Star Teacher Read Free

Yorkshire’.
    â€˜We’ve been through all this before,’ I said. ‘So I wonder what’s new this time?’ Back in 1981 we had been threatened with school closure but had survived and our numbers on roll had increased slightly.
    It was a copious document, definitely bedtime reading. On the first page was an invitation to a meeting of North Yorkshire headteachers at High Sutton Hall on 1 October. I put it in my old leather satchel, completely unaware of the impact it would have on my life and that of our village school.
    Anne Grainger popped her head round the door. ‘Hello, Jack. Pat has settled in and Class 2 looks a picture,’ she said with a reassuring smile. Anne, a slim brunette in her fifties, was our deputy headteacher and her reception class was always full of colour and creativity.
    â€˜Thanks, I’ll call in to see her,’ I said.
    Pat Brookside had recently been appointed to teach the six- and seven-year-olds and today was her first day as a teacher at Ragley School. A tall, leggy, twenty-eight-year-old blonde, Pat had taught the infant age range at Thirkby Primary School in North Yorkshire and was a welcome addition to the staff.
    Vera handed the new school registers for Class 1 to Anne. ‘Here’s to another school year,’ she said.
    Anne stared thoughtfully at the smart, pristine registers. ‘Yes, another year,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s hope it’s a good one.’
    Vera looked at her curiously. There was clearly something on Anne’s mind and Vera determined she would pick the right moment to see if she could offer wise counsel.
    I picked up my registers. ‘And I’ll deliver these to Pat.’
    â€˜Wish her good luck from me,’ said Vera.
    Sally Pringle, the Class 3 teacher, was in the school hall preparing the music for morning assembly. With her long, wavy red hair, baggy shirt with frilly sleeves, a bright mustard waistcoat and mint-green cord trousers, she cut a distinctive arty figure. She had propped her
Tinderbox
songbook on a music stand, opened it to number 31, ‘Thank You for My Friends’, and then rehearsed the opening chords on her guitar.
    â€˜Morning, Jack,’ she said with a smile. ‘Here we go again.’
    â€˜Hello, Sally,’ I replied. ‘All set for another year?’
    â€˜Yes, looking forward to it, and good to have a new experienced colleague next door. Pat has already volunteered to give me a few lessons on the computer. And I’m guessing we’ll have a good netball team this year,’ she added with a grin.
    Pat Brookside was in her classroom putting a new HB pencil, a pack of wax crayons and a large sheet of white sugar paper on each desk.
    â€˜Morning, Pat,’ I said, ‘and hope all goes well.’
    â€˜Thanks, Jack, I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
    Her blonde hair had been brushed back into a flowing ponytail and she had dressed classically in a white blouse, grey pleated skirt and black leather shoes. I felt sure Vera would approve. Two years ago, when we had had a vacancy for a Class 2 teacher, Pat had been a strong candidate and had made the shortlist, but in the end we had appointed a young man named Tom Dalton. However, after a year and a half he had moved on and during the subsequent selection process it was clear that Pat, who applied again, appeared much more confident than when we had first interviewed her. She had been on a computer course and explained something called Windows version 1.0 in great detail. Her knowledge of the primary curriculum was outstanding and she had offered to support extra-curricular activities, including the netball team, if appointed. As a county-standard player herself, this seemed appropriate. At the end of the interview our chair of governors, the Revd Joseph Evans, asked why she wanted to move from Thirkby. ‘I’ve just moved in with a new partner,’ she explained, ‘and he lives close by,