by Miss Read
'What I'd really like is a great mug of tea,' he said.
I went to get it, and when I returned he was lying back with his eyes shut. It was alarming, and he must have sensed my concern for he sat up again and spoke cheerfully.
'You could do something for me if you happen to be going to Caxley today.'
'I'm definitely going to Caxley today.'
'Well, could you get my prescription made up? And dare I ask you to buy me some more pyjamas? I'm running out of them pretty fast.'
'Of course. What size?'
He told me, and added:
'Three pairs, I should think. Any sort.'
I studied the pair he was wearing. They were the traditional blue and white striped things, probably made of winceyette. They reminded me of my father's night attire.
'Like those?'
'Not necessarily. Thinner, I think. I've got some polka-dot ones which Jessie's just taken away. It's a pity you didn't come when I was wearing them. I look like Noel Coward.'
'I'll take your word for it. I think I'd better get drip-dry ones to save Jessie some work.'
We sipped our tea in companionable silence for a few minutes. I felt very uneasy about him.
'Did the doctor mention hospital? I don't like the idea of you being alone. What about a nurse?'
'If you're offering, I can't think of anything nicer.'
'I'm the world's worst nurse,' I told him.
'This bug I've got gives you a pretty foul time for a week or two, but according to the quack it runs a predictable course and all one can do is to sweat it out and drink pints of liquid. The temperature drops after a bit, and apart from feeling like a wet rag one survives eventually.'
'But should you be alone? What about getting to the loo or having to fetch something from downstairs?'
'My dear love, and I mean that,' he said, suddenly earnest. 'I can get to the loo. I've even had a shower or two. I'm not eating, and the doc says that's OK as long as I drink. So I'm quite all right, and there's not a thing I need. Except your company, of course.'
I collected the mugs and stood looking at him.
'If Jessie's coming night and morning, I'll come and get your liquid lunch each day, and see what you need.'
He had a telephone by the bed, and I nodded to it.
'And any time, do ring. I'll come like a shot. You know that.'
'Suppose it is in the middle of the night? What would the neighbours say?' he laughed.
'You know what I think about the neighbours! Now I'm off to Caxley. Anything else you want?'
"You know what I want.'
I bent to give him a farewell kiss. His forehead was wet with sweat.
'You're terribly dank?
That's a fine thing to say to an invalid. You make me sound like a dungeon.'
'What you need,' I told him, 'is a few hours' sleep.'
'Maybe you're right.'
He was already slipping down the bed as I departed on my mission to Caxley.
***
I parked behind the same shop where I had recently bought tights and boxes of soap.
The men's department was virtually unknown to me, and seemed very quiet and austere compared with the toiletries and haberdashery departments I usually frequented.
There was only one other customer in there, a man absorbed in turning over piles of pants and discussing with the shop assistant the merits of various weights of garment.
An elderly man hurried to serve me. He had a pink and white face, white hair and moustache, and half-glasses. He reminded me of an old gentleman who used to keep our local sweet shop when I was a child.
I explained my needs, and he held before me an oblong package wrapped in shiny cellophane, just as the sweet-shop owner had been wont to hold out a flat dish of Everton toffee, complete with a small hammer for breaking it up, so many years ago.
He slipped the contents out of the bag and displayed the pyjama jacket. It was of some satin-like crimson material with black frogging across it. It reminded me of the sort of costume a Ruritanian prince used to wear in musical comedies in the 1920s. I could not see John in this confection.
'I think something quieter,' I said. He turned to the shelves and added three more packets to the first.
These were certainly more normal, the sort of uninspired garment sported that morning by the invalid. They also looked as though they would take hours to dry, even in Jessie's tumble drier.
'Have you got any non-iron pyjamas?' I asked, turning over the heavy ones before me.
'Hello,' said someone beside me. It was my former assistant at Fairacre school, Mrs Richards.
'What are you doing playing truant on a Monday?' I said, secretly rather taken aback in the midst of my male shopping.
'Half term,' she said succinctly.
'Of course. My goodness, it'll soon be November.'
She was eyeing the pile of pyjamas with considerable interest. I supposed resignedly that news of my purchases would soon be known to Fairacre. Ah, well!
'Getting Christmas presents already?' she hazarded.
'That's right,' I lied.
'Now these,' said my assistant returning, 'are our usual nylon sort. We sell a lot of these, particularly for summer wear.'
I looked at them. They were cold and slippery. They looked as though they would be horribly chilly for a feverish body. Possibly dank too after an hour's wear, I decided.
Well, I'll leave you to it,' said Mrs Richards. 'I'm looking for a larger belt for Wayne.'
'You feed him too well,' I responded, before turning back to my task.
'Or these,' added my nice old gentleman, drawing out some light-weight pyjamas in a rather nice grey and white Paisley pattern. They felt warm but thin.
'A very nice crêpe,' enthused the man. 'Just come in. Fully washable, drip-dry and thoroughly approved by the medical profession.'
That clinched it.
'I'll take three pairs,' I said, getting out my cheque book.
6. Back To School
THE PATIENT made steady progress. Jessie went in morning and evening, and I cooked his midday meal, such as it was. For the first few days he only wanted liquids, but quite soon came the great day when he clamoured for bacon and eggs.
He had lost weight and tired easily, but the fever had gone after a week or two, and the doctor pronounced him fit soon after that.
I ceased my regular midday ministrations when he insisted that he could cope again, and perhaps it was as well that I was able to do so, for I had a surprising telephone call from the local education office one foggy November morning.
'Miss Read?'
'Speaking.'
'Francis Hannen here.'
He was the local education officer, a cheerful fellow who had held the post for a couple of years now. What could he want?
'We wondered if you could help us out.'
'In what way?'
'Miss Summers has been smitten with the prevailing flu bug, but it has given her acute laryngitis, and she is speechless.'
'Poor soul! What an affliction for a school mistress.'
'It is indeed. Well, we've rung one or two ex-teachers on our list, but they are either in the same boat, or away, and I hardly liked to bother you when you are so recently retired, but -'
His voice faded away.
'How long for?'
'The doctor insists on a week, maybe longer.'
I mentally checked my engagements for the week. It was Friday today. That would give me time over the weekend to collect my wits and a few teaching aids. John Jenkins was now able to cope without help from me, and only a shopping trip with Amy lay ahead on Tuesday.
'Of course I'll stand in.'
There was a gusty sigh.
'Marvellous! Miss Summers will be so relieved. Her sister is with her at the moment, so I'll ring and tell her straight away. A thousand thanks. I'm sure the children will be thrilled to have you back.'
I was not so sure about it, but with mutual well-wishing we rang off.
Over the weekend I did a certain amount of telephoning myself. First, of course, to Miss Summers' house where I had news of the invalid from her sister.
'She seems a little better. Temperature down a trifle, and the throat not so sore, but not a sound comes from her. The house is remarkably quiet, and I find myself whispering to Jane. It's quite uncanny.'
Then to Amy to postpone the shopping trip, and then to Mr Lamb at Fairacre asking him to pass a message to Mrs Pringle about her usual Wednesday visit.
That evening she rang me, obviously delighted to be among the first with my dramatic news.
'It'll be quite like old times,' she said with such gusto that it sounded welcoming. This was a pleasant surprise, until she added:
Til come a bit earlier each morning while you're at the school. There's always more to clear up.'
'Thank you, Mrs Pringle,' I replied, hoping it sounded as sarcastic as I meant it to be, but she was not abashed.
'And I'll be at your place as usual Wednesday afternoon, catching the Caxley.'
'The Caxley' in this instance meant the Caxley bus. Sometimes 'The Caxley' means the Caxley Chronicle, as in 'I read it in the Caxley, so I know it's true.' The local inhabitants of these parts are loyal readers.
I also rang John to tell him where I would be the following week. There was no need to of course, I told myself, but it seemed the civil thing to do after our extra close ties recently.
He sounded aggrieved.
'Surely you're not tying yourself up with teaching, all over again?' His voice was querulous. 'I hoped I could bob in now and again, now that I'm back on my feet.'
I bit back the sharp retort I should like to have made, and as I put down the receiver reminded myself that he was still convalescent.
Men, I thought disgustedly, are selfish to the core.
I set out on Monday morning with mixed feelings. Part of me welcomed this return to my old pastures, but I also felt remarkably nervous.
Several children were already running about in the playground, and they rushed to the car as I got out.
'You going to teach us again?'
'Just for a week,' I replied.
'Will Miss Summers be back then?'
'Is she really ill?'
'Is she in hospital?'
'She learns us lovely.'
'Lovelily,' I said automatically, lifting my case from the car. 'Beautifully, I mean.'
I was back sure enough.
The familiar school smell greeted me as I crossed the threshold, accompanied by my vociferous companions. It was a compound of coke fumes from the welcome tortoise stoves, disinfectant, which Mrs Pringle puts in the water to wash the lobby floor, and the general odour of an old building. It was wonderfully exhilarating, and I felt at home at once. I was surprised not to see Mrs Pringle, but a note on my desk explained all.
'Off to Caxley on the early bus. See you dinner time.'
M. Pringle
Mrs Richards had not yet arrived. I banished the children to the playground, while I surveyed my old surroundings.
Basically, it was much as usual, but there were several innovations. For one thing, the ancient long desk that had stood at the side of the room for many years, had now gone. It had been a useful piece of furniture. The children put their lunch packets and fruit in season there, plums and apples from their gardens, or blackberries and hazelnuts collected on the way to school.
Toys, books and other treasures from home rested there, and at this time of year long strings of conkers festooned its battered top. I missed it. It was a relic of the past.
There was a very efficient-looking shelf of nature pamphlets which was new to me, and the framed pictures had been changed from such old friends as The Light of the World by Holman Hunt (so useful as a mirror with its dark background) and The Angelus, to modern prints of the French Impressionists. I had to admit that they added lightness and charm to the walls, and remembered that the office had urged us to take advantage of the service of supplying pictures which could be borrowed for a month or more.
I unlocked the desk and took out the register. Something seemed strange about the desk, and then I realized that the ancient Victorian inkstand with its two cut-glass ink-wells, one for blue ink and one for red, was no longer in place.
The heavy object, with its great curved brass handle, had vanished, and although I had never used the thing, relying, as no doubt Jane Summers did, on two fountain pens for the marking of the register, I felt a pang of loss.
At that moment Mrs Richards arrived and greeted me with a smacking kiss. Half a dozen children who had come in with her, despite my express order for them to stay outside, were entranced by this display of affection.
The great wall clock, mercifully still in its accustomed place, stood at ten to nine. Joseph Coggs burst into the room and stood transfixed. A slow smile spread across his gypsy face and he took a deep happy breath.
'Can I ring the bell?' he said, as he had said so often to me.
I nodded assent. School had begun.
By the time the dinner lady arrived bearing shepherd's pie and cabbage, with bright yellow trifle for pudding, I felt that I had been back for weeks.
The dinner lady was as welcoming as the children had been, and even Mrs Pringle, when she arrived to wash up, managed a small smile.
'Got Fred in bed again,' she announced. 'Same old chest trouble, wheezing like a harmonium. I popped in to get his subscription made up at Boots.'
I expressed my sympathy with the invalid, and told her about Jane Summers' progress.
'Well, I only hope she don't try to get back too soon. Mind you, she's bound to be worried with someone else muddling along. She's very tidy herself. Everything in apple-pie order here now.'
I did not care for the emphasis on the last word, but said nothing.
"You looked in the map cupboard?' she enquired. 'It's a sight for sore eyes. All them maps tidied up neat and labelled, and none of that mess of raffia and old plimsolls as used to be there encouraging the mice.'
'Good!' I said briskly, and walked away before I received any more broadsides. Reluctantly Mrs Pringle returned to her labours, and I set about preparing for the afternoon's work.
Driving home soon after four o'clock, I was alarmed at the tiredness which overcame me. I put the car away and put on the kettle. I lit the fire, and was thankful to sit in my comfortable armchair a few minutes later and to sip my steaming tea.
I reviewed the day. It had been interesting to see the changes my successor had made. She was certainly efficient and up to date, and from the remarks of the children she was obviously well liked. I liked her myself, appreciating her brisk cheerfulness and energy. It seemed that even Mrs Pringle approved, and that certainly was something.
This glimpse into my old world had done a great deal to confirm that I had been right to go when I did. It was plain that I just did not have the physical strength needed for sustained and energetic teaching. And what about my mental attitude, I wondered? Was I really forward-looking? Did I relish going on refresher courses, studying new methods of teaching various subjects, or even attending local educational meetings? The honest answer was a resounding 'No', and had been for more years than I cared to contemplate.
Not that I had been completely inactive, I consoled myself, but I had to admit that I had never been thrilled with the idea of leaving my fireside on a bleak winter's evening to listen to someone telling me how to improve my methods of teaching reading, for instance. In most cases, I well remember, the advice was 'to let the child come to reading when ready' and 'to provide reading matter well within the child's comprehension.'
I could think of a number of erstwhile pupils who would never have been ready to come to reading without coercion on my part, and a great many more whose reading matter would have been only comics if left to their own devices. Years of teaching had shown me that for every child who takes to reading like a duck to water and needs no help at all, there are half a dozen or so who nee
d sustained daily teaching in the art, and a very hard slog it is for teacher and pupil alike.
I had done my duty for all those years to the best of my ability, and with many failings, but the pupils now there were getting a better education than I had been able to give them in the year or two before I left. I went to wash my tea cup, full of goodwill to Jane Summers and her little flock.
The next day the vicar called at the school and took prayers. Afterwards he told the children how lucky they were to have me back with them. Especially, he added, as I had not been too well myself.
This, I knew, would be related by my pupils to their parents with dramatic effect, so that Fairacre would assume that I was at death's door, and in no shape to take over from Jane Summers, even temporarily. However, there was nothing I could do about it but smile at the kindly vicar, and thank him for coming.
The second day passed more easily than the first, and I had time to notice how well the new families had settled. A Housing Trust, of which Amy's husband James was one of the directors, now owned several new houses in Fairacre, and the children of primary school age were now pupils at Fairacre school. The coming of these children had solved a problem which had beset the village for some years.
As numbers fell it had looked as if the school would have to close. The village, and I in particular, owed a great deal to the Trust and the families they sponsored. Fairacre school looked safe for years to come.
It was such a mild afternoon for November that I decided to take the children for a nature walk, and Mrs Richards joined us with the infants' class.
It was quite like old times tripping along the village street towards the downs. I was really indulging myself, for I had always enjoyed these excursions from the confines of the classroom, and it did one's heart good to see the boisterous spirits of the children as they relished their freedom in the bracing downland air.
Of course, there was not the same natural bounty to be had as a nature walk in the summer. Then we would return with such treasures as brier roses, honeysuckle or cranesbill. We might even find an empty nest whose function was now past, and convey its miracle of woven grass, moss and feathers to the nature table at school.
