‘Have you always lived here, in Middlebeck?’ the man called Graham Perkins asked Anne. ‘I must say it seems a delightful little place.’
‘Oh no,’ she replied. Then she laughed. ‘I mean – yes – it is a delightful town, but no, I wasn’t born here, if that is what you mean. Actually, I was an evacuee!’ She grinned. ‘I came up here in 1939 with a group of children from Leeds, and I liked it so much that I stayed.’
‘That’s a good advert for the school and for the town,’ said Mr Perkins. ‘My wife was quite enchanted with the area. We came up here to give it the once-over before I made up my mind about applying for the post. The kids are not all that keen though – we have a boy and a girl – not keen at the thought of leaving Halifax. But I mustn’t count my chickens, must I?’
‘No, indeed,’ remarked the other lady, Miss Wotherspoon. ‘That is what I am telling myself as well. I, also, think it is quite delightful up here. Such a change from Doncaster where I live. So quiet and peaceful. Do you know, it is the first time in my life I have ever ventured so far north? But now that both my parents have…passed on, I have nothing to keep me there. I’ve been looking out for a nice little country school.’
‘It’s not always as quiet as you might imagine, living up here,’ said Anne. ‘We have our share of excitement from time to time and the town is gradually expanding. And so is the school, of course.’
Oddly enough, Roger Ellison had not added anything to this exchange. He was just sitting there, looking from one to another of them as they spoke, his grey eyes alert and his fingers steepled together in a thoughtful manner. The conversation was brought to a halt by the arrival of a dark-suited man – one of the interviewing panel, no doubt – entering the room.
‘We are taking you in alphabetical order, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘That seems the fairest way. So…Mr Ellison, would you come with me, please, sir?’
Anne noticed that Roger Ellison was not very tall, certainly nowhere near six foot, and that he walked with a slight limp. He was dark-haired with a small military moustache and looked every inch a soldier. They all waited until the two men were out of earshot before they spoke.
‘He seems a very confident sort of bloke,’ said Graham Perkins. ‘At least, that’s the impression I have of him.’
Anne nodded. ‘As might be expected, I suppose. He’s an army captain, I believe; well, ex-army.’
‘Is he, by Jove?’ exclaimed Mr Perkins. ‘I might have guessed. He’ll be used to giving orders then and making folk jump to attention. Not that I’m saying anything wrong about the fellow, you understand…’ he added.
‘No, of course not,’ replied Anne, sincerely. They were all teachers of many years’ standing and knew it would be considered unprofessional to talk about a fellow member behind his back. The same – unwritten – rule applied in staffrooms. Teachers did not run one another down to their colleagues; any opinions they formed they kept largely to themselves. ‘He would make a good head, I am sure, but then…so would we all, wouldn’t we?’ she added with a smile.
‘It all depends on what sort of a person they are looking for,’ said Miss Wotherspoon. Anne guessed that she was in her late forties, possibly the oldest of the group, whereas she, Anne, was the youngest by several years. ‘Some heads rule with a rod of iron, don’t they? By constant use of the cane, some of them. And that’s a practice I have never approved of. My present headmaster…’ She paused. ‘Well, I mustn’t speak ill of him, even though you don’t know him. But let’s just say that I will be glad to get away from there.’
‘And I’m sure you will,’ said Anne, feeling an empathy with the woman. She, too, deplored the use of corporal punishment, and at Middlebeck School it had never been necessary, at least not whilst she had been teaching there. ‘If you don’t get this post, then there will be others, won’t there?’ She had a feeling that whoever was appointed it would not be Florence Wotherspoon.
‘The present head is a woman, I believe?’ said Graham Perkins. ‘I’m sure she will be a hard act to follow for whoever steps into her shoes.’
‘Yes, indeed she will,’ said Anne. ‘Miss Foster has been here for twenty-six years. She will be missed very much at school and in the town. Speaking of using the cane…Miss Foster never saw the need for it. We’ve had some difficult children, but they all know just how far they can go with her. And they respect her. But she knows now that it’s time for her to retire. She’s seen the war through, which was what she promised herself she would do.’
‘Quite so,’ said Graham Perkins. ‘And now we’re all on the brink of a new era, aren’t we? Not just the four of us here, but in the country, I mean.’ They knew he was referring to the 1944 Education Act which had now been accepted as the law of the land. It would provide, it was hoped and believed, new opportunities for all students. Free Secondary education was the aim, opening the Grammar schools to all those who had the ability to profit from such an education, and not just those who could afford the fees.
‘It all sounds very good in theory, but it remains to be seen how it will work out in practice. In my opinion…’ His opinion was cut short by the opening of the door. Roger Ellison entered smiling confidently.
‘Well, that seemed to go very nicely,’ he remarked, nodding his head as though satisfied with his performance. ‘I hope I impressed them. There’s no point in hiding your light under a bushel, is there?’
‘No,’ agreed Graham Perkins. ‘One has to try and sell oneself.’
‘That’s what I don’t really like about interviews,’ said Miss Wotherspoon. ‘I’ve never liked talking about myself; boasting about what I can do. I suppose it’s because my mother would have said I was showing off.’
‘It’s not boasting if you know you are good at something,’ said Roger Ellison, sitting down again at the table. ‘You must have confidence in yourself.’ He smiled encouragingly at her and Anne found herself liking him a little more. ‘You go for it, Miss Wotherspoon. Show them what you are made of.’
‘Thank you… I’ll try,’ she said.
There was a moment’s silence. Anne knew, as they all did, that it was not done for candidates to discuss the interview and the questions they had been asked. Roger Ellison would not divulge what had gone on as it would give the other three an unfair advantage, and neither would she expect him to do so. She guessed, though, that very little would faze this confident man.
‘How many are there on the panel?’ she enquired, an innocuous enough question to which nobody could object.
‘Oh, six…no, seven,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t actually count heads. I was too busy facing the grilling. Don’t get me wrong, though. They don’t bite! They are all quite pleasant. They didn’t say exactly who they were, so I don’t know.’
‘Miss Foster will be there, the present headmistress,’ said Anne.
‘Yes, I picked her out; the grey-haired old lady…’ She would not be pleased at that description, thought Anne. Charity prided herself on her still youthful looks, although she was not, admittedly, the height of fashion. ‘She didn’t say very much. She probably thought it was not her concern, what goes on after she has left. And the vicar was there; couldn’t be anybody else, could he, seeing that he was wearing a dog collar.’
‘He’s the rector, actually,’ replied Anne. ‘The Reverend Luke Fairchild. He still has quite a lot of say in the running of the school.’
‘Ah yes, it’s rector, not vicar, isn’t it, in these country parishes. I must remember…’
The door opened again and Anne’s name was called. ‘Miss Mellodey, would you come with me now, please?’ said the man in the dark suit. She followed him along the corridor and into the room where, she assumed, the council and various committees held their meetings. Middlebeck could not boast of a town hall as such, but this room, which she had never seen before, was very impressive.
The members of the panel were seated around a large table, the top of which was covered in maroon leather embossed with gold, on
chairs with carved backs and arms and leather seats. Anne was invited to sit on a similar chair at one of the short ends of the table. Opposite her, at the other end, was a grey-haired, grey-bearded man who she guessed would be the chairman of the proceedings; the chairman of the Education Committee, more than likely. On the wall behind him was a plaque depicting the coat of arms of the area, comprising the white rose of Yorkshire, sheep, mill chimneys and purple heather. On either side of this there were large photographs of royalty; the present king, George the Sixth and Queen Elizabeth, and the former king, George the Fifth and Queen Mary. The one in between, who had abdicated, was not in evidence. The windows down one side of the room were of bevelled glass, with a stained-glass pattern of the flowers of the realm – the rose, shamrock, thistle and daffodil – at the top of each one. The floor length curtains were of maroon velvet, matching the leatherwork of the furniture. She did not notice all this at a glance. Like the candidate before her, she was too engrossed in answering the questions, but all the features of the elegant room, nevertheless, impinged upon her subconscious mind and she could remember it clearly afterwards.
‘Good morning, Miss Mellodey,’ said the chairman, and Anne replied ‘Good morning,’ in what she hoped was a confident voice, glancing round smilingly at all the people seated round the table. There were seven of them, three at each side and the chairman at the top. She saw Luke and Charity each give her a nod of recognition and encouragement, but she realised it would not be advisable to acknowledge them any more than she did the others.
‘You are no stranger to the area, are you, or to the school?’ the chairman continued. ‘You have been on the staff for…six years, I believe?’
‘Yes, that’s right, sir,’ she replied.
‘Well now, would you like to tell us what you think you have achieved during your years at Middlebeck School? What do you feel you have been able to add to the life of the school?’
She swallowed hard. That was a poser. Her mind seemed to have gone a complete blank, but she knew she must have made some contribution. ‘I came here with the evacuees,’ she began. ‘They were apprehensive, very scared, some of them, not knowing what was in store for them…and I knew that school would need to be a place where they could feel safe and cared for. I did my best to smooth over the resentment that some of the local children felt…’
‘You are saying, then, that the evacuees were resented by the local children?’ asked a woman in a bright red hat, who was seated next to the chairman.
‘Well, yes…at first,’ said Anne. ‘Children can very quickly form little cliques and try to antagonise one another, and the evacuees were…different; town children as opposed to country ones. But I tried to encourage them to share their experiences and their differences. We can all learn from one another. For instance, when I came to live here I had very little idea of what it was like to live in the country. My knowledge of the flora and fauna was negligible. And so I instigated nature walks around the area, and the town children – and myself – learned a great deal that had been a mystery to us before.’ She felt she was getting into her stride now.
‘And I believe I have added to the life of the school by encouraging the children to take pleasure in literature and poetry. I think the most important thing any teacher can do – Primary school teacher, I mean – is to ensure that the pupils can read well, and above all, enjoy what they are reading. It has always been one of my greatest pleasures in life, and I hope that I have been able to pass on something of the joy of it.’ She was aware of Miss Foster nodding, but it was the woman in the red hat who spoke again.
‘But what about the three Rs, Miss Mellodey? Reading, writing and arithmetic. You have talked about reading, but would you not agree that it is just as important to be able to write clearly and to have a good knowledge of mathematics, what the children call sums? Long division and multiplication, fractions, percentages, problems… These are what stimulate the mind, surely?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Anne. Maths was not her forte. She had managed to get by in the subject by always being a step ahead of the children, but she had no intention of saying so. ‘I believe the children at Middlebeck School have attained a reasonable standard in Mathematics as well as in English, bearing in mind the capability of each individual child, that is.’
‘Yes, Miss Mellodey,’ said the chairman. He smiled at her. ‘From what we know of the school, I believe you are right. And I know you have played your part in keeping up the high standard set by Miss Foster.’
‘Now…this is the question we will be asking all the candidates. Could you tell us, please, what would be your plans for the future, taking a long-term view, for Middlebeck School?’
This was a question that Anne had felt sure they were bound to ask, and therefore she had given it some thought. ‘I think the most pressing need for the school is a hall where all the children, both Infants and Juniors, can meet together,’ she began. ‘Of course, I realise that there is little I can do about this. It is a matter of finance and would have to be the decision of the Education Committee. But I do know that Miss Foster has been campaigning for this for a while, and she has my support.’
‘Yes, as you say, Miss Mellodey,’ said the dark-suited man who had acted as usher, ‘it is largely a question of finance, but it is one that is being considered quite urgently. And – should this come to pass – what use would you wish to make of a school hall, that you could not do in an ordinary classroom?’
‘It is necessary, I feel, to have a focal point where all the classes can be together. The main objective would be a place where we could have a corporate act of worship each morning.’ Anne could see Luke nodding approvingly. ‘It is the law of the land that the school day should begin with prayers, and we do see that this is carried out in our own classrooms. But it would be so much better if it could be a shared experience, for all the children, starting with a hymn and prayers, and a reading, perhaps. The older children could be encouraged to take part themselves, in time…’
‘It would take a large chunk out of the day, Miss Mellodey,’ observed Mrs – or Miss – Red Hat. ‘Time that could be spent on what I mentioned before; the three Rs.’ Maybe she is not very religiously inclined, thought Anne, looking the woman straight in the eye before she replied.
‘It need take no more than half an hour, if that,’ she said. ‘It works very well in the town schools… But there would be many other uses for a school hall as well as that one.’
‘Go on, Miss Mellodey,’ said the chairman encouragingly. ‘You are doing very well,’ he added, smiling at her.
She told the committee that games and what was generally called Physical Training (PT) could take place in the hall, rather than in the school yard where they were always dependent upon the weather. And for concerts, too, she went on, for occasions such as Christmas and the end of the school year. There had not been much emphasis on music and drama in the school, because there was not the room. And this was all tied in with her desire to extend the curriculum to include, to a greater extent, such things as music, drama, literature and poetry, and the appreciation of art. Education should encompass much more, she said, than learning tables by rote and lists of spellings. She would like to encourage the children to think more for themselves and to form their own ideas…although she did agree, she added, that learning to read and write and to be proficient in maths was of equal importance. She could see that Red Hat was looking somewhat put out.
‘You mentioned music, Miss Mellodey,’ said a rather younger woman, who had not spoken before. ‘In view of your name – a very lovely name I must say – maybe it is a special interest of yours?’ she smiled.
‘Yes…’ said Anne. ‘At least… I like a good tune; a nice melody,’ she added, to polite laughter. ‘I am by no means an expert on the subject, although I can play the piano, after a fashion… I think children should be encouraged to find pleasure in music, as well as in the other arts.’
‘They have singing lessons,
surely?’ asked one of the men. ‘When I was at school I loved singing “The British Grenadiers” and “Hearts of Oak” and all those rousing songs.’
‘Yes, they do sing,’ replied Anne, thinking that the way music was taught had obviously not changed a great deal for the last forty odd years; he must be well turned fifty. She knew she must be careful, though, not to be critical of Miss Foster.
Miss Foster’s idea of singing – the only music the children ever experienced – was to have all the Juniors together in one classroom, with the dividing partition drawn back. There was a piano, which badly needed tuning, in Shirley Barker’s half of the room, but as Shirley was no more competent on the instrument than was Anne, Miss Foster always played for the singing lessons, with either Shirley or Anne taking charge of the Infants during this hour. The headmistress’s touch was inclined to be heavy, which meant that the children had to sing loudly to compete with her, resulting in a sound which, to Anne’s ears, was by no means melodious. They sang rousing songs of the type that the man on the panel had mentioned, and more plaintive ones; ‘Golden Slumbers’, ‘Early One Morning’ or ‘The Ash Grove’. They read the words from well-worn red books which must have been in use ever since Miss Foster took over the school, or even earlier; at least, those who could read quite well did so, whilst the less able ones joined in as best they could. Anne had long questioned the value of such singing lessons, especially as she had heard the older boys making up their own words to songs such as ‘Strawberry Fair’. ‘Rifle, rifle, fol-de riddle-hi-do’ – daft words to start with, she had always thought – were soon altered to ‘Trifle, trifle, sock ’im in the eyeball’, or some such version. Miss Foster, usually so alert, would be concentrating on the music in front of her, having no idea of what was going on.
The Infants’ singing lessons took place in their own room, which was also equipped with an out-of-tune piano, and consisted solely of nursery rhymes and jingles.
Down an English Lane Page 16
