Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre (16 page)

'Oh, she's a doughty fighter, is Mrs Pringle,' I said. 'I know that to my cost.'

But somehow, I thought as I made my way home to a late lunch, I should be quite glad to see the old harridan when she deigned to turn up.

It dawned on me later that I still had no idea of the cause of Mrs Pringle's visit to 'the Cottage'.

What is more, I had no intention of enquiring.

As it happened, Mrs Pringle did not appear again until the week after her return.

Apart from the limp she seemed as tough as ever, and quite disappointed to find that both the school and my house had survived without her attentions.

However, she cheered up when she studied the children's wash basins which she pronounced 'a death trap swarming with germs', and attacked them with Vim and plenty of elbow grease. She was positively genial when this task was over, and told me that the hospital had given her a diet sheet.

'The doctor there said I was to lose two stone. But if I stuck to his diet I'd be in my grave by Christmas. All greenery and acid fruit, and what they calls "roughage" and I calls "animal feed". All them oats and raw carrots and apples! Never heard the like. I told him flat: "My sister was warned against just such a diet when she had colitis. Funny we never hear about colitis these days - just this 'ere roughage."'

'And what did he say?'

'Oh, you know doctors! He just waved it aside, and said
to keep off sugar, fat and starches. And I said: "And what does that leave, pray, for a hard-working woman?" He simply walked away. I mean, it's so
rude.
Some of these so-called educated men what's been to college and that, haven't got any more manners than Minnie Pringle's boy Basil. And that's saying something.'

I was foolish enough to enquire after Minnie, and Mrs Pringle's face grew sourer than ever.

'Her husband Era's playing up,' she said, 'getting home late, and sometimes staying out all night. He's been seen in Caxley too.'

She made Caxley sound like Sodom and Gomorrah rolled into one.

'Mind you,' she continued, 'our Minnie's no homemaker, and you can't blame the chap in some ways. You should see Minnie's cooking! Burnt pies, addled custard, potatoes full of eyes, and the house filthy with it.'

'Still, that's no excuse for neglecting a wife, surely?'

'It's plain you don't know
nothing
about
men
!' she retorted, and limped away.

Later that morning some rhythmic thuds which disturbed the comparative peace of our Arithmetic lesson took me into the playground to investigate.

I found Mr Willet, mallet in hand, thumping at the gatepost.

'Bit out of true,' he told me, desisting for a moment. 'Why, can you hear me in there?'

'That's why I've come out,' I said. 'I wondered if Mr Roberts had got one of those confounded bangers going in the field.'

'What, a bird-scarer?'

'That's right.'

'Don't do a ha'porth of good, them things. Besides it's the wrong time of year for that lark.'

'I'd better get back,' I said, 'before there's a riot.'

'Heard about the Russells?'

These were fairly recent arrivals in Fairacre, and I had three of their children at school.

'No. What?'

'Been made redundant, if that's the right word. Stood off anyway. Last come, first go, evidently.'

'I didn't quite take in what he did do.'

'Something to do with machines in Caxley. Make the bits they do there, in some back alley running down to the river.'

'That's tough on him,' I said, 'and I shall miss the children. They're a nice little lot.'

Bob Willet looked at me with an unusually solemn expression.

'You knows what this means? The numbers get fewer every term. Looks to me as though the office will be closing us down. We'll both be out of a job, you'll see. Like poor Stan Russell.'

'I doubt it,' I told him. 'And anyway, this school has been threatened with closure ever since I've been here. We've always fought it off. We'll do it again if need be.'

I could hear the sound of voices coming from my classroom. No doubt warfare was about to break out.

'Must go,' I said, and hastened away to quell the riot.

Despite my brave words to Bob Willet, I felt a certain tremor about this latest piece of news, and wondered what the future would hold.

During the next few hours I heard the same tale from the vicar, Mr Lamb and Mrs Pringle. All three added their
own gloomy prognostications about the possibility of Fairacre School closing if numbers fell further.

The evening was overcast, and now that the autumn was upon us the days were shorter. I could not rid myself of a feeling of foreboding as I sat, red pencil in hand, correcting essays and changing 'brids' to 'birds' and 'grils' to 'girls' with depressing regularity. 'Off of', 'meet up with' and 'never had none', also cropped up here and there, and after a while I put aside my work and made myself a cup of coffee. It was supposed to be a stimulant, and I could do with it.

I faced the various possibilities which my future might hold if Mr Willet's forecast proved correct. The obvious one would be a transfer to another school, or I could apply for a post elsewhere. On the other hand, I could take early retirement, but should I really like that?

I lived in a tied house which went with the job. Pre
sumably the education authority would put it up for sale, as it would the school building itself.

Normally this would have been the most serious blow, for I had certainly not enough money to buy another, and had been foolish enough not to acquire one over the years, as some prudent teachers did when contemplating retirement.

But this worry was spared me, for a year or two earlier Dolly Clare had told me that she had left her Beech Green cottage to me in her will. This overwhelmingly generous deed had lifted the fears of the future from my undeserving shoulders. I should not be homeless whenever the blow fell, for Dolly had stipulated that I could stay with her whenever I liked, and however short the notice. To be so spoilt touched me deeply, and I knew that I should never be able to repay my old friend as she deserved.

Naturally, we had agreed that nothing would be said by either of us. Miss Clare's solicitor had the legal side of the transaction drawn up, but Dolly and I preserved strict silence about the matter.

Nevertheless, as the months passed, I grew conscious of the fact that the disposition of Dolly's main asset was known in the neighbourhood. How, or why, or by whom this knowledge was transmitted, neither of us could imagine. But we had both heard a remark here and there, noticed a knowing look, a nod of the head and so on, which made it clear that this piece of news was airborne like the seeds of thistledown, and lodged just as tenaciously wherever it happened to alight. Was
everything
known in a village, I wondered, sipping my coffee?

Echo answered: 'Of course it is!'

I was about to take my worries to bed when the telephone rang. It was Amy, offering me early plums.

'Rather sharp, from a funny old tree, but they make lovely jelly. Like some?'

I said that I should.

'You sound mopey,' said Amy. 'Are you ill or something?'

'No, no. Just tired. I've been marking essays.'

'Well, you should be used to that. I'll pop over tomorrow after school and bring the plums. What's more, I'll bring some crumpets for tea. It's getting quite nippy when the sun goes down, and crumpets are wonderfully cheering.'

'You are a stout friend,' I told her sincerely, 'and I'll look forward to seeing you and the crumpets tomorrow.'

'I'd better warn you, I have a new car. It's automatic, and I only hope I can manage it from Bent to Fairacre. I'll come the back way, so if I'm not with you by four-thirty you'll know where to direct the search party.'

And on this practical note I went to bed, much cheered.

By the morning, of course, I was feeling much more hopeful. As I had said to Bob Willet, we were quite accustomed to the threat of closure, and there was no reason to suppose that the departure of the three Russell children would make much difference. With any luck, I told myself in my present buoyant mood, we should have another family with children moving into Fairacre.

I might have guessed that Fate was waiting to have another crack at me. My assistant, who had been in the infants' classroom as Miss Briggs for some time, was now Mrs Richards, and still doing sterling work.

She now approached me with unusual diffidence and told me that the doctor had confirmed her hopes and that she was pregnant.

'Oh dear!' I said involuntarily, and then hastily added congratulations, and asked when the baby was due.

'Early March,' she said. 'If all goes well, I thought I could work until half-term in February, and then give up.'

'But you'll come back later?' I queried. She was a good teacher and we had always got on well together. In a two-teacher school this relationship is extra important, and I must admit I have had so many changes over the years that I dreaded yet another.

'I'm not sure,' she said, 'it all depends on how I feel when the time comes. I shall certainly take the full maternity leave, but of course I'll be in touch to let you know how things are going.'

'Fair enough,' I replied. 'But I hope you will return. I've enjoyed your company.'

'That goes for me too,' she said, 'and Wayne says will you be godmother?'

'My goodness,' I cried, quite overcome by this, 'I think it's a bit early to decide on that, but yes, if you still feel the same way next March I should count it an honour.'

'We shan't change our minds.'

'Well, I think you should choose the hymn this morning in celebration.'

'What about "Praise to the Holiest in the height"?' she replied with a smile.

'Very suitable,' I agreed, putting my fears behind me. Trust
Hymns Ancient and Modern
to come up with something fitting!

It was good to see Amy, as always. She arrived at ten past four, complete with plums and crumpets, so that I did not have to organise a search party as we had feared.

The car was discreetly opulent as befitted a tycoon's wife and I was greatly intrigued with the automatic controls.

'Jolly useful if you break your left leg,' I said, 'or your left arm for that matter.'

'It might well be your right, of course,' commented Amy, 'or both. Then what would you do?'

'I should sell it, and put the money aside for taxis,' I told her. 'Let's go and toast these crumpets.'

'Now tell me what was worrying you yesterday,' said Amy later, licking a buttery finger.

I told her about the Russell children and Mr Willet's gloomy forecast.

'Well, that's something that's been hanging over you for years,' she said. 'The snag is, you'd have to give up this house, I suppose.'

'I don't think I should actually be thrown out. I'd have plenty of time to look around. The office is pretty humane, and I've been here for long enough for them to know me.'

I always feel guilty about keeping my secret from Amy, but I stick to the sensible principle of letting no one - no matter how trustworthy - learn of something which one does not want disclosed. In all innocence it can be let out, and it is a burden which one should not lay on anyone's shoulders. The old adage: 'Least said, soonest mended' is one I live by, and as a villager it is doubly true. Of course, this is a puny adversary compared with the local grapevine but it is a useful principle to adopt.

'You should have bought something years ago,' said Amy, with a return of her usual bossy tone.

'I know,' I said meekly.

'Well, if you do get the push,' she continued, helping herself to another crumpet, 'there's always our spare bedroom. The curtains clash rather with the carpet, but I don't suppose you'd notice.'

As we washed up, she admired a large bowl of red and green tomatoes which Alice Willet had brought for me.

'For chutney?' she asked.

'Only the green ones. I shall freeze a few of the red ones, and have a feast for the next few days with the others. Would you like some?'

'Please. It's funny, I could never bear tomatoes as a child, or beetroot, or swedes. Now I dote on all three.'

'I can't face the last,' I said, 'nothing more than shredded soap. We get far too many swedes at school dinners during the winter, but thank heaven the children like them.'

'When you are out of work,' said Amy, hanging up the tea towel, 'and begging in the wintry streets of Caxley, you'll be glad of a nice plate of hot swedes handed out at the soup kitchen.'

'I'll just ask for the soup.'

'You'll have what you are given,' Amy told me severely, 'as our mothers used to say.'

'As long as our benefactors don't add that old bit about "thousands of poor children",' I answered, 'I'll accept anything gratefully, but I draw the line at swedes.'

It was about this time that Mrs Pringle's limp became so apparent that I was impelled to ask after her leg.

'Too much to do. that's my trouble,' she told me. 'Top and bottom of it is Minnie.'

'Hasn't Ern come back?'