‘Your tea’s all ready for you, dear,’ replied her mother. ‘I remembered you have to be out again for six o’clock. I’ve made a nice shepherd’s pie and it’s keeping warm in the oven. Your dad and I will have ours later when he comes in from work. That’s the beauty of shepherd’s pie; it won’t spoil.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Sally. ‘You’re a treasure. I’ll just wash my hands first, then I’ll get ready afterwards.’
‘Best bib and tucker tonight, eh?’ Her mother beamed at her.
‘Yes, that’s right, Mum. We must try to impress the parents. Although they’ll be looking at the children’s work, not at the teachers’ clothes.’
Sally knew that her mum, and her dad too, were very proud that she had been to college and had become a teacher. Her mother had told her many times that it was what she would have liked to do, but it had been impossible. She had been one of a large family of children; she had left school at thirteen and had gone to work in a store that sold clothing for both men and women. It was there that she had met her future husband, Bill, and they had married when she was just twenty years of age. She had assured Sally that she had never regretted it, and Sally knew that that was true. She doubted that there could be many couples of her parents’ age who were as happy or as satisfied with their lot.
But Millie Roberts had been determined that her children should have all the advantages of higher education that had been denied to her and Bill, should it be possible. Jack, though, their second child and only son, had had other ideas. He had joined the merchant navy as soon as he was old enough and, consequently, he was always away somewhere or other on the high seas. Fortunately he had come through the war unscathed, but it was a great regret to Millie and Bill that they saw him so infrequently.
And it was the same with their eldest child, Freda, who was five years older than Sally. She, too, had shown no aptitude for serious study. She had left school at fifteen and had worked as an office junior for a solicitor in the town. Her parents had been disappointed when, at the age of eighteen, she had told them she was pregnant and was going to marry Clive, the lad she had been going out with ever since she left school. They had supported her, though, rather than regarding it as a shameful event that brought disgrace to the family, as was the attitude of many parents of the time. Freda had made a good marriage; Millie and Bill now had three grandchildren, the eldest of whom, Jennifer, was now almost twenty. But, as it was with Jack, they seldom saw Freda and her family. They had moved several years ago to Birmingham where there was more scope for Clive in his work as a motor mechanic.
So it was that Millie Roberts had come to invest her hopes and dreams in her younger daughter. It had been a great joy to her when, after training for two years at a college in Manchester, Sally had been given a teaching post at a school in Blackpool, one that was practically on the doorstep.
Sally was still contented at home, but she knew that she stayed there now mainly for the sake of her mother. She did not mind her mum’s cosseting because it was never too overbearing. Mum never asked too many questions about her private life and she had all the freedom she needed. It was very nice, she had to admit, to have her meals cooked for her and her washing done, although she did pay her way very generously and helped out with the household chores as well.
The sad fact, however, was that Sally should have been married by now with a family of her own. She had met Martin Crossley soon after she had started teaching. He had taught at a secondary school in the town, and they had met at a social gathering of the National Union of Teachers, the organisation she had joined on starting her career. He was the first serious boyfriend she had had. They were soon very much in love but were in no hurry to get married. Sally had felt she must teach for a few years at least as her parents had invested so much in her education; and Martin, too, wanted to save up so that they could have a good start with a home of their own.
But alas, the war intervened. Martin joined the RAF and within a year had become part of a bomber crew. He was the ‘tail-end Johnny’ which, he informed Sally, was the name for the rear gunner. He was involved, inevitably, in the Battle of Britain, and in the July of 1940 Sally heard the tragic news from Martin’s parents that he had been killed in action.
She was overwhelmed by sadness, but it was fortunate that she had the long summer holiday from school in which to try to come to terms with her loss and to pull herself together. During the first couple of weeks, though, as well as the anguish of her loss she was also nearly out of her mind with worry. On his last leave, only a few days before he had been killed, she and Martin had made love together for the first – and the last – time. They had paid no heed as to what the consequences might be, which was most unlike the careful and considerate man she knew Martin to be. In the midst of her tears she prayed frantically that all would be well, although she knew it was rather too late for prayers to make any difference. Fortunately she knew, a fortnight later, that her fears had been groundless.
‘Thank you, God, thank you …’ she had murmured, over and over again. She remembered what had happened to her sister several years before. What a shock and a disappointment it would have been to her parents should it have happened again.
Gradually the pain of her loss eased and the grief became less intense. She had her teaching job to keep her busy. Eventually she found that it brought her contentment, even happiness and, for the most part, fulfilment. She loved the children she taught and she had made good friends amongst the staff. There had not been anyone else, though, who had caused her to feel the way she had felt about Martin.
Sally felt quite satisfied with her appearance as she regarded herself in the full-length mirror. She had decided to wear the dress she had bought just before Christmas and had worn for the family gatherings that had taken place around that time, but she had scarcely worn it since then. It seemed a suitable time now to give it another airing. The dress was a dusky pink colour, made of a fine woollen material, with three-quarter-length sleeves, a full mid-calf-length skirt and a nipped-in waist. She had kept her trim figure – some of her married friends had lost their waistlines after childbearing – and the black patent leather belt accentuated her slimness. With it she wore her black patent leather shoes and a matching handbag. She would take a light coat, although she would probably not need it. Phil was picking her up and would most likely run her home again after their visit to the promenade hotel.
‘You look very nice, dear,’ said her mother, when Sally appeared in the living room. ‘That colour really suits you.’
‘Do you think so?’ queried Sally. ‘I wondered if it was a bit wishy-washy – you know, with me being fair-skinned and my hair and everything.’
Her hair was a silvery blonde and had kept its colour without any artificial aids, and the one or two grey hairs she had found did not show. Her eyes were grey; a nondescript colour really, she thought, but tonight she had highlighted them with a slight touch of mascara and a pale-green eyeshadow. She usually chose pastel colours for her clothes, but she had wondered sometimes if a bright red or blue might make her look more striking.
‘No, it’s just perfect,’ said her mother. ‘And you’ve done your eyes as well.’
Sally laughed. ‘Well, I don’t often get a chance to dress up, do I? And we’re going out for a drink after the meeting, a few of us.’
‘You look a real bobby-dazzler,’ said her father. He and her mother were sitting at the table, eating their shepherd’s pie. Bill Roberts was manager now of one of the gents’ outfitters in the town, having stayed in the same line of work ever since he had left school. ‘You’ll turn a few heads tonight, Sal,’ he added.
‘That’s not really the idea, Dad,’ she smiled. ‘The parents are concerned with the children’s progress, not with what their teacher looks like.’
‘All the same …’ said her dad, nodding approvingly.
‘How are you getting to school?’ asked her mother. ‘Are you going on the bus?’ That was her usual
form of transport to and from the school, although she occasionally cycled there if the weather was good.
‘No … Phil’s picking me up,’ she answered. ‘Didn’t I say?’
‘No, you didn’t, actually.’ Her mother smiled. ‘So that’s why you’re looking so fetching, is it? Eyeshadow an’ all!’
‘Give over, Mum!’ said Sally. ‘You know very well it isn’t so. I’ve told you, Phil and I are–’
‘Just good friends!’ Her mother finished off the statement. ‘Alright, love; I know it’s none of my business. But Phil Grantley’s a really nice young man; I’ve always thought so.’
A ring at the doorbell stopped any further comments. Phil was standing on the doorstep looking unusually smart in a grey suit with a dazzlingly white shirt and maroon tie.
‘Wow! You look smart,’ said Sally.
‘Why? Don’t I always?’ He gave a quizzical grin.
‘To be honest, no!’ she laughed. ‘But you scrub up very well, I must say.’
‘And so do you …’ Phil was looking at her admiringly. ‘You look … quite amazing, Sally.’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she joked, a little fazed by the intensity of his gaze. ‘I can make an effort when it’s necessary.’
‘Come along, then.’ He held her arm in a friendly way as they went down the path, then he helped her into the car. ‘We’d best get moving or the parents will be there before us.’
Indeed, a few of the early birds were already there, waiting in the corridor outside the classroom doors.
‘See you later,’ said Phil with a cheery wink as he went further along the corridor to the junior part of the building.
The business of the evening began at once when Sally had hung up her coat and sat down at her imposing desk. There were two chairs at the opposite side where the parents could sit. This was one occasion when the children were not invited, so that the teachers could speak to their parents in confidence.
Sally tried to say something encouraging about every child, and never to be too critical or condemning. Some children were exceptionally bright, others average or only mediocre, and some, it must be admitted, were slow to learn, whether through lack of brainpower or through laziness or want of motivation. But they nearly all had some ability in one direction or another, some saving grace, however small it might be. It might be that they could paint or draw very well – some of the less able pupils were surprisingly good at art – or could run fast, or print neatly, or help the teacher with the classroom jobs (such as cleaning the blackboard), or were kind and friendly towards the other children. This was a quality in her pupils that Sally regarded as of great importance.
Shirley Morris’s parents were some of the first to be seen. Shirley, in many ways, was a model pupil, at least as far as her schoolwork was concerned.
‘Yes, our Shirley takes after my wife,’ said Mr Morris with a proud glance at that lady. ‘I was never all that good at book learning an’ all that sort of thing. But Sadie got her School Certificate, didn’t you, love?’
‘Yes, Frank,’ replied Mrs Morris, giving him a look that quite clearly was asking him to shut up!
‘And I’m a bus driver,’ he went on.
‘Yes … so Shirley said,’ replied Sally. ‘Actually, she wrote all about it in a little story.’
‘Did she now?’ He looked pleased at that. ‘Yes, I’ve got a good job and I’m proud of what I do. Each to his own, that’s what I say. I like to think Shirley takes after me in some ways, though. She’s a confident little lass, wouldn’t you say so, Miss Roberts?’
‘Very much so,’ agreed Sally. ‘She’s very self-assured …’ Which was a polite way of saying that she was bossy and inclined to be cocky.
‘She’s bossy, isn’t she?’ said Mrs Morris, taking the words right out of Sally’s mouth, although she would not have put it so bluntly. ‘I’ve noticed her with her little friend, Kathy. She tries to rule the roost and she likes to get all her own way. Of course, that’s another way in which she takes after her father.’ She cast him a half-joking, half-reproving glance. ‘I have told her about it, because I think it’s a tendency we must try to discourage.’
‘Bright little girls are inclined to be bossy at times,’ said Sally, ‘more so than boys.’ She eyed Mr Morris warily, hoping that any ill feeling between them would not develop any further. It wouldn’t be the first time she had had parents sniping at one another when they were supposed to be discussing their children. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs Morris. She’ll probably grow out of it, and I don’t let her get above herself. Kathy Leigh can hold her own, I assure you. Actually, the two of them are quite good for one another. Kathy’s a sensible little girl, and she seems to be able to stop Shirley from getting too big for her boots … if you see what I mean.’
Kathy’s father and her aunt came about halfway through the evening. Sally had met them both on a couple of previous occasions, but this was the first time she had talked to them at any length.
‘She tries hard at everything,’ Sally told them when they had looked carefully at Kathy’s exercise books: the sums, English, spelling and copy-writing books.
‘A few spelling mistakes, though,’ observed the woman that Kathy called Aunty Win. ‘She’s only got ten out of ten once, as far as I can see.’
‘Well, I was never much good at spelling,’ observed Mr Leigh with a grin. ‘But I’ve got by, haven’t I?’ Sally reflected that she had heard similar remarks several times already that evening.
‘How does she compare with the other children?’ asked Miss Leigh. ‘With her little friend, Shirley, for instance. Kathy tells me that she’s a lot cleverer, in the top reading group and good at sums and everything. Kathy seems to set a lot of store by what Shirley does.’
‘We try not to make comparisons, Miss Leigh,’ replied Sally. ‘There aren’t any exams as such until they reach junior school age. Kathy works to the very best of her ability, and that is what is important. She’s a trier, and she will do well because she’ll have a go at anything, even if she finds it difficult.’
‘What would you say she was best at?’ asked Mr Leigh.
‘Oh … composition,’ replied Sally. ‘Story writing, we call it. As you’ve noticed, her spelling is not always one hundred per cent, but she expresses herself very clearly. I asked them to write a story about what they wanted to do when they were grown-up.’
‘Yes, we’ve read that one,’ replied Miss Leigh, smiling.
‘Well, she starts off by saying that she would like to write books, like Enid Blyton …’
‘Yes, she’s just started reading some of them on her own,’ said Kathy’s aunt. ‘Naughty Amelia Jane and Mister Meddle’s Mischief, and I’ve been reading the stories of the Faraway Tree with her, and I’m enjoying them very much myself,’ she smiled.
Then, more prosaically, Kathy had gone on to write that until she became a story writer she would work in the hotel, like her dad and her aunty. ‘She says she wants to be a good chef, like her daddy, and to look after the visitors and make them welcome, like her aunty does,’ Sally told them. ‘I was quite touched by that. She obviously admires you both very much. She’s a grand little girl, and you must be very proud of her.’
‘So we are,’ replied Mr Leigh. ‘Aren’t we, Winnie?’
Kathy’s aunt smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, indeed we are.’
Sally had had time to appraise them both during their conversation. Mr Leigh she took to be in his mid forties; quite a good-looking fellow, she supposed, with fairish hair and blue eyes, unlike his daughter, who was dark-haired with brown eyes. Kathy must take after her mother who had died when she was a baby, she reflected. She had imagined Mr Leigh to be a taciturn sort of man when she had met him before, but he had seemed much more amenable this evening. He had a nice smile, that she guessed one saw only rarely. Sally was aware that he had smiled at her once or twice and his glance had lingered on her a time or two. Not in too obvious a way, though; just nice and friendly.
Miss Leigh too – Aunty Win – was a very likeable person, obviously dressed in her best clothes, a smart green coat with a matching hat. It was gratifying when parents took the trouble with their appearance for something as mundane as a school meeting. She had said goodbye to them with a feeling of satisfaction. They had thanked her sincerely for all that she was doing for Kathy. It was good to be appreciated; it was parents such as those who made the job even more worthwhile.
Chapter Seven
‘Was it a successful evening, then, Sally?’ asked Phil as they set off on the drive to the Carlton Hotel.
There were five of them in the car; Phil’s mate, Brian, was on the back seat with Mavis and Eileen, two of the junior teachers. Sally had noticed that Phil had sorted out the seating arrangements, making sure that she had the seat next to him, at least that was how it had seemed to her.
‘Yes, very successful,’ she replied. ‘All satisfied customers, as far as I could tell. How about you? No punch-ups this time?’
‘No, it all went very smoothly,’ Phil replied. ‘The odd query as to why our Jimmy isn’t doing as well as Johnny, the boy who lives across the street. It’s hard to tell them, isn’t it, that Jimmy hasn’t got as much upstairs as Johnny has; that he is, in fact, as thick as two short planks!’
Sally laughed. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. I try to find something good to say about every child, but I must admit it’s a struggle at times. And I suppose they get more competitive when they go into the juniors, especially in the top year, like you teach.’
‘You can say that again,’ chimed in Brian from the back seat. He, along with Phil, taught one of the fourth-year classes, the ones who had recently sat for the all-important exam. ‘But it’s the parents who are far worse than the kids. “Will our Mary pass the scholarship exam? Oh, we do want her to go to the grammar school, don’t we, Fred?” It’s hard to say that she hasn’t a cat in hell’s chance!’
Time Goes By Page 7
