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  'She's not going to yell at my babies and get away with it! I shall expect an apology!'

  'You won't get it.'

  And of course she didn't. Mrs Pringle wrapped herself in majestic silence, and so did Mrs Rose, so that the atmosphere fairly quivered with taut nerves whenever the two ladies were in the same room.

  It was a trying time for us all, and the fact that nothing more had been said, one way or the other, about Fairacre School's possible closure, I found particularly unnerving. More measuring had been going on at Beech Green School, according to Mr Annett, but otherwise he too was in the dark.

  'I think it will all blow ever,' he told me one sunny Friday evening. He had called in before choir practice to lend me an American treatise on educating young children which he thought I might enjoy.

  I had not the heart to tell him that any book more than three inches thick, with footnotes and five appendices, killed any desire to read it, from the start. A quick look inside had confirmed my suspicions that this one had been written in the brain-numbing sort of jargon I cannot abide. There was no doubt about it. It was one of those books one keeps safely for a decent interval, dusts, and returns, praying that the lender refrains from asking questions on it.

  'After all,' he continued, 'it always has before. Why should they close Fairacre at this particular moment?'

  'I don't know, but the numbers are dwindling. We're down to twenty-six this term, and somehow there was a look in Mr Salisbury's eye which I didn't like.'

  'He's always got that,' said George cheerfully. 'Comes of working in an office all day.'

  He put down his glass and sprang nimbly to his feet.

  I sighed and rose too.

  'You sound uncommonly sad,' he said. 'Old age?'

  'Probably. How long notice would I get, do you think, if they do decide to close?'

  'Years.'

  'Honestly? Really years?'

  'I believe so. Why, you'd probably be about to retire anyway by the time they get round to it.'

  We walked together towards the church. The lime trees buzzed with scores of bees, and the scent from the creamy flowers was delicious—the essence of Summer. Fairacre seemed very dear and sweet.

  'You've got a good spot here,' said George, as if reading my thoughts.

  'None better,' I told him, as bravely as I could.

  10 Who Shall it be?

  ONE afternoon, towards the end of term, four candidates for the post of infants' teacher arrived for interview.

  It was a sweltering day. The distant downs shimmered in a haze of heat, and the flowers drooped in the border. Tibby had found a cool spot among some thick grass under the hedge, and lay comatose. Even the sparrows were too exhausted to twitter from the school gutters.

  Mrs Rose was taking charge of the school for an hour while I attended the interviewing session in my own dining-room, grudgingly polished by Mrs Pringle.

  I had hoped that Mrs Rose might feel like applying for the post. She was not ideal, I know, but better the rogue one knew than the devil one didn't. However, since the row with Mrs Pringle, I was relieved to know that she would be leaving at the end of term, as had first been arranged. The frosty silences and cutting looks, which occurred when they met, may have given them some warped satisfaction, but I found the whole business extremely distasteful and childish.

  The Vicar, as chairman of the managers, was being supported by Peter Hale. As a retired man, he seemed freer than the other Managers, and anyway his experience and wisdom, as a schoolmaster, should prove a help on this occasion.

  I had had the job of making a short list from the surprisingly large number of applicants for this modest post. It was a sign of the times, of course, as so many teachers were out of work. Normally, we are lucky, at Fairacre, to get two or three applicants. This time there were over fifty, and it had been difficult to choose four for interview.

  They were all young. For too long we have had elderly ladies in charge of our youngest children, and though their motherly qualities were endearing, I felt that we were falling behind in up-to-date methods of teaching. It was time to have a change.

  From my own point of view too, I wanted someone who could be trained towards my aims with the children. It is doubly important to have a united team when the staff is small, and I was getting heartily sick of trying to keep the boat up straight with people like Mrs Rose who were set in their ways before they even came to Fairacre, and who had no intention of changing them.

  Two of the applicants had been teaching for two or three years. The others had just finished their training and would be in their probationary year if they were appointed. We saw them first.

  'Charming girls,' said the Vicar enthusiastically, as the second one closed the door behind her.

  'They are indeed,' agreed Peter Hale. Both girls were remarkably pretty, and I began to wonder if I were going to get an unbiassed assessment of their teaching powers from two males who, although elderly, were clearly still susceptible to female good looks.

  The first, a fresh-faced blonde, had answered our questions with intelligence, but was not very forthcoming about methods she would use in teaching reading and number, which I found slightly daunting. She was engaged to be married, but intended to go on teaching for a few years before thinking of starting a family.

  The second, Hilary Norman, was a red-head, with the creamy pallor of complexion which so often accompanies auburn hair. Her paper qualifications were very good, and she was thoughtful in her answering. Her judgement, in my opinion, was in advance of her years, and she seemed to have a delightful sense of humour. I warmed to her at once, and said so to my fellow-interviewers.

  'She'll have to get digs near by,' observed Peter Hale, studying her address. 'Home is somewhere in Hertfordshire. Too far to travel. Know anyone in Caxley who might put her up?'

  'Not a soul,' I said.

  'And really there's no one now in the village' lamented the Vicar. 'And the bus service gets worse and worse.'

  'I think we ought to see the others before going any further,' said Peter Hale, 'Let's have Mrs Cornwall, shall we?'

  We turned our papers over, and the Vicar ushered in the lady.

  To my eyes, she seemed just as attractive as the other two, and I could see that I should easily be out-classed in looks next term-not that that would take much doing, I am the first to admit.

  She was very calm and composed, and I could well imagine that the infants would behave angelically in her care. But, as the questioning went on, I began to wonder if she would be able to stimulate them enough. Country children are often inarticulate—not dumb by any means, they often chatter quite as volubly as their town cousins—but they are not as facile in expressing themselves and are basically more reserved.

  She had wonderful references, drove her own car, and I felt she would be a loyal aide. But would she stay in Fairacre long enough to be of use?

  'If my husband is posted abroad, of course I shall go too, but it might not be for another two years.'

  It clinched matters for me, I fear.

  The last applicant was Amazonian in build, and if anything even better-looking than those who had gone before. She would be jolly useful, I thought, in forcing open the high windows which so often stuck fast at Fairacre School, and her appearance alone would cause respect among her pupils. One sharp slap from that outsize hand would be enough to settle the most belligerent infant.

  Again, her qualifications were outstanding, and she excelled in all kinds of sport. This worked both ways, of course, in our tiny school. Would she miss team games? Would there be enough scope for her with small children, and a small class of them at that? I had the feeling that she would be happier in the livelier atmosphere of a large school, and would find Fairacre too confining before long.

  It was certainly a problem that faced us, when at last she had returned to await her fate in my sitting-room.

  'Fine-looking set of girls,' said Peter Hale. 'Must be something to do with all that
National Dried Milk they were brought up on.'

  'I thought that finished years ago,' I said.

  'I've never even heard of it,' admitted the Vicar. 'Is it the same as pasteurised?'

  This is the way decisions get made in village life, and only a fool would get impatient with the meandering paths that lead to our end, but Peter Hale brought us back to the point.

  'Perhaps it would be sensible to use the eliminating method here. We've four excellent candidates. Has Miss Read any doubts about any of them?'

  'After all,' put in the Vicar, 'you have to work with the lady, and at close quarters. You must find her compatible.'

  'Well, I feel that the married lady won't stay long. She was quite frank about it, and it seems as though she fully expects her husband to be sent overseas within two or three years. I'd sooner have someone willing to stay longer.'

  'Agreed,' said my two colleagues, putting aside one set of papers.

  'And in a way, that goes for the engaged girl too, although I'm sure she would be able to give a reasonable length of service.'

  'I liked that little red-haired girl,' confessed the Vicar. 'She is so lively. I'm sure the children would respond to her.'

  'But we haven't gone steadily through our eliminating yet,' protested Peter Hale. 'Let's be methodical.'

  'My dear fellow, I do apologise,' said the Vicar, flustered. 'How far had we got? Not the married one, wasn't it?'

  'Provisionally,' I agreed guardedly.

  'Nor the engaged one? Really, it looks as though you disapproved of matrimony, Miss Read! A holy state, we're told, a holy state!'

  'My mind is open, I hope. I just think she is less quick than Miss Norman. She was pretty vague about methods she would use, and I suspect the children might find her too easy-going and get out of hand.'

  'Right!' said Peter Hale, putting aside another set of papers.

  The Vicar sighed.

  'She had a remarkably sweet expression, I thought. Reminded me of the early Italian Madonnas.'

  'What about the large lady?' asked Peter, ignoring the Vicar's gentle lamentations.

  'Useful type,' I said. 'Could do all the jobs Mr Willet can't manage. Why, she could lift Mrs Pringle up with one hand!'

  'If that should ever be called for,' agreed Peter gravely. 'But what about working with her? Her qualifications are excellent, and she looks in spanking health.'

  'I have a feeling that she would find Fairacre a little constricting. She's obviously cut out for a much more demanding post, a bigger staff, older children and so on. There's not enough scope for her here. I wouldn't mind betting that she'll be a head teacher in a big school within ten years. It's like putting a lion in a rabbit hutch.'

  'But why did she apply then?' asked the Vicar.

  'Not enough jobs going.'

  'I'm sure that's it,' I said. 'And we shall find that it's a sidestep for this girl, that she'll regret it herself before long.'

  'Then that leaves Miss Norman whom you liked from the first. Still feel the same?'

  I closed my eyes and thought again. It really is a staggering decision to make, this choosing someone to share one's life so closely in a remote school. Things can so easily go wrong.

  I remembered Miss Jackson who had been with me some years earlier. It had been a disastrous appointment, and yet just as much care had gone into considering her.

  The fact is that it is virtually impossible to sum up a person until you have lived and worked with them through good times and bad. Paper qualifications, references, examination successes, can only play a small part, and one interview, with the applicant highly nervous and on her best behaviour, can tell little more. Much must be taken on trust.

  'Well?' said the Vicar and Peter together.

  I opened my eyes.

  'Yes,' I said. 'I'd like Hilary Norman, if you feel the same.'

  'I think it's the best choice,' said Peter.

  'Without doubt,' said the Vicar. 'And so pretty.'

  He turned to Peter.

  'Would you like to ask her in again, and apprise the unsuccessful candidates of the result?'

  Peter took it like a man.

  'I'll go and break it gently,' he said, and vanished to carry the good—and bad—news to the waiting four.

  Amy came over that evening, bearing a beautiful bouquet of roses from her garden, and the news that Vanessa had produced a son and heir, weighing eleven pounds.

  'Good grief!' I exclaimed. 'Poor girl! How is she?'

  'Absolutely fine amidst all the rejoicing. It all sounds delightfully feudal, I must say. Tarquin rang last night amidst sounds of revelry in the background, and a bonfire to beat all bonfires blazing on the hill, or ben. Is it "ben"?'

  'Either that or "butt"', I told her. 'I'm not conversant with the lingo. But tell me more.'

  'She had what is euphemistically termed "a good time", I gather.'

  'Meaning what?'

  'Oh, sheer unadulterated misery for twenty-four hours instead of forty-eight or more. But she's remarkably resilient, you know. Takes after Eileen who thought nothing of a twelve-mile walk as a girl. Uphill at that.'

  'And what is he going to be called?'

  'Donald Andrew Fraser Tarquin. One thing, people will know the land of his birth.'

  'But the initials spell DAFT,' I pointed out. 'He'll have hell at school.'

  Amy looked shocked.

  'How right you are! What a blessing you noticed it! I shall let Vanessa know at once.'

  She put her head on one side, and considered me carefully. I waited for her usual derogatory comments on some facet of my appearance.

  'You know, you are remarkably astute in some ways.'

  I began to preen myself. I so seldom receive a compliment from Amy.

  'It's a pity you're so pig-headed with it,' she added.

  I rose with dignity.

  'Come and help me put these roses in water,' I said. 'I intend to ignore that quite unnecessary last remark.'

  'Hoity-toity,' said Amy, following me into the kitchen, and watching me start my flower arranging.

  'Are you going to see Vanessa?'

  'Yes, quite soon. James has to go to Glasgow on business, and we thought we'd have the weekend with them. There's one thing about being a Scottish laird. It seems that there are hosts of old loyal retainers to help with the cooking and housework. Why, Vanessa even has an under-nurse to help the monthly one! Can you imagine such luxury?'

  'Would you take the matinee jacket I've just finished? It's pink, of course, but that's like life.'

  'No bother at all,' said Amy. 'By the way, do you really want that red rose just there?'

  'Why not?'

  'It breaks the line.'

  'What line?'

  'Aren't you taking the eye down from that dark bud at the top to the base of the receptacle and below?'

  'Not as far as I know. I was simply making sure that they were all in the water.'

  Amy sighed.

  'I do wish I could persuade you to come to the floral classes with me. It seems so dreadful to see you so ignorant of the basic skills of arrangement. You could really benefit with some pedestal work. Those roses call out for a pedestal.'

  'At the price pedestals are, according to Mrs Mawne, these roses can go on calling out,' I said flatly. 'What's wrong with this nice white vase?'

  'You're quite incorrigible,' said Amy, averting her eyes. 'By the way, how's Minnie Pringle?'

  'In smashing form, as the music hall joke has it.'

  I told her about some of Minnie's choicer efforts, particularly the extraordinary methods used for the drying of dusters.

  'You won't believe this,' I told her, 'but last Friday she had upturned the vegetable colander on the draining board, and had draped a wet duster over that. Honestly, I give up!'

  'Perhaps you won't have her much longer. I hear that Mrs Fowler has ejected Minnie's husband. My window cleaner says the rows could be heard at the other side of Caxley.'

  My spirits rose, t
hen fell again.

  'But it doesn't mean that he'll come back to Springbourne necessarily, and in any case, Minnie will probably still need a job. I don't dare hope that she'll leave me.'

  'He'll have to sleep somewhere,' Amy pointed out, 'and obviously his old home is the place.'

  'Minnie might demand more money, though, and let him stay on sufferance,' I said, clinging to this straw like a drowning beetle, 'then she wouldn't need to come to me on Fridays.'

  'I think you are going too fast,' said Amy, lighting a cigarette and inserting it into a splendid amber holder. 'It's a case of wishful thinking, as far as you are concerned. I imagine that he'll return to Minnie, make sure she's bringing in as much money as possible, and will sit back and pretend he's looking for work. Minnie really isn't strong enough to protest, is she?'

  Sadly, I agreed. It looked as though I could look forward to hundreds of home-wrecking Friday afternoons.

  'Mrs Coggs,' I said wistfully, 'is doing more charing now that Arthur's inside. I gather she's a treasure.'

  'You shouldn't have been so precipitate in offering Minnie a job,' reproved Amy. 'Incidentally, Arthur's case comes up at Crown Court this week. It was in the local paper.'

  'I missed that. Actually this week's issue was handed by that idiotic Minnie to Mrs Pringle to wrap up the chicken's scraps, before I'd read it.'

  'Typical!' commented Amy, blowing a perfect smoke ring, an accomplishment she acquired at college along with many other distinctions, academic and otherwise.

  'Well, if you've quite finished ramming those roses into that quite unsuitable vase,' said Amy, 'can I beg a glass of water?'

  'I'll do better than that,' I told her, bearing my beautiful bouquet into the sitting-room. 'There's a bottle of sherry somewhere, if Minnie hasn't used it for cleaning the windows.'

  11 Problems

  AS always, everything seemed to happen within the last two weeks of term.

  At the beginning of every school year, I make all sorts of good resolutions about being methodical, in time with returning forms and making out lists, arranging programmes well in advance and so on. I have a wonderful vision of myself, calm and collected, sailing through the school year's work with a serene smile, and accepting graciously the compliments of the school managers and the officials at the local education department, on my efficiency.