Star Teacher

by Jack Sheffield

  It occurred to me that you couldn’t argue with that level of conviction and I drove off to Ragley High Street. As I pulled up outside Prudence Golightly’s General Stores to collect my morning newspaper I paused to admire the new shop sign. It was a recent gift from Timothy Pratt in celebration of a lifetime’s service to the village community. In beautiful Roman letters painted in primrose yellow on an emerald-green background it read:

  GENERAL STORES & NEWSAGENT

  ‘A cornucopia of delights’

  Proprietor – Prudence Anastasia Golightly

  As I approached the door I was aware of a small crowd that had gathered outside Nora’s Coffee Shop. They appeared to be staring at a poster in the window.

  Meanwhile, in the General Stores Betty Buttle, a local farmer’s wife and general gossip, was in animated conversation with the diminutive Miss Golightly. ‘Ruby’s mother says summat special is goin’ to ’appen,’ Betty was saying. ‘She were ’ere when it came round las’ time.’

  ‘Yes, it’s all in the papers,’ said Prudence, pointing to one of the headlines:

  ‘HALLEY’S COMET HEADING FOR EARTH’.

  Betty nodded knowingly. ‘Well, ah’m goin’ to t’Coffee Shop tonight. There’s one o’ them star gazers givin’ a talk an’ Margery says ’e knows all there is t’know about comets an’ suchlike.’ Betty picked up her loaf and paper and winked. ‘An’ Prudence – Margery says ’e’s a looker.’

  As Betty turned for the door she caught sight of me, blushed slightly and hurried out. ‘Mornin’, Mr Sheffield,’ she said as the doorbell jingled.

  Prudence held up a copy of our local paper, the Easington Herald & Pioneer. It was clear that the editor was less concerned with the night sky than with events here on Earth. The headline ‘The End Is Nigh’ was not referring to a possible collision of a distant comet with planet Earth but rather to the proposed closure of Morton village school. ‘Surprising news, Mr Sheffield,’ said Prudence. ‘Morton children coming to Ragley is the talk of the two villages.’

  ‘Yes – big changes,’ I said guardedly.

  She folded my copy of The Times. ‘Anyway, I’m sure it will make sense in the long run.’

  ‘And I’ll take a Herald for the staff-room, please,’ I added.

  Fortunately there had been no mention of the future headship arrangements in the local paper, nor in any communications with parents, and I was hoping it would stay that way. However, when I had spoken to Ruby there was no doubt in her mind that she would continue as school caretaker. ‘Possession is nine-tenths of t’law, Mr Sheffield,’ she had declared defiantly.

  ‘And, of course,’ Miss Golightly added with a twinkling smile, ‘it will mean more business for me with the Morton parents passing my shop.’ She looked up at Jeremy Bear. ‘More new friends for you, my dear.’

  ‘Good morning, Jeremy,’ I said with sincerity and reverence. It always pleased Miss Golightly when her customers treated Ragley’s best-dressed teddy bear as something other than an inanimate object. He was sitting on his usual shelf next to a tin of loose-leaf Lyon’s Tea and an old advertisement for Hudson’s Soap and Carter’s Little Liver Pills. Prudence took great pride in making sure he was always well turned out. Today he was dressed in his autumn ensemble – a checked lumberjack shirt, blue jeans, brown boots and a bobble hat with ‘Canada’ printed on the front. Jeremy was a well-travelled bear.

  It was clear to me as I walked back to my car that after the amalgamation of the two schools there were going to be winners and losers … and I wondered which of the two I would be.

  As I drove past the village green Big Dave Robinson and Little Malcolm Robinson, our local bin men, had parked their refuse wagon and were collecting the spines of sparklers following the recent Bonfire Night celebrations. The two cousins loved their village and I had noticed they were always willing to tidy up the hedgerows, mow the grass in the churchyard and pick up any litter they spotted in the High Street. Big Dave, at six feet four inches, was a gentle giant while Little Malcolm, although a foot shorter, was one of the toughest Yorkshiremen you could possibly meet. They gave me a friendly wave as I drove by and, not for the first time, I was reminded that Ragley was a special place to live and work.

  At school the season had turned. The hanging baskets outside the front entrance had been stored away for another year and the leaves on the dahlias outside Sally’s classroom were fading fast. A dusting of white frost covered the tips of the fleur-de-lis on the school railings and Ruby had salted the steps up to the entrance.

  Vera was talking to Anne as I hung up my duffel coat and old college scarf in the little corridor that connected the office with the staff-room.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to persuade Anne to come along to the Coffee Shop this evening. The gentleman who is calling into morning assembly to tell us about Halley’s Comet is giving a talk there.’

  ‘Thanks anyway, Vera,’ said Anne, ‘but, believe it or not, I’m in for a treat tonight. John said he would take me out for a meal.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘That is, if he remembers.’

  At 8.45 a.m. I was in the hall preparing for morning assembly and Anne had rehearsed the first bars on the piano of ‘When a Knight Won His Spurs’.

  Vera hurried through the double doors from the entrance hall and waved in my direction. ‘Telephone call, Mr Sheffield,’ she called. ‘It’s the local paper.’

  The voice at the other end of the phone sounded high-pitched and unconvincingly cheerful. ‘Good morning, Mr Sheffield. Merry here, Features Editor from the Herald.’

  ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘and did you say Mary?’

  ‘No, Merry as in Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I just need a quote for a piece about the Morton children coming to Ragley. It’s obviously causing a lot of interest and I’m sure you must be delighted.’

  I took a deep breath, having learned long ago to be cautious with telephone calls from the press. ‘Have you been in touch with the Press Officer in the Education Department at County Hall?’ I asked.

  ‘I shall be, Mr Sheffield, but for now we just needed a snappy one-liner from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve no comment, Mr Merry. You really need the official statement from County Hall.’

  ‘Well, can I simply say that you’re pleased your school numbers will rise significantly?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Perhaps if I just say that you’ll do your best to give them a good education.’ Mr Merry was persistent if nothing else.

  ‘But that could be misinterpreted as a suggestion that’s not the case at present.’

  ‘This isn’t helping the article, Mr Sheffield, and I could show you in a good light to the general public.’

  I glanced up at the clock. ‘School will be starting very shortly, Mr Merry, and I need to go now to my classroom. So I’m afraid it’s still no comment from me.’

  ‘I have to say I’m disappointed. Goodbye.’

  I trudged back to my classroom, hoping I had handled this appropriately and entirely convinced that Mr Merry was definitely not merry any more.

  At ten o’clock in my classroom there was a quiet drone of murmured voices as the children read their reading books and, one by one, came out to me to read a few pages. Suddenly, Ryan Halfpenny called out, ‘Ford Transit coming up t’drive, Mr Sheffield,’ without appearing to look up from his copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Ryan loved his cars.

  The distinctive dark-blue van had been adopted by criminals in the 1960s as it had plenty of space and the speed for a quick getaway. However, this one looked the worse for wear. It rattled into the car park sporting the words ‘Junk & Disorderly – E. Clifton of Thirkby’ in gold letters on the side.

  A few minutes later a tall, fair-haired, athletic man in his mid-fifties walked into the school hall accompanied by Vera. ‘Mr Sheffield, this is our guest speaker, Mr Clifton from
Thirkby … here to talk about Halley’s Comet.’

  ‘Welcome to Ragley,’ I said and we shook hands. He was comfortably two or three inches taller than me and wore a stylish, baggy linen suit, appropriately in sky blue.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Sheffield,’ he said. ‘I’m Edward Clifton from Thirkby. I sell second-hand furniture and antiques in my shop, Junk & Disorderly … and please, call me Edward.’

  I had taken an immediate liking to this engaging man. ‘I’m Jack,’ I said.

  He smiled. ‘Thanks, Jack. I have a few posters to display, if I may.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to this,’ he said with confidence. ‘I’ll try to bring it to life for the children. It’s a fascinating subject.’

  I left him to arrange his display of bright pictures of planets and the approaching comet.

  When Anne brought her children into the hall she didn’t at first see our guest speaker. However, when she turned towards the piano she stopped in her tracks and stared in surprise.

  He smiled at her and offered a handshake. ‘Have we met before?’

  Anne seemed dumbstruck. ‘Er, no, perhaps not,’ she mumbled and they shook hands while Edward’s eyes lingered for a moment on our slim, attractive deputy headteacher.

  The assembly was a memorable one and the children were fascinated by our visitor. ‘This is our most famous comet,’ he said, pointing to the first of his dramatic pictures, ‘and it’s named after our second Astronomer Royal, Edmond Halley. He was a scientific detective and worked out that the comet would return to Earth about every seventy-five years. It could be seen clearly in 1835 and in 1910, and is about to appear again now, but it will be much brighter next time around in 2061, so some of you will see it twice in your lifetime.’

  Then he had a group of the younger children standing out at the front holding a selection of spheres to represent our solar system. ‘This cosmic iceberg is roughly ten miles long and five miles wide,’ he waved towards the older children, ‘and here’s a new word for you: it’s ellipsoidal in shape.’

  The talk finished all too quickly and I noticed that Anne rarely took her eyes off our handsome stranger.

  Pat was on playground duty during morning break, so when I walked into the staff-room Edward Clifton was engaged in conversation with Sally. Anne was sitting quietly to one side, seemingly deep in her own thoughts and, on occasion, looking admiringly at Edward.

  He was flicking through a copy of The Day the Universe Changed by James Burke and showing Sally some of the pictures.

  ‘All I recall,’ said Sally, ‘is that the comet is traditionally associated with catastrophe.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Edward. ‘It was seen in ad 66 just before the fall of Jerusalem, in ad 218 when Emperor Macrinus died and in 1066 when King Harold met his fate at the Battle of Hastings.’

  ‘Well let’s hope for a trouble-free experience this time around,’ said Vera as she served coffee.

  ‘Thanks for a wonderful assembly, Edward,’ I said. ‘When did this interest begin?’

  ‘It’s always been my hobby since I was a child,’ he said, ‘and now I’m a Friend of the Royal Astronomical Society.’ He pulled out a well-thumbed magazine from his satchel. ‘So I read their Quarterly Journal. It’s fascinating.’

  ‘I’ve not heard of it,’ said Anne.

  His blue eyes rested on her. ‘It’s for members of the public who have an interest in astronomy and geophysics.’ There was a pause. ‘In fact I could give you a copy if you come along to my talk in the village this evening.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said.

  He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Well, thank you, everybody, for the welcome,’ he looked at Vera, ‘and the excellent coffee … but I have to go to York to pick up some furniture.’

  When he left I saw Anne walk out to the entrance hall. She was staring after him.

  I caught up with Sally. ‘What’s wrong with Anne?’ I asked. ‘She seems quiet.’

  Sally smiled. ‘You’ve noticed then.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, he’s an absolute doppelgänger of her favourite man.’

  ‘Favourite man?’

  ‘Yes, David Soul.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the actor from Starsky & Hutch?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it,’ I said. ‘They’re American detectives. There’s a tall blond-haired one and his little curly-haired friend and they drive around New York in a red Toledo.’

  ‘Impressive, Jack,’ said Sally with a grin, ‘except it’s not New York. It’s Los Angeles and, for your information, they call it Bay City in the series, and they drive a Ford Gran Torino.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, and not for the first time I wondered how Sally knew all these strange facts.

  Meanwhile Anne walked back to her classroom with much to think about.

  Out on the playground two five-year-olds, Suzi-Quatro Ricketts and Alison Gawthorpe, wandered over to our new teacher and stared up at her.

  ‘My name’s Suzi-Quatro.’

  ‘That’s a lovely name,’ said Pat with a convincing smile.

  ‘An’ mine’s Alison.’

  ‘That’s a lovely name as well.’

  Suzi-Quatro had already learned the direct approach in her young life. ‘What’s your first name, Miss?’

  ‘It’s Pat.’

  ‘Our dog’s called Pat,’ contributed Alison.

  ‘Oh,’ said Pat.

  Suzi-Quatro considered this for a moment. ‘Pat? … That’s a great name for a dog.’

  They wandered off to watch the older girls skipping while Pat pondered on the innocence of youth.

  Across the village green on the other side of the High Street Nora Pratt was sitting behind the counter in her Coffee Shop and reading her Woman’s Own. She was studying an advertisement for Ambrose Wilson, Britain’s No. 1 Corsetry Catalogue that boasted ‘all the benefits of the right foundation garments’. Then she glanced down at her plump figure, sighed and turned the page. Her horoscope caught her eye. It read, ‘Distant places could play a big part in your love life. This could be the time to reorganize your affairs.’

  It was then she thought about her boyfriend, Tyrone, who had just returned from ‘a distant place’. He had been all the way to Hull to attend a training day entitled ‘The Introduction of Bar Codes in the World of Packaging’. Tyrone Crabtree was a short, balding man with a Bobby Charlton comb-over. Now in his fifties, he had risen to become the manager in charge of cardboard boxes at the local chocolate factory. Nora was proud of his achievements and thought that perhaps it was time to go out with him every Saturday instead of once each month.

  She wondered if Tyrone would be coming to the shop tonight and looked once again at the large poster in the window that read:

  HALLEY’S COMET IS COMING!

  A Talk by Local Astronomer, Edward Clifton

  Friday, 8 November at 7.30 p.m.

  in the Coffee Shop

  Admission 50p including coffee and a jam doughnut

  Reserve your seat to avoid disappointment

  Nora’s assistant, Dorothy, had taken delivery of some cheap doughnuts and was stacking them in what she considered to be an attractive pyramid.

  ‘So who is ’e, Nora?’ asked Dorothy.

  ‘’E studies astwology,’ said Nora, who had never quite managed to pronounce the letter ‘R’.

  ‘Ah think ah’ll tell ’im that ah’m an Aquarian,’ said Dorothy, fiddling with her chunky signs-of-the-zodiac bracelet. ‘An’ it were lucky that ah married my Malcolm, cos ’e’s a Gemini an’ that makes us a perfect match.’ Dorothy, the five-foot-eleven-inch would-be model with four-inch heels and peroxide-blonde hair, had married our five-foot-four-inch refuse collector just over a year ago and they were blissfully happy living above the Coffee Shop.

  ‘That’s a good idea, Dowothy,’ said Nora, ‘an’ ah’ll ask ’im about my Tywone as well.’ In recent mont
hs Tyrone had become the man of Nora’s dreams.

  At the end of school Stacey Bryant and Lucy Eckersley were in excited conversation.

  ‘Stacey’s coming to our house for tea, Mr Sheffield,’ said Lucy.

  ‘And we’re going to watch Grange Hill at ten past five,’ added the precise Stacey.

  ‘And we’re a bit worried about Zammo,’ confided Lucy.

  ‘Yes, Mr Sheffield,’ confirmed Stacey, ‘he can’t seem to do anything right.’

  I didn’t know who Zammo was … but I sympathized with his predicament.

  When their shift was over, Big Dave and Little Malcolm called into the Coffee Shop for a mug of tea before they returned their bin wagon to the depot.

  ‘Ah’ve got dry ’air, Malcolm,’ said Dorothy, lifting a handful of her back-combed, peroxide-blonde hair and pointing to an article in Nora’s Woman’s Own. ‘It says ’ere ah’m short o’ lanolin.’

  Malcolm nodded sympathetically and carried two huge mugs of milky sweet tea back to the table.

  ‘What’s wrong wi’ your Dorothy?’ asked Big Dave. ‘She’s gorra face like a wet weekend.’

  ‘Dunno, Dave,’ said Malcolm, shaking his head and slurping the hot tea. ‘Summat t’do wi’ linoleum.’

  ‘Tell ’er we’ve got some spare carpet offcuts that Mrs Dudley-Palmer chucked out. It’s proper Axminster.’

  ‘Thanks, Dave,’ said Little Malcolm. It was another problem solved in a busy life.

  After school I was sitting at my desk when the telephone rang. It was Beth.

  ‘I’ll probably be home first this evening,’ she said. ‘I’ve only got a brief meeting with the infants staff before I leave.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll be home by six,’ I said, ‘and there’s a talk in the Coffee Shop tonight. It’s about Halley’s Comet.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ she said. ‘My top juniors are doing a project on it.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you go?’ I suggested. ‘Vera said she’s going with Anne and Sally.’

  ‘It would be good to catch up,’ she said. ‘Yes, I think I will.’

  At six o’clock John Grainger was busy with his workbench project in the garage. It was a huge construction that completely dominated the far wall and Anne stared at it in dismay. It seemed to sum up their life together. Standing on its eight four-inch-square sturdy legs it was a reflection of her husband – strong, functional but, ultimately, utterly boring.