The Little Village School Page 4

  ‘I really think that would be rather rash,’ replied the education officer. ‘I feel it is best not to raise the matter.’

  ‘You may feel that, Mr Nettles,’ said the vicar, ‘but I do not, and furthermore I shall—’

  ‘Could we please make a start?’ the major barked, thinking that at this rate he would never make his round of golf that afternoon.

  ‘I don’t think Miss Brakespeare should get the job,’ Mrs Pocock declared suddenly in a fierce and determined voice. ‘She teaches my Ernest and he says she’s rubbish. He says the lessons—’

  ‘Let us not discount anyone at this stage,’ Mr Nettles interrupted pompously. ‘Since all these applicants have been called for interview, we must at least have the opportunity of hearing what they have to say. We must be very careful to follow the correct procedures and practices. And,’ he added pointedly, looking directly at Mrs Pocock over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose, ‘we have to be extremely careful how we refer to the candidates.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you now,’ the parent governor told him sharply and meeting his gaze defiantly, ‘I’m not voting for her!’

  ‘Look,’ the chairman said, drawing a deep exasperated breath, ‘let us see what each of the candidates has to say and then we can make a decision.’

  ‘I’ve made my decision when it comes to Miss Brakespeare,’ Mrs Pocock said stubbornly, ‘and I’m not going to change it.’

  The major sighed. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  The first candidate, Miss Brakespeare, the deputy head teacher, proved singularly unimpressive and it was clear that her heart was not in her application. She arrived for the interview in a creased blue cotton suit a size too small, dark stockings and sensible sandals. Her hair was scraped back in a style that was a good twenty years out of date, and there was not a trace of any make-up. She smiled a great deal, sighed a great deal and nodded a great deal, but said very little. When asked if she would accept the position were it offered, she replied that she would need to think about it.

  The second candidate, a thin woman with a pained expression and whose eyes, like those of some nocturnal tree-climbing creature, were magnified alarmingly behind thick-rimmed glasses, explained that she was looking for a quieter, less stressful life at a little country school. She had a tight little mouth and a strident voice, and spent most of the interview evading the questions and complaining about the dreadful behaviour of the children she taught at the moment and the decline in standards, particularly in literacy.

  When the vicar mentioned the negative school report, the education officer sighed noisily and looked to the chairman. The major shrugged but remained silent. The candidate’s mouth tightened.

  ‘Negative school report,’ she repeated. ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’

  ‘The school recently received a rather critical report from the school inspectors,’ the vicar told her. ‘We are looking for someone who will take the school forward and make significant improvements. It will be a demanding but an exciting opportunity.’

  ‘I see,’ said the candidate, clearly perturbed. She stared at him blankly for a moment. ‘Well, that was not made clear in the information sent out.’ She awaited a response, but no one on the governing body decided to elaborate. The candidate folded her hands together in a slow, controlled manner. ‘Well, bearing in mind this critical report of which I was not aware, I shall have to reconsider whether or not I want the position. Of course, should I decide to accept the post, were it offered, I would have to negotiate the salary and I would want the governors to meet a number of my requirements.’

  ‘Well, that puts ’er out of t’runnin’,’ observed Councillor Smout after the woman had left the room. ‘She’s a carbon copy of t’head teacher we’ve got at t’moment. Out o’ frying pan, into t’fire, if we was to appoint ’er.’

  The penultimate applicant was a tall, pale-faced man in his late twenties with an explosion of wild, woolly ginger hair, a small goatee beard and a permanently surprised expression.

  ‘Do take a seat,’ the chairman told him, gesturing to a hard-backed chair facing the crescent of governors. The young man sat, crossed his legs, leaned back, folded his hands on his lap and smiled widely at the panel. It was clear to all from the major’s expression that the Chairman of Governors was less than impressed with the outfit this candidate was wearing: a crumpled linen jacket which looked as if it had been left out in the rain and dried before an open fire, crushed strawberry corduroy trousers, a pink shirt and a wildly colourful and clumsily knotted tie. It could not have been more different from the major’s own attire: dark blue barathea blazer with brash gold buttons, pressed grey trousers, crisp white shirt, and regimental tie fixed with a small gold pin and tied in a tight knot under the chin.

  ‘Now, Mr Cuthberton,’ the major asked, ‘could you tell us why you applied for this position?’

  The candidate uncrossed his legs, leaned forward earnestly in his chair, steepled his hands and launched into what was clearly a carefully prepared monologue.

  When the vicar, much to the education officer’s disapproval, raised the question of the inspectors’ report again, the young man smiled and assured the panel that he was ‘up for a challenge’. He then sat back and re-crossed his legs.

  ‘Don’t you feel you are a little young for this position?’ asked Mrs Pocock.

  The candidate hunched his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest. He looked heavenwards as if waiting for some divine inspiration before answering.

  ‘Well,’ he replied after a long pause, ‘what I lack in experience, I certainly have in enthusiasm and commitment.’ He seemed very pleased with his answer and clearly saw no need to elaborate.

  Councillor Smout asked the stock question he always asked at head teacher appointments: ‘So, what makes a good head teacher, then?’

  This was a question the candidate had clearly been expecting, for he uncrossed his arms and legs, sat upright and delivered a statement which he had rehearsed. He concluded: ‘And so, it goes without saying, a head teacher should be dynamic, dedicated and hard-working.’

  ‘Well, why bother sayin’ it then?’ remarked Councillor Smout under his breath.

  When this applicant had left the room the chairman shook his head. ‘I was not keen on that chappie, I have to say. Not the sort of person we want for this school.’

  ‘In what way?’ the vicar asked. ‘I felt he was a very personable young man.’

  ‘Well, vicar,’ the chairman replied, lowering his voice, ‘without putting a finer point on it, I think he bats from the pavilion end, if you follow my drift.’

  ‘He what?’ Mrs Bullock asked, tapping her hearing aid.

  ‘I said I think he bats from the pavilion end, Mrs Bullock,’ the chairman repeated loudly.

  ‘I don’t see the relevance of where he plays cricket,’ she replied.

  ‘No, I mean he’s the other way inclined,’ the major told her, ‘if you follow my drift.’

  ‘You mean you think this young man is a homosexual?’ the vicar stated bluntly.

  ‘A homo what?’ Mrs Bullock asked.

  ‘Well, I think it’s pretty clear that the man is, what shall I say, of that particular inclination,’ the major replied. ‘I have nothing personally against people like that but I don’t feel he is right for the school. I mean—’

  ‘The candidate’s predilection is not of any relevance,’ Mr Nettles interrupted. ‘Someone’s sexual orientation is not an issue.’

  ‘Well, I think—’ the major started.

  ‘Indeed, Mr Chairman,’ Mr Nettles continued, ‘this candidate cannot be ruled out merely because you are of the opinion that he is gay. There are clear guidelines which we are obliged to follow regarding discrimination on the grounds of gender, ethnicity, disability and sexual orientation. The fact that this candidate might be gay—’

  ‘Who’s gay?’ Mrs Bullock asked.

  ‘Mr Nettles is quite right on this occasion,’ the v
icar said. ‘It is singularly out of order, Mr Chairman, for you to express your prejudices. It is quite unacceptable. Furthermore, it is mere supposition that this candidate is gay.’

  ‘Who’s gay?’ Mrs Bullock asked again.

  ‘Look,’ Councillor Smout said tetchily, ‘we’re not gerrin anyweer ’ere. This man could ’ave two ’eads and a tail for all I care, provided that ’e’s a good ’ead teacher. To be frank I din’t take to ’im neither and not because of what t’major ’as said. He ’asn’t t’experience, didn’t answer t’questions and never looked me in t’eye and I’ve never trusted a man wi’ a beard, it’s a way of hiding summat – like an ’edge around a garden.’

  ‘Well, that would have put Jesus out of the running for this post,’ the vicar remarked in a voice hardly audible.

  ‘And as I’ve said, I din’t like t’woman with the big glasses who wanted more money,’ the councillor continued. ‘All she wanted was to come ’ere for an easy life and sit on her backside until retirement.’

  ‘Well, I’m not voting for Miss Brakespeare,’ the parent governor piped up. ‘And I quite liked the man in the pink shirt.’

  ‘Mrs Pocock,’ the education officer said, his face becoming flushed with irritation, ‘you must see all the candidates and then make up your mind.’

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Pocock retorted, ‘the major has just said that he didn’t like the man in the pink shirt and Councillor Smout didn’t take to the woman with the big glasses, so I can’t see why I can’t say who I don’t like and I don’t like Miss Brakespeare and I am not voting for her.’

  ‘Could we please move on?’ the major pleaded.

  The final candidate, an attractive woman in her late thirties, wearing a tailored grey suit, cream blouse, black stockings and red shoes with silver heels, brought the chatter of the governors to an abrupt halt when she walked through the door.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said cheerfully.

  The major moved forward in his chair, stroked his moustache and smiled widely. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Do take a seat, Mrs er …’

  ‘Devine,’ she told him, returning the smile. Her eyes were clear and steady. ‘Elisabeth Devine.’

  There was an expression of absolute wonder on the major’s face, as if he had discovered a rare and beautiful butterfly on a leaf.

  The last candidate had considerable presence and gave an outstanding interview, answering the questions clearly, fully and confidently and looking each of the governors in the eye.

  Councillor Smout asked his stock question: ‘What makes a good head teacher, then?’

  ‘Someone who believes that all children matter,’ she told him, ‘and that includes the bright and the talented, those with special educational needs and the damaged, disaffected and ill-favoured. The good head teacher never writes a child off. I think the good head teacher is keen and enthusiastic, respectful of children’s backgrounds and culture, somebody who has a vision that a school should be cheerful and welcoming and optimistic, where children love to learn and learn to love. She is a leader who involves the governors, staff, parents and to some extent the pupils in the decisions and values their contributions, who manages with openness and fairness and has a sense of humour, indeed a sense of fun. Shall I continue?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no,’ Councillor Smout said. He had sat throughout her answer as if transfixed, his legs apart, his arms comfortably crossed over his chest, his head tilted a little to the side and his mouth open. ‘That’s quite sufficient, thank you.’

  The vicar then mentioned the inspectors’ report. ‘You are perhaps not aware, Mrs Devine, that this school has received a particularly critical report from the school inspectors. In the light of this are you still disposed to be considered for the post?’

  The candidate was clearly surprised with the revelation but she had realised, she told him, having looked around the school and spoken to the deputy head teacher, that there were problems which needed addressing. She went on to say that she really wanted the post and that she would welcome the opportunity of working with the governors and staff in turning things around. Looking at Mr Nettles, she smiled and told him she assumed the Education Office would give her a deal of support in making the necessary changes.

  ‘Of course,’ the education officer assured her, in the tone of one humouring a child.

  ‘Do we need to vote on this?’ the chairman asked when Mrs Devine had left the room. ‘It seems to me the last candidate is head and shoulders above the rest.’

  There were grunts of agreement and nods of the heads. The one dissenting voice came from Dr Stirling, who, apart from asking each of the candidates a short question, spoke for the first time.

  ‘I will grant you, Mr Chairman, that the last candidate was extremely impressive,’ he said. ‘Rather too impressive, perhaps. Mrs Devine is clearly in a different league from the other applicants, none of whom I think is suitable for this position, but what I would ask is this: why is she wishing to come here? She is aware, as she has said, that the school has problems and has been told it has received a highly critical report from Her Majesty’s Inspectors. She also, having spoken to the deputy head teacher, probably knows we are losing children by the week. She comes with excellent references, is already a head teacher of a large and successful school, she is highly qualified and very experienced and on a considerably higher salary than we are offering. Why should she want to come to a small village school which is experiencing real difficulties? I am not altogether comfortable about appointing her. Those of you who are acquainted with me know well enough that I am not by nature a suspicious person, but there is something here that I think is not quite right. I feel we should re-advertise the position.’

  ‘You should have asked ’er why she applied for the post then, Dr Stirling,’ Councillor Smout said.

  ‘I assumed that the chairman would be asking that question,’ the doctor replied. ‘He asked that of all the other candidates.’

  The major had indeed intended to ask that question, but his mind had been elsewhere when faced with such an attractive and assured woman.

  ‘There may be many reasons why Mrs Devine might wish to come here,’ the vicar argued. ‘For example, perhaps there is nothing left for her to do at her present school and she wishes to take on a fresh challenge.’

  ‘Or she’s looking for a quiet life in the country, like the other candidate,’ observed the doctor.

  ‘I think that is quite unfounded, Dr Stirling,’ said the vicar. ‘Mrs Devine is fully aware that this school is experiencing some difficulties. As I recall, she said as much in her interview. Didn’t she say she would welcome the opportunity of turning things around?’

  ‘An’ if she were looking for a quiet life in t’country,’ added Councillor Smout, ‘she’d ’ave backed out when she were told about t’report by vicar ’ere.’

  ‘Well, I thought she gave an excellent performance,’ said the major.

  ‘A what?’ asked Mrs Bullock.

  ‘Perhaps you have made my point, Mr Chairman,’ the doctor said. ‘It was indeed something of a performance. Rather too polished for my liking.’

  ‘She might be escaping an abusive husband,’ Mrs Pocock commented. ‘You read about it all the time. My sister, Noreen, left her husband because he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. I mean Mrs Devine says that she’s single on her application form and yet she’s married.’

  ‘Or has been,’ the major added.

  ‘Who’s a has-been?’ Mrs Bullock enquired.

  ‘Well, I for one think she’s t’ideal replacement for Miss Sowerbutts,’ Councillor Smout said, wishing to escape the small cramped room and have a substantial lunch before the meeting of the Parks and Recreation Committee. ‘She’s a striking-looking woman with a lot about ’er. What do you think, Mr Nettles?’

  ‘I think Mrs Devine seems eminently suitable,’ replied the education officer.

  ‘Mr Chairman—’ Dr Stirling started.

  ‘No, Dr Stirling,’ the C
hairman told him, holding up a hand, ‘I think we have decided and we have to get it sorted out today.’ He turned to the education officer. ‘I think I am right, aren’t I, Mr Nettles?’ The education officer nodded. ‘I am going to put it to the vote. Now all those in favour—’

  ‘Mr Chairman!’ Dr Stirling interrupted angrily. ‘I really must insist that we give this greater consideration. First, we have not discussed the other candidates in any detail or considered the alternative of re-advertising the post.’

  ‘You’ve already said yourself, Dr Stirling,’ Councillor Smout remarked loudly, ‘that none of t’others is up to scratch as far as you’re concerned, so what’s t’point of considering ’em, eh?’

  ‘Nevertheless—’ the doctor began.

  ‘Dr Stirling,’ the education officer said in a deeply patronising voice, ‘as the representative of the Director of Education, here to advise the governors, I feel it incumbent upon me to point out that we need to expedite the matter of appointing with some urgency. The school requires a new head teacher and it would take a great deal of time and further effort to set the process in motion again. And, I feel I need to point out, it is highly unlikely that we will attract any better field than the one we have seen today. It appears you are the only dissenting voice, so I think, as the Chairman has suggested, that the governors should put it to a vote.’

  And so it was that Mrs Elisabeth Devine was appointed the new head teacher of Barton-in-the-Dale Parochial Primary School.

  3

  Mrs Sloughthwaite, proprietor of the Barton-in-the-Dale village store and post office, stood at the door of her shop the morning after the interviews for the new head teacher. It was a bright, sunny summer Saturday, and Mrs Sloughthwaite, a round, red-faced woman with a large fleshy nose, pouchy cheeks and a great bay window of a bust, hoped the good weather would encourage visitors to the village. Tourists passing through on their way to more picturesque spots sometimes stopped to patronise her shop, and she enjoyed passing the time of day and regaling them with a potted history of the place – though nothing of great import had happened there.