That evening I snuggled up with Christine on the old sofa we had bought from Roper’s Saleroom. We had spent an hour stripping faded and peeling wallpaper off the bedroom walls and were relaxing before returning to the flat in Fettlesham for supper. She rested her head on my chest.
‘You’re in a very pensive mood,’ she said.
‘Chris, what would you say if I said I wanted to look for another job?’
‘I thought you had got over not being shortlisted for the Senior Inspector’s post.’
‘I have.’
‘Well, what’s brought all this on, then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I just feel with Harold going things are going to change.’
‘Well, of course things are going to change. There’s nothing wrong with change. You’ve changed into a happily-married man-I hope-and we’re going to change this cottage. Things need to change. Things can’t stay the same for ever.’
‘Some things don’t need to change, though. You wouldn’t want the view from this window to change, for example, would you?’
‘That’s different.’
‘Exactly. Some changes are for the good, but others are not. The thing is, I think work is going to change for the worse when Harold goes.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The new SI came in today and none of us really like him.’
‘I thought you did?’
‘We did at first but after the meeting today we changed our minds. He’s single-minded and it’s clear he wants his own way and everyone to agree with him. He’s a systems man and, worst of all, he seems completely humourless.’
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Christine. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
‘All he talks about is appraisal and assessment and tests and audits. He rarely mentions children. He’s hell-bent on bringing in these dreadful form-filling procedures. It sounds a nightmare. It’s not what I came into this job for. I want to work with teachers and children, not be pen-pushing morning, noon and night.’
‘Give the poor man a chance. He hasn’t even started yet.’
‘That’s what I said to Sidney, but then I got talking to Delia Mare – you know, the HMI who has been working on the ‘Language and Literacy’ project – and she dropped a few none-too-subtle hints about him,’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, that he is big on change and then she said in a pointed way that some changes can be destructive. She said he is a very different kettle of fish from Harold.’
‘Harold’s pretty special, though, isn’t he? You can’t expect his successor to be a carbon copy of Harold.’
‘I don’t expect that. It’s just that I know I’m not going to get on with Simon Carter. None of us will. I don’t think he will be a good boss to work for.’
‘There wouldn’t be a few sour grapes here, would there?’ asked Christine.
‘Not at all. Hey, Chris, you’re supposed to be sympathetic and understanding and –’
‘Agree with everything you say? Look, love, I’m sorry you are feeling depressed about this but it’s early days yet. If this ogre of a new Senior Inspector does turn out to be difficult and demanding and you begin to hate the job, then you can think about a move. But let’s not rush into things. We’ve just got married and will be moving in here in a few weeks’ time. I don’t intend giving up work so it would be a bit silly, don’t you think, to start looking for other jobs. Give the man a chance.’ She looked up with those great blue eyes. ‘OK?’
‘I suppose so,’ I replied.
‘Now, I’ve got something really really important to ask you before we go back to Fettlesham?’
‘What?’
‘Did you remember to do the shopping, Mr Phinn? I think you said you would cook tonight.’
15s
A few days before the half-term break, I was due at Pope Pius X Roman Catholic Primary School in the little market town of Ribsdyke. I was looking forward to the visit because I was going to be accompanied by a man I much admired, Lord Marrick, a man whom I had originally met in the strangest of circumstances.
A pheasant had just shattered my windscreen as I was driving along a narrow road on my way to visit a Dales’ school, and the person who climbed over the drystone wall a moment later to claim his bird turned out to be Valentine Courtnay-Cunninghame, 9th Earl Marrick, Viscount Manston, Baron Brafferton, MC, DL.
One visit I had made with Lord Marrick was soon after he had been appointed the representative on the Governing Body of Pope Pius X Roman Catholic Primary School. That first visit had not been without incident for he had become apoplectic about the run-down condition of the premises. ‘You inspectors are supposed to comment on the poor state of buildings and the effects upon the children’s education,’ he had told me sternly. ‘The whole place wants pulling down and rebuilding.’ Lord Marrick had then promised the headteacher that he would be contacting Dr Gore when he returned to the Education Department and would ensure that improvements would be put in hand. Lord Marrick had been true to his word.
I collected Lord Marrick now from the Small Committee Room of County Hall and we were soon heading for the rolling hills of the Dales, leaving behind the noise and bustle of Fettlesham. We were going to attend the opening of the new school building, a development which was largely the result of Lord Marrick’s strenuous efforts on the school’s behalf.
‘Have you met the new Senior Inspector, then?’ he asked, stroking his impressive walrus moustache.
‘Yes, we had a meeting with him right at the beginning of this term,’ I replied.
‘Seems a decent sort of chap.’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘He’s a very clever man by all accounts.’
‘Very clever.’ A bit too clever by half, I thought to myself. I was still feeling rather apprehensive after that meeting but, as I had promised Christine, had not given any more thought to finding a new job.
‘Well qualified, too. All these letters after his name, degrees in this, diplomas in that, member of this, fellow of that. I thought I’d met a kindred spirit when I saw one set of letters after his name. Thought he was a member of the Bull Breeders’ Association, too. But then realised it was MBA not MBBA.’ He chuckled.
I smiled, too, thinking of the intense-looking man with the piercing eyes and dressed immaculately in a designer suit trying to lead a frisky bull in from the field. ‘MBA indicates a Master of Business Administration degree,’ I informed Lord Marrick. ‘It’s a top qualification.’
‘So I gather. Then he has those other letters – BAA. I told him that it sounded like a degree in sheep-shearing but I don’t think he was amused.’
No, I thought, it wouldn’t amuse our Mr Carter. I wondered what, if anything, would amuse him. ‘I think that is yet another qualification in accounts and administration,’ I said.
‘Well, he seems to be very experienced in management and supervision.’
He’ll get on well with Mrs Savage then, I thought waspishly. They talk the same language. ‘Yes,’ I remarked, hoping we could leave this particular topic of conversation. I was finding it hugely depressing.
‘Gave a very impressive presentation and his interview was a tour de force. Never seen Councillor George Peterson stuck for words. He just sat and stared like a Toby jug. Mr Carter was never stumped for an answer and seems to have done just about everything there is to do in the educational field.’
As much as I liked the jovial Lord Marrick, this chatter about Simon Carter was making me feel very despondent. ‘Really,’ I replied.
‘Been a headmaster, adviser, lecturer, management consultant. One wonders what he wanted to become a school inspector in Yorkshire for. Must like the scenery.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ I said.
‘You’re very quiet this morning, Gervase. Cat must have got your tongue. Is it because you were not considered for the position?’ Lord Marrick was nothing if not blunt. ‘Is that what’s getting you down? Dr Gore did mention that you had put in an
application.’
Oh no, I thought. I hope he’s not going to be another on the long list of people to tell me I hadn’t had enough experience for such a senior position, that I should look on the bright side, that my time would come. ‘I did apply, Lord Marrick, yes, that’s true,’ I replied. ‘I was disappointed, of course, but –’
‘You need a few more years under your belt yet, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Hardly got your feet under the table. Takes that much longer in the Dales, you know, than in other parts of the country, for people to get to know you. It takes some time to get used to “off-comed-uns”, as they say. My family are just about accepted by the locals and we’ve been here since the time of the Normans. Give it a few more years.’
‘I will,’ I replied. ‘Thank you for the advice.’
‘I hope it doesn’t sound like advice. I was merely making an observation. I was always told by my father never to give unsolicited advice – the clever man doesn’t need it and the foolish man never takes it.’
I continued to drive with my eyes firmly on the road, past grey-stone farmhouses and cottages, long hedgerows in bright new leaf, and the fields studded with hawthorn trees in luxuriant blossom. Despite all this beauty, which would normally lift my spirits sky-high, I just felt in the dumps.
‘Yes, he has more degrees than a thermometer, has Mr Carter,’ remarked Lord Marrick. ‘A very clever man.’
‘He sounds it,’ I replied.
‘Of course, I never pulled up any roots at school, you know,’ Lord Marrick admitted, twisting the ends of his moustache. ‘Sent away at nine, I was, mother crying her eyes out at the station, nanny having hysterics, sisters clinging on to me for dear life, father telling me to keep my chin up, stiff upper lip and all that. Pretty bleak those first couple of years, I don’t mind telling you. Then I got into sport. Spent most of my time on the rugger or cricket pitch after that, and the hardest work I did was to ensure that I attended the minimum number of lessons. My grandson found my old school report a few weeks ago. One of the masters had written: “Now I have deciphered Courtnay-Cunninghame’s spidery scribble, I have discovered that he is unable to spell.” Not a lot of laughs when I was at school. I do think it’s important to have a sense of humour. There’s enough doom and gloom in the world. A good laugh does you good, that’s what I always think.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘You know, this new chap, Carter, was a bit of a serious cove. I hope he’s going to be all right.’
So do I, I thought to myself. So do I.
We soon arrived at the school and its new appearance came as quite a shock. I had not visited Pope Pius X Primary for a couple of years and, at that time, it was a featureless building which had been erected just after the war and, indeed, had had the appearance of an army barracks. It was a big surprise, therefore, to see such a transformation. There now stood a handsome red-brick building with long picture windows and an orange pantile roof. The area around the school had been landscaped and scrubby lawn and cracked paving had been replaced with a spacious play area with benches and picnic tables, surrounded by flowering shrubs and young newly-planted trees.
Lord Marrick clambered from the car, put his hands on his wide hips, surveyed the building with great satisfaction and growled, ‘Not bloody bad, eh?’
The entrance hall to the school was very different as well. On my previous visit I had been reminded more of a hospital than a school. Now the area was brightly decorated and an eye-catching mural, depicting happy children, stretched the full length of the wall. There were modern tables and chairs, tall glass display panels, attractively framed prints and, in pride of place, a large portrait of Pope Pius X with arms outstretched and eyes looking heavenwards.
Mrs Callaghan, the headteacher, was an attractive woman with friendly eyes and light sandy hair tied back. She hurried across the hall to greet us.
‘Lord Marrick, Mr Phinn,’ she panted in an amiable voice. ‘It’s so nice to see you again.’
We followed her into her room and listened as she outlined the programme for the afternoon. First, we would attend assembly, then be given a tour of the school. At the end of the afternoon, when the governors and parents had arrived, everyone would gather in the school hall and Lord Marrick would undertake the official opening of the new building. I was representing Dr Gore and had nothing to do but mingle and be pleasant. I was still not, however, feeling in a very pleasant frame of mind.
Lord Marrick and I chose to sit at the back of the new school hall and watched the children enter – smart, cheerful and well behaved – to the taped strains of some lively martial music. I have spent many an hour observing school assemblies and have heard countless homilies from head-teachers. Some have been tedious affairs with rows of wriggling, inattentive children and bored teachers having to endure a rambling headteacher who frequently finishes by launching into a good telling-off about some infringement to the school rules. Other assemblies have been inspirational and thought-provoking, capturing the children’s interests and imaginations. The assembly I watched that afternoon was one of the latter.
‘Good afternoon, children,’ said Mrs Callaghan cheerfully.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Callaghan, good afternoon, everyone,’ chorused the children.
‘I would like to extend a very special welcome today to our two important visitors, Earl Marrick and Mr Gervase Phinn. Later this afternoon, children, Lord Marrick will be officially opening our new building and unveiling a plaque to celebrate the rebirth of Pope Pius X School. It is a very important day for us.’
What followed was as if Mrs Callaghan had chosen her words just for me.
‘We always dreamt of a new school,’ she said, looking around the bright new hall. ‘We always dreamt of light, airy classrooms, long colourful corridors, a well-stocked library with a carpet and cushions and easy chairs. We always dreamt of a sports field and a playground, a modern kitchen, sparkling toilets and, most especially, a spacious school hall with high walls and a polished wooden floor. Some thought it would remain just a dream, just an idea that would never come true. We have had so many disappointments along the way, so many hurdles and detours and standstills, and there have been many times when we have felt like giving up. But we didn’t. We believed in our dream and today our dream has come true. In an hour’s time, our new school will be officially opened.’ The head-teacher paused for a moment to compose herself. She was clearly finding this quite an emotional occasion. ‘All of you will have your dreams and you must never, never give up on them, for dreams do come true. In your own lives, children, there will be times when you have worked so hard for something and all your efforts seem to come to nothing. Times when you have walked a thousand steps towards your goal only to find yourself back in the place from where you started. At times like these, you will feel disappointed, let down, bewildered. You will feel like giving up and asking yourself if there is any point in carrying on. Well, you must carry on. You must continue to believe in yourself and you must, we all must, follow our dreams.’
Mrs Callaghan then went on to talk about various events which would take place over the next week, and this gave me time to think about what she had said. I realised just how selfish and ungrateful it was of me to be so pessimistic and downhearted. What had I got to be so miserable about? I had a beautiful new wife, a lovely cottage and a good job and here I was feeling sorry for myself. I had to admit that I was still smarting at not being even interviewed for the Senior Inspector’s job but they had all been right – Christine, Harold, Dr Gore and now Lord Marrick. It was far too soon for me to go applying for such a senior position and my time would surely come.
*
After assembly, Lord Marrick and I were taken on a tour of the school by two of the older pupils, a small black boy of about ten and a pale-faced girl with raven-black hair and the bluest of eyes.
‘Hello Mr Phinn, hello Mr Marrick,’ said the boy. ‘We’re your guides.’
/> ‘Hello,’ said Lord Marrick, chuckling. ‘And what’s your name?’
‘Anthony, but you can call me Tony. Everybody else does,’ replied the boy. ‘And this is Bernadette.’
‘How are you doing?’ asked the girl, in the lightest of Irish lilts.
‘We are doing just fine, are we not, Mr Phinn?’
‘I recognise you,’ I told the girl. ‘When we came into this school a couple of years ago you were writing a lovely poem about a horse.’
‘Good gracious!’ cried Lord Marrick. ‘That’s right, I remember. I’ve still got the copy you gave me.’
‘Oh yes, I remember,’ said the girl with a tilt of her head and a disarming smile. ‘And I remember showing you the toilets, too, where the damp on the wall was in the shape of a big green monster. Would you be wanting to see the girls’ toilets now? They’re new and shiny and there’s no leaks anywhere.’
‘I don’t think that is a place we are intending to visit today, my dear,’ explained Lord Marrick.
‘It is all tiled and painted now. It’s a pleasure going to the toilet, so it is.’
The 9th Earl Marrick, Viscount Mansion, Baron Brafferton, who lived at Mansion Hall, one of the county’s most magnificent houses, smiled benignly. ‘I’ll take your word for it, my dear,’ he replied.
‘Would you like to follow us,’ said the boy, who had been getting increasingly impatient with a conversation from which he must have felt excluded, ‘and we’ll take you on a tour of the school.’
‘And if there’s anything you want to ask,’ added the girl, ‘just go ahead. As my mother would say, “If you don’t ask, you’ll never get to know.”’
‘We will,’ said Lord Marrick as we followed the two small figures who headed off down the corridor at a cracking pace. We went from classroom to classroom, looked in at the small library, examined the kitchens and, to please Bernadette, even put our heads into the new cloakrooms.
Head Over Heels in the Dales Page 25
