04 Village Teacher Read Free

shop. Katy Ollerenshaw inevitably became blackboard-cleaning monitor. This job traditionally went to Ragley’s tallest pupil and Katy had always been in the middle of the back row on class photographs. Cathy Cathcart, a fastidious timekeeper, became school-bell monitor and Darrell Topper became the ‘letting teachers know that school assembly will start in five minutes’ monitor as he was the fastest boy in school and for some strange reason was desperate for the job.
    At morning break I collected a hot milky coffee and went out to do playground duty. It was a pleasure on such a lovely day and, as promised, I helped Heathcliffe and his friends collect a large pile of conkers. Soon, however, he was trying to teach the girls in his class how to wink and whistle. He was intensely proud that he could do both simultaneously.
    * * *
    After lunch we gathered in the staff-room. Vera was checking late dinner money and Anne and Jo were quizzing Sally about the trials of pregnancy.
    I had spent twenty pence on my copy of
The Times
and scanned the news. Len Murray, the TUC General Secretary, wanted urgent talks with Jim Callaghan about incomes policy. Meanwhile, the BBC’s recorded highlights of a Football League Cup match between Ipswich and Middlesbrough had not been screened last night because the Middlesbrough team had advertising on their shirts. The bright labels showing Middlesbrough’s affiliation to Datsun Japanese cars was in contravention of the corporation’s rules. Advertising was suddenly becoming big business in football and I wondered where it would end.
    During afternoon school we had just begun our new project on the history of York when there was a tap on my door and Shirley the cook popped her head round the door. She looked anxious. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Sheffield, but can I have a word?’
    I walked out into the corridor. Shirley Mapplebeck was a wonderful school cook and with her assistant, the formidable Mrs Doreen Critchley, worked wonders in her small kitchen. ‘What is it, Shirley?’ I asked.
    ‘We’ve got a blockage, Mr Sheffield,’ said Shirley, ‘an ’ah can’t get anything t’flush away.’
    ‘Shall I have a look at playtime, Shirley?’
    ‘Doreen ’ad a go before she left, Mr Sheffield. If she can’t shift it, no one can.’
    I nodded in agreement. Doreen Critchley had the forearms of a circus strong man. ‘You’d better ask Miss Evans to ring County Hall, Shirley.’
    By afternoon break, Vera had everything in hand in her usual unflappable style. ‘Battersbys will be in first thing tomorrow, Mr Sheffield.’
    ‘Battersbys?’
    ‘Yes, Mr Sheffield, the Battersby brothers. They can unblock anything,’ said Vera, with absolute certainty.
    ‘Thanks, Vera,’ I said. ‘What would I do without you?’
    She smiled and returned to typing a note to parents entitled ‘School Photographs – Reminder’ on her Royal Imperial typewriter.
    It was after six o’clock when I climbed into my emerald-green Morris Minor Traveller and drove the three miles home to Bilbo Cottage in the sleepy village of Kirkby Steepleton.
    I sat down in the lounge and began to write a report to the school governors about our new school library extension – now close to completion – while attempting to grill a pork chop. I was soon engrossed and only the smell of burning from the kitchen reminded me of my inability to multi-task. By 8.30 p.m. I needed a break so I switched on BBC 1 and settled down to watch
Yes Minister
. The brilliant Nigel Hawthorne was leading poor Paul Eddington his usual merry dance when the telephone rang.
    ‘Had a good day?’ asked a familiar voice. It was Beth.
    ‘I wish you were here,’ I said.
    ‘Why?’ said Beth. I imagined her green eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.
    ‘I’ve just cremated my evening meal.’
    ‘Is that all?’
    ‘Can you come round?’ I asked hopefully. There was a pause and I knew she would be twirling a lock of honey-blonde hair between