Underground Rivers (10 page)

Betty's Story

by Bernice Gayle

She was in her element when standing in front of the piercing eagle eyed children as they visually followed her around the classroom. With beautiful dreadlocks, sharp, unwavering eye contact she posed in front of the class like a svelte Goddess. Betty was born in Jamaica and was fond of her grandmother who raised her to the age of eleven. She had to leave her grandmother to join her mum and step-father in England. Her biggest dream had been to become a primary school teacher.

Betty was educated from a young age in a private school in Jamaica. She loved to use her imagination in a creative way and enjoyed displaying her knowledge and skills in front of others.

Notwithstanding, it follows that, many teachers often asked her to model by showing them the best way for teaching a rap poem and other creative tasks. Two of Betty's friends sat at the back of the class observing her to get some good tips to use in their class.

Betty could hear a faint voice. Gingerly, she moved towards the windows and could smell the strong fragrance of perfume. It reminded her of the fresh herbs in her grandmother's garden. It was at that moment the classroom door opened and BANG, BANG, BANG books from a green box scattered on the floor. Most of the children scampered to help retrieve them. There were library books scattered everywhere. “Wow! Wow! He is one of my favourite authors. Look Michael Morpurgo - Private Peaceful”, said Meghan.

Meghan walked past the notice board, sat within the reading area with her reading group against the author's wall used to post children's writing. The reading area had three lower shelves on wheels and two taller shelves against the wall next to the bookshelf where she began humming as she gazed at the books:
Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clements, You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martins
. Suddenly, there was a hushed embarrassment that filled the classroom. The children looked at her as if captured by her melodic antics. Every so often Meghan would look at Betty with her inquisitive puppy dog eyes. Her beautiful chocolate colour shone brightly under the light as she chose her books.

Shemi, Betty's teaching assistant who was pushing her pierced tongue against her teeth, wore a short red top and on her right hand there was a tattoo showing two snakes. She sat next to Meghan's group and was encouraging them to use more expression especially at the appropriate punctuation marks.

Although Betty was trying to focus on her teaching, butterflies were playing somersaults in her stomach. She was getting nervous and was thinking about what the other teachers told her. They said the head teacher and his team were trying to get rid of people if their faces didn't fit in their scheme of working.

It so happened that one miserable cold morning, she had a routine observation. It was carried out by the deputy head teacher called Thur and the assistant head teacher, Tac. Towards the end of teaching her lively mixed ability class, Betty felt as though it was the worst lesson she had ever taught. She wanted to concentrate on her guided group, but forgot to do so. For anxiety took over. Her disappointed gaze caught the attention of the class assistant, but she too could not turn the clock back. Betty was upset with herself. Her tongue felt like lead and the tip was tingly, her lips were drying out as though she needed some artificial saliva to moisten them.

Both observers left her classroom without saying ‘thank you'. She was at a loose end. Eventually, Betty dismissed her class for morning break. As the last child scurried along the corridor Betty turned to Shemi for reassurance, “I really don't want to have my feedback, because that was one of my worst lessons, I just did not stretch the SEN, I wanted them to label the teeth.”

“Oh, it was alright, we worked well as a team,” beamed Shemi. They looked at each other then Shemi spoke quietly almost at a whisper, “Betty, whilst I was in the cupboard trying to get stuff the door was shut. Thur and Tac walked in then closed the classroom door and were sniggering. They didn't know I was in the cupboard. I felt sick to hear what they were planning.” Betty wanted to ask her to get to the point but she listened carefully. Shemi continued, “Thur said they need to get rid of you by looking at your lesson plans every Monday morning and observe your lessons every day. By doing that Thur and Tac would be able to justify themselves by saying she did not show differentiation in her planning and during her teaching. Then they waited for you but you were nowhere to be seen. I just wanted them to go because it was getting a bit claustrophobic in the cupboard. I was praying they did not find me in there. Soon, they left. “For once my prayer was heard. Can you imagine their faces if they knew I was listening to their evil conversation. I knew Thur was a wicked witch. Something is seriously wrong with those two. Betty, they are gunning for you love. What are you going to do love? They are Bastards! Bastards!”

Betty thanked Shemi for her help during the day and avoided answering her question, instead wished her a good afternoon. She was still hovering about pretending to be busy.

As usual Betty was in her noiseless classroom marking children's books. With their clipboards in their hands, both observers eventually caught up with Betty as she tried to put on a brave face. She was
scanning the classroom, at that time; Betty's eyes flickered in the direction of her teaching assistant.
Shemi
gave Betty a child-like wave and left for home.

Once again Betty started to reflect on the event carried out earlier. The observation! Shemi's story about Thur and Tac. She wished she knew why the observers wanted to get rid of her. Was it because she was too expensive and they are trying to sort out their budget? Or was Tac trying to get back at her because last year she and the English consultant scrutinized her children's books and basically pulled her teaching apart? From giving her the feedback about her teaching and learning she was very upset furthermore Betty was also asked to teacher her class because Tac's teaching was very poor. But Betty was generally giving her positive feedback. Maybe that was Tac's plan to get Betty out of the school because she was in a powerful position to do it whereas last year she was just a classroom teacher. How could she ever know if the rift between Tac and herself had healed? The analysis carried out on Tac's children books had caused some problems previously had played on Betty's mind by believing that Tac was out to seek revenge.

Thur and Tac sat next to her and told her that they were going to give her feedback from the lesson observation. Betty's heart missed a beat, but tried to put on a brave face.

“How do you think the lesson went?” asked Thur.

Tac sat on the tiny chair which her grotesque body encompassed glaring at Betty. She knew that was not a genuine look. Thur was wearing glasses, a hairy mole on both sides of her face.

Betty knew they were definitely trying to get her out of the school by adding pressure on her by getting her to talk about her lesson. By asking Betty they believed whatever she said could be used against her. To wind them up Betty said, “I felt that I could have encouraged them by challenging the SEN children more by asking them to write an explanation for each idea on their tooth they labelled. I spent too long on the introduction.” From her response Thur started to look at the negative aspects by saying to Betty that the lesson was more like a Science lesson rather than an English one. She further continued, “You should have showed the children a large sheet of paper with the information and compared it to an informal writing. The children did not achieve the learning question that you showed them. Because of this I am concerned about teaching and learning in your class.”

Doubt started to creep in Betty's mind, but was trying hard to stay positive.

Tac eyes narrowed into slits at the same time, pinning Betty to the wall with their gaze. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, “Your lesson the LEA inspector and I observed was only just satisfactory because you spent far too long on the mental oral task.”

They both stood up in unison as if hypnotised, turned on their heels and disappeared in a similar manner that they had arrived. As they were about to turn the corner of the corridor Betty saw a grin on their faces. When they noticed Betty was looking they tried to cover up the grin by walking swiftly with a straight face.

“Remember what I said, Betty!” said Shemi the next day. “I heard them talking about you, they are not going to stop until they get you out. How many other teachers are they doing this to? Can't you see it's a conspiracy to get you out and to do this they will try to find something wrong? We've been observed and had outstanding so how comes all of a sudden you are crap? I am pissed off with their shit!”

Betty looked through the windows skywards and noticed that it had turned to the colour of a pumpkin. Thinking of all that Shemi said, Betty left the school building and headed towards the parade of shops.

Thur was back in the classroom again, but this time at home-time watching Betty as she dismissed her class. Thur followed her out onto the playground like a criminal and watched where and how the children were collected by their parents or carers. Betty knew that she was instructed to intimidate her, by watching and following her. It was like a power game, which Betty was naive to. She felt like an injured woman with her predator upon her before recognising its presence. Intuitively, Betty tried to be nice and to behave professionally in a jovial-like manner by saying a few jokes.

Back in the classroom, Betty spent most of her afternoon getting ready, and preparing for the lessons she had to teach while Shemi was busy carrying out her daily routine tasks such as sharpening pencils.

There were chatter and sounds of click, click along the corridor next to the coat hangers. Betty and Shemi stopped and looked at each other as if to say don't talk. One of Betty children's asked the other whether she liked Mrs Brown. “Yea she is ok!” All the children knew Betty as Mrs Brown.

“Well my mum don't like her because she is too strict, we have to do hard work. Sometimes she shouts! When I go home at lunch time my mum asked me to tell her about Mrs Brown and sometimes I made up stories like she don't let me have my water bottle or let me go to the toilet.”

Betty walked to the corridor where they were, because she felt she had heard enough and wanted to report the conversation between the children. Both children looked shocked with bright red faces. They ran off towards the main hall.

It was Friday afternoon, when Chard, the head teacher asked to see Betty after lunch. Most people did not like him because he shouted, bellowed and was disrespectful. He had red hair with streaks of grey, a long face and his smile often looked like a sneer. The smell from his breath when he spoke was that of a person suffering from halitosis.

When Betty arrived in his office he looked at her coolly. Thur was by his side. Chard said he had a few complaints from some parents of children in her class and he was very concerned. And three children told their parents they were scared of going into her class. He named the parents. They were very good friends, and usually worked alongside Chard with things like summer fair and gardening around the school.

One was the parent of the child who had the conversation with her friend along the corridor. When Betty asked Chard to explain the accusations that the children were scared of going into her class, he said according to the parents you were preventing them from taking off their jumpers and having their water bottles on their tables.

“Do you really believe that Chard?” asked Betty.

Rather than answering her he said, “One of the parents was very upset this morning when she came in my office, and she is now thinking of taking her son out of your class and the school. I am very worried to hear that a parent will be taking such a drastic action.”

Being in Chard's office with Thur, Betty wanted to go but she felt like a caged animal with the head case head teacher. She turned on her heels and left.

Later Betty went back. Thur and Chard were at the same spot as if glued to it. They talked again but then Betty was having problems holding back her feelings. Thur listened as Betty told her how everything was making her feel and that Shemi heard them plotting to have her out of the school. She told her exactly what Shemi heard and said she was in the cupboard.

Thur looked at Betty, Chard asked her to go home and to come back on Monday when they would talk about the whole thing.

The Cottage

by Graham Webster

The empty nineteen thirties cottage stood all alone next to a small wood on Poundtree Hill, its once white pebble-dashed walls now a dirty shade of grey. The land dropped away on three sides leaving wonderful views of the hilly Nottinghamshire countryside and the busy, tumbling river Trent as it flowed past on its journey to meet the anglers fishing farther downstream.

Ellen Nelson couldn't tear her eyes away as she drove past mesmerised by the old place. Even though it was in a poor state of repair, it was quaint. The cottage seemed to be saying to her: Buy me and restore me to what I once was. You'll be happy here.

The thought certainly appealed to her. She could imagine herself sitting in the garden with a glass of wine, looking out at the beautiful scenery.

“I can't afford you,” she thought, “and I don't have an other half to help me with the mortgage.”

Ellen was a twenty-seven-year old librarian and fast getting used to the idea she was always going to be single. There had been some romances over the years. After all, she was a very good looking girl with a great personality and fine figure, or so she had been told on many occasions.

No, there had never been a problem attracting a man, it was just that most of them were complete airheads and the relationships never lasted long.

So, here she was, destined to become an eternal spinster, everyone's favourite auntie. So be it. Perhaps a lifelong love was just not to be. Her knight in shining armour must have fallen off his horse long ago.

When her attention came back to the road, in those few seconds, not only had her mind wandered but so had her car. She was over the white line and before she could steer it back over to the other side, a black BMW coming towards her from the opposite direction sent her wing mirror flying down the hill.

“What were you thinking of?” demanded the tall young man, after he had strode back up the hill to confront her.

“Oh, thanks for asking. Yes, I'm okay as it happens.”

“Yeah, well, er ... sorry, I'm a bit jumpy. You scared the hell out of me.”

“It's okay,” she admitted. “I had drifted over a bit.”

“Well, as long as we're both alright, that's the main thing. Your mirror's had it. Let's see if there's anything else to worry about, shall we?” he asked.

After a quick inspection both cars looked to be relatively unharmed. The Polo's mirror had come off completely and would obviously have to be replaced while the ‘3 series' had bad scratches on the mirror casing and the glass was shattered. Neither car's bodywork was at all damaged.

“I'll give you my name and address plus my insurance details if you'll write down yours,” she said, all at once realising that here was a really nice, good looking guy. He was tall and kind of sporty looking with a cute smile.

“Well, it's good to meet you, Ellen,” he said, glancing at her name and address as she wrote. “Are you alright to drive?”

“Yes, er, Steve. I'm perfectly fine.”

As he was about to reply a mighty downpour, which had been threatening to explode caught them full tilt and sent them running to their cars.

“Must rush,” she shouted, “I'm late for a meeting.”

That evening as Steve Shawcross was watching Champion's League Football on TV the doorbell rang. Ellen was standing on his doorstep with a stocky young man at her side.

“I was hoping you hadn't contacted your insurance people yet. If not, I was wondering if my brother Paul could fit you a new mirror,” she said.

“No, I haven't done anything about it yet,” he answered.

“I work in the motor trade,” said Paul, “and Ellen won't lose her no claims bonus if I buy and fit you a new mirror. If that's alright with you, of course.”

“Hello, Paul. No, I've got no objection to that. It's a company car and they'll be happy just as long as the work's done properly.”

Paul walked over to examine the injured mirror. Turning to Ellen, Steve said, “If it saves you claiming we'll all be happy. Would you like to come in?”

“I'm sorry about the fright I gave you,” Ellen said, as she entered the ground floor flat. “I was distracted, only for a couple of seconds but I looked back and there you were coming straight at me.”

“It happens. I was looking at something myself,” he confessed.

“Not the cottage on the hill?” she asked.

“Oh, so you were looking at it too?” he said.

“Yes. What a shame it's been let go so badly.”

“I think it's been empty for quite a long time,” said Steve.

“Yeah, I can sort it, no trouble,” her brother said as he joined them in the spacious lounge.

“If you give me your mobile number we can tee up a meeting, say Saturday morning, if I can get a new one by then. How's that with you?”

“Saturday's fine with me,” replied Steve, “I'll be here all day.”

“Okay, I'll ring you as soon as I've got the new parts.”

After saying goodbye to Steve, Ellen was dropped off by Paul and she decided to run a hot bath and have an early night. Later, while laying in the bath, her thoughts turned to Steve. She had learned that he had a good job in the construction industry. He was tall, stylish and dishy with a couple of cute little dimples when he smiled.

His flat was tidy and clean looking. “No doubt married,” she muttered to herself. “Very nice though.”

When she went to bed that night, she suddenly realised that his flat had been full of sporty, manly kind of stuff. There was no evidence or mention of a partner of any kind.

“Hmm, very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

Steve had been right when he said that the old cottage had been empty for some time. It was owned by John Gorman, a local man with a chain of shops. He had been born there and when he became prosperous he bought the home his parents had always rented and told them they could stay there free, for as long as they liked.

He didn't know what to do with the old place since his mother had gone into care some years ago. She had gone downhill quickly since his father's death, then the dementia had set in and she had needed to be looked after for her own safety. He knew she would never be going home again. In fact, he doubted she would even see the year out after recently becoming poorly and extremely weak.

The old cottage looked a bit of a mess from the outside but inside it wasn't too bad. An old family friend, now a fairly youthful pensioner had been a builder before retiring and would ‘pop in' to do whatever little jobs needed doing. John paid him a small retainer to keep an eye on things. Gorman knew he would never sell the property while his mother was still alive.

On the Saturday evening, Ellen was both surprised and delighted when she glanced away from her three girlfriends in Franco's Wine Bar to see Steve and his mate Tony enter, looking like a couple of really cool blokes. He spotted her straight away and came over to say hello.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a party of six having a great time chatting and laughing. That six became eight within a short while when two lads who knew one of the girls joined in. The eight was reduced to six again very soon when Ellen and Steve sloped off to the far end of the bar for a chat. She asked him if his car was okay now, with its new mirror in place. He told her everything was fine.

“This is a real coincidence,” she said. ”I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. Not that I'm complaining, of course.”

“I have to confess that I guided Tony in this direction. We were supposed to be going to the football club for a couple of beers but I suggested we come here for a change. Your brother told me this afternoon that you were coming here with your mates, so I thought I'd come by and er, you know.”

“Know? What do I know?” she asked with a smile, noticing the two cute little dimples in his cheeks were there again.

“Well, you know.”

“Yes,” she said, “I guess I do.”

It was Sunday afternoon again and John Gorman and his wife Margaret were getting ready to leave for the Hollies care home. A ritual they took part in every week to visit Stella his poorly old mother. Mostly, she didn't know who they were or even who she was herself.

John continued to see her, it was his duty, she had been a wonderful mother to him her only child. He and Margaret, having no children of their own, had been great friends with his mum and dad for many years. Now there was only Stella and she would, he felt, soon join her husband.

When they arrived and joined her in her small lounge, they were surprised to hear what she had to say.

“Hello, John, my dear,” she said, “and lovely, Margaret. I've been waiting to see you all day.”

The middle-aged couple were shocked to have their names remembered by the old lady. It had been a very long time since she had last recognised them. “Come over and sit down, I've got something to tell you,” she said.

“Something strange has happened to me. Yesterday evening I had a headache and went to bed after they gave me some pills.”

John and Margaret couldn't believe how animated Stella was, a great change from the usual quiet, frail soul who sat and stared at the wall.

“During the night,” she continued, “I woke, or seemed to wake, in a bright, white hazy place where I was sort of floating above myself. Oh, don't look at me like that, you two. I'm not ready for a straight-jacket yet! Anyway, there was a kind of pinging sound in my head and I could suddenly remember everything. I recalled you and your names, your dad and some of the wonderful things that have happened in my life.”

“Crickey, Mum,” said Margaret. “That's great news.”

“Thank you love but I do feel very weak today and my whole body feels sort of empty. To be honest I think maybe this is the end. I feel like I've had a burst of energy before I go. A kind of clarity at the end.

“Oh don't say that, Mum,” sighed John.

“No, don't worry love,” she said. “I've had a lovely life and I'm an old woman now. You get to a stage where you've seen all you need to. I know in my mind I've had a wonderful time. Your dad was a smashing companion and you two have been marvellous to share my times with. Especially you, dear Margaret. You've been a wonderful daughter to have. I'll never forget John bringing you home to meet us. We both loved you the moment we first saw you. Nobody else would have been good enough for my lovely boy. Anyway, I'm feeling very tired now and I'll let you go home. I don't think I'll see you again, I think my time has come.”

She wouldn't listen to their protestations, saying, “It was lovely to get my mind back, even for a short while. I'm happy now. Remember, I love you both, always look after each other.”

Stella Gorman passed away peacefully while sleeping that Sunday night. Her son and daughter-in-law were able to reflect later, that she had been happy at the end and they were pleased that she had regained her memory for those last few precious hours.

Earlier that same evening at Ellen Nelson's flat she was delighted to say, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” after Steve asked her to be his wife.

They had been virtually inseparable since their meeting at ‘Franco's' and the love, admiration and respect they had for each other was always going to bring about this happy conclusion. Neither of them saw any point in waiting and they started making wedding plans straight away.

A few weeks later, on the Friday afternoon, Steve met Ellen outside the library when she finished work and they walked into Dennisons Estate Agents to enquire about a home. After looking over the details of several uninteresting or too costly houses, they were losing interest in the day. As they were about to leave, Tim Dennison said, “There's always this one, if you want a bit of a project. It's just come onto the market and it's in your price range.”

The picture he showed them was of the cottage that had accidently brought them together all those weeks ago on the hillside overlooking the river.

“Actually,” Tim said, “It looks a bit rough on the outside but it's very well maintained indoors. Although nobody lives in it, there's a maintenance man who keeps an eye on the basic jobs.”

“Yes, we would like to view it,” said Ellen, while Steve nodded his agreement. A viewing was arranged for Saturday at 3pm and the upshot of that was the purchase some weeks later, of Ellen and Steve's marital home.

Unbeknown to either Ellen or Steve, there had been another three minor accidents outside the cottage in the last year. Each one of these involved two young, single drivers travelling alone. All these incidents, although resulting in a date or two, failed to produce a lasting relationship.

It almost seemed that in some way, destiny had planned for Ellen and Steve, or a couple just like them, to be thrown together as they passed by. Then, if things worked out right, they would take over the old building and restore it to its former glory. Even Stella Gorman had played her part, passing away as if to a pre-arranged script.

The newlywed Shawcrosses completely renovated the old cottage and once again it became a lovely, happy home.

John and Margaret Gorman took great delight in seeing the place reborn. They had reduced the price considerably when they found that a young, engaged, local couple were going to buy it. They often popped round for a cup of tea with the newlyweds and as time passed by, all four became dear friends. So much so, that the Gormans became Godparents to little Thomas and Amy, the Shawcross twins.

Now Ellen and Steve have finished their renovation project, the cottage is once again magnificently white. The gardens are a show of beautiful flowers and plants with neatly trimmed lawns and a flurry of tasteful touches, surrounded by a fine clipped hedge. The only thing that is left untouched, apart from a lick of paint, is the old stone nameplate next to the new front gate. It reads
Matchmakers
.