The Little Village School

by Gervase Phinn

‘On the mend?’ she repeated. ‘I am still in a great deal of pain and it is extremely inconvenient.’

  ‘Well, I guess you’ll be in for some compensation,’ remarked Mrs Sloughthwaite. Her face hurt with the false smiling.

  Miss Sowerbutts turned to face the shopkeeper with a contemptuous expression on her face. ‘That is not the point,’ she said brusquely, ‘but I shall, of course, be pursuing the matter.’

  Yes, I bet you will, thought the shopkeeper. ‘Well, what can I get you?’ asked Mrs Sloughthwaite, not lowering her gaze and staring hard into the cold hooded eyes.

  ‘I have a list,’ she replied. ‘Since I shall no longer be giving the supermarket at Gartside my custom after my accident and I am unable to get into town, I shall have to shop here.’

  Mrs Sloughthwaite bristled and pursed her lips but said nothing. She folded her arms under her substantial bosom and stared across the counter.

  ‘I would like these delivered,’ said Miss Sowerbutts, leaning her stick against the counter and reaching into her coat pocket. She passed a slip of paper across.

  The shopkeeper left the paper where it was and adopted again the artificial smile she had perfected over the years.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we don’t do deliveries,’ she replied.

  ‘Not do deliveries!’ Miss Sowerbutts exclaimed, her eyes narrowing.

  ‘There’s no one to do them,’ the shopkeeper told her. ‘You could perhaps ask the supermarket to deliver them,’ she said pointedly, ‘or maybe one of your former pupils could collect them for you. I am sure that Malcolm Stubbins would welcome the chance of earning a bob or two and, of course, him being expelled from Urebank, he has time on his hands at the moment.’

  ‘I should be only too pleased to drop off your provisions,’ said the vicar, good-naturedly.

  Slightly mollified, Miss Sowerbutts managed to mouth a ‘thank you’.

  ‘We were just saying before you came in,’ said the shopkeeper, casting a triumphant smile in the woman’s direction, ‘how very happy everyone is in the village now that they have decided not to close the school.’

  Miss Sowerbutts glared venomously at her. If looks could maim, Mrs Sloughthwaite would at that moment have ended up on crutches.

  ‘I have decided,’ said Lady Wadsworth to Elisabeth down the phone the following lunchtime, ‘to endow the library in the school. It can be called the Lord Wadsworth Memorial Library, and I shall commission a plaque to be displayed on the wall outside the room.’

  ‘That’s most generous of you,’ replied Elisabeth.

  ‘I cannot tell you how delighted I was to receive the news about the school,’ she said. ‘Of course, I gave that Mr Preston a piece of my mind when I went in to see him and I should like to think that I did my part.’

  ‘You went in to see him?’ said Elisabeth. ‘I never knew.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Lady Wadsworth informed her. ‘I made an appointment to visit the Education Office and told him in no uncertain terms how appalled I was at the plans to close the school.’

  ‘Well, it certainly did the trick,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘Oh, I take but little credit, my dear,’ she said, not for one moment believing that. ‘It was a concerted effort from all those in the village. I know the vicar was very proactive, as indeed were the other governors, and then the bishop got involved and you made a formidable adversary. Well, I must go. Gordon needs worming.’

  Elisabeth put down the receiver in the school office.

  ‘That was Lady Wadsworth,’ she told the school secretary. ‘She is to pay for a new library.’

  ‘More good news,’ replied Mrs Scrimshaw.

  ‘But she wants to put up another plaque.’

  ‘Oh dear. That will not please Mr Gribbon.’

  ‘I suppose we can’t object,’ said Elisabeth. ‘She is footing the bill, after all, and she has been very supportive.’

  ‘You must be very pleased, Mrs Devine, with all the support and good wishes you have received.’

  ‘I am. It’s been such an anxious and unpredictable time. I’ve been overwhelmed with all the encouragement. Well, I had better go and see my visitor.’

  ‘If it was me,’ said the secretary, ‘I’d make her wait after all the carry-on the last time she came into school.’

  ‘No, I’ll see her,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Such is the mood that I am in this morning, Mrs Scrimshaw, I would see the devil himself.’

  Mrs Stubbins was sitting in the teacher’s chair in the classroom, her sullen-faced son standing next to her. She made a move to get up when Elisabeth entered.

  ‘No, no, Mrs Stubbins, don’t get up,’ said Elisabeth, recalling the last time she had seen the woman and how uncomfortable and comical she had appeared – such a large woman overflowing on one of the small desks used by the children.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Devine,’ said Mrs Stubbins obsequiously. Gone were all the anger and bluster and finger-stabbing Elisabeth had witnessed when the woman had come into the school the last time.

  Elisabeth stood by the teacher’s desk and looked down at her visitor, her hands clasped before her. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Stubbins?’ she asked.

  ‘The thing is, Mrs Devine, he never settled at Urebank. Did you, Malcolm?’

  ‘No,’ grunted the boy.

  ‘Quite apart from all the travelling backwards and forwards,’ said the woman, ‘he was very unhappy there. Weren’t you, Malcolm?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He was picked on by the other kids and by the teachers something dreadful. You was, wasn’t you, Malcolm?’

  ‘Yeah, I was,’ grumbled the boy.

  ‘As he was here,’ remarked Elisabeth.

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘I do recall you telling me, Mrs Stubbins, that you felt that I picked on your son.’

  ‘Well, no, not in the same way. You were much nicer about it.’ She smoothed an eyebrow with a little finger and shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

  Elisabeth wondered how one could be nice about picking on someone, but she let it pass.

  ‘So I’d like Malcolm to come back here,’ Mrs Stubbins said.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You want to come back, don’t you, Malcolm?’ his mother asked the boy.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He’s better off here. So he can start next Monday or after the Christmas holidays, if that’s all right with you, Mrs Devine.’

  ‘The thing is, Mrs Stubbins,’ she was told, ‘I am really not inclined to have Malcolm back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were very critical of this school, refused to cooperate and you ignored my advice by sending Malcolm to Urebank. Furthermore, you said some rather unkind things about me. I don’t feel it would be a good idea to move him again and I suggest that your son stays where he is.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, Mrs Devine,’ pleaded the woman. ‘He was excluded from Urebank and now they’ve gone and expelled him. They won’t have him back. I’ve been in touch with the Education and they say that if no other school will have him, he might end up in one of these special schools, a referral unit or some such place, for unruly kids.’

  ‘You refused to support me when he was disobedient and badly behaved,’ Elisabeth told her.

  The woman’s bottom lip began to tremble. ‘I know what I did was wrong and if I’d have known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have done what I did when I did it. I want him to come back here. I’m sorry for what I said. Everyone says that it’s a really good school now, and I know for a fact other parents are wanting to move their children from Urebank and who can blame them? The head teacher’s like Hitler. Everyone said that they’re not going to close this school now and people are queuing up to get their kids in.’

  ‘A bit of an exaggeration,’ Elisabeth told her, ‘but the school is not closing and is doing well.’

  ‘Malcolm’s been under my feet. It’s driving me to destruction, it really is. I just can’t be doing with it.’ She sniffed loudly
and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  ‘And what do you have to say, Malcolm?’ Elisabeth asked the boy.

  He jumped sharply, as if he had been jabbed with a cattle prod. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Do you want to come back here?’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  ‘Pardon?’ snapped Elisabeth.

  ‘I mean, yes miss, I do,’ he mumbled.

  Elisabeth turned her attention back to the boy’s mother. ‘You see, Mrs Stubbins, since Malcolm’s departure, things have been a whole lot better in the school. It’s been a more peaceful and a happier place. There has been less disruption because your son has not been here to distract and to pick on the other children.’

  ‘I know he can be a bit of a handful at times, Mrs Devine,’ said the woman, ‘but he’s a good lad at heart. He just needs a bit of discipline.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘And if he was to come back, he’d be as good as gold. Won’t you, Malcolm?’

  ‘Yeah,’ muttered the boy.

  ‘Please have him back, Mrs Devine.’

  Elisabeth thought for a moment. ‘If I do have Malcolm back, it will be for a trial period to see how he behaves himself, and there will be a few ground rules. Firstly, of course, he will need to complete the tasks I set as a punishment after the fight with Danny Stainthorpe. Secondly, I shall see him every week in my classroom to hear how he is getting on. Thirdly, I do not wish to learn of any bullying or misbehaviour. Finally, I expect to receive your full support, Mrs Stubbins, and should Malcolm step out of line, I shall contact you immediately and ask you to take him home.’

  Mrs Stubbins cheered up. ‘That’s very good of you, Mrs Devine,’ she said. ‘Does that mean he can come back?’

  ‘So, Malcolm,’ said Elisabeth, turning to the boy, ‘did you understand what I have just said to your mother?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘And you are going to be on your best behaviour if you return?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Then I shall I expect to see a very different boy walk into school next week.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Say thank you to Mrs Devine,’ said Mrs Stubbins, poking her son.

  ‘That hurt!’ he cried, rubbing his arm.

  ‘Shut up,’ she told him, ‘and thank Mrs Devine.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Devine,’ he said unenthusiastically.

  ‘We do have a place on the football team, if you are interested,’ said Elisabeth.

  The boy suddenly came to life and his face lit up. ‘In the team?’ he cried.

  ‘If you are interested.’

  ‘You bet!’ exclaimed the boy.

  ‘Well, we will leave it there, Mrs Stubbins,’ said Elisabeth. The woman shuffled in the chair but made no effort to move. ‘Is there something else?’

  ‘Well, there is actually,’ said the woman, her round face becoming flushed with embarrassment. ‘I can’t get out of the chair. I’m stuck!’

  19

  When Mrs Stubbins, with help from Mr Gribbon, a screwdriver and a hammer, had finally extricated herself from the chair and departed, Elisabeth went to the school office to phone Urebank school.

  ‘I think you’re a saint,’ observed Mrs Scrimshaw as she watched Elisabeth pick up the telephone, ‘having that ne’er-do-well back. I would have told that Mrs Stubbins where to get off.’

  ‘I have an idea young Malcolm will be a changed boy when he returns,’ Elisabeth told her. ‘I think he’s learnt his lesson.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said the school secretary, looking unconvinced.

  ‘Children have to be educated, Mrs Scrimshaw,’ Elisabeth told her, ‘even the difficult and demanding ones.’

  ‘Repellent, more like,’ mumbled the secretary as Elisabeth dialled the number for Urebank school.

  ‘Robin Richardson, the headmaster, speaking,’ came a voice down the line.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Richardson,’ Elisabeth said pleasantly. ‘This is Elisabeth Devine here, from Barton-in-the-Dale school.’ There was a silence. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I am still here,’ he replied coldly.

  ‘I wanted to let you know that I have just seen Malcolm Stubbins and his mother.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘And I have agreed to take the boy back. I understand he has now been expelled from Urebank and I am sure you will agree that it’s not really a good idea to have a child sitting at home all day and missing his education.’

  ‘As I explained to you, Mrs Devine,’ he said haughtily, ‘the boy was a most difficult and disruptive pupil. Had I known this, I should never have considered taking him.’

  ‘So you will no doubt be pleased that he is returning here,’ she said. There was another silence. ‘Well, that is all I wanted to say.’

  ‘One moment, Mrs Devine,’ came the sharp voice down the line. ‘I was intending to get in touch with you. I am extremely angry about the situation.’

  ‘The situation,’ said Elisabeth, feigning ignorance.

  ‘The situation of parents, against my advice, sending the children from my school to yours. I gather several other parents are considering taking their children away from my school. It is just not acceptable.’

  ‘I have had a number of enquiries,’ Elisabeth told him.

  ‘Indeed. I have impressed upon these parents how disruptive it is to move a child from a school and the detrimental effect it will have on their children’s education.’

  He never mentioned that when he first spoke to me, thought Elisabeth, he was all too ready to accept children from this school. ‘Well, it’s not as if they are midway through an examination course, and it is a fact that children sometimes do have to move and are better suited at another school.’ She was not being lectured to by this man.

  ‘Well, I do not think it is at all acceptable,’ he retorted.

  ‘I believe that most of the children involved were originally at this school,’ Elisabeth told him, ‘and that they live in this catchment area. So, technically, they should be here.’

  ‘Some are,’ he told her, ‘but there are other parents who have been in touch whose children are not. These pupils live in my catchment area and should by rights go to my school. I trust you will not entertain any further requests should a parent get in touch with you.’

  ‘Do you recall our conversation over the matter of parents choosing to send their children to another school, Mr Richardson?’ asked Elisabeth.

  ‘No, I can’t say that I do,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, let me remind you. I think we agreed that one has to accept that parents have the right to send their children to another school if they so wish. As you said yourself, if they are insistent then there is very little one can do about it.’

  ‘So I take it you are encouraging parents of pupils in my school to send their children to your school.’

  ‘That is not what I said, Mr Richardson,’ replied Elisabeth, knowing full well that he had been guilty of this very thing he was accusing her of before her arrival at Barton-in-the-Dale. ‘It would be highly unprofessional of me to do that.’ She stressed the word he had used in his letter to her. ‘What I meant was that if parents wish to send their children here, then it is up to them and I do not intend to turn these children away.’

  ‘I see. Well, I have to say, Mrs Devine, that I find your attitude at the very least very surprising and at most unprincipled,’ he said angrily, ‘and I shall be contacting the Education Office over this matter.’

  Elisabeth remained calm and courteous. ‘Well, that of course is up to you, Mr Richardson,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon.’

  ‘That’s telling him,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw, smiling gleefully as Elisabeth replaced the receiver. ‘He doesn’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot. He was all too willing when the children were queuing up to get into his school to go poaching. Not so happy now that they all want to come to ours.’

  Mr G
ribbon entered the office. ‘I’ve fixed the chair, Mrs Devine,’ he told Elisabeth with a grim expression on his face. ‘I’ve reinforced the bottom and mended one of the arms. It was the devil’s own job getting that woman out of it. She was like a cork in a bottle.’

  Elisabeth and the secretary burst out laughing.

  ‘We’re just giving your garden a last tidy-up before winter sets in, aren’t we, James?’ said Danny.

  His friend nodded.

  It was Saturday morning and Elisabeth was off to see her son at Forest View as usual. She was dressed in a smart camel-hair coat and green woollen scarf and matching gloves. She smiled with pleasure at seeing the two boys so obviously happy.

  ‘You look nice, miss,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Danny,’ she replied. ‘My goodness, you two are up bright and early,’ she said.

  ‘Aye well, miss,’ replied Danny,’ there’s a fair bit to do. We’ve got to start fettlin’ ’is dad’s garden after this. It’s in a reight old state. Weeds everywhere, briars and brambles, trees what want prunin’, ’edges what want trimmin’. Jamie’s mam used to do all t’gardenin’, so it’s not been looked after for a while. ’Course, ’is dad’s too busy to do it so we said we’d tackle it. I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Well, don’t you go overdoing it,’ Elisabeth told him.

  ‘’Ere, it’s grand news abaat t’school, in’t it miss?’ said Danny. His face lit up.

  ‘It is,’ she agreed.

  ‘Things often turn out all reight in t’end. That’s what mi granddad used to say.’

  It’s certainly turned out well for you, she thought. ‘A wise man, your granddad,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘Aye, he was,’ the boy said thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, I’ll be off,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, you two.’ Elisabeth had turned to go when James spoke. It was a quiet, hesitant voice but she heard him clearly enough. ‘Are you going to see your son, Mrs Devine?’ he asked.

  Elisabeth’s heart missed a beat. This was the first time she had heard the boy speak since he had been to see her about Danny. She was also startled to hear him mention her son.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she replied, turning back to look at him and trying to conceal her surprise.