Trouble at the Little Village School

by Gervase Phinn

  ‘What happened?’ asked Elisabeth.

  ‘He was arranging some coloured beads, sorting them out and putting them in order of size and colour, which, as you know, he likes to do. One of the other children touched them and then moved them around and John got into quite a state and lashed out. He’s never done this before. Fortunately the other child wasn’t badly hurt, but she became very distressed too.’

  Elisabeth remained silent and stared at the floor. ‘It’s so out of character for John to do this, isn’t it?’ she said finally.

  ‘It is,’ agreed Mr Williams. ‘He’s usually such a placid, easy-going and good-humoured boy, but you see when someone invaded his space and disrupted his routine he became confused and annoyed. This is not unusual with autistic people. They take things very seriously. Of course several of the other children do suddenly become angry if something or somebody upsets them but it has never happened before with John, so let’s hope this is a one-off.’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Elisabeth. ‘Let’s hope.’

  ‘As I mentioned to you when John first came here,’ continued the head teacher, ‘there is no disorder as confusing to comprehend or as complex to diagnose as autism. John displays many of the symptoms of this condition: repetitive actions, rigidity of thinking, oversensitivity to noise and touch and getting upset if his routine is broken. I really don’t think this spat is something to get overly worried about, but I thought you needed to know before you see him today. He might seem a bit different.’

  ‘Why do you think he’s started to be like this now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot say,’ replied Mr Williams. ‘Maybe he’s growing up and hormones are kicking in. You know what some youngsters can be like when they reach adolescence. There are all the changes taking place in their bodies. I know my own nephew went through that moody, “you can’t tell me anything, you’re always getting at me” stage and flying into tantrums, arguing with his parents and storming out of the house. John of course can’t shout or tell you what troubles him. Perhaps this is a way of expressing his feelings.’ Elisabeth looked so dejected the head teacher reached out across the desk and touched her hand. ‘Elisabeth, your son has made really good progress since he has been here. He can dress himself, go to the toilet and clean his teeth, which many children here cannot do. He can express his needs calmly and has started to respond to light demands placed upon him. He is coping well with distractions that might have previously annoyed or made him anxious. All these are positives. Anyway, I just thought you needed to know about his small outburst – and that’s what it was, a small outburst – before you see him this morning. We will of course keep a close eye on him, as we do with all the children. I hope that perhaps this behaviour turns out to be just a temporary thing.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ replied Elisabeth.

  John was sitting by the window in the classroom gently rocking back and forth. She noticed that the other children were keeping well away from him.

  ‘They are giving him a bit of a wide berth this morning,’ explained the teacher. Mr Campsmount, a young man with a ready smile and bright eyes, clearly loved his job. He had started teaching at the school the year before and had been described by the inspectors in their report as an outstanding practitioner – well organised, enthusiastic, highly committed and relating well to his pupils.

  ‘So I hear,’ sighed Elisabeth.

  ‘It’s not like John to get into a paddy,’ the teacher told her. ‘He’s always such a pleasant lad. He’s a bit upset at the moment but I wouldn’t worry too much. I am sure he’ll soon be back to his usual self.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘After all, we all get angry at times, don’t we? I remember I went ballistic when my younger brother smashed up my bike when I was John’s age. Lost it completely. Why should these children be any different?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she replied.

  ‘You might like to take John for a short walk in the grounds when he’s calmed down a bit – perhaps when you next visit. As you know, when he came here he found trips out of the school stressful but he quite enjoys them now, especially the puddles. He’s also become fascinated with insects. He never hurts them, but he loves to watch them and have them on his hand. Anyway, I’ll leave you with him. He always enjoys your visits.’

  If only I could be sure of that, thought Elisabeth.

  She went to John’s favourite table by the window and sat beside her son. He stiffened when she touched his hand, avoided eye contact and stopped rocking. The beads were in front of him on the table but remained untouched. As a small child he had always been happiest when left alone sitting on the carpet sorting out shapes and bricks, spending hours meticulously arranging them. Sometimes he would take all the pans out of the cupboard in the kitchen and put them in order of size. He became quite obsessive about neatness and routine.

  ‘Hello, John,’ said Elisabeth.

  The boy started rocking again, moving rhythmically to and fro, his brow furrowed as if something troubled him.

  ‘Well, young man,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I hear you’ve had a bit of a do?’ John continued to rock and stare before him. ‘Well, it’s all over now.’ She squeezed his hand.

  Elisabeth spent an hour with her son, sometimes chattering on about the school and things she had done, at other times just sitting there in silence holding his hand and staring through the classroom window at the panorama of pale green fields and limestone walls and distant peaks. When she had done this on previous visits, she had often wondered if John understood anything, but on the odd occasion when she mentioned a memory there would be a reaction – a slight turn of the head, a small change of expression, a rapid blink of an eye. That morning John continued his slow rocking seemingly oblivious to all that she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry your head too much about it, Mr Gribbon,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw casually as she tidied her desk before departing for home.

  ‘It’s all well and good you saying that,’ the caretaker told the school secretary, ‘but if they’re getting rid of some teachers, downscaling as they like to call it—’

  ‘Downsizing,’ corrected the school secretary.

  ‘Whatever. It means they’ll be redeploying and sacking other people as well, and it might be you and me what has to go.’

  ‘When, and indeed if, this proposed amalgamation does take place,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw, ‘and nothing has been decided yet, there will be two premises to manage, one here and one at Urebank, so that means they will need to have a secretary here and one over there to answer all the calls and deal with all the paperwork. I have no worries on my account. In fact, I’ve been assured by Mrs Devine that my position looks pretty secure.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’m very pleased for you, I’m sure, but what about me?’ whinged the caretaker. ‘She’s said nothing to me. Has she said anything to you?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About me,’ he said, thrusting out his jaw.

  ‘Why should Mrs Devine discuss your future with me?’ asked Mrs Scrimshaw. ‘I suggest you ask her about your position yourself.’

  ‘I will do,’ replied the caretaker.

  ‘Of course they may just have the one caretaker,’ added the school secretary mischievously.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A peripatetic.’

  ‘Somebody what’s disabled?’ exclaimed the caretaker. ‘How can he do the job? He won’t be able to get up a ladder.’

  ‘Peripatetic – someone who moves from one premises to the other,’ explained the secretary, shaking her head.

  ‘Moves from one premises to the other?’ the caretaker repeated. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I can’t be going backwards and forwards to two schools like a fiddler’s elbow. I have enough on dealing with this place. I couldn’t manage two, not with my back. Anyway, I’m supposed to be getting a part-time cleaner to help out here. Mrs Devine promised me.’

  ‘Well, the situation might have changed,’ th
e secretary told him. ‘I don’t imagine they’ll be taking on any more staff at this time. As I said, it may be that they appoint one caretaker to look after both schools.’

  ‘Well, it’s not something I want to take on,’ grumbled Mr Gribbon. ‘I can tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘Well, you might not have to.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The caretaker at Urebank might do it,’ she told him.

  Mr Gribbon went suddenly quiet. ‘Yes, I suppose they might,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘They’ll probably appoint a site manager,’ said the secretary, ‘to oversee both places, and a team of cleaners at each school.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Well, it’s a possibility.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that either,’ grumbled the caretaker.

  ‘I suppose when the governors consider who to appoint they’ll look at the track records of you and the caretaker at Urebank.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning they’ll consider who does the better job.’ Then she added impishly, ‘I’m sure you have no worries on that account, but if I were you I’d keep your bad back to yourself. They might not think you are up to the job.’

  ‘Not up to the job!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who says I’m not up to the job?’

  ‘Nobody here,’ said the school secretary, ‘but when it comes to appointments you know what school governors can be like.’

  ‘I shall have to have a word with Mrs Devine,’ said Mr Gribbon, looking distinctly uneasy.

  ‘I think that’s a good idea,’ agreed the secretary. ‘Now I must make tracks. I have a Women’s Institute meeting this evening. Mr Lilywhite is talking about “The Amusing Side of Waste Management” and I’m in the chair.’

  Chantelle appeared at the door of the school office.

  ‘Mr Gribbon,’ she said, ‘can you come? One of the infants has been sick right down the corridor on her way home and the tap won’t turn off in the girls’ toilets and the handle’s come loose on the outside door and—’

  ‘Don’t bring me no more bad news,’ he told the girl loudly before stomping past her on his way to see the head teacher.

  The girl rolled her eyes and shrugged. ‘What’s got into him?’ she asked. ‘He’s like a bear with a sore bum, as my nan would say.’

  Mrs Scrimshaw could not contain a smile.

  ‘Might I have a word, Mrs Devine?’ Mr Gribbon was waiting for the head teacher outside her classroom the following morning, jangling his keys and looking uneasy.

  ‘Of course,’ Elisabeth replied. ‘I was meaning to have a word with you anyway.’

  ‘You were?’ He looked worried.

  ‘Yes, but you go first. What is it that you wished to see me about?’

  ‘It’s just that I’m a bit concerned about my position, Mrs Devine,’ said the caretaker.

  ‘Your position?’ she repeated.

  ‘With this amalgamation. Will it mean that I might lose my job?’

  ‘No, I think your position is pretty secure,’ Elisabeth reassured him. ‘Schools need to be cleaned and cared for, and good caretakers are hard to come by. I am sure you have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘So I won’t be made redundant, then?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I can allay any fears you have in that direction.’

  ‘You can what?’ he asked.

  ‘Assure you that it is not likely to happen.’

  ‘And I won’t be one of these pyrotechnics?’

  ‘Pyrotechnics?’

  ‘Them that travel between the schools.’

  ‘Ah, peripatetic. No, I can’t see that happening either.’

  ‘It’s just that Mrs Scrimshaw seems to think that they might appoint some site manager what looks after both schools and that I might have to travel.’

  ‘Mrs Scrimshaw only knows as much as anyone else, and we are all in the dark as to what may or may not happen, Mr Gribbon, but I am sure things will remain pretty much the same as far as you are concerned.’

  The caretaker looked mollified. ‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ he said, raising a smile.

  ‘I was meaning to speak to you about the part-time cleaner we have been trying to employ here,’ Elisabeth told him.

  ‘I suppose they’ve put the kibosh on that now,’ observed the caretaker. ‘Mrs Scrimshaw said that they’ll not likely be employing new staff until this amalgamation takes place.’

  ‘Mrs Scrimshaw seems to be privy to a great deal about the proposed amalgamation,’ said Elisabeth good-humouredly. ‘In actual fact they have agreed at County Hall at long last for a part-time cleaner to start here. Just two mornings a week. She will be on a temporary contract for the time being, but hopefully, if she proves satisfactory, she can be made permanent when they have sorted out the staffing for the amalgamated schools.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s good news,’ said Mr Gribbon.

  ‘She will be calling in at school later this week. Her name is Mrs Pugh. Perhaps I might leave you to look after her and show her the ropes? I have an education officer coming in for the morning on Thursday and then Mrs Atticus’s college tutor and the school nurse visiting on the Friday, so I will be pretty much tied up.’

  ‘No problem, Mrs Devine,’ replied the caretaker. He strode off down the corridor with a spring in his step, keen to enlighten the school secretary with the good news about the part-time cleaner and his assured future.

  Chapter 5

  On Thursday Ms Tricklebank arrived to spend a morning in the school. She had spoken to Elisabeth following the governors’ meeting and asked if she might visit Barton-in-the Dale to get to know the staff and pupils and learn something about the school. Of course, Elisabeth realised that there was another agenda for the visit, namely to assess the quality of the education. The senior education officer would no doubt be visiting Urebank as well, to judge that school and make comparisons. It was therefore important, as Elisabeth told the teachers at the staff meeting and the children in the school assembly, that the visitor gained a favourable impression. At the staff meeting the teachers looked anxious.

  ‘What is she like?’ asked Mrs Robertshaw.

  ‘Well, I’ve only met her once at the governors’ meeting,’ replied Elisabeth, ‘and to be frank she is a bit of an unknown quantity. She said very little at the meeting and kept things pretty close to her chest. She’s not a person given to much smiling. Rather a stern and forbidding woman if first impressions are anything to go by.’

  ‘Sounds frightening,’ observed Miss Brakespeare, giving a slight shudder.

  ‘I’m sure that when she sees what we have achieved here, meets the children and looks at the work they are doing,’ said Elisabeth, ‘she will leave very impressed.’

  It was Mr Gribbon who first saw Ms Tricklebank on the Thursday morning. He observed a dumpy, red-faced woman with a rather intense expression on her face standing by the school gate watching the children as they filed up the path.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, approaching her.

  ‘Good morning,’ she replied.

  ‘Are you from County Hall?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I think I am expected.’

  ‘I’m Mr Gribbon, the caretaker.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, come along,’ he said. ‘Don’t stand out here in the cold. I’ll show you what’s what.’

  ‘Perhaps I might see the head teacher first,’ said the senior education officer.

  ‘Oh, she’ll see you later,’ he told her. ‘That’s if she can fit you in. She’s very busy this morning. She teaches during the day and has important visitors to see at lunchtime. She’s asked me to look after you.’

  ‘Really?’

  As Ms Tricklebank followed the caretaker up the school path, he continued to talk non-stop. ‘’Course, it’s an old school as you can see and it takes a lot of cleaning, I can tell you. Dust gets everywhere and we have a problem with cockroaches. They come out from under the skirting boar
ds at night. You get used to them. They’re bloody difficult to kill are cockroaches, I can tell you. They can live for a month without food. ’Course in a school they’ve got plenty to go at what with the kiddies dropping crisps and sweets and I don’t know what, and the teachers are as bad. I put this poison powder down the corridors every night then sweep up the bodies before school.’ He chuckled. ‘For the cockroaches that is, not the teachers.’

  ‘If I might—’ began Ms Tricklebank.

  ‘You’re not allergical to cockroaches are you?’ the caretaker asked.

  ‘Interesting as this is,’ started Ms Tricklebank, ‘I think I really must—’

  The caretaker continued obliviously. ‘You’re all right up ladders, are you? Because some of the shelves are high up. I deal with the floors and the boiler of course. You’ll be responsible for the toilets, amongst other things. You’ll find Mrs Devine the head teacher nice enough but she’s a real stickler for cleanliness, not like the last one, and she watches you like a hawk. She misses nothing. Now, the children’s toilets will need a good going-over when you’re in and—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Ms Tricklebank, ‘I think we are at cross-purposes here. Whom do you imagine you are speaking to?’

  ‘You’re Mrs Pugh, the new part-time cleaner, aren’t you?’ the caretaker replied.

  ‘No, I am not,’ replied Ms Tricklebank. ‘I am the senior education officer.’

  ‘Oh,’ gasped Mr Gribbon, stopping in his tracks and hoping that the floor would open and swallow him up.

  The first lesson Ms Tricklebank joined was with Miss Brakespeare and the top juniors. The deputy head teacher was rather unnerved by the serious-faced woman who wandered from desk to desk, talking to the children and scrutinising their exercise books.

  ‘And what would you say is the best thing about your school?’ she asked a large boy with a round moon of a face and great dimpled elbows. He stared at her suspiciously. ‘The best thing about Barton-in-the-Dale?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he replied.

  ‘Is it the lessons, the various activities, the school trips?’ she prompted.