(1/20) Village School (27 page)

'It went very well,' said Miss Clare, mopping up lemonade from the table, while I counted braids and sacks, 'and how fit all the children look! I can see the improvement, in my lifetime, in the physique of the Fairacre children. Better conditions have a lot to do with it, of course, but I think less clothing and daily exercise play a great part. When I think how I was dressed at their age—' She broke off and gazed into the distance, seeing, I guessed, that little girl in high button boots, starched underclothes and stiff serge sailor dress complete with lanyard, whose photograph I had seen in the album at Beech Green.

Mrs Pringle's snort brought us back to earth.

'Never had such rubbishy things as sports in my young days,' she remarked acidly, making work for all and sundry, regardless! Never saw a jumping stand, or turned those 'orrible somersaults when I was a girl, and look at me now!'

We looked.

24. End of Term

I
T
was the last day of term. Jim Bryant had brought the precious envelope containing our cheques; fantastically large ones this time, as they covered both July and August. Such wealth seemed limitless, but I knew from sad experience, how slowly September would drag its penniless length, before the next cheque came again!

Mr Willet was busy pulling up two roots of groundsel near the door-scraper, and expressed his customary surprise on receiving his cheque. Mrs Pringle was scouring the stone sink in the lobby and took her cheque grudgingly in a gritty hand.

'Little enough for the hours I puts in,' she said glumly, folding it and stuffing it down the front of her bodice. 'Sometimes I wonders if I can face next term, with fires and all. And the next few days will be nothing but scrub, scrub, scrub, with disinfectant, I suppose, all them cruel floorboards. Enough to make my leg flare-up, the very thought of it!'

'Well, give me good notice, Mrs Pringle,' I said briskly, 'when you do decide to give up. Then I can look round for somebody who'd like the job.'

There was an outraged snort from Mrs Pringle as she limped ostentatiously to the cleaning cupboard to put away her rags.

The morning was spent in a happy turmoil of clearing-up. Books were collected and counted, and then stacked in neat piles in the cupboards. Ernest and Eric sat at the long side desk, ripping out the remaining clean sheets of paper from the children's exercise books, to be put away for tests and rough work next term. The inkwells had been collected into their tray, and there was considerable competition among the boys as to who should have the enviable job of washing them, in an old bowl, out in the safety of the playground.

While the hubbub rose joyfully, I made my way painfully round the walls, prising out drawing-pins with my penknife and handing over dusty but cherished pictures to their owners. Through the partition I could hear the infants at their clearing-up labours, and when I reached the door I poked my head in to see how they were getting on.

Joseph Coggs was squatting by the big clay tin, tenderly tucking wet cloths over the clay balls to keep them in good order for next term. Eileen Burton was staggering to the cupboard with a wavering tower of Oxo tins, containing chalks, leant precariously against her stomach, her chin lodged on the top one to steady the pile. Some children were polishing their already emptied desks, others were scrabbling on the floor for rubbish, like old hens in straw, and a group besieged Miss Gray, holding such treasures as beads, coloured paper, plasticine and even used milk straws, all clamouring to know what should be done with them.

I clapped my hands to make myself heard above the din, and when it was a little less hectic I asked if any of them knew of any children likely to start school next term. This would give me some idea of numbers for ordering dinners for the first day.

There was a puzzled silence, and then Joseph said in his hoarse voice:

'My mum's coming up to see you about the twins.'

'How old are they?'

'They's five in November,' said Joseph, after some thought.

'Tell mummy I should like to see her at any time,' I told him and looked to see if there were going to be any more newcomers, but there was no stir.

I returned to my own room, where the noise was deafening. No one seemed to know of any beginners next term, and it looked as though I should have room for the Coggs twins, although they were slightly under age, for John Burton and Sylvia would be leaving to go to Mr Annett's school at Beech Green, and Cathy would be going to the Grammar School at Caxley.

At last conditions became a little less chaotic. The overflowing waste-paper basket was emptied, the jam jars removed from the window-sills and put away, and the room wore a bleak, purged look, shorn of all its unessentials.

I put my old friend 'Constantinople' up on the blackboard, issued a piece of the rough paper and a pencil to each child, bullied them all into silence, and told them to see how many words they could make from it before Mrs Crossley arrived.

All was peaceful. From the playground came the distant splash of water as John Burton dealt with the inkwells, and nearer still, the clank of paint-boxes being cleaned at the stone sink by Linda Moffat. She had pleaded so desperately to perform this filthy task, that I had given way, but now I was a prey to awful fears about the welfare of her crisp, piqué frock, and made haste to go into the lobby and envelop her in Mrs Pringle's sacking apron, much to the young lady's humiliation.

One Saturday previously I had taken several of the children into Caxley to buy Miss Gray's wedding present, for which the whole school had been collecting for weeks. I had managed to assemble all the children together, sending Miss Gray to the Post Office for more savings stamps. This manoeuvre was considered highly daring and the children were in a conspiratorial mood during her short absence, Eric going so far as to keep watch at the lobby door while we made our plans.

It was decided, in hushed whispers, that a piece of china would be appreciated, and the deputation, under my guidance, were given powers to make the final choice, not however without plenty of advice.

'Something real good! Like you'd want for always!'

'And pretty too. Not some ol' pudden basin, say. A jam dish, more like!'

'Flowers, and that, on it … see?'

We promised to do what we could just as Eric thrust an agitated countenance round the door, saying:

'She's coming!'

With many secret giggles and winks they dispersed to their desks and all was unnaturally quiet when Miss Gray entered and handed over the savings stamps.

'What very good children,' she remarked; and then looked amazed at the gale of laughter that this innocent remark had released.

In Johnson's shop at Caxley, the business of choosing the present was undertaken seriously. We surveyed jam dishes, dessert services and fruit bowls, and I had great difficulty in steering them away from several distressing objects highly reminiscent of Mrs Pratt's collection. One particularly loathsome teapot fashioned like a wizened pumpkin exerted such a fascination over the whole party, that I feared Miss Gray might have to cherish it under Mr Annett's roof, but luckily, the man who was attending to us, with most commendable patience, brought out a china biscuit barrel, sprigged with wild flowers. It was useful, it was very pretty and it was exactly the right price. We had returned to Fairacre, after ices all round in a tea-shop, very well content with our purchase.

Excitement ran high, for the presentation was to be made at the end of the afternoon, just before breaking up for seven weeks' holiday. No wonder that eyes were bright, and fidgeting was impossible to control!

The vicar arrived in good time, bringing with him an unexpected end-of-term present for me—a bunch of roses from the climber which Mrs Bradley had admired on the day of the fete. Then the infants came into my room with Miss Gray shepherding them. They squeezed into desks with their big brothers and sisters, and the overflow sat cross-legged in the front, nudging each other excitedly.

The vicar made a model speech wishing Miss Gray much happiness and presented her with a carving set from the managers and other friends of the school. I gave Miss Gray my present next, as I guessed the children would like to see her receive it. As it was table linen they were not particularly impressed, and in any case they were far too anxious to see their own parcel handed over.

Joseph Coggs had been chosen to present the biscuit barrel. He advanced now, from behind my desk, holding the present gingerly in both hands. He fixed his dark eyes on Miss Gray's brogues and said gruffly:

'This is with love from us all.'

An enormous roar broke forth, hastily quelled to silence as Miss Gray undid the paper. Her delight was spontaneous and the children exchanged gratified smirks. She thanked us all with unwonted animation and then, putting her parcels carefully on the piano top, sat herself at the keys to play our last hymn of the term.

The vicar said grace; drawings and other treasures were collected, and with a special farewell to Cathy, John and Sylvia, general good-byes were said and Fairacre School streamed out into the sunshine, free for seven long weeks.

Jimmy Waites could read now. He had had his tea and was sitting on the rag rug in his mother's kitchen, his fair head bent over a seed catalogue. There were certainly some formidable words in it, which he had had to ask his mother's help for…'Chrysanthemum,' for instance, and 'Heliotrope' but 'Aster' and 'Anchusa' and even 'Sweet Alyssum,' he had worried out for himself, and he glowed with pride in this new accomplishment.

'You've done all right, this first year,' approved Mrs Waites who was pinning up her freshly-washed hair at the kitchen sink. She glanced through the window at Cathy, who was practising hand-stands by the wall, and whose mop of dark hair hung down into the dust of the yard. She noticed with pleasure how shapely and sturdy were her daughter's upthrust legs.

'Do her good to get more exercises and that at the new school,' she said aloud to herself. She let herself think for a brief, happy moment of Cathy's handsome father. Proper well-set-up he'd been, everyone agreed, a lovely dancer, and had played a sound game of football once or twice for Fairacre. If young Cathy took after him she'd be a real good-looking girl.

She leant forward anxiously to peer in the mirror. Now that her hair was drying, the golden glints that the free shampoo (This Week's Amazing Offer) had promised its users were becoming apparent.

'As long as it don't get
too
bright,' thought Mrs Waite, in some alarm, 'I know it said "Let your husband look at you anew," but there's such a thing as making an exhibition of yourself.'

For a moment she was tempted to rinse her locks again in clear rainwater, but vanity prevailed. Anyway, she comforted herself, her husband would probably not notice anything different, even if she turned out auburn. Sometimes she wondered if those ladies up in London, who wrote the beauty hints, really had first-hand knowledge of husbands' reactions to their earnest advice.

Next door Joseph Coggs was submitting unwillingly to his mother's ministrations with the loathsome hair lotion.

'Prevention is better than cure!' nurse had said dictatorial^ to the cowering mother. 'Once a fortnight, Mrs Coggs, or it will be the
cleansing station!
' If she had said the gates of hell, Mrs Coggs could not have been more impressed, and faithfully every other Friday evening, Joseph was greeted on his return from school with a painful dowsing and rubbing with 'the head stuff.'

'You ask Miss Read about the twins?' queried the mother, her fingers working like pistons in and out of the black hair.

'Ah!' jerked out Joseph. 'Her said you was to come and see her any time.'

'All right for her,' grumbled Mrs Coggs. 'Any time, indeed! The only minute I has to spare is while your father's wolfing down his tea afore making off to the "Beetle"!'

She released the child suddenly, and he made off, smoothing his greasy locks flat with his hands. At the door he paused.

'Say! I give Miss Gray our present s' afternoon, and said a piece Miss Read learnt me!'

'Did you now?' answered his mother somewhat mollified at this honour to the family. 'What you give her then?'

'A biscuit barrel. Oh, and I forgot!' He fished in his pocket and produced sixpence. 'The vicar gave it to me for saying my piece all right.'

His mother's face softened a little.

'Well, that was real kind. You best put it where your father can't see it.' She went to the cupboard to find the evening meal. Once she'd got them all settled, she told herself, she'd slip up and see if Miss Read would have them two terrors after the holidays. Into everything, every blessed minute, and Arthur back at the 'Beetle' more than ever, and another baby on the way she'd bet a pound.

Joseph, lingering in the doorway, sensed the change in the atmosphere, and knew that his few moments of sympathy had flown. Sighing, he slipped into the garden and sought solace by the side of the baby's pram. Kicking and gurgling, his little brother looked up at him and Joseph forgot, in a moment, his unhappiness. With an uprush of joy he remembered his sixpence, his afternoon's triumph, and the fact that for seven long weeks he would be free to enjoy the company of his adored baby.

At that moment the future Mrs Annett was measuring the front bedroom at Beech Green for new curtains, happily unaware of the 'mortal damp' and Mrs Pringle's gloomy forecast of coming events in that ill-fated apartment. She was to be married in ten days' time, from the home of her Caxley friends, owing to the recent death of her mother. She wondered, as she strained upwards to the curtain-pole, if she would ever get all the things done that she wanted to do, in those few days.

Mrs Nairn, in her last fortnight as Mr Annett's housekeeper, was mounted on a chair, adjusting the tape-measure. A cloud of dust blew down from the ledge above the window.

Miss Gray gave a horrified gasp.

'Comes in a day, the dust, don't it,' remarked Mrs Nairn comfortably.

Miss Gray made no answer, contenting herself with the thought that in a week or two's time, under its new mistress's regime, their house would be clean from top to bottom for the first time for many years. What her poor darling had had to suffer, she thought to herself, no one could tell. But at least the future should make amends, and she was determined that her husband should be the happiest man in the kingdom.