06 Educating Jack
Authors: Jack Sheffield
As the 1982 school year begins, Jack Sheffield returns to Ragley village school for his sixth year as headteacher. Nora Pratt celebrates twenty-five years in her coffee shop, Ronnie Smith finally tries to get a job, and little Krystal Entwhistle causes concern in the school Nativity play. It’s the time of
ET
and Greenham Common, Prince William’s birth, Fame leg warmers and the puzzling introduction of the new 20p piece.
Meanwhile, for Jack, the biggest surprise of his life is in store...
6. Flash Gordon and the Time-and-Motion Expert
10. The Refuse Collectors’ Annual Ball
13. The Cleethorpes Clairvoyant
15. Heathcliffe and the Dragon
16. Gandhi and the Rogation Walk
17. Lollipop Lil’ and the Zebra Crossing
18. The Women’s Institute Potato Champion
JACK
The Alternative School Logbook 1982–1983
For Linda Evans
I am indeed fortunate to have the support of a wonderful editor, the superb Linda Evans, and the excellent team at Transworld including Larry Finlay, Bill Scott-Kerr, Laura Sherlock, Lynsey Dalladay, Elizabeth Swain, Vivien Garrett, Sophie Holmes, copy-editor Brenda Updegraff, and the ‘foot soldiers’ – fellow ‘Old Roundhegian’ Martin Myers and the quiet, unassuming Mike ‘
Rock ’n Roll
’ Edgerton.
Special thanks go to my industrious literary agent, Newcastle United supporter and Britain’s leading authority on 80s Airfix Modelling Kits, Philip Patterson of Marjacq Scripts, for his encouragement, good humour and deep appreciation of Yorkshire cricket.
I am also grateful to all those who assisted in the research for this novel – in particular: Patrick Busby, Pricing Director, church organist and Harrogate Rugby Club supporter, Hampshire; Janina Bywater, neonatal nurse and lecturer in psychology, Cornwall; the Revd Ben Flenley, Rector of Bentworth, Lasham, Medstead and Shalden, Hampshire; Tony Greenan, Yorkshire’s finest headteacher (now retired), Huddersfield, Yorkshire; George and Gladys Hook, retired majors in the Salvation Army, Alton, Hampshire; Ian Jurd, churchwarden of St Andrew’s Church, Medstead, and local builder, Hampshire; John Kirby, ex-policeman, expert calligrapher and Sunderland supporter, County Durham; Roy Linley, Enterprise Architect, Unilever Global Expertise Team and Leeds United supporter, Port Sunlight, Wirral; Sue Maddison, primary school teacher and expert cook, Harrogate, Yorkshire; Sue Matthews, primary school teacher and John Denver enthusiast, Wigginton, Yorkshire; Phil Parker, ex-teacher and Manchester United supporter, Holme-upon-Spalding Moor, Yorkshire; Dr Alison Rickard, General Practitioner, Alton, Hampshire; Elaine Roberts, ex-teacher and gardening expert, Haxby, Yorkshire; Caroline Stockdale, librarian, York Central Library, Yorkshire and all the terrific staff at Waterstone’s Alton and Waterstone’s Farnham, Hampshire, and Waterstone’s York.
The accident was destined to change our lives.
Like ripples on a pond after a stone has shattered the surface, all of us were affected by the reaction … some more than others. The tremors washed over the still surface of our thoughts and we all knew that life would never be the same again. It was time for a new direction … it was time for change. By the end of the academic year 1982/83 we would all be leading different lives. It was a year we would never forget, although it began quietly.
On Wednesday, 1 September 1982, I was sitting alone in the school office. All was silent apart from the ticking of the old school clock that echoed in the Victorian rafters. On this sunlit autumn day my sixth year as headmaster of Ragley-on-the-Forest Church of England Primary School in North Yorkshire was about to begin. However, the dawn of a new school year was far from my thoughts. The familiar pattern of our working lives had altered. Through the open office door in the entrance hall I could see Ruby the caretaker’s galvanized bucket and mop, a reminder of times past. Vera the secretary’s desk stood empty and tiny specks of dust settled on its shiny surface. Today was different: it was a morning of memories.
There are three sides to every story; at least that’s how it seemed. After the car crash, Ruby the caretaker said she thought she would never see her new grandchild. Vera the secretary firmly believed the power of prayer had kept them both alive. Meanwhile, the lorry driver who caused the accident and emerged without a scratch, simply blamed the rain.
Six weeks had passed since that telephone call on the last day of the summer term. Vera’s car had been hit by a skidding lorry on the rain-drenched road to York. Ruby had been the worst casualty, with a damaged pelvis and a broken leg, and was still recovering in York Hospital. The redoubtable Vera had also been badly injured, with fractured ribs and a collapsed lung. Her breastbone had been severely bruised after being crushed against the steering wheel. However, she had returned home and recovered relatively quickly. Since then, as often as she could she spent an hour by Ruby’s bedside.
Now the summer holiday was almost over and the new academic year beckoned. Vera was ready to return to work and she had arranged for a temporary caretaker to do Ruby’s duties. I took a deep breath and wondered what the school year had in store. It was a day of silent aspirations, a morning of fresh hope. Our familiar world had tilted a few degrees. At first it was imperceptible, but soon it became clear that our lives would change for ever. It began with small steps, but it led to a new pathway and a different journey … and for me, it was an education.
The clock ticked on. Outside a breeze sprang up and the branches of the horse-chestnut trees that bordered the front of the school shivered in the September sunshine. I sighed as I unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk, removed the large, leather-bound school logbook and opened it to the next clean page. Then I filled my fountain pen with black Quink ink, wrote the date and stared at the empty page.
The record of another school year was about to begin. Five years ago, the retiring headmaster, John Pruett, had told me how to fill in the official school logbook. ‘Just keep it simple,’ he said. ‘Whatever you do, don’t say what really happens, because no one will believe you!’
So the real stories were written in my ‘Alternative School Logbook’. And this is it!
The Problem with Patience
86 children were registered on roll on the first day of the school year. Mrs Earnshaw began duties as temporary caretaker. A blocked sink in the reception class caused minor flooding in the cloakroom area
.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Monday, 6 September 1982
‘WE’VE GORRA PROBLEM
, Mr Sheffield,’ said Mrs Connie Crapper. She was standing in the school entrance hall outside the open office door.
‘Have we?’
‘We ’ave that. Our Patience ’as ’ad ’er ears pierced.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, glancing down at her four-year-old daughter.
Little Patience Crapper was wearing a Barbie-doll T-shirt, pink leggings, multi-coloured
Fame
leg warmers and white pixie boots. She was also sucking a stick of liquorice and she gave me a black-toothed smile.
‘So what exactly is the problem?’ I asked.
‘Well we’ve given ’er a nice pair o’ them little earrings jus’ t’get ’er started,’ said Mrs Crapper, ‘an’ ah don’t want Mrs Grainger telling ’er t’tek ’em out.’
‘Ah, I see,’ I said. ‘Well … I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mrs Crapper, but we don’t encourage the wearing of jewellery.’
‘Be that as it may, Mr Sheffield, but ah believe in starting ’em young wi’ t’important things in life. It meks sense dunt it?’
We both looked down at Patience, who was picking her nose with a liquorice-coated finger. ‘I suppose it depends on what’s
important
,’ I said and began to clean my black-framed Buddy Holly spectacles to give me thinking time. I didn’t want to offend a parent or upset this little girl on her first day at Ragley.
At that moment the deputy headteacher, Anne Grainger, arrived from the store cupboard carrying a box of coloured chalks. A slim, attractive brunette, Anne had been a reassuring presence in Ragley School for more years than she cared to remember. With her professionalism and boundless patience she was a wonderful colleague and a loyal supporter. However, it was her ability to turn her class into a world of light, colour and excitement that marked her out as such an outstanding teacher and an example to us all.
Even so, Anne appeared preoccupied. There was clearly something on her mind. ‘Good morning, Connie,’ she said with a fixed smile and turned to me with a knowing look. ‘Mrs Crapper was in my class twenty years ago, in the Sixties, Mr Sheffield. You know her mother-in-law, Elsie, who plays the organ in church.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I said, recalling our Valium-sedated organist and perhaps understanding for the first time why her nerves were always frayed.
Anne crouched down and took the little girl’s sticky hand. ‘And this must be Patience,’ she said cheerfully. ‘We’re painting pictures today in our class.’
‘Ah ain’t gonna paint,’ said Patience bluntly.
‘Oh well,’ said Anne quickly, ‘we’ve got some lovely coloured chalks.’
‘Ah ain’t gonna chalk,’ retorted the little girl.
Mrs Crapper beamed with pride at this response. ‘She knows ’ow many beans mek five, does our Patience,’ she said, which, in terms of mathematical accuracy, as we were soon to discover, was actually far from the truth.
‘Oh well, there are lots of lovely new books to read,’ said Anne with a reassuring smile.
‘Ah ain’t gonna read,’ said Patience as she swallowed the last piece of liquorice and then looked up appealingly at her mother. ‘Ah wanna big-shit,’ she mumbled.
I looked in alarm at Mrs Crapper and then at Anne, who remained surprisingly calm.
‘AH WANNA BIG-SHIT,’ shouted Patience, going red in the face.
Mrs Crapper rummaged in her bag, pulled out a packet of milk chocolate digestive biscuits and gave one to Patience, who began to lick off the chocolate.
‘Ah … a
biscuit
,’ I said as realization dawned.
Anne gave me a wide-eyed look. ‘Well, lots to do,’ she said as she stood up and set off for her classroom. ‘And Connie, when you collect her at a quarter past three,’ she added, apparently as an afterthought, ‘we’ll have a word about the earrings.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a problem solved, or at least shelved, and, not for the first time, I gave thanks for having such a superb deputy headteacher, even if she didn’t quite appear to be her usual relaxed self.
As Mrs Crapper dragged Patience back to the playground, in the distance, up the Morton Road, the church bells of St Mary’s chimed once to indicate the half hour and I smiled ruefully. It was exactly 8.30 a.m. on Monday, 6 September 1982, and my sixth year as headmaster of Ragley Church of England Primary School in North Yorkshire had begun.
I walked into the school office where Vera Evans, the secretary, was sitting at her immaculately tidy desk, labelling the new attendance and dinner registers, a pair for each of our four classes. Vera, a tall, elegant sixty-year-old, stood up and pressed the creases from the skirt of her smart Marks & Spencer’s two-piece light-grey business suit. ‘Good morning, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘I’ve prepared the registers and …’ she gave me a wry smile, ‘I see you’ve met the Crappers.’