‘Mrs Devine,’ said the Director of Education, holding up a hand. ‘It will be considered all in good time.’
‘Thank you,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I shall leave it to you to inform your Chairman of Governors and you will no doubt wish to tell the staff and parents.’ He stood. ‘By the way, you might be aware that the post of head teacher has come up in the north of the county in a large purpose-built school. It’s an excellent salary. You might consider applying.’
‘No, Mr Preston,’ she told him. ‘I am more than happy here.’
There was a knock at the door and Oscar entered. He eyed the man sitting at the teacher’s desk.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Devine,’ he said, ‘but the black car which is parked at the front of the school is on double yellow lines and is blocking the entrance. I think it would be a good idea if it was moved.’
‘“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings”,’ trilled the Reverend Atticus.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked the shopkeeper.
‘The news, my dear Mrs Sloughthwaite, the good news,’ the cleric replied. ‘Should we not rejoice at the decision of the educational mandarins not to close our village school?’ He looked heavenwards and clapped his hands like a child at a party. ‘Is it not joyous news?’
The vicar had called in at the village store with a list of provisions given to him by his wife and which he was commissioned to collect. He had received a call that afternoon from Elisabeth, acquainting him with the details of the conversation that had taken place that morning with Mr Preston. He was therefore in a particularly cheerful mood.
‘It is good news, vicar,’ agreed Mrs Sloughthwaite, thinking to herself that the vicar was a tad over-enthusiastic, ‘but then I always thought they wouldn’t go ahead with it.’
‘I wish I had shared your confidence,’ he replied. ‘I think they were hell bent – pardon the expression – on closing the school and had it not been for the dedicated efforts of the head teacher, I do believe they would have most certainly proceeded.’
‘We all did our bit, vicar,’ retorted Mrs Sloughthwaite, sounding peeved.
‘Indeed we did.’
‘I’m not saying that Mrs Devine was backward in coming forward, but there were a lot of people in the village, me includ
ed, who worked behind the scenes, so to speak.’
‘Of course,’ said the vicar. ‘A great many people were opposed to the proposal, I am fully aware of that, and they were wonderfully supportive. Indeed, the bishop was in touch with the Director of Education to express his disapproval, and I believe Lady Wadsworth petitioned too. What it has done has brought our small community much closer together – the true fighting spirit of the British so evident during the war. It is something which has unified our village.’
The shop bell rang, and like the entrance of the wicked fairy at the christening, Miss Sowerbutts made her entrance and limped slowly towards the counter. She carried a substantial walking stick and for once the battered canvas shopping bag she always carried was not in evidence. One arm was in a sling. She was wearing thick gloves, a heavy scarf, a shapeless woollen coat around her shoulders, large crêpe-soled boots and the silly knitted hat.
‘Good morning, Miss Sowerbutts,’ said the vicar cheerily.
‘Good morning,’ she replied curtly, limping to the counter.
‘I was sorry to hear about your unfortunate accident.’
‘In my experience, vicar, all accidents are unfortunate,’ she replied.
‘Quite. Well, I was saddened to hear of it.’
‘If those lazy and irresponsible assistants at the supermarket in town will leave the floor dangerously wet, it is no wonder someone will eventually slip.’
‘I always make sure my floor is safe and dry,’ announced Mrs Sloughthwaite from behind the counter.
Her comment was ignored.
‘And the wait to be seen at the hospital was intolerable,’ Miss Sowerbutts told the vicar, in an aggrieved tone of voice. ‘And the doctor was cursory.’
‘It must have been most distressing for you,’ the Reverend Atticus commiserated.
‘It was indeed.’
‘But it could have been a whole lot worse,’ he added sympathetically.
‘In what way?’ she asked.
‘You could have broken your neck,’ remarked the shopkeeper over-emphatically.
Her comment was again ignored.
‘It should not have happened in the first place,’ Miss Sowerbutts told the vicar.
‘Well, I am pleased to see you are on the mend,’ he said solicitously.
The Little Village School Page 32