03 Dear Teacher Page 19

  Looking at Edie’s massive fists, I could well believe it.

  ‘Oh, well, I’m very pleased to meet you,’ I said. ‘We should be lost without Shirley. She works wonders in her kitchen.’

  Shirley’s cheeks went pink, Florence smiled warmly and Edie’s glare softened from sub-zero to marginally above freezing point.

  ‘You’re very kind, Mr Sheffield,’ said Shirley. ‘So, is it all right for my aunties to spend a bit of time with me today?’

  ‘Of course, Shirley, and perhaps you would all like a cup of coffee in the staff-room? It’s more comfortable there.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sheffield,’ said Shirley.

  Edie marched off with Shirley to the staff-room but Florence hung back and began to undo her headscarf.

  ‘Don’t mind our Edie, Mr Sheffield,’ said Florence quietly. ‘She’s never tekken t’men, ’specially bosses.’ And with a sly wink she scurried off to follow her sister and her favourite niece.

  In the entrance hall Ruby was putting away a box of paper towels. Hazel was standing next to her. ‘Mummy,’ she said, looking thoughtfully up at her mother, ‘why ’ave y’got grey ’airs?’

  Quick as a flash Ruby said, ‘Cos every time y’do summat wrong ah get a grey ’air.’ Then she smiled at me in a self-congratulatory way.

  Hazel turned to walk away and then looked over her shoulder. ‘So ’ow come Grandma’s ’air is all grey?’

  It was morning playtime before I recalled Shirley’s aunties. ‘Two old women in t’playground, Mr Sheffield,’ announced Jodie Cuthbertson.

  Through my classroom window I saw them walking out to join the children in the playground. They were carrying a long length of rope. On entering the staff-room I passed Sally in the doorway. She had grabbed her coffee quickly and was going out to do her playground duty.

  Meanwhile, Vera’s face was wreathed in smiles. With the exception of Margaret Thatcher, Vera’s favourite woman was the Queen and, in her eyes, the royal family could do no wrong. To emphasize the point she picked up her Daily Telegraph and studied the photograph of Prince Andrew on the front page. ‘He ran nine miles in ninety minutes across Dartmoor and waded through freezing water,’ announced Vera triumphantly.

  ‘Who did?’ asked Jo, looking up from checking her box of coloured netball bibs. The school team were playing Morton School during our afternoon games session on the netball court painted on our tarmac playground.

  The door opened and Joseph walked in from his weekly Religious Education lesson and sat down disconsolately. Nobody dared ask how he had got on with Heathcliffe Earnshaw and the rest of Jo’s class. He picked up his mug of coffee and settled down to listen to Vera, who was now in full flow.

  ‘He is strong and fit and will make an exceptional naval officer,’ recited Vera. She peered through her steel-framed spectacles at the tiny text below the photograph of the twenty-year-old Prince Andrew being presented with the award of the Green Beret from the Royal Marines.

  ‘Who is?’ asked Joseph, reaching for the biscuit tin and selecting a custard cream.

  ‘All he needs now is a nice young woman, someone quiet and genteel, to keep him on the straight and narrow,’ said Vera wistfully.

  ‘Who does?’ mumbled Joseph through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs.

  ‘Don’t speak with your mouth full, Joseph,’ said Vera, looking irritated at the interruption.

  Joseph swallowed quickly. ‘I just wondered if it was one of my parishioners.’

  ‘No, Joseph. Pay attention,’ said Vera, rather sharply. ‘I’m talking about our Queen’s second son.’

  ‘Oh, that one,’ said Joseph without enthusiasm.

  Suddenly we heard cheering in the playground and we all looked out of the window to see an unlikely sight. Shirley’s aunties, Edie and Florence, were furiously winding the long rope and a line of red-faced children were skipping in and out and obviously loving the game.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Joseph.

  ‘They’re relations of Shirley,’ I explained. ‘Just visiting for today.’

  ‘Yes, nice people,’ said Vera. ‘The tall one’s a bit brusque but they’re both very pleasant. I wonder if they would like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I’ll take it out to them,’ I said.

  When I walked out Sally gave me a wave and pointed to the skipping group.

  ‘You go in to get warm,’ I said to her. ‘I’ll finish your duty.’

  As I walked closer to Edie and Florence I could hear their voices joined in a skipping chant.

  ‘Little fat doctor

  How’s your wife?

  Very well thank you

  That’s all right

  Eat a bit o’ fish

  An’ a stick o’ liquorice

  O-U-T spells OUT!’

  They paused, passed the ends of the skipping rope to Jodie Cuthbertson and Katy Ollerenshaw and took the welcome hot drinks from me.

  ‘Teks us back,’ said Florence with a smile.

  ‘It does that,’ added Edie, sipping her coffee.

  A group of children had gathered round. ‘Ah love sticks o’ lick-rish,’ said Heathcliffe both politely and hopefully.

  ‘It’s fascinating stuff,’ said Florence, ruffling his hair.

  When Heathcliffe realized no free samples were forthcoming he ran off.

  ‘If you would like to call into the staff-room at lunchtime you could tell us about it,’ I said.

  Edie looked at me suspiciously. Florence tugged at her sleeve. ‘That’s reight kind, Mr Sheffield. We’d luv to, wouldn’t we, Edie?’

  At half past twelve a blue minibus, purchased by the Morton Church of England Primary School PTA, pulled up outside school and a group of girls and parents tumbled out. From the front passenger seat stepped the headmistress, Miss Tripps. Edith Tripps was now in her sixty-fifth year and was about to retire after over thirty years’ service. Twice a year she visited Ragley School with her netball team and her rounders team. It was always a happy event and her good friend Vera had stayed on after her morning’s work to meet her. Both were members of the Ragley and Morton Women’s Institute.

  ‘Hello, Vera,’ said Miss Tripps with a warm smile.

  ‘Good to see you, Edith,’ said Vera. ‘Come on into the staff-room. We’ve got some interesting visitors today.’

  When they walked in, Edie and Florence were chatting happily with Anne, Jo and Sally.

  ‘Edith,’ said Vera, ‘these are Shirley’s relations from West Yorkshire and they used to work in a liquorice factory there.’

  ‘Oh, I absolutely love liquorice,’ said Miss Tripps enthusiastically, ‘but it’s ages since I’ve had any.’

  ‘Prudence sells it at the General Stores in the High Street,’ said Vera.

  ‘I must call in and buy some,’ said Miss Tripps.

  Edie looked in appreciation at a fellow lover of liquorice and Florence beamed from ear to ear. Vera poured Miss Tripps a cup of tea and I stood up to give her my seat and perched on the arm of Anne’s chair.

  ‘By the way, Vera,’ said Miss Tripps, ‘thank you for sending me the information about coal and coke stocks for the school boiler. Sadly, we seem to be using more than any other school in the area and I don’t know why,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, it is strange, Edith,’ said Vera, passing her a cup of tea.

  ‘It’s just that our supply seems to go down so quickly but, even so, the school is still cold,’ explained Miss Tripps. ‘I’ve asked Mr Sharp the caretaker to look into it.’ She sipped her tea and then looked at Edie and Florence. ‘So what exactly did you do in the liquorice factory?’

  There was a twinkle in Florence’s eyes as she recalled happy memories of times gone by. ‘Well, when ah started ah were a jolloper.’

  ‘A jolloper?’ said Miss Tripps in surprise.

  ‘Aye, that’s reight. Ah brushed gum on to cream an’ liquorice t’make ’em stick together. It were called jolloping.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Tripps.

  ‘An’ t
hen ah were a stalker.’

  ‘A stalker?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s reight,’ said Florence. ‘Ah used t’stick stalks into coconut mushrooms.’

  ‘Oooh, they’re my favourite,’ said Jo.

  ‘Mebbe so, but it were boring,’ added Edie with a frown.

  ‘ ’Cept we ’ad some fun, ’specially when it were y’birthday, didn’t we, Edie?’

  ‘What happened then?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Y’got thrown in t’starch bin an’ y’came out looking like a snowman,’ said Edie. ‘Mind you, nobody ever threw me in,’ she added darkly.

  ‘An’ when we were making jelly babies, t’starch even got inside y’knickers,’ said Florence with a laugh. Even Edie’s steely gaze softened with reminiscences and we all laughed at the thought. ‘Friday night were wages night,’ continued Florence, ‘an’ then we’d rush t’Woolworth’s t’buy silk stockings for a shilling.’

  ‘We earned thirty-two shillings a week in 1950, an’ a man earned twice as much … jus’ ’cause ’e were a man,’ muttered Edie.

  ‘But it were a tough place t’work, weren’t it, Edie?’

  ‘That’s reight,’ agreed Edie. ‘Young Betty Arkwright ’ad three fingers chopped off on t’machine that cut all-sorts into squares.’

  Everyone stared in horror.

  ‘But there were some good times,’ said Edie, breaking the spell.

  ‘ ’Specially one Christmas,’ continued Florence. ‘We ’ad a Christmas fancy-dress party an’ our Edie made me a South Sea Island costume out o’ liquorice. Ah won first prize.’

  We all laughed.

  ‘And what happened then?’ asked Sally, eager to know more.

  ‘Well, ah s’ppose best time of all was when me an’ Edie worked together,’ said Florence wistfully. She looked up at Edie, who nodded slowly.

  ‘And what job was that?’ asked Anne.

  ‘Well … we were both strippers,’ announced Florence.

  ‘Strippers?’ exclaimed everyone in unison.

  ‘That’s reight, we were strippers,’ Edie joined in. ‘We ’ad a big scraper an’ we used t’strip all t’liquorice off every board that were in t’stores. It were ’ard graft … but me an’ Flo were t’best strippers in Pontefract.’

  Everyone stared in wonderment at these two York-shirewomen, one happy with the lot she had been given in life and the other apparently full of resentment for the injustices she had been forced to endure.

  ‘It’s allus been jus’ two of us,’ said Edie.

  ‘Neither of us ever married but ah ’ad a boyfriend once,’ said Florence. ‘ ’E were a sort of a cross between Sacha Distel an’ Val Doonican.’

  ‘Was he French, then?’ asked Miss Tripps.

  ‘No, ’e were from Cleethorpes, but ’e ’ad sinus trouble an’ ’e talked funny,’ said Florence, ‘and ’e used t’wear these lovely ’and-knitted cardigans.’

  Edie’s gaze softened slightly and she looked fondly at her little sister. ‘Y’better off without ’im,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Y’probably right,’ said Florence.

  At one o’clock it was time to get ready for afternoon school and the netball match. Parents were gathering in the playground and Ruby had set up the netball posts.

  ‘We’re jus’ going t’walk down the ’Igh Street an’ ’ave a look at y’local shops before t’netball match,’ said Edie. ‘C’mon, Flo, get y’coat on.’ They buttoned up their heavy coats to the neck, checked the knots on their headscarves and walked out of school.

  Joe Sharp, the Morton caretaker, had parked the minibus under the row of horse-chestnut trees at the front of the school. He threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot. Next to him, Deirdre Coe was looking distinctly furtive. ‘So what’s it t’be, Deirdre?’ muttered Joe.

  ‘Same as usual,’ said Deirdre. ‘A couple o’ bags’ll do, but none o’ them big lumps like las’ time.’

  ‘OK, Deirdre,’ said Joe. ‘Cash in advance?’

  ‘On delivery, Joe, same as usual,’ said Deirdre. ‘Jus’ slip ’em round tonight.’ Then she scuttled away towards her Land-Rover parked outside The Royal Oak.

  Edie had stopped on the other side of the minibus, pretending to look in her bag, while Florence walked on. Her hearing was uncanny and she recognized wrongdoing when she stumbled across it. Both Deirdre and Joe had ignored the two strangers.

  Edie zipped up her bag and strode on, a glint in her steely eyes.

  * * *

  At half past one Sally took her class and Jo’s class into the hall for singing practice, while, out on the playground, Jo blew her whistle for the start of the netball match. I stood with the children in my class cheering them on. Edie and Florence had returned from the village and went to stand alongside Miss Tripps.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Tripps,’ said Edie, pointing towards the minibus, ‘but is that man your caretaker?’

  ‘Yes. That’s Mr Sharp,’ said Miss Tripps.

  ‘An’ if y’don’t mind me asking, ’ow long ’as ’e worked for you?’

  ‘Since January,’ said Miss Tripps. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Nothing special,’ said Edie, returning her gaze to the netball match. Then she walked over to Vera. ‘Excuse me, Miss Evans, but ’ow long as coal been disappearing from Miss Tripps’s school?’

  ‘She first mentioned it at the start of this term, I think,’ said Vera.

  ‘That’s int’resting,’ said Edie. ‘Ah’ll be back in a minute,’ and she set off down the school drive.

  Joe Sharp was enjoying a quiet cigarette and looking forward to a good meal and a few pints of Tetley’s bitter as a result of his ill-gotten gains. Suddenly a long shadow was cast on the grassy bank in front of him and he looked up. The fiercesome bulk of Edie came as a surprise.

  ‘Mr Sharp?’ said Edie, stepping forward with an outstretched right hand.

  It was an automatic reaction. He shook hands and immediately regretted it. With the strength of a woman who had stamped a million Pontefract cakes, Edie began to crush his hand. Joe looked up, alarmed and in pain.

  ‘What y’doing?’ he yelled.

  Edie gradually increased her grip and Joe’s knuckles crunched.

  ‘It’s about the coal, Mr Sharp,’ said Edie coldly.

  ‘Aaaagh … What about it?’ screamed Joe.

  ‘Promise me y’ll not be stealing any,’ said Edie.

  ‘What? … Aaagh.’

  ‘Ah sed promise,’ said Edie, squeezing harder.

  Joe fell to his knees. ‘Ah promise, ah promise.’

  Edie let go and tears sprang from Joe’s eyes as he massaged life back into his hand. ‘If ah ’ear any coal’s gone missin’ from school … ah’ll be back,’ said Edie. Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

  At the end of the school day Edie and Florence came into the office to say farewell.

  ‘It’s been a smashing day,’ said Florence. ‘Our Shirley says you’re a nice man t’work for.’

  Edie stood quietly, an ominous presence. She was clearly still weighing me up. ‘Y’not bad,’ she said bluntly. I took it as a compliment and she stretched out her hand. I took a deep breath and shook it. Thankfully, this time, it was firm but no more.

  Anne and I watched them drive off in Shirley’s car. ‘Lovely ladies,’ said Anne.

  ‘Not bad for a pair of strippers,’ I said.

  Anne gave me a dig in the ribs. ‘So what are you doing tonight, Jack?’ she asked.

  I sat down at my desk and pulled out my notes about our mathematics scheme of work for the local authority. ‘I’m going to finish this if it kills me,’ I said, unscrewing the top from my fountain pen.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Anne. ‘Well, don’t stay too late.’

  Darkness fell and I worked on. Suddenly, the telephone rang and to my surprise it was Beth. She sounded tired.

  ‘Hello, Jack. I guessed you might still be at school,’ she said.

  ‘Beth, good to hear from you. How’s it g
oing?’

  ‘Well, like you, I have to complete this scheme for mathematics and I’m finding it difficult. I wondered if you could have a look at it before I send it off.’

  ‘Of course I will. I’m working on it myself as a matter of fact. When I’ve finished I’ll send you a copy.’

  ‘That’s kind, Jack. This so-called “common curriculum” could become a reality the way things are going.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I can’t imagine how the government would organize it.’

  There was a pause and I could hear the church bells of St Mary’s striking seven o’clock.

  ‘OK, Jack … Well, thanks.’

  ‘Beth … there’s something I’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you alone in the office?’

  ‘Yes. The school’s been empty for half an hour.’

  ‘I have to ask … is Laura OK?’

  ‘Well, Jack … you must know she was very upset.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Beth. I enjoyed her company but it had never occurred to me that she might have thought I felt more than that.’

  ‘But, Jack, by going out with her you did give her that impression.’

  ‘I just didn’t realize … I’m sorry, Beth.’

  There was a pause and I waited for Beth to respond.

  ‘She seems OK now. She’s been approached by Desmond, her manager in London, to do some more training down south. She told me she was going to take him up on it.’

  ‘I see … Well, I wish her luck.’

  ‘Jack … I have to ask … did you care for her?’

  ‘She was a good friend, Beth.’

  ‘Laura told me she wondered if you might care for somebody else.’

  I couldn’t answer. As I sat there I heard the clock ticking in the school bell tower but words failed to come. ‘Oh, Beth …’

  There was a long silence before she finally spoke. ‘I’ll ring you, Jack.’

  And the line went dead.

  Further work was impossible so I packed my old leather briefcase and collected my duffel coat and scarf. The ringing of the telephone again made me jump. I thought it might be Beth.

  ‘What on earth are you doing still there?’ It was Anne Grainger. ‘I rang your home but there was no answer and I guessed you might be still working on that dratted maths scheme.’