The new teacher

There were only three applicants* for the post advertised at Fairacre School, although the advertisement had appeared in both the Teachers' World* and The Times Educational Supplement* for several weeks.

The vicar had called a managers' meeting* to interview the three applicants on a Thursday afternoon, late in January. It was to be held at two-thirty in the vicar's dining-room, and I was invited to be present.

I appreciated this courtesy, which is not always extended to the headmaster or headmistress when new staff is being appointed, and arranged with Mrs. Finch-Edwards a combined crayoning class of the whole school.* As an incentive to good behaviour I produced a box of small silver stars to be gummed on the best work and from the children's joyful expressions I fully expected that Mrs. Finch-Edwards would have a peaceful afternoon while I was at the vicarage.

I walked across the churchyard to the meeting. The vicarage is a large house of red brick, standing among sloping lawns and looking out upon two fine cedar trees. It has a square, pillared porch and a beautiful fanlight over the door.

The dining-table was covered with the applicants' papers at the head of it, and chairs were set round. The vicar, as chairman, welcomed us and took his place at the head of the table. Miss Parr was already there, an old lady of nearly eighty, who lives at the other end of Fairacre in a beautiful old house. The villagers say that she is fabulously wealthy. She says that she is fond of children, 'even these modern ones that do nothing but eat chewing gum,' but so far as I know, she has never set foot in the school of which she has been a manager for nearly thirty years, during a school session.*

Colonel Wesley, also nearing his eightieth birthday, sat beside her. He calls in to see the children on occasions, and is, of course, invited to all school functions,* as are all the managers.

Both Miss Parr and the Colonel, despite their age and frequent indispositions, attend managers' meetings regularly.

Mr. Roberts the youngest school manager had attended an elementary school in Caxley as a small boy, and gone on from there to the local grammar school. He has a first-hand knowledge of elementary education* and has a close understanding of the practical needs of the school in their care.

At last the vicar said, 'I think we should begin. The applicants are Mrs Davis, who has come from Kent...' He paused and looked at us over his glasses. 'This lady has not had experience with infants, but would like to try. She has two children of her own, I believe.' From his tone it was clear that her application had not impressed him favourably.

'The second applicant,' he went on, 'is a little older and has had experience in infant and junior schools in several towns in the Midlands. She is, at the moment, teaching in Wolverhampton. She could begin in March.'

'What's the last like?' asked Mr. Roberts, stretching his long legs out under the table.

'A Miss Gray,* very much younger, still in her twenties. She left the teaching profession last summer —'

'No disgrace, I hope?' said Miss Parr.

'Oh, no, indeed, no, no! Nothing of that sort,' the vicar assured her hastily. 'I understand she nursed her mother for some months, but is now free to take a post.'*

'Does she come from a distance?' asked the Colonel. 'Any chance of her living at home, I mean; or will she have to have digs in the village?'*

'I expect it will have to be Mrs. Pratt's,' answered the vicar. 'I have approached her* and she has a very nice bedroom — '

'Well, let's see these gals,' said Miss Parr impatiently. I suspected that she had given up an afternoon nap for this meeting, for she seemed restless and had stifled several yawns.

'Well, there we are,' said the vicar, gazing round at us all. 'I rather feel that Miss Gray will be our best choice, judging from her application; but we will invite them here and see for ourselves. Shall we have the lady from Kent in first?'

There were nods of approval and the vicar went across the hall to ask Mrs. Davis in.

They returned together. The vicar took his place at the end of the table again and Mrs Davis sat nervously at the other. We all wished her 'Good afternoon', and smiled at her encouragingly.

She was a large woman with a shiny face. Her neck was flushed red with embarrassment and she answered the questions breathlessly.

'May I ask something?' she said. 'Where is the nearest station?'

'Why, Caxley!' said Mr. Roberts in surprise.

'And what sort of bus service?' she asked. The Colonel told her and her mouth dropped open.

'I'm afraid that quite settles it,' she said with decision. 'I thought, coming along, how far away from everything it was; but if that's the situation — well, I'm sorry, but I would rather withdraw my application.* I've got my two girls to think of, you know. We can't be buried miles from anywhere!'

The vicar looked regretful.

'Well, Mrs. Davis,' he began, 'I know Fairacre is a little remote but —'

'I'm sorry, I'm sure, for all the trouble I've given; but my mind's made up. I had a look round the village this morning and it's not a bit like Kent, you know.' Her tone was reproachful.

She rose from the dining-room chair and said, 'I'm afraid I must say "No", but I'm grateful to you for calling me up for interview.'

She smiled round at us and the vicar escorted her into the hall inviting her to stop for tea before she faced her long journey, but, like a freed bird, Mrs Davis was anxious to fly back to her nest in Kent and we heard her steps on the gravel path as she hurried to catch the three o'clock bus.

'Well, well,' said the vicar, with a note of relief in his voice as he sorted out the next application form, 'a pity about Mrs. Davis, but of course she must consider her family.'

'Would never have done,* anyway,' said Miss Parr, voicing the secret thoughts of us all. The vicar cleared his throat noisily.*

'I'll fetch Miss Winter now. The lady from Wolverhampton,' he reminded us, as he set off across the hall again.

Miss Winter was as pale as Mrs. Davis had been rosy. Grey wisps of hair escaped from a grey hat, her gloved hands fluttered and her pale lips twitched with nervousness. She did not see our greetings nor our smiles, as she was quite inca­pable of meeting our eyes.

It turned out that she was quite run-down.* She had had very large classes for many years and found them too much for her.* It was quite apparent that such was the case. Her discipline, I suspected, was non-existent, and even our local children, docile as they are by most standards, would soon take advantage of this poor, fluttering soul.

'I think I could manage young children,' she said. 'Oh, yes, a small class of good young children... I should enjoy that! And I'm sure my health would improve in the country! The doctor himself suggested that I needed a much less trying post.* Town children can be very unruly, you know!'

The managers asked a few more questions. The Colonel asked his stock one:* 'A communi­cant, of course?';* and Miss Parr her stock one: 'I do so hope you are interested in needlework? Good, plain needlework — the girls these days have no idea of simple stitchery —'

Miss Winter was asked to wait again in the drawing-room while we interviewed the last ap­plicant.

Miss Isobel Gray was twenty-nine, tall and dark. She was not good-looking, but had a pleasant face and a fine pair of grey eyes. We all felt more hopeful as she answered the questions calmly and concisely.

'I see that you gave up teaching to nurse your mother. I gather that she is well enough for you to feel that you can apply for a permanent post?'*

'My mother died in the autumn. I did not feel like going back to teaching immediately, but I should like to now.'

We all expressed our sympathy.

Yes, she was a communicant, she replied to the Colonel, and yes, she was most interested in needlework and made many of her own garments, she told Miss Parr. There were a few more practical questions before she was escorted back to the drawing-room.

'Best of them all,' said Mr. Roberts, stretching his legs again.

'A very nice, ladylike girl,' said Miss Parr approvingly.

'I liked her,' said the Colonel.

The vicar turned to me. 'Miss Read, you have to work with our choice — what do you feel about it?'

'I like her too,' I said; and the vicar nodding in approval, made his final trip across the hall to acquaint Miss Gray with her good fortune and offer Miss Winter consolation in a cup of tea.

*

Soon after five o'clock that day the vicar called at my home bringing Miss Gray with him.

'Could you show Miss Gray over the school?'* he asked, 'and I wondered if you would be able to go down to Mrs. Pratt's with her to arrange about board and lodging.* I wish there were more choice,' he added, turning to the new teacher, 'but accommodation in a village is always difficult—very difficult!'

The vicar said good-bye and went off down the path. A few snowflakes fluttered in the light from the porch.

'You haven't got to make the journey home tonight, I hope?' I asked Miss Gray.

'No, I'm staying with friends in Caxley. If I catch the 6.15 bus that will suit them very well.'

I put on my coat and we went across to the dark school.

'I wish you could have seen it in sunshine,'* I said, 'it looks much better.'

'But I have,' she said, to my surprise. 'When I thought of applying for a job I came over from Caxley and looked at the school and the village. I liked it all so much that that made up my mind for me. I know the neighbourhood fairly well because I had stayed with friends. They have a good deal to do with the orchestra in Caxley.'

'Do you play at all?'

'Yes, the violin and the piano. I should like to join the orchestra if it is easy to get in and out of Caxley.'

The school was very still and seemed unreal to me. The tidy rows of desks, the children's drawings, the pot of hyacinths in flower on my desk all looked like stage properties.* The artificial light heightened this effect.

Our shoes echoed noisily on the floor boards as we went through to the infants' room that would be Miss Gray's own in the future.

'I wonder why they built the windows so horribly high!' exclaimed Miss Gray, looking at the narrow arches up in the wall.

She walked round, examining pictures and looking at books in the cupboards. Her pale face had grown quite pink with excitement and she looked almost pretty. It seemed a pity to take her away from it all, but if she had to catch the Caxley bus and we had to face Mrs. Pratt first, there was no time to spare.

'You are coming to us on the first of February, I believe?' I asked.

'Yes, it seems best. I've no notice to give in,* but it means that I shall have just over a week to settle in the village, and it gives your supply teacher a little notice.'*

So we arranged that she would come over one day before the beginning of February to see about syllabuses, schemes of work, children's records, reading methods,* and all the other interesting school matters, but that now we must hurry down the road to Mrs. Pratt's house, before that lady began putting her two little children to bed.

*

Jasmine Villa had been built some eighty years ago by a prosperous retired tradesman from Caxley. His grandson still ran the business there, but let this property to Mr. and Mrs. Pratt for a comparatively small rental. At present the house was in bad repair.*

It was square and grey with a slated roof. A veranda ran across its width, and over this in the summer-time grew masses of jasmine which gave the house its name. A neat path led from the iron gate to the front door. It looked incongruous in this village among a row of thatched cottages.

Mrs. Pratt, a plain cheerful woman in her thirties, opened the door to us.

'Come into the front room,' she invited us, 'I'm afraid the fire's not been lit — we live at the back mostly, and my husband's just having his tea out there.'

I explained why I had come and introduced the two to each other. Mrs. Pratt began to talk about cooked breakfasts, bathing arrangements,* washing and ironing, door key, and all the other technical details that landladies need to discuss with prospective tenants,* while Miss Gray listened and nodded and occasionally asked a question.

The room was lit by a central hanging bulb. Against one wall stood an upright piano on which Mrs. Pratt practised her music occasionally. Two large photographs dominated the top of the piano. Between the two photographs was a long green dish of thick china.

I turned my fascinated gaze to the sideboard as Mrs. Pratt continued to speak. Here there was a lot of horrid looking pottery, jugs, teapots shaped like houses, jam pots shaped like beehives, apples and oranges,* jugs like rabbits and other animals.

'I do like pretty things,' said Mrs. Pratt complacently, following my gaze. 'Shall we go up and see the bedroom?'

It was surprisingly attractive, with white walls and velvet curtains — 'bought at a sale,'* explained Mrs. Pratt. The room was big and lofty, but much less cluttered with furniture.* Miss Gray seemed pleased with it.

We followed Mrs. Pratt down the stairs to the front door. Snowflakes whirled in as she opened it.

'I will let you know definitely by Monday,' said Miss Gray. 'Will that do?'

'Perfectly, perfectly!' answered Mrs. Pratt hap­pily, 'and we can always alter anything you know — I mean, if you want to bring your own books or pictures we could come to some arrangement—'

We nodded and walked through the snowflakes down to the gate and into the lane. The snow was beginning to settle and muffled the sounds of our footsteps.

'I suppose,' Miss Gray began diffidently, 'that there is nowhere else to go?'

'I don't know of any other place,' I replied, and went on to explain how difficult it is to get suitable lodgings for a single girl in a village. The cottages are too small and are usually overcrowded as it is,* and the people who have large houses would never dream of letting a room to a schoolteacher. It is a very serious problem for rural schools to face. It is not easy for a girl to find suitable companionship in a small village, and if it is any considerable distance from a town there may be very little to keep her occupied and happy in such a restricted community. It is not surprising that young single women, far from their own homes, do not stay for any length of time in country schools.

'She's asking two pounds ten a week,' said Miss Gray, 'which seems fair enough,* I think.' I thought so too, and we were busy telling each other how much better it would all look with a fire going and one's own books and possessions about,* when the bus came to a stop in the snow. Miss Gray boarded it, promising to telephone to me, and was borne away.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16