(1/20) Village School (20 page)

After lunch Miss Gray and I took the children to a nearby park. They made a rush for the paddling pool, for in the downland village of Fairacre there is very little water to play in.

The sim was warm and a dragon-fly hovered, vibrating and iridescent over the water. I sat on the grass to watch our children as they gazed at the lucky owners of toy boats who were running importantly round the edge with long sticks.

At the other end of the park I could see the Beech Green children, with Miss Young and Mr Annett. He appeared to be scanning the horizon in a purposeful way, and at length he detached himself from his school and, leaving poor Miss Young to cope with the entire school, advanced rapidly upon Miss Gray who was sitting composedly upon a bench under a poplar tree.

'There's fish here!' screamed Joseph Coggs, across the pond, in great excitement. 'Little 'uns, miss. You come and see!'

'There's real fish what you can eat in that ditch behind you,' a tall boy told him, in a voice that trembled between soprano and baritone, indicating a little stream that slips along the side of the park to join the river that flows through Caxley. At this moment hubbub broke forth behind me and there, emerging dripping from the pool, with hair sleeked down like a seal and mouth agape for bawling, stood Jimmy Waites.

His beautiful white shirt and grey flannel shorts were soaking, and spattered with flotsam from the surface. In fact, the only dry things about him were his socks and sandals which Cathy had helped him to remove for a surreptitious paddle while my eye was averted. Crying herself, with vexation and shock, she knelt beside her little brother.

I halloed to Miss Gray who was still sitting on the bench studying her shoes demurely while Mr Annett chattered away beside her. Really, I thought with some exasperation, it was too bad of them to be so blissfully removed from the vexations of this life. Somewhat peremptorily, I told Miss Gray that I was taking Jimmy to the lavatory to mop him up and would she keep an eye on the others. Mr Annett returned hastily to this world from the elysium where he had been floating, and had the good sense to offer to run the child home in his car when I had dried him.

'Lord!' said the attendant with relish, 'He hasn't half got his clothes mucked up! Won't your mother say something to you, my lad!' At which, the hideous bawling which I had calmed with much difficulty, broke forth anew.

Between us we rubbed the shivering child dry and Cathy was despatched to fetch Mr Annett's car rug to wrap him in.

We emerged from the shrubbery, which decently drapes our Caxley lavatories, with Jimmy looking like a little Red Indian, the fringe of the rug trailing behind him. We gathered the rest of the children together and with Mr Annett carrying Jimmy, and Miss Gray beside him, leading the way, we returned to the Corn Exchange.

As we crossed the market square I noticed John Burton walking closely behind Mr Annett. He was mimicking the schoolmaster's springy steps, and with eyes crossed and mouth idiotically open he was giving a striking and hideous representation of a love-sick swain, much to the admiration of his companions.

'John Burton!' I called sharply. He hastily returned to normal. 'What on earth,' I continued, using that tone of shocked bewilderment that comes so easily to any teacher, 'what on earth, boy, are you supposed to be doing?'

'Nothing, miss!' he answered meekly, and, lamb-like, walked with decorous steps back to his place in the Corn Exchange. We watched Mr Annett and his bundle drive away towards Fairacre and followed the children for the afternoon session.

'Well, we've had enough excitement to last us today,' I commented to Miss Gray, as we subsided into our seats. She smiled at me in reply, with such sweet and lunatic vagueness, that I realized that she was still many miles away, on the road to Fairacre, in fact. Love, I thought crossly, can be very tiresome; and, looking to the stage for some relief, found none; for, with awful purpose writ large upon their youthful faces, twenty children were there assembled, and each bore a violin.

It was not until after Mr Annett's return that the second shock of the day fell. He had assured me, in a tickling whisper, that Jimmy was safely with his mother and I had whispered back my gratitude and allowed my tense muscles to relax with some relief. At that moment I thought of Joseph Coggs, scanned the rows before and behind me and could see nothing of him. On the stage the excruciating sawing went on, and under the cover of its discord I sent agitated messages to Miss Gray. Had she seen him? Had he slipped out to the lavatory? Did he come back with us? Had she counted the children when she collected them in the park? How many were there then?

Miss Gray's gentle gaze rested upon me without a hint of perturbation. She wore the expression of one who, returning from an anesthetic, leaves some bright world behind with infinite regret. Only the fact that she turned her eyes in my direction gave any hint that she had heard me.

No help there, I thought to myself, and added in a savage whisper: 'I'm going out to look for him.' Several shocked glances from my more musically-conscious colleagues were cast at me as I retreated from the hall, and a look, more in sorrow than in anger, from the only female judge.

'Are you all right? Can I fetch you some water?' inquired a kindly headmaster near the door. I felt inclined to tell him that I was on the verge of an apoplectic fit, brought on through exasperation, and that nothing less than half a tumbler of neat brandy could touch me—but, knowing how these things get misconstrued in a small community, I restrained myself, thanked him, and escaped into the market square.

The park was much less crowded now and presented a peaceful appearance. Mothers sat beside prams, knitting or gossiping, while their infants slept or hurled toys blissfully to the ground.

The paddling pool had only a few small female occupants, who were wading with their frocks tucked into bulging knickers. Joseph was not among them.

In the distance the park-keeper was spearing odd pieces of paper with a spiked stick. I hurried towards him.

'I've lost a child——' I began breathlessly.

'No need to take on so, ma!' replied the man. 'You ain't the first to mislay your kiddy, believe me. The mothers we get, coming up here to me, hollering same as you——'

'I am unmarried——' I said with what dignity I could muster.

'Well, well,' soothed the insufferable fellow comfortingly, 'we all makes mistakes sometimes.'

'I mean,' I said with emphasis, wondering how long my sanity could stand up to these repeated bludgeonings of an unkind fate, 'that I am a schoolteacher.'

'That accounts for it, miss,' the man assured me. 'Schoolteachers, unless they're caught very young, never hardly gets married. Funny when you come to think of it!'

His eyes became glazed as he dwelt upon this natural phenomenon, and I adopted a brisk tone to bring him round.

'One of my children … my class … a little boy, was left behind when we went back to the Corn Exchange this afternoon. A dark child-about five.'

'About five,' repeated the man slowly, stropping his chin with a dirty hand. He thought for a few minutes and then looked up brightly. 'He's probably lost!' he said.

Controlling myself with a superhuman effort, I told him to take the child if he found him to Miss Gray at the Corn Exchange, where he would be suitably rewarded. Turning my back on him, with some relief, I set out to the little stream where I guessed that those 'fish big enough to eat' had probably drawn the truant from Fairacre School.

The stream was bordered with dense reeds, lit here and there by yellow irises and kingcups. The early swallows and swifts flashed back and forth, squealing, the sun glinting on their dark-blue backs. On any other afternoon I should have thought this willow-lined retreat a paradise, but anxiety dulled its beauties, as I squelched by the water's edge to the detriment of my white shoes.

'Joseph! Joseph!' I called, but the only answering cry was from the birds around me. Somehow I felt sure that the child was near here … that the stream had attracted him.

Supposing, I thought suddenly, something dreadful had happened to him! Morbid pictures of a small body awash among the duckweed, or entangled among willow roots, or, worse still, gradually being sucked down into the treacherous mud at the stream's edge, all flitted through my mind.

'For pity's sake,' I begged myself crossly, 'don't add to it! You'll be choosing the hymns for the funeral next.'

The stream made a sharp right-angled bend by a fine black poplar tree whose white fluff blew about the grass beneath it. Huddled against its trunk, terrifyingly still, lay Joseph.

Unable to speak, and with mounting agitation, I approached him. To my infinite relief I could hear him snoring.

His cheeks were flushed with sleep, but there were shiny streaks, like snail tracks, where the salt tears had dried. His long black lashes were still wet and his pink mouth slightly open. Beside him, in a jam jar, swam two frenzied minnows in about half an inch of water.

I sat down on the grass beside the sleeping figure to regain my composure. Tears of relief blurred the shining landscape, my legs ached and I felt, suddenly, very old and shaky.

While I was recovering, Joseph stirred. He opened his eyes and stared straight above him at the rustling leaves. Then, without moving his body, he rolled his head over and looked long and solemnly at me. Slowly a very loving smile curved his lips, he put out a grubby hand and held fast to my clean dress.

'Oh, Joseph!' was all I could say, giving him a hug.

'I got lost,' growled Joseph, 'and a boy give me this jar to go fishing with. Ain't they lovely?' He held the jar up to the sunshine while the two unhappy occupants flapped more madly than before.

I rose to my feet, and we went to the water's edge to fill the jar. There was no doubt about it … the minnows were destined to spend the rest of their short lives in Joseph's doting care.

Together we wandered back along the stream, hand in hand, Joseph pausing from time to time to croon over the top of the jar. His sandals oozed black slime at every step, his eyes were still swollen with crying, but he was a very happy little boy, safe again, and with two new playmates.

The market square was dazzling in the sunlight and it was good to get back to the cool under-water gloom of the Corn Exchange. Thankfully, I realized that the violins had finished during my absence, but my relief was short-lived.

'And now,' announced the chairman, with misplaced enthusiasm, as we regained our seats, 'we begin the percussion classes!'

The children sang on the way home in the bus. They sang all the songs that they had learnt for the Festival, some they had heard on the wireless, and some regrettable numbers that someone's father had taught them in an expansive moment. Miss Gray and I sat silent, I with exhaustion and she, it seemed, with unmodified rapture. Occasionally a happy little sigh escaped her lips. Occasionally, when my feet obtruded their discomfort particularly, I sighed too.

At Mrs Moffat's bungalow we stopped and she spoke.

'Shall I come on to the school with you? Can I be of any help?'

'No,' I answered, 'I can manage. It's been a long day-you'll want your tea and a rest I expect.'

'It's been a heavenly day,' replied Miss Gray ardently, 'and I'm not a bit tired. In fact, I've arranged to go out for the evening with Mr Annett … we thought … well, yes! I'm going out with Mr Annett.'

I said that would be very nice indeed and that I would see her in the morning.

John Burton, who had overheard this conversation, and fondly imagined that he was unobserved, now saw fit to repeat his famous dying-duck-in-a-thunderstorm act and began to blow languid kisses about the bus to his delighted friends.

The door closed behind Linda and Miss Gray. I leant forward and, without any warning, gave John Burton a sharp box on the ear.

It was, I found, the best moment of the day.

19. The Fête

I
N
the infants' room a crayoning lesson was in progress. Joseph Coggs, now recovering from his adventure, was busily drawing little boys dancing. They all had three buttons down their egg-shaped bodies, large teeth and hands like rakes. From their trunks up they presented a wooden and fearsome appearance; but their legs were thrown about in attitudes of wild abandonment.

'Be very careful,' Miss Gray warned them, 'the best ones will be pinned up on the blackboard, and put in the tent for everyone to see, on the day of the Fête.'

'Will we get prizes?' asked Jimmy Waites.

'Very likely; and even if you don't, you want your parents to see how well you can draw. Keep them clean,' added Miss Gray, and went back to her cupboard-tidying, humming to herself.

Joseph liked to hear her humming. She hummed a lot these days, and seemed, he thought, to be kinder than ever. As he drew a large yellow circle for the sun, he thought of all the things she had taught him.

He could add up numbers up to ten and take them away too, though this was hard sometimes. He knew all the sounds the letters made and some words as well. He could copy his name from the card Miss Gray had made for him, and he knew lots of songs and poems that he sang and recited to his little sisters at home. And as for making paper houses, like the first one his father had used for a pipe lighter, why, he'd made dozens since then and each better than the last. Yes, he decided, he liked school and … blow it all, he'd bust his crayon!