05 Please Sir! Page 10

  He stepped down. ‘Sorry, Mam,’ he said quietly.

  She gave him a gentle hug. ‘Let’s go ‘ome.’

  They walked up the High Street, cold and huddled together like wraiths in the darkness, and turned the corner of the council estate. Jennifer looked down at her only son and, once again, she felt the pain of a mother.

  On Thursday morning, a soft white quilt of snow had carpeted the back road from Kirkby Steepleton to Ragley village and my Morris Minor Traveller made slow progress. Ruby the caretaker, wearing a tightly knotted headscarf, was brushing the steps in the entrance porch when I arrived at school.

  ‘’Morning, Ruby,’ I said. ‘You’re a saint.’

  ‘No rest for t’wicked, Mr Sheffield,’ said Ruby in a singsong voice. The freezing conditions clearly had no effect on this hardy Yorkshirewoman. She added a good sprinkling of salt to the stone steps as noisy conversation drifted out from the entrance hall. ‘It’s a bun fight in there,’ she said as I hurried into school.

  A group of parents under the supervision of Sally were making costumes for the forthcoming nativity play. Meanwhile, their children sat in a group round the old pine table, making paper chains from coloured paper. The loops were held together with a generous dab of white rubber glue, which had a strange but appealing smell, and high-pitched chatter reverberated around the walls.

  It was just before morning playtime when Theresa Ackroyd made her first announcement of the day. ‘PC ’Unter coming up t’drive, Mr Sheffield.’

  Dan was Jo’s husband, a loyal friend and our popular village bobby. A huge six-feet-four-inch rugby player, he looked smart in his navy-blue uniform with a small coat of arms on each collar.

  I stepped out of my classroom door and across the corridor to tell Jo that Dan was here. As I walked into Class 2 the boys and girls were chanting their tables – all except for seven-year-old Benjamin Roberts. I stood behind him and listened. The rest of the class were singing ‘Seven sevens are forty-nine’, while little Ben was humming ‘Dah, dah, dah, dee-dah’.

  I leant over and whispered in his ear, ‘What are you doing, Ben?’

  He looked up and gave me a relaxed smile. ‘Ah’m ’umming, Mr Sheffield.’

  ‘Yes, I can tell that, Ben, but why are you humming?’ I said, a little irritably.

  Ben continued to be unperturbed. ‘Well, ah know t’tune, Mr Sheffield. It’s jus’ that ah don’t know t’words.’

  I tried hard not to smile. It was clear Ben was not having the best of days. His ‘Explorers of the World’ topic folder was open in front of him. He had written, ‘Christopher Columbus discovered a miracle.’ To his credit he had looked up ‘miracle’ in his New Oxford Dictionary and the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that he was probably right.

  I smiled at Jo as the bell rang. ‘Dan’s here,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ she said. ‘Wonder what he wants.’

  Dan was waiting for me in the entrance hall, deep in thought and stroking his long, droopy moustache. He looked serious and was clearly on duty. ‘Jack, there’s been a burglary in Morton, next door to Beth’s cottage. I’ve checked her doors and windows and all seems well.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘that’s bad news.’

  ‘Thought you might want to let her know before she gets home,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Dan,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your letting us know.’

  ‘Anyway, must get back to the station … See you Saturday. Beth told Jo to come around six.’

  ‘OK, Dan, see you then.’

  His little grey van bumped down the drive, turned right at the school gate and roared off up the Easington Road.

  After I had telephoned Beth, the burglary was the main topic of discussion over lunch in the staff-room. Vera had just said, ‘What’s the world coming to?’ when there was a tap on the door. It was Roy Davidson, our Education Welfare Officer, calling in for his weekly visit. Roy, a tall, gaunt man in his mid-forties with a shock of prematurely grey hair, was a wonderful supporter of village schools and his knowledge of specialist educational support was second to none.

  ‘You mentioned …’ he checked his spiral notepad, ‘Nathan Penny,’ he said.

  ‘He’s in the library now if you want to have a word,’ I said.

  We were very proud of our wide range of books, accumulated thanks largely to the generosity of the Parent–Teacher Association and the local community. Our school capitation had been reduced once again and we were surviving on just a few pence per child per day. The extra funds made a huge difference to the experiences we could provide for the children of Ragley village.

  Nathan clearly loved books. I had made him library monitor and he spent much of his spare time tidying and labelling, but mainly reading. When I walked into the carpeted library area he was engrossed in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis.

  ‘This is Nathan,’ I said to Roy. ‘He’s a wonderful reader.’

  ‘Hello, Nathan,’ he said.

  Nathan was thrilled to meet another grown-up who was interested in books. I left them to it, knowing that Roy’s perceptive, gentle questioning would reveal how best to help this introverted little boy.

  Ten minutes later, Roy came back into the staff-room. ‘I could do with talking to his parents,’ he said, glancing down at his copious notes. ‘There’s something I can’t quite work out. His attendance is fine and there was no antisocial behaviour at his school in Leeds. Even so, the boy is clearly troubled.’

  At the end of school I was in the office with Vera. She beckoned me over to the window. ‘Mr Sheffield, watch the new boy Nathan Penny. See what he does,’ she said. We peered out into the growing darkness. At the school gate Nathan took his Ginn Reading 360 reading book and tucked it down the back of his shorts. When he was satisfied it was hidden from view he walked home.

  Anne was collating her infant reading tests for end-of-term reports. ‘Jack, there’s something worrying about that little boy. I just can’t put my finger on it,’ she said.

  Sally looked up from transcribing the sheet music of ‘We Three Kings’ into guitar chords for her beginners’ group. She looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we need to pull in a bit of additional support on this one, Jack. Better to be safe than sorry.’

  ‘Sally’s right, Jack,’ said Anne.

  ‘I agree,’ I said, ‘and in the meantime Roy Davidson wants to talk with his parents.’

  ‘Jack, his mother is coming in tomorrow lunchtime to help with the nativity costumes,’ said Sally. ‘Maybe you could have a word then.’

  It was Friday lunchtime and a large group of mothers were busy making costumes in the entrance hall. Jennifer Penny, in between shifts at the factory, was among them, eager to support.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Penny. Any chance of a quick word?’ I said.

  Soon we were in the school office discussing Nathan’s love of books. ‘John won’t allow no books in the ‘ouse, Mr Sheffield,’ she said quietly. ‘’E says that ’e didn’t need no books when ’e were a lad.’

  ‘And what do you think, Mrs Penny?’ I asked.

  She sighed deeply and picked at her bitten fingernails. ‘Ah want t’give Nathan a chance in life, Mr Sheffield, an’ ah know ’e loves reading in your libr’y.’

  ‘He’s a good reader, Mrs Penny,’ I said, ‘and he seems to have a natural gift for writing – in fact, his poetry is exceptional.’

  ‘Ah read to’im when ah can, Mr Sheffield,’ she said, ‘but … not when ’is dad’s ’ome.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  ‘An’ y’can’t argue with him,’ she added a little nervously, rubbing her wrist. It was badly bruised.

  ‘Perhaps if I have a word with Mr Penny he might let Nathan take books home,’ I said.

  ‘Won’t make no difference, Mr Sheffield, an’ in any case ’e says when Nathan’s as tall as ’im ’e starts work. ’E says ’e doesn’t need books t’do manual work.’

  The bell rang for afternoon school. ‘Thanks, Mrs
Penny,’ I said. ‘I hope we can talk again.’

  It was an impulse. At the end of school I gathered up the complete series of Narnia stories and put them in a carrier bag. Then I pulled on my duffel coat and old college scarf and set off for the council estate. When I reached Nathan’s house a huge man was emptying the contents of his van into a crowded garage. He stepped out quickly to meet me and blocked my way. ‘Yes?’ he said gruffly.

  ‘I’m Jack Sheffield from the village school,’ I said. ‘Are you Mr Penny?’

  ‘What d’you want? ‘As Nathan been up t’no good?’

  ‘No, just the opposite,’ I said. ‘He’s a fine boy. You must be very proud.’

  ‘’E’s no son o’ mine,’ he retorted. ‘’Is real dad ran off years ago. Ah met ‘is mother when ah were working in Leeds.’

  ‘I see,’ I said and wished the system for the transfer of records from one school to another could be speeded up. ‘Well, I hope you’ll be very happy in Ragley and if you have any concerns please call in whenever you can. We want Nathan to be settled in his new school.’

  ‘Is that it, then?’ he said, still blocking my way.

  I held up the bag of books. ‘I’ve brought some books for Nathan to read at home.’

  ‘Well, y’can tek ’em back again,’ he said and turned away. Then, as an afterthought, he put his face close to mine. ‘Y’know what teachers are,’ he sneered: ‘men amongst boys an’ boys amongst men.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before, Mr Penny,’ I said, ‘and it’s a tired joke. I wouldn’t go around repeating it if I were you.’

  He watched me walk down the road before he turned back to his van and carried on unloading.

  On Saturday evening, shortly after six o’clock, Beth and I were in the kitchen of Bilbo Cottage and my old pine table was covered in icing sugar. I had volunteered to ice Beth’s Christmas cake. It was meant to be a joint effort but we both knew it wasn’t really. The resulting masterpiece was due to be taken to Hampshire for our New Year’s Eve visit to Beth’s parents.

  ‘If you dip the palette knife into the jug of hot water I gave you, Jack,’ said Beth patiently, although through gritted teeth, ‘then it’s a lot easier and the icing will have a smoother finish.’ It occurred to me she was beginning to sound like Delia Smith but I refrained from mentioning this.

  In the meantime, the smell of Beth’s cooking made my mouth water. She donned my Basil Brush oven gloves, a misguided and incongruous purchase at the recent PTA jumble sale, and removed the lid from a magnificent chicken casserole.

  We had invited an unsuspecting Dan and Jo Hunter to join us for a meal before going into York for a wine-tasting evening at the Assembly Rooms. Soon the four of us were tucking in and it wasn’t until Dan’s third helping that he stretched out, patted his full tummy and sighed with satisfaction. ‘Wonderful, Beth.’

  I looked across at Beth and she took the hint. ‘Jack’s got something important to ask you, Dan,’ she announced as she collected the plates.

  Dan looked up. ‘Is it anything to do with the washing-up?’ he said with a broad grin.

  ‘Actually, Dan, I was wondering if you would be my best man,’ I said.

  Jo gave a squeal of delight. ‘Oh, say yes, Dan, before he changes his mind.’

  ‘So, what’s it to be, Dan?’ said Beth. ‘You could wear that lovely dress uniform of yours.’

  ‘Well, what a surprise,’ said Dan. He leant over the table and shook my hand. ‘It would be a pleasure, Jack. I’m your man.’

  ‘So have you picked a date?’ asked Jo, barely able to contain her excitement.

  ‘Yes. We went to see Joseph and it will be here at St Mary’s on the last Saturday in May,’ said Beth.

  ‘In the Spring Bank holiday,’ said Jo. ‘A perfect time.’

  ‘So not in Hampshire, then?’ said Dan.

  ‘No,’ said Beth. ‘My parents agreed it made sense to have it up here in Yorkshire. All our friends are here and this is where we’re going to live.’ She put her arm round my waist and looked at me. ‘And Jack’s finally persuaded me to move in here at Bilbo Cottage.’

  Dan and I were ushered out of the kitchen, while Beth and Jo prepared coffee and talked about wedding dresses.

  Over coffee we settled down to watch Larry Grayson’s Generation Game with Isla St Clair and then, shortly after seven o’clock, when Stephanie Turner as Inspector Jean Darblay was about to solve another crime on Juliet Bravo, we switched off and prepared to set off for the wine-tasting.

  ‘Jack, have you heard about the spate of burglaries in Easington?’ said Dan.

  ‘Yes. It was in the Herald,’ I said, nodding towards the sofa. The headline in the Easington Herald & Pioneer read, ‘Two more break-ins – police urge everyone to be vigilant’.

  ‘People are getting nervous,’ said Beth. ‘My next-door neighbour is having new locks fitted and most of the villagers have started locking their doors for the first time.’

  On Monday morning, Roy Davidson and Joseph Evans were waiting for me in the school office. ‘I’m calling in to see Nathan Penny’s parents today, Jack,’ said Roy, ‘and I’m taking Mary O’Neill from Social Services. We’re getting reports that Mr Penny has a tendency towards violence.’

  I recalled my meeting with Nathan’s mother last week. ‘I can understand that,’ I said, ‘and when I spoke with Mrs Penny there was bruising on her wrist. You might want to check that out.’

  ‘He’s certainly a busy man at present,’ said Joseph reflectively, ‘replacing all the broken locks following the burglaries.’

  It was a hectic day with another group of parents putting the finishing touches to costumes and props for the nativity play. Only when I finally drove home to Kirkby Steepleton did I reflect once again on Nathan Penny and the difficulties in his life.

  On Tuesday morning I was surprised to see Dan Hunter in the staff-room in animated conversation with Jo and Sally.

  ‘More burglaries, Jack – all yesterday afternoon,’ said Dan gravely.

  ‘Six mothers worked in school yesterday, Jack, and three of them have been robbed,’ said Jo. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence.’

  Dan looked at his wife and nodded slowly. ‘You’ve got a point there, Jo.’

  ‘Well, that’s my fault,’ said Sally.

  ‘How can it be your fault?’ asked Jo.

  ‘I advertised the rota for costume-making in the monthly newsletter,’ said Sally, ‘and listed the mothers who were coming along to help us and the dates and times they would be in school.’

  There was silence while we all considered the implications. ‘And does the newsletter just go to parents?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Parents and governors, that’s all,’ I said.

  Dan stood up. ‘I have to go,’ he said abruptly. ‘Something Joseph said last night.’

  It was the end of the week when we all crowded round the Easington Herald & Pioneer in the staff-room and read the article. John Penny had been arrested on numerous counts of burglary.

  ‘And then he had the cheek to return and repair their locks,’ said Vera.

  There was a knock on the door. It was Jennifer Penny with Nathan. She obviously wanted to talk. ‘Perhaps you would like to sit in the library, Nathan,’ I said, ‘while I speak with your mother.’ He smiled and trotted off at once.

  ‘So how are you, Mrs Penny?’ I asked when we were sitting in the office.

  ‘Relieved,’ she said simply.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said. ‘It must be difficult for you.’

  She paused and looked sad. ‘You never know ’ow life will turn out … ’ow a relationship will end.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Nathan tells me you intend to move.’

  ‘We are, Mr Sheffield, and ah’ve mixed feelings about that. Nathan was beginning t’settle here in Ragley and ’e was so proud when you made ’im library monitor. ’E loves his books.’

  ‘So where are you going?’

  ‘To my sister’s just outside Skipton.
It’s a nice cottage with plenty o’ room. We’ll be ’appy there and there’s a good school for Nathan.’

  ‘That’s encouraging news,’ I said.

  She looked out of the office window. ‘Ragley’s a lovely village, Mr Sheffield, but we can’t stay ’ere after all that’s ’appened. It would be too difficult for Nathan. He deserves a fresh start.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, ‘and … I was going to give him these,’ I picked up the set of C. S. Lewis books, ‘but Mr Penny refused them. Perhaps you would like to take them now.’

  ‘You’re very kind, Mr Sheffield. Nathan will be thrilled.’

  It was a sad day when, the following Monday, Nathan and his mother came to say goodbye. ‘Stick at your writing, Nathan,’ I said and he gave me a relieved smile. Then they walked out of Ragley School for the last time. Vera and I watched them from the office window, mother and son setting out for an uncertain future. Vera had shown her usual efficiency and had forwarded Nathan’s records to his next school along with a letter from Roy Davidson providing some of the family background.

  When they reached the school gate, snow began to fall again and I smiled as Jennifer Penny put a protective arm round her son’s shoulders.

  * * *

  There is a postscript to this story. Twenty years later I received a Christmas card depicting a snowy picture of Grassington village in Wharfedale. The message inside said ‘Do give me a call if you’re in the area’, followed by a telephone number. It was signed … Nathan Penny.

  So it was that on a bright, cold December day I found myself next to a roaring log fire in the Devonshire Arms in Grassington village, enjoying minced beef and Yorkshire pudding along with a pint of William Younger’s Best Bitter. Opposite me was a wiry, athletic, weather-beaten young man, approaching his thirtieth birthday. He was a Yorkshire Dales Ranger, caring for the spectacular Yorkshire countryside with its limestone walls and wild moorland. Nathan Penny had flourished.

  ‘Best thing you ever did was t’send that welfare officer round to our house, Mr Sheffield. It helped my mother see sense and it was the making of me.’