Free 03 Dear Teacher by Jack Sheffield Page B

y’are, Mr Sheffield,’ said Timothy. ‘Is it f’modelmaking?’
    ‘Yes, Timothy. The children in Mrs Hunter’s class are making their guy for the annual bonfire on Saturday.’
    ‘Yes, ah’m looking forward to it,’ said Timothy. ‘Ah were jus’ saying, y’can’t beat tradition.’
    For the past one hundred years the Ragley village bonfire had taken place on the spare ground between the school and the football field and, each year, the children had made a guy to sit on the top. Excitement was growing as the big day drew near. On my way back to school with the roll of chicken wire under my arm, I paused for a moment beside the village green to reflect upon the ribbon of shops in the High Street that were the life-blood of the village. All the needs of the villagers from a jar of Vic decongestant to a left-handed potato peeler could be purchased here.
    Meanwhile, Tidy Tim walked into the storeroom at the back of his emporium and stared lovingly at the carefully labelled shelves. Then, from the top shelf, he took down the faded red cardboard box that contained his old Meccano set and recalled that Christmas morning in 1953 when, as a thirteen-year-old boy, he had found it at the foot of his bed. The picture on the box cover of an enthusiastic little boy playing with his working model of a crane had fascinated the young Timothy.
    He remembered the excitement of opening it for the first time and seeing the red and green perforated metal pieces; the rods, tyres and wheels; the nuts, bolts, screws and spanners. The manual had advertised extra girders, swivel bearings and driving bands and, throughout the early months of 1954, he had saved his pocket money. Eventually, he had enough parts to construct a miniature, working lawnmower and, finally, his
tour de force
… a working elevator using a mechanical motor. On the day his mother had bought him his first pair of long trousers, he knew that his journey towards owning his own hardware emporium had begun.
    Timothy had been an avid reader of
Meccano Magazine
and a member of the Meccano Guild, the Brotherhood of Boys. He had worn his little triangular badge with pride. But in the 1960s, the golden age of construction kits had ended for Timothy. His beloved Meccano had been replaced by cheaper plastic alternatives such as Fischer Technic and K’nex. For Timothy it was the end of traditional construction toys and, after all these years, it still tortured his organized soul.
    So, with a sigh, Timothy replaced his Meccano set neatly on the shelf next to his Airfix Modeller’s Kit and his John Bull Printing Set and, with loving care, rearranged the boxes so that the labels were neatly aligned. Only then did he close the door with a sense of satisfaction. Tidy Tim liked organized cupboards.
    Back in the staff-room, a heated debate was going on. ‘It’s a disgrace,’ said Vera, pointing to the front page of her
Daily Telegraph
. ‘The Post Office made a profit of £375 million last year, yet they’re still putting up the price of a first-class stamp to 12p.’
    ‘What about second-class?’ asked Sally.
    ‘That’s going up from 8p to 10p,’ recited Vera while scanning the text, ‘and they’re blaming it on the postmen who have just had a sixteen per cent pay rise.’ She shook her head in dismay and passed the newspaper to Anne.
    ‘And prescription charges are going up as well, from 45p to 70p,’ said Anne. ‘Where will it all end?’ She passed the newspaper to me and I glanced at the front page.
    ‘Oh dear,’ I said.
    ‘What is it, Jack?’ asked Sally.
    I read the headline. ‘SELLING OFF SCHOOL BUILDINGS AND LAND COULD BE THE KEY TO REORGANIZATION.’
    ‘Sounds ominous,’ said Anne.
    ‘It gets worse,’ I said. ‘It says, “The cuts in local authority spending mean twenty-one thousand fewer teachers and the closure of small, uneconomical schools.”’
    ‘That might mean some in the Easington area,’ said Sally with a look of concern. With inflation