Free 06 Educating Jack by Jack Sheffield Page A

air-kiss, wished us a safe journey and we were on our way through the mist. As we left the city a flock of starlings with a scattering of wings rose suddenly into the sky. In a world of white noise the sound was soothing and we both settled back with our own thoughts. It had been an eventful few days.
    As the day wore on we approached the familiar countryside of Yorkshire. Ploughing had begun on the fertile plain of York, combing chocolate stripes and attracting the rooks from their lofty perches.
    Finally, as darkness fell, back in Bilbo Cottage I glanced at the kitchen calendar and smiled. In a few days I would be back at school and returning to a world I could understand … unlike the minds of women. For me, they would always remain a mystery.

Chapter Five
A Penny for the Guy
    County Hall sent the document ‘Rationalization, Value for Money and a Better Life – a Vision for the Eighties for Small Schools in North Yorkshire’ to all village schools in the Easington area, explaining why the high costs of maintaining small schools needed to be addressed
.
    Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
    Thursday, 4 November 1982
    HEATHCLIFFE EARNSHAW PRESSED HIS nose against the window of Pratt’s Hardware Emporium and stared in awe at the Standard Fireworks Bumper Box. The lid had been removed to reveal the treasures within. It was early morning on Thursday, 4 November and excitement was building for the children of Ragley School.
    ‘Terry, ’ave a look,’ he said to his brother, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘They’ve got
ev’rythin
’ – Cath’rine wheels, snow fountains, a Mount Vesuvius, jumping crackers, a big Roman candle, an’ two big rockets.’
    ‘An’ a Fairy Rain,’ said Terry, looking at the tall thin firework at the side of the box.
    Heathcliffe grunted in disapproval. ‘Ah’m not too fussed abart a Fairy Rain. Y’allus get one o’ them, but all t’rest are brilliant.’
    ‘But we’ve no money, ’Eath,’ said Terry shaking his head mournfully.
    However, as always, the fire of optimism burned in Heathcliffe’s brave heart. ‘Don’t you worry, our kid,’ he said. ‘Ah’ve gorra plan.’
    Terry smiled. He always had faith in his big brother and with a spring in their step the Earnshaws continued their circuitous journey towards school.
    The quickthorn hedges of hips and haws flew by as I drove on the back road from Kirkby Steepleton to Ragley village. I pulled in where the York Road meets the High Street and parked on the forecourt of Pratt’s Garage. Victor Pratt came out to serve me from the single pump.
    I wound down my window and asked the inevitable question. ‘How are you, Victor?’ Our local garage owner usually had some ailment or other and the list was about to grow longer.
    He unscrewed my filler cap and inserted the nozzle. ‘Ah’ve gorra belly ache,’ he said mournfully. He rubbed his tummy with a greasy hand and winced. ‘Ah’m a martyr t’me stomach,’ he said. ‘In fac’, ah’m off t’see Dr Davenport this morning. It could be one o’ them sceptical ulcers, ah reckon.’
    ‘Perhaps it is,’ I replied, suppressing a smile. I guessed that Dr Davenport might have sceptical tendencies as well.
    ‘Nine poun’ f’six gallon, Mr Sheffield,’ he said. ‘Keeps goin’ up, dunt it? Ah blame t’government.’ I gave him a ten-pound note and he shuffled off to get my change from his ancient till. ‘An’ ah’ll see y’tonight in t’Coffee Shop. Our Nora’s serving all t’locals wi’ a free ’ot drink,’ he said. ‘Should be a good do. There’ll be a load o’ Pratts there.’
    Meanwhile, in the flat above the Coffee Shop, Nora Pratt felt like a film star. It was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the opening of her shop and she had bought a new dress.
    Nora looked in her full-length mirror and studied the reflection of the short, plump forty-five-year-old that stared back at her. Although she had ‘filled out’ a little in recent years, in her