Free Time Goes By by Margaret Thornton Page A

one carefully framed and mounted; examples of stories the children had written, and their first attempts at poetry; and a large mural, taking up nearly the whole of one wall, depicting the story of
The Pied Piper of
Hamelin
. Sally had read them Browning’s poem and they had been fascinated by it. It was very sad, of course, the story of the children being lured away, and just one little crippled boy being left behind. But they had all seemed to take it in their stride, as they had done with Grimms’ fairy tales. They certainly were grim, with their instances of wicked witches, cruel stepmothers and terrifying ogres.
    Sally had learnt, though, that children liked to be scared at times. They seemed to understand that it was not real, and that they were safe, when the story came to an end, in their own comfortable little world. At least, that was true for the most part. She had reason to believe that one or two of the children in her class were somewhat neglected – and it was usually the case that the parents of this minority were the ones who did not turn up to open evenings or other school events. And there was little the teachers could do, unless the neglect bordered on cruelty or deprivation, when steps would need to be taken. However, this areaof North Shore was, by and large, what was considered a good catchment area and there were few real problems.
    The mural was the
pièce de résistance
of Sally Roberts’ classroom and she looked at it with a feeling of satisfaction. It was largely the children’s own work, apart from the large figure of the Pied Piper that she had drawn and the children had coloured in red and yellow. There were rats of all shapes, sizes and colours: orange, brown, fawn, grey, black and white. The houses of Hamelin, likewise, varied in design, mostly with the black beams typical of that part of Germany, standing at crazy angles with steeply sloping roofs and crooked chimneys.
    She gave a contented nod, then put on her coat that hung by the door and went out into the corridor, then out of the side door. Phil Grantley was in the car park. This was really a small area of the playground that had been sectioned off for the use of those teachers who had cars, although there were only four of them who felt able to afford one.
    ‘Want a lift, Sally?’ called Phil, and she was pleased to accept.
    ‘Thanks, Phil,’ she said, scrambling into the passenger seat of his small Morris car. ‘Seeing that we have to be back at six, it doesn’t give us much time.’
    ‘All done and dusted then?’ he asked as they drove off.
    ‘Yes, all ready for the onslaught,’ she replied. ‘Most of the parents of my class have said they are coming, but it remains to be seen. Do you think this new system will work better?’
    It had been decided by the headmaster, and agreed by the rest of the staff, that the parents should be given a five-minute slot, which was all that time would allow, in which to speak to their child’s class teacher. It would, hopefully, do away with the queues and the melee that had sometimes occurred in the past.
    ‘It ought to,’ replied Phil. ‘There was no end of a barney in my room last time, one chap saying that they’d been waiting half an hour and that another couple was barging in. There was very nearly a punch-up till I stepped in.’
    ‘I shouldn’t think they’d want to argue with you, Phil,’ smiled Sally.
    Phil Grantley was a six-footer and well built too. He did a little boxing in his spare time. He was the physical education teacher, as well as teaching one of the fourth-year junior classes, and was often to be seen in his tracksuit, as he was now, because he took most of the classes for games. No doubt he would be more suitably dressed that evening, in a suit and tie. Dress code was carefully observed amongst the staff, it beingthe view of the headmaster that teachers should set an example in tidiness and suitability of clothing.
    ‘Do you fancy coming for a drink with