‘So when are we going out?’ she asked.
‘I need to finish this,’ replied John without looking up. ‘The glue hasn’t set yet.’
Anne noticed he had become a man with a constant sprinkle of sawdust in his curly unkempt beard.
‘I thought we were going for a meal,’ she said, thinking that his fading suit in the wardrobe was for weddings and funerals only, but never for a surprise meal at the Dean Court Hotel in York.
‘Sorry, not tonight,’ he said. ‘Too busy.’
At Bilbo Cottage, by the time I had put John to bed and washed up the plates after our sausage and mash evening meal, Beth had left for Ragley and I settled down with the Radio Times.
Blankety Blank with Les Dawson was about to start, followed by Dynasty at ten past eight. Apparently the relationship between Krystle and Blake, played by Linda Evans and John Forsythe, was destined to take a nosedive. Meanwhile, Joan Collins as the scheming Alexis was sure to encourage the rift.
Instead I selected a good book. Far from the Madding Crowd seemed an appropriate novel in the sanctuary of our home.
On The Crescent, meanwhile, life wasn’t so relaxed.
‘Halley’s Comet?’ queried John, a little uncertain of the pronunciation.
‘Yes, Halley,’ repeated Anne. ‘Rhymes with valley. It’s the famous comet about to come into view again after seventy-five years.’
‘Oh, that one,’ said John. ‘It was mentioned on the news.’
‘Well there’s a talk in the Coffee Shop this evening,’ said Anne.
John was writing in a dun-coloured notebook. ‘Dome-headed screws,’ he murmured to himself.
‘I’m going now,’ said Anne, buttoning up her coat.
John didn’t look up. ‘Fine,’ he said absent-mindedly and continued with his list. ‘Two feet of half-inch dowelling …’
Anne walked out, relieved to breathe in the cold night air.
The Coffee Shop was full, mainly with the ladies of Ragley village. Tea had been served along with somewhat dubious jam doughnuts and Edward Clifton had captivated his audience.
‘Halley first observed the comet in 1680,’ he told them, ‘and predicted it would return in 1759 … and it did.’
Anne was sitting alongside Vera, Beth and Sally and they nodded in appreciation.
‘He was a remarkable man,’ continued Edward, ‘and his inventions in the seventeenth century also included the diving bell.’
At the end he was surrounded by adoring women.
Beth, Vera, Sally and Anne were chatting near the door when Edward was about to leave and they walked out together on to the frosty pavement. His car was parked across the road outside the village hall and, as he put his satchel in the boot he called out, ‘Would you ladies like to join me for a nightcap?’ and gestured up the High Street towards the welcoming orange lights outside The Royal Oak.
‘I have to get back home,’ said Vera, ‘but thank you all the same.’
Beth looked at her wristwatch. ‘Yes, I ought to go – early start tomorrow.’
Sally looked at Anne. ‘I could stay a while,’ she said quietly to her colleague.
‘And what about you, Sally … and Anne?’ called Edward.
‘Come on,’ whispered Sally. ‘He’s an interesting man.’
Anne paused. It was just a thread, a strip of tarmac between them. She stepped off the kerb and walked confidently towards Edward. Under the glow of the street lamp he was smiling.
Sally was keen to know Edward’s background and it proved to be an interesting story. He was born in 1929 in Napier, New Zealand, and as a small child had survived the terrible earthquake of 1931. It had measured 7.8 on the Richter scale and changed the landscape dramatically, with a huge area of sea bed becoming dry land and the land on which Napier stood being raised by an astonishing eight feet. When the earthquake struck, Edward’s sister had lifted him from his cot seconds before it was crushed by falling masonry. There was sadness in his voice as he recounted that his mother, a nurse, had perished along with other hospital staff in the nurses’ building. The steel reinforcement rods had been removed prior to construction to save costs. The city was rebuilt in the style of Santa Barbara to become the art deco centre of the world, but before then Edward’s father had brought him and his sister to England to begin a new life.
‘So that’s my story,’ he said.
Outside they paused under the black velvet sky. Anne shivered. ‘I had better get home.’
‘Shall I drop you off?’ offered Sally.
‘Please … allow me,’ said Edward.
‘I live on The Crescent off the Easington Road,’ said Anne.
‘That’s on my way,’ he said.
‘Well, thank you, that’s very kind,’ she replied.
Sally said goodnight and Anne and Edward walked back down the High Street as a bitter wind suddenly blew. ‘Sorry, Anne, I wasn’t thinking. You must be cold.’ He slipped off his winter coat and draped it carefully over her shoulders. Anne held it close, feeling the rough fabric and the warmth of his body as it permeated through to her skin.
As they drove back to The Crescent, she looked at his large hands gripping the steering wheel. There was no wedding ring.
Her house was in darkness when they pulled up outside. Edward got out, opened the passenger door and for a brief moment they stood facing each other.
‘So it’s coming back again,’ said Anne.
‘Yes, and in Anglo Saxon chronicles it was referred to as “a source of tears”.’
‘That sounds sad,’ she said.
Edward smiled and stared into the light of an ethereal sky. ‘The mystery of the stars and planets is nothing when compared to life itself,’ he said softly.
Anne said nothing. She merely drank in the words of this strange but appealing man.
Inside the house all was silent and she crept quietly into the bedroom where John lay asleep. She reflected that the two men were like the sun and the moon, like fire and ice. With Edward, for a brief time, she had bathed in his warmth, but here with John each night she lay cold and still. The young, clean-shaven and vigorous man she had married many years ago had gone now. There was no spark, no excitement.
As she undressed she recalled the gentle touch of Edward’s fingertips on her collar and his cool appraisal of her slim figure. She opened her wardrobe and on impulse slipped on her favourite black nightdress. As she smoothed the silky fabric over her hips she thought of Edward.
The devil had come to call and, as the church bells of St Mary’s chimed out the hour, she gave a whimsical smile at her sinful thoughts.
Chapter Six
Behind Closed Doors
Mrs Pringle began practice for the school Nativity play. A response was sent to County Hall following their request to fill the vacant role of local authority governor. Ms Brookside organized a staff night out at the Odeon Cinema in York.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 6 December 1985
It was Friday, 6 December and a severe frost crusted the rutted back road to Ragley village. Beyond the frozen hedgerows the bare forests on the distant hills had lost their colour and their skeletal leaves had fallen. In the harsh wind the first flakes of snow were drifting down from a gun-metal sky and they tapped gently against my windscreen, a reminder of the harsh winter weather that was about to descend on the high moors of North Yorkshire.
The bitter cold had frozen the surface of the pond on the village green but this did not seem to deter the early-morning brigade. They were in evidence as I drove slowly up the High Street. Deke Ramsbottom was perched on a noisy tractor heading up towards the Morton Road, while Heathcliffe Earnshaw was delivering the last of his morning papers before returning his canvas bag to Prudence Golightly. Ernie and Rodney Morgetroyd trundled past on their electric milk float and the postman, Ted ‘Postie’ Postlethwaite, gave me a wave as he drew close to completing his first round of the day. However, as he pushed each package and envelope t
hrough each letterbox, little did he know the impact today’s correspondence would have on his customers.
Behind the closed doors of Ragley a few surprises were in store.
‘Don’t Break My Heart’ by UB40 was playing on my car radio as I turned right at the top of the High Street and drove through the school gate. A group of children had been dropped off by their working mothers and, unperturbed by the biting wind, lined up like a guard of honour to greet my Morris Minor Traveller as it crunched over the cobbled drive.
When I walked from the car park Ruby was sweeping the steps in the entrance porch. ‘Morning, Ruby,’ I yelled above the wind.
‘G’morning, Mr Sheffield,’ she replied. ‘A bit parky this mornin’.’ Ruby’s only concession to this freezing day was a headscarf double-knotted beneath her chin. She was made of strong stuff.
Vera was already busy behind her desk as I hung up my coat and scarf. She opened the last of the morning’s post and gasped.
‘What is it, Vera?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ she said. All colour had left her cheeks as she scanned the official-looking letter with the crest of County Hall.
‘It’s from the School Governor Services Department at County Hall, Mr Sheffield. It says that they note from our records that, following the retirement of our local authority governor, Ragley-on-the-Forest Church of England Primary School does not have its full complement on its governing body.’
‘That’s correct,’ I said. ‘We have a vacancy following the retirement of Albert Jenkins.’
Vera shook her head. ‘But you won’t believe what follows. It goes on to say they would like to recommend the services of Mr Stanley Coe to fill this position, as they understand from his application that he is an active member of the local community and has significant previous experience in the role of a governor. It requests a reply by thirteenth December.’
‘They can have it now,’ I said. ‘It’s NO!’
Vera sighed. ‘Thinking back, we didn’t tell them the reason for him leaving in the first place.’
I recalled the unpleasant circumstances towards the end of my first year at Ragley when Stanley Coe had caused nothing but trouble. ‘Yes, Vera, you’re right. It was all very sudden as I remember.’
Stan Coe, local pig farmer and serial bully, had been persuaded to resign back in 1978 and we were all relieved when he had departed.
‘It’s just like the man to try to get back on a governing body,’ said Vera. She scanned the letter again and looked thoughtful. ‘I presume this letter will have gone to many schools in the area. As we know, governors come and go.’
I looked out of the window. A little white Austin A40 had pulled into the car park. Joseph had arrived to take his weekly Bible stories lesson.
‘Let’s see what Joseph says,’ I said.
Vera held up another envelope with a Northallerton postmark. ‘This is addressed to Joseph as chair of governors. It’s probably the same letter.’
Joseph sensed the tension as soon as he walked into the office and we explained our concern. He opened his letter and sighed. ‘Yes, it’s the same as yours,’ he said.
‘And what is your response, Joseph?’ asked Vera, sounding very much like the big sister.
‘Well, I suppose there’s not a great deal we can do about it,’ said Joseph rather lamely. ‘Maybe his absence from our governing body will have taught him a lesson and he will have realized that bullying at any level does not pay.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ replied Vera.
Joseph shook his saintly head. ‘Well, I would hate to show hard feelings after all these years. Perhaps he deserves a second chance.’
‘Absolutely not, Joseph,’ said Vera firmly.
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Joseph and looked at me for help.
‘Joseph,’ I said quietly, ‘this man causes trouble wherever he goes. I don’t mind a governor who challenges the work of the school but we need support as well. I can’t see Stan Coe providing that. We need to stand firm on this. He was a notorious bully and that’s why we dispensed with his services as a governor – although Governor Services were not made aware of this at the time.’
‘I have to agree,’ said Vera.
Joseph was clearly taken aback and looked at his sister in surprise. ‘I see. Well, in that case I’ll reply to say he is not an acceptable candidate for the post of governor given previous issues. Leave it with me.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Vera patted her brother’s sleeve affectionately. ‘Don’t forget, you’re leading assembly this morning, Joseph.’ She gave him an encouraging smile.
Joseph was holding a few pages of crumpled notes and he looked down at them. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said cautiously.
‘Well,’ said Vera, ‘now that we’ve decided what to do with that despicable man, what’s your theme?’
‘Love thy neighbour,’ said Joseph with a sigh and walked out to the assembly hall.
Vera gave me a knowing stare. ‘Oh dear,’ she murmured as she returned to her dinner-money register.
At nine o’clock the bell rang to announce the start of the school day. Ruby packed away her mop and galvanized bucket and tapped on the door of the office.
‘Come in,’ called Vera.
Ruby walked in. ‘It’s me, Mrs F,’ she said. ‘Ah need some advice.’
‘Of course, Ruby,’ replied Vera. ‘How can I help?’
Ruby handed over a card. ‘Ah got this in t’post this morning an’ ah’m wond’ring what t’do.’
It was an invitation from George Dainty for Ruby to accompany him to the Yorkshire Fish Fryers’ Christmas Lunch at the Queen’s Hotel in Leeds.
‘Mr Dainty is a true gentleman, Ruby, and this is a kind invitation.’
Ruby’s cheeks were flushed. ‘Y’don’t think it’s all a bit too soon after my Ronnie?’
‘Not at all,’ said Vera.
‘Ah don’t know what m’children would think.’
‘Talk to them about it and let them know how you feel.’
Ruby considered this and nodded. ‘Y’right, Mrs F, ah’ll do jus’ that.’
‘You deserve some happiness,’ said Vera, ‘and here’s a wonderful opportunity.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ruby. ‘Ah’ll look out a nice dress.’
‘Good idea, and you’ll enjoy going to Leeds.’
‘An’ there might be a chance t’look round some posh shops. There’s something ah’d really like f’Christmas.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Vera.
‘A ’lectric deep-fat fryer,’ said Ruby.
Vera smiled. ‘An excellent choice,’ she said and Ruby went out to hang up her overall.
Sally was using the morning assembly to practise a few carols in preparation for our fast-approaching Christmas Nativity. She propped her songbook, Carol, Gaily Carol, on her music stand, opened it to number 9 and the choir and recorders launched into ‘Baby Jesus, Sleeping Softly’.
Nine-year-old Rosie Appleby, following her starring role last year on television, was due to reprise ‘Silent Night’, accompanied by an ex-pupil, thirteen-year-old Elisabeth Amelia Dudley-Palmer, on her violin. Since commencing her secondary education at the Time School for Girls in York, Elisabeth had excelled in her music lessons and, as her school was due to close for the Christmas holiday a day before Ragley School, she was free to support.
Expectations were always high in the village for this annual production and Anne, as ever, did her best to encourage the youngest children in our school to enjoy the experience.
Meanwhile, in Class 2, Joseph was keen to start his lesson, but he was surrounded by six- and seven-year-olds who wanted to share their news.
‘I’m six now, Mr Evans,’ announced Julie Tricklebank.
‘That’s good,’ said Joseph.
Julie smiled and nodded, pleased this strange man with his collar the wrong way round was taking interest. ‘It’s the oldest I’ve ever been,’ she added.
‘Yes, I suppose it
would be,’ agreed Joseph. Julie was clutching her library book about dinosaurs.
‘That’s an interesting book,’ said Joseph.
Julie looked thoughtfully at the bright cover with a picture of a smiling stegosaurus. ‘Do dinosaurs have birthdays, Mr Evans?’
‘I suppose they do,’ replied a bewildered Joseph.
Julie smiled again, then paused and looked up curiously at our friendly vicar. ‘Mr Evans,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Why has your hair slipped backwards?’
Joseph stroked his balding pate. ‘I suppose it just happens to some people.’
‘Well, never mind. Jesus will make it better.’
Sam Whittaker looked up with a puzzled frown. ‘Did Jesus have a first name, Mr Evans?’
Joseph sighed and, once again, he marvelled about the secret garden that was the world of young children.
At morning break Pat Brookside was busy. She had a list of names attached to a clipboard.
‘So is everyone all right for this evening,’ she asked, ‘before I make the block booking?’ Pat had adopted the role of person in charge of staff social events and tonight staff and their partners had been invited to an evening at the Odeon Cinema in York.
‘Well, John took some persuading,’ said Anne, ‘but I’m sure he will be there.’
Vera turned to Pat. ‘Is your young man coming?’
‘Yes, David has promised to meet us outside after his conference in York.’
Vera smiled. She was looking forward to meeting the young doctor.
Sally was on playground duty, so Pat slipped on her coat and walked out to confirm arrangements with her.
‘Yes, Colin’s coming,’ Sally said, ‘and my mother is coming round to look after our daughter, Grace.’ Pat ticked off their names.
Around them, children, impervious to the cold, were playing happily, although not quite everyone had entered the Christmas spirit.
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