Authors: Jack Sheffield
‘Ah, now that looks intriguing,’ said the observant Sally. She gave Anne, Beth and Jo a knowing wink. ‘Girls, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Near by, under the graceful branches of a weeping willow, Vera and the major sat on wickerwork chairs at a wrought-iron table, deep in conversation. The major was holding her hand and Vera was looking into his steel-blue eyes and hanging on every word. In her diaphanous evening gown and with a silk shawl over her shoulders she looked relaxed in his company. A smile played on her lips as if she had found a lost chord in the symphony of her life. They were content in each other’s company and the major’s gaze never left the woman he had grown to love.
Then, to our surprise, he stood up suddenly and set off purposefully back towards the house. Vera walked over to join us.
‘Good evening, Vera,’ I said, standing up from the bench. ‘Do come and join us.’
Vera took a deep breath. ‘Hello, everybody,’ she said, ‘but I do believe I’m too excited to sit down.’
‘Is everything all right, Vera?’ I asked.
Vera glanced back at the major as he entered the open French windows. ‘We are all driven by destiny, Mr Sheffield,’ she said softly, ‘and I believe I have found mine.’
‘Oh, Vera!’ exclaimed all the women, while the men stared nonplussed.
‘I should like you all to be the first to know that Rupert is asking my
younger
brother for permission to marry me,’ said Vera with a smile and a distinct emphasis on
younger
.
‘Oh, how romantic!’ said Jo.
‘That’s wonderful news,’ said Anne.
‘I want to be the first to give you a hug, Vera,’ said Sally.
The men, including myself, were struck speechless but eventually we came to our senses and joined in the celebrations. Another wedding … and this time it was Vera.
Joseph shook hands with the major and congratulated him. He felt the request for his sister’s hand in marriage was a token of politeness from a very correct man but went along with it anyway. ‘My sister is very precious to me, Rupert,’ he said with feeling. ‘I know you will look after her.’
‘With my life,’ said Rupert.
It was after midnight when Joseph left the party alone. He was finding it hard to come to terms with the thought of living on his own in the vicarage. Wrapped in a cold cloak of uncertainty, he trudged into the night.
However, unknown to all of us, under the bright stars on that special night, in the far distance heavy cumulus clouds were filling the sapphire sky with ominous intent. A storm was coming.
Fifteen 4th-year juniors left today and will commence full-time education at Easington Comprehensive School in September. At the Leavers’ Assembly, book prizes were presented by Major Forbes-Kitchener and Sergeant Andrew Smith
.
School closed today and will reopen for the new academic year 1982/83 on Monday, 6 September 1982
.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 23 July 1982
It was the time of the quiet dawn when the earth awakes from its slumber. In the far distance the purple line of the Hambleton hills shimmered in the morning heat haze. The final day of the school year had arrived and the breathless promise of gathering storm clouds hung heavy on the silent land.
On the driveway of Bilbo Cottage, Beth was looking cool and elegant in a green linen suit that exactly matched her eyes. She smiled up at me. ‘So, I’ll see you tonight, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’ll drive home and change first and then come on to your after-school party.’
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘It starts just after five o’clock.’
‘Yes, but don’t forget I’m picking up my mother from the station at six-thirty, so I can only stay for an hour at most.’
‘Ah, er, yes … I remember now,’ I said. Diane Henderson was coming up from Hampshire for a short visit.
Beth grinned. ‘OK, ’bye,’ and she unlocked her car.
‘Fine, see you then and … I love you.’ My mother had once told me never to part with a loved one on a sad note because, in life, you never know what might happen. It was good advice.
‘And
I
love you,’ she said. We kissed goodbye and she climbed into her pale-blue Volkswagen Beetle and roared out of Kirkby Steepleton on her journey to Hartingdale.
As I watched her car disappear in the distance I reflected on the changes in our lives during the past year. The wedding and honeymoon were still fresh in our minds and now I had replaced tired routines for the bold taking of one shared life, borne upon the memories of hopeful youth and shaped for the joy of giving. In the cool fire of creation our new life had begun.
With a contented sigh, I locked the front door and threw my battered briefcase and my old herringbone jacket on the passenger seat. Then I polished the lenses of my Buddy Holly spectacles using the end of my new slimline eighties tie, a present from Beth, and drove off on the back road to Ragley.
On this warm summer day the journey was calm and peaceful midst the abundance of nature. In the hedgerows, wild flowering raspberry canes competed with the waving ferns of bracken and purple thistle heads. The cow parsley sparkled with cuckoo spit and the scent of wild garlic drifted through my open window from the shady woodland floor. As I approached Ragley I heard the distant warning cry of a pheasant. I didn’t heed the warning … Perhaps I should have done. It was Friday, 23 July, a day I was destined never to forget.
Ragley High Street looked a picture. Honeysuckle clambered over the porch of the village hall, Young Tommy Piercy was pulling out the blue-and-white-striped awning over the Butcher’s Shop window, Dorothy Humpleby was on the Coffee Shop forecourt putting pots of bright-red geraniums on the picnic tables and Timothy Pratt was watering his display of perfectly horizontal hanging baskets outside his emporium. As I pulled into the school car park next to Vera’s Austin A40, I admired the magenta bells of foxgloves, tall and elegant, that graced the border at the side of Sally’s classroom. All seemed well on this beautiful Yorkshire morning.
When I walked into the school office, Vera was absent-mindedly fingering her beautiful sapphire engagement ring. ‘Oh, good morning, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, I was miles away.’
‘Good morning, Vera,’ I said with a smile. ‘I’m not surprised; life has been an adventure for both of us this year.’
‘Too true,’ she said and then gave a deep sigh and looked out of the window at the dark clouds on the distant horizon. ‘But what is life but a million memories and a few precious moments.’ Vera was clearly in a reflective mood and she sighed with the weight of recollections.
‘Well, this is
your
time, Vera, and we’re all so happy for you. The major is a good man.’
‘Thank you for saying so,’ she said; ‘and I do believe that Joseph is gradually coming round to the idea, particularly as, next summer, I shall be living almost next door to the vicarage.’
‘So, is that the plan … for you and the major to marry next summer?’
‘Yes,’ said Vera with a calm smile. ‘Probably after the end of term, at the beginning of the summer holiday. We didn’t want to rush things and we thought a one-year engagement was right and proper, if only for the sake of my dear brother.’
‘That sounds perfect, Vera,’ I said, ‘and how is Joseph?’
‘As he always is, Mr Sheffield,’ said Vera with an enigmatic smile. ‘He’s a lovely, caring and supportive brother, but an
innocent
in an experienced world. In fact,’ she looked up at me and chuckled, ‘his telephone call with Bishop Neil last night summed it up.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, in the middle of a conversation about the ecclesiastical conference, he suddenly mentioned that
next year he would be marrying his sister
.’ She chuckled again at the memory. ‘Then he had to explain what he
actually
meant.’
‘I see what you mean,’ I said, ‘but perhaps he’s worried about living alone in the vicarage.’
‘He is, Mr Sheffield, that’s the problem, and I have to help him as much as I can.’
‘Just as you support
me
, Vera,’ I said. ‘You know I’d be lost without you.’
‘Well …’ she looked around the office at the old metal filing cabinet and the lines of school photographs on the wall, ‘I love my work here in Ragley School.’ She sighed and removed the cover from her electric typewriter. ‘And I’m sure I always shall.’ Then she began typing a note to parents confirming that school would reopen for the autumn term on Monday, 6 September. My brief insight into Vera’s personal world was over and it was back to business as usual.
During morning break the children in my class set out the chairs for our annual Leavers’ Assembly. This was a popular event when the fourth-year juniors in my class were each presented with a book prize provided by the Parent– Teacher Association. The assembly was led by Joseph and supported by parents, grandparents and friends of the school. This year we had two principal guests to present the prizes, our school governor, Major Rupert Forbes-Kitchener, and Ruby’s son, Sergeant Andrew Smith.
Ruby had worked late to make sure the hall floor had received an extra polish before the assembly. When I walked into the entrance hall, Ruby had hung up her overall and locked her caretaker’s store.
‘Thanks, Ruby,’ I said: ‘the hall floor looks lovely.’
‘Thank you, Mr Sheffield,’ said Ruby. ‘Ah’m so excited an’ our Andy’s proper thrilled t’be invited.’ She was clearly full of pride for her son.
‘I trust Ronnie will be here, Ruby.’
‘Ah ’ope so, Mr Sheffield. Ah’ve jus’ read t’riot act to ’im,’ said Ruby, ‘an’ ah’ve told’im t’shape ’imself an’ get ’ere sharpish t’see our Andy gettin’ ’onoured.’
‘Well, Ruby,’ I said with a smile, ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Y’will that … an’ ah’ll be in m’best frock,’ and she hurried off down the school drive and back to 7 School View, where Andy was cleaning his army boots to a mirrorlike shine with good old-fashioned spit and polish.
When I walked into the staff-room, Vera was holding up the front page of her
Daily Telegraph
. ‘Doesn’t she look radiant?’ said Vera.
‘I bet she was relieved it was a boy,’ said Anne.
Sally nodded but kept her thoughts to herself.
Under the headline ‘A beautiful baby boy’ was a photograph of Princess Diana with her son, now a month old. The royal baby had been named William Arthur Philip Louis, with the royal command that ‘
the name William will not be shortened in any way
’.
‘And so it shouldn’t,’ insisted Vera: ‘it wouldn’t be right and proper.’
‘I suppose “Prince Willy” doesn’t have the same ring to it,’ mumbled Sally through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs.
By eleven o’clock the hall was full and the major, in a charcoal-grey three-piece suit, regimental tie and a row of medals on his chest, introduced Ruby’s son. Andy, with his white sergeant’s stripes, looked immaculate in his army uniform with its knife-edge creases.
Rupert was a brilliant public speaker and Vera looked on in admiration. However, he was also wise in his choice of words and took care not to glorify war – something that was appreciated by all the adults present, including Old Tommy Piercy, who nodded sagely. Rupert merely expressed how pleased we all were that Sergeant Smith had served his country with honour in the Falklands and, thankfully, returned home safe and sound. Ruby was dabbing away the tears, with yet another of Vera’s handkerchiefs, long before the book-presentation ceremony began.
With something of a lump in my throat, I read out the names of the school leavers in my class. I had watched them grow from tiny infants into confident eleven-year-olds and it was sad to see them go. They came out, one by one, to shake hands with the major and receive their book from Andy Smith, who had a kind, encouraging word for each of them. The books had been chosen by the Parent–Teacher Association to suit the interests of each individual pupil, so the selection included the Narnia stories, model aircraft, modern farm machinery and how to look after a horse.
The assembly was conducted by Joseph in a calm and sensitive manner and it proved the perfect way to say goodbye to a group of children who were about to take their next step in life. It was also a poignant moment when the group of school leavers bowed their heads and joined in our school prayer for the very last time.
‘
Dear Lord
,
This is our school, let peace dwell here
,
Let the room be full of contentment, let love abide here
,
Love of one another, love of life itself
,
And love of God
.
Amen
.’
Finally, Joseph gave thanks to everyone who supported the school, including the governing body and the Parent– Teacher Association, but, particularly, the teachers and the ancillary staff. Vera, in her usual trim business suit, and Ruby, Shirley and Doreen, dressed in bright summer dresses, looked suitably modest when the audience broke into spontaneous applause. I looked across the hall to Anne, who gave me that familiar gentle smile, and I guessed what she was thinking. Somehow, we had survived the round of village school closures and another year had been completed without mishap. I was lucky to have such a loyal and talented deputy headteacher and Anne had made it clear she wanted to remain at Ragley and not seek a headship for herself.