Free 03 Dear Teacher by Jack Sheffield Page A

desk and polished the glass with her sleeve. Once again Vera’s three cats were back in their rightful place.
    On Friday morning when Vera walked into school we all stood in a line in the entrance hall as a welcoming committee.
    ‘Hello again,’ said Vera. ‘It’s good to be back.’
    ‘Welcome back, Vera,’ I said.
    ‘We’ve all missed you,’ said Anne.
    Jo gave Vera a hug and Sally surprisingly produced a bunch of dahlias from her garden. ‘For you, Vera,’ she said.
    ‘Thank you so much, Sally,’ said Vera and went into the office.
    ‘Oh, I’m so pleased Miss Plumtree kept everything just so, Mr Sheffield,’ said Vera scanning the beautifully tidy office. ‘What was she like?’
    Everyone went quiet until Ruby clattered into view with her galvanized bucket and mop. ‘ ’Ello, Miss Evans,’ shouted Ruby. ‘They all believe me now.’
    ‘What’s that, Ruby?’ said Vera.
    ‘Absence makes the ’eart grow fonder.’
    Vera smiled and hung up her coat. ‘I’m sure you didn’t miss me really!’ Then she made a minute adjustment to the positioning of the photograph of her cats and gave out the dinner registers.

Chapter Five
    Gunpowder, Treason and Pratt
    County Hall sent a ‘rationalization’ document to all schools in the Easington area explaining that the high costs of maintaining small schools may result in some having to close. Preparations were made for the PTA School Bonfire
.
    Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Thursday, 1 November 1979
    ‘REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot,’ read the Standard Fireworks poster on the doorway of Timothy Pratt’s Hardware Emporium. Timothy, or Tidy Tim as he was known in the village, owing to his obsessively fastidious nature, had used a spirit level to ensure the correct alignment of the poster. Timothy liked horizontal posters.
    It was lunchtime on Thursday, 1 November, and I had called into Pratt’s Hardware Emporium on the High Street to buy a roll of chicken wire for Jo Hunter’s afternoon craft lesson. As I walked in, a heated argument was going on.
    ‘Y’don’t know what y’talking about,’ snarled Stan Coe, the local landowner.
    ‘But we’ve always ’ad a village bonfire in t’big field at t’back of t’school,’ protested Timothy.
    ‘Not if y’tresspassin’, y’not,’ growled Stan, his face red with anger. He buttoned up his bright-yellow waistcoat underneath his oilskin jacket. The buttons looked about to burst under the strain.
    ‘ ’Ow can we be tresspassin’ on public land?’ asked Timothy.
    ‘You’ll soon find out, Pratt,’ sneered Stan, grabbing the new sledge-hammer he had just purchased. Then he stormed out, pausing to give me an evil stare.
    ‘Judgement Day, Sheffield,’ he growled as he passed me in the doorway.
    I watched him as he stormed out to his mud-splattered Land-Rover. Stanley Coe, local bully and pig farmer, always seemed to be up to no good. Our paths had crossed in the past and we held each other in mutual contempt.
    Albert Jenkins, local councillor and school governor, was selecting a set of brass hinges in the far corner of the store and had heard the conversation. He walked over to join me by the front door. ‘He’s up to something, Jack,’ said Albert, ‘so watch yourself.’
    ‘I don’t trust him, Albert,’ I said, ‘particularly when he looks so pleased with himself.’
    We both peered thoughtfully through the window as Stan Coe’s Land-Rover thundered off up the High Street.
    ‘He’s always been envious of other people, Jack … “O! beware, my lord, of jealousy”,’ quoted Albert in a sonorous tone.
    It was well known that Albert loved his Shakespeare. ‘
Othello
?’ I asked.
    ‘Well done,’ said Albert with a wry grin. ‘Act III, scene iii.’
    ‘Anyway, I’m here for a roll of chicken wire,’ I announced and walked towards the counter.
    Albert returned to his brass hinges and Timothy hurried into the back store.
    ‘Here