‘Yes, I’m thinking about it,’ replied Elisabeth.
He sucked in a breath. ‘Lots to do.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘You’ve got moles underneath your lawn, rabbits in your borders, rooks in your chimney, swallow nests under your gutterin’, bees beneath your eaves and frogs in your cellar. It’ll tek some fettlin’, I can tell you.’
‘I think you’re trying to put me off,’ said Elisabeth smiling.
‘Nay, missis,’ said the child with a smirk, ‘just purrin you reight. It’ll be champion when it’s done up. Best view in t’village. And well off of t’beaten track an’ all. There’s a little paddock come wi’ it, an’ all. Thas’ll probably ger it at a good price. Mi granddad’d buy it ’issen if ’e ’ad t’brass.’
‘It’s a lovely aspect, right enough,’ said Elisabeth, looking at the view before her.
‘That’s where I live, ovver yonder in t’caravan.’ The boy pointed with his stick. ‘Mester Massey lets us purr it on ’is field. We ’ave to pay ’im rent, mind. Mi granddad says ’e’s a tight-fisted old so-and-so and allus on t’make. I live wi’ mi granddad.’
Elisabeth wondered why the child was not with his mother and father, but decided not to pry.
‘’Course if ya do buy it,’ the child continued, winking, ‘you’d be wanting somebody to give you an ’and, to get rid o’ all them pesky creatures, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose I would,’ said Elisabeth.
‘Aye, well tha knows where to come. I can do that fer ya.’
What a little character he is, thought Elisabeth, looking at the child. He met her gaze steadily. ‘I’m a dab ’and at gerrin rid o’ vermin and such.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘Best leave your bees and your swallows. They don’t do no ’arm. Mi granddad can sweep your chimney, if you’ve a mind, an’ I can set mole traps, sort out your rabbit problem and get rid of t’rats.’
‘There’s rats?’ Elisabeth shuddered.
‘Oh aye, plenty o’ rats. Tha’s never far away from a rat, tha knows. They can grow to t’size o’ small rabbit and they eat owt. Your average rat grows to about a foot long and weighs about a pound, but you can gerrem much bigger.’
‘Really?’ Elisabeth gave another small shudder.
‘There’s more rats than human beings on this planet,’ the boy told her. ‘Did tha know that?’
‘I didn’t,’ admitted Elisabeth.
‘Rats ’ave sex twenty times a day and can give birth every four weeks,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. ‘You think there aren’t so many because you don’t see ’em. That’s because they keep out o’ sight, but they’re theer all reight. You see, your rat is very clever.’ The boy tapped his nose. ‘They ’ave teeth harder than steel and they can gnaw through owt.’
‘You certainly know a lot about rats,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I do. I’ve got a cross-breed terrier and a barmy cat what catches ’em.’
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Danny.’
‘I’m Mrs Devine, Danny, and I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘Bloody ’ell,’ the boy said under his breath. ‘Are you t’new ’ead teacher up at t’school?’
‘I am,’ said Elisabeth, stifling a laugh.
‘We were telled last week in assembly that we were gunna gerra new ’ead teacher. Mi granddad were talkin’ to his pals in t’pub last neet and they said you were picked yesterday and that you had a fancy name. He said it means ’eavenly an’ ’e says they said you were a bit of all right.’
‘Did he?’
‘And that you wore these fancy red shoes.’ The boy glanced down at Elisabeth’s feet as if to confirm his grandfather’s observation.
‘Is that so?’ She bit her lip to hide a smile.
‘Aye, but ’e telled me I’d berrer be watching me p’s and q’s because you’d likely be reight strict.’
‘Things seem to get around the village pretty quickly,’ said Elisabeth, amused by the revelations.
‘Oh, tha can’t keep owt secret round ’ere. And if tha wants owt broadcastin’ fast just tell Mrs S. who runs t’post office an’ t’village shop.’ The boy suddenly sat up on the gate and threw the stick away. ‘Hey up, miss, I ’opes you dunt think I was bein’ cheeky or owt and I din’t mean to swear like. I was only tellin’ you what folk were sayin’.’
‘No, Danny,’ said Elisabeth, ‘I don’t think you were being cheeky. The information is very interesting.’
‘Beg pardon, miss?’
‘Thank you for all the information. I’ve learnt a lot about rats and about what people are saying about me and what I need to do if I buy the cottage.’
The boy looked embarrassed. ‘If I’d ’ave known you were t’head teacher, miss, I’d ’ave kept mi gob shut.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t.’
‘Mi granddad sez I open mi gob too much sometimes bur I can’t seem to ’elp it. He says a closed gob catches no flies. That’s what gets me into trouble at school, talkin’ too much.’
‘And how is school, Danny?’ she asked.
The boy blew out noisily. ‘I’m not gerrin on reight well at t’moment, to tell ya t’truth. All this learnin’ dunt suit me. I’m berrer off out in t’fields than stuck behind a desk in t’classroom. I look out on t’view from classroom winder and mi mind starts to wander. I want to be out theer. Mi readin’s not up to much and t’teacher says mi number work’s abaat same. I’m not much good at owt really when it comes to school work, and I allus seem to gerron wrong side of Miss Sowerbutts. I spends more time outside ’er room than in t’classroom for doin’ summat or saying summat or other.’
He was not alone, thought Elisabeth, in getting on the wrong side of Miss Sowerbutts, and she felt she would join the many when she met the woman the following week.
‘Any road, miss, I’d best get back. Mi granddad’s cooking rabbit for us dinner. There’s no shortage of rabbits around here. They breed like … like –’
‘Rabbits?’ suggested Elisabeth.
The boy threw his head back and laughed. ‘Aye, like rabbits.’ The boy jumped down from the gate. ‘’Bye, miss,’ he said and started to run off across the field, leaping over the cowpats, but he stopped to call back. ‘And I don’t think that tha strict or stuck-up either.’
‘Goodbye, Danny,’ said Elisabeth under her breath, thinking about the first impression she had made on the residents of Barton-in-the-Dale.
The following Wednesday found Elisabeth outside the entrance of the village school. It was another bright, clear June day and the air was full of birdsong and the smell of blossom. She had telephoned the head teacher on the Monday to confirm the visit she had agreed with the governors following the interview, but Miss Sowerbutts had instructed the school secretary to deal with it rather than talk to Elisabeth herself. She was far too busy. Mrs Scrimshaw mused to herself that the head teacher was blessed with the ability to appear very busy while actually avoiding work of any kind. This was something the inspectors had discovered and detailed in their report, much to the school secretary’s satisfaction.
‘Mrs Devine.’
Elisabeth looked around to see a head, with a beak of a nose and large glassy eyes, appear over a bush.
‘Yes,’ she replied, startled.
‘I’m Mr Gribbon.’
‘Mr Gribbon?’
‘School caretaker. I just thought I’d make my presence felt.’ He emerged from behind the bush, clutching a spade. He had heard from Mrs Scrimshaw that the new head teacher was to visit that day, and had positioned himself at a vantage point so he could catch her prior to her entering the building. ‘Just giving the garden a bit of a tidy up,’ he said, holding up the spade. She noticed that he glanced down at her shoes.
‘Good morning, Mr Gribbon,’ said Elisabeth, going over to him and shaking his hand. She appeared much brighter than she actually felt.
‘It’s a lovely little school,�
�� he told her. ‘You’ll be very happy here, I’m sure.’
‘I’m certain I will,’ replied Elisabeth.
‘ Needs a bit doing to it, of course,’ he said.
‘Yes, I can see,’ said Elisabeth, looking at the building, ‘but I am sure that together we can make it look pristine.’
‘Make it what?’ he asked.
‘Spick and span, Mr Gribbon. Nice and bright and welcoming. It just needs a coat of paint on the window-sills and a couple of new flagstones on the path. Nothing very drastic.’
‘Yes,’ he said deflated. ‘I suppose it does. I do try my best, Mrs Devine, but there’s only so many hours in the day and Miss Sowerbutts is always telling me we don’t have the money for improvements and there’s quite—’
Elisabeth held up her hand as if stopping traffic. ‘Please, Mr Gribbon, I did not mean to sound critical. I am sure you try your best.’ She saw disappointment written across his face. ‘I could tell when I came for the interview that you keep the interior of the school clean and well looked after. The floor in the hall is quite splendid.’
The caretaker was clearly mollified. ‘I do take pride in my floor,’ he said, relieved to see that the new head teacher was wearing flat-soled shoes and wouldn’t be leaving marks on it.
‘I can tell,’ said Elisabeth. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with Miss Sowerbutts.’
Elisabeth was kept waiting for ten minutes in the drab entrance hall before being shown into the head teacher’s office. Miss Sowerbutts sat stiffly behind the large desk, her thin white hands crossed tightly before her. Her eyes were dramatically narrowed. She wore a prim white blouse buttoned up high on her neck and a hard, stern expression on her face. So this was her successor, she thought, examining the woman who sat with legs crossed opposite her, dressed up to the nines and wearing enough make-up to shame a cosmetic counter. So this was the person the governors deemed appropriate to replace her, someone who would, no doubt, overturn everything she had established over the years, who would introduce all these modern approaches and trendy initiatives and undo all she had achieved. Her stomach tightened. It was just too much to bear. Well, she need not expect her to be warm and welcoming.
‘I have to say from the outset, Mrs Devine,’ said the head teacher, removing her glasses slowly and placing them carefully on the desk, ‘that I was extremely disappointed, nay angry, that the governors saw fit to exclude me from the interview process. I have been in this school as teacher and head teacher all my professional life, for thirty-five years to be precise, and I should have thought, at the very least, that I would have been consulted in the appointment of my successor.’
‘That was not my decision, Miss Sowerbutts,’ Elisabeth told her, looking directly into eyes as cold and as grey as an autumn sky. ‘Of course, I had no say in the decisions of the appointment panel or indeed which applicants would be called for interview.’
Miss Sowerbutts’ gaze was one of barely suppressed animosity. ‘Miss Brakespeare has been in the school for nearly as long as I have and, of course, she was extremely disappointed, as indeed I was, with the outcome. I imagined that she would be rewarded for her loyalty and dedication and offered the position.’
‘Again, it was not my decision,’ Elisabeth repeated, becoming irritated by the woman’s undisguised hostility.
‘And it seemed to me very discourteous of the governors to agree to you coming into the school this morning without consulting me first.’
‘I did telephone the school on Monday to check if it was convenient,’ Elisabeth told her. ‘The school secretary said it would be all right. I believe you were busy at the time and unable to speak to me.’
Miss Sowerbutts pursed her thin lips. ‘You will, no doubt, have heard that the school received a most unfair and inaccurate report from the school inspectors,’ she said, maintaining the haughty façade.
‘I had heard so,’ Elisabeth replied.
Miss Sowerbutts snorted. ‘The inspectors were a group of disorganised, disparaging and disagreeable people and had no understanding of the problems we face here.’
‘What are the problems?’ asked Elisabeth, making an effort to hide her irritation.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You mentioned the problems you have to face.’
Miss Sowerbutts retained her chilly and disapproving composure and gazed back balefully, folding her cold and bloodless hands before her as if in prayer. ‘People might imagine that in a small country primary school like this one we are free of problems, that all the children are hard-working, well-behaved and value education and that their parents are supportive and appreciative of one’s efforts.’ This observation was clearly aimed for Elisabeth’s benefit. ‘Well, if they think that, then they are sadly misguided. For a start the children are a disparate group, and, what might one say, they are not top table material. Most of them come from farming families and their parents want nothing better for them than to work on the farm when they leave school. The children have limited prospects and little ambition. In consequence, they are at best lethargic and at worst uncooperative and truculent. You will discover that there are several pupils in the school – angry, violent, disobedient little boys – who are in no way susceptible to any of the fancy modern rehabilitation procedures suggested by the inspectors. They clearly did not appreciate this, and advised that I should be more proactive in raising the standards and supportive of the children who were difficult and disruptive, that I should pay more attention to pupils with special educational needs. As I told them, I have always been of the opinion that one has to have the raw material before one can achieve anything of note and that one cannot make a straight beam out of a crooked timber.’
Elisabeth was filled with an intense but unexpressed anger. She felt like giving this woman a good shake or striking her. She had no business teaching children.
Miss Sowerbutts took a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed the corners of her thin mouth. A red rash had appeared on her neck and her face was flushed with displeasure.
‘Then there’s the offspring of the incomers to the village,’ she continued, deprecatingly and now well into her stride. ‘Most send their children to St Paul’s, the preparatory school at Ruston, but we have a number of affluent parents who commute to the city each day and are so busy making money that they spend little time with their children or exert the appropriate discipline in the home. They think taking them abroad and letting them have televisions in their bedrooms is all they have to do. These children have too much at home, are indulged by their parents, who have more money than sense, and have far too much to say for themselves. You will find their parents pushy and demanding.’
‘I see,’ said Elisabeth. She considered for a moment tackling this virago and telling her that in her opinion, the keys to educational achievement were self-esteem and expectation, and that all children mattered and deserved the best a teacher could give. Clearly this woman spent little time building up the children’s confidence in their own worth and expected little of them. It was no wonder that the inspectors had been so damning and that parents were taking their children away.
‘Why do you think so many parents have decided to send their children to other schools?’ she asked.
Miss Sowerbutts smiled a wintry smile and regarded her successor through half-closed eyes. ‘Mrs Devine,’ she replied, ‘I am not privy to the motivations of parents. I run a well-disciplined and orderly school, employing traditional, tried-and-tested teaching methods. I make no apology for doing so. It does not go down well with some of the parents, any more than it did with the inspectors, and if they decide to send their children elsewhere then that is their concern. Indeed, I have suggested to some that they do just that.’
Elisabeth sighed inwardly but refrained from saying anything. To challenge this severe and censorious woman would be fruitless, she thought, entrenched as she was in her views. Miss Sowerbutts was sad and embittered, angry at what the
inspectors had said about her and resentful that she had been disregarded by the governors.
‘I would like to look around the school, that is if you have no objection,’ said Elisabeth, keen to get out of the office.
‘Look around,’ repeated Miss Sowerbutts.
‘Yes, to meet the members of staff and the children,’ said Elisabeth, looking her boldly in the eye.
The head teacher stared at her blankly for a moment. ‘I didn’t imagine that you would want to go into the classrooms,’ she said dryly.
‘I think it would be good to learn a little about the school before I start next term,’ Elisabeth told her, ‘and to meet the teachers.’ She paused and continued to look the woman straight in the eye. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I suppose it is all right,’ the head teacher responded, as stiff and unyielding as the oak tree which cast its long shadow over the school. ‘I did mention to the teachers that you would be visiting this morning. Miss Brakespeare teaches the older juniors and has been a stalwart in this school for as long as I. Miss Wilson is in her first year of teaching and takes the infants. She’s young and inexperienced and has a great deal to learn. She tends to be a little too indulgent with the children and needs to be firmer and more rigorous in her teaching. Mrs Robertshaw takes the lower juniors and, I have to say, can be very trying and not a little difficult at times. We do not see eye-to-eye on a number of matters. This, of course, will be of no interest or importance to you as Miss Wilson and Mrs Robertshaw are both on temporary contracts and will be leaving at the end of the term.’
‘I wasn’t aware of that,’ said Elisabeth. She was soon to learn that there were several other things of which she was unaware.
The Little Village School Page 7
