Word combinations

Admirable

To keep an eye on

To produce amazing results

Tasks

1. Why was the tradition of having the outing lovingly kept?

2. How did the children treat the unfamiliar element of the sea? What were they especially industrious at?

3. Why was the trip back to Fairacre delayed a little?

4. Why was little Peggy happy and proud of herself on that day?

END OF TERM

It was the last day of term. Jim Bryant, the postman, had brought the precious envelope con­taining our cheques; fantastically large ones this time, as they covered both July and August. Such wealth seemed limitless, but I knew from sad experience how slowly September would drag its penniless length,* before the next cheque came again!

The morning was spent in a happy turmoil of clearing-up. Books were collected and counted, and then stacked in neat piles in the cupboards. Ernest and Eric sat at the long side desk, ripping out the remaining clean sheets of paper from the children's exercise books, to be put away for tests and rough work next term. The inkwells had been collected into their tray, and there was considerable competition among the boys as to who should have the enviable job of washing them, in an old bowl, out in the safety of the playground.

While the hubbub rose joyfully, I made my way round the walls, prizing out drawing-pins* with my penknife and handing over dusty but cherished pictures to their owners. Through the partition I could hear the infants at their clearing-up work, and when I reached the door I put my head in to see how they were getting on. Some children were polishing their already emptied desks, others were crouching on the floor collecting the rubbish, and a group besieged Miss Gray, holding such treasures as beads, coloured paper, plasticine, and even used milk straws, all asking what should be done with them.

I clapped my hands to make myself heard above the din, and when it was a little less noisy I asked if any of them knew what chil­dren were likely to start school next term. This would give me some idea of numbers for ordering dinners for the first day.

There was a puzzled silence, and then Joseph said in his hoarse voice:

'My mum's coming up to see you about the twins.'

'How old are they?'

'They're five in November,' said Joseph after some thought.

'Tell mummy I should like to see her at any time,' I told him and looked to see if there were going to be any more newcomers, but there was no stir.

I returned to my own room, where the noise was deafening. No one seemed to know of any beginners next term, and it looked as though I should have room for the Coggs twins,* although they were slightly under age,* for John Burton and Sylvia would be leaving to go to Mr Annett's school at Beech Green, and Cathy would be going to the Grammar School at Caxley.

At last conditions became a little less chaotic. The overflowing waste-paper basket was emptied, the jam jars removed from the window-sills and put away, and the room wore a bleak, purged look.

All was peaceful. From the playground came the distant splash of water as John Burton washed the inkwells, and nearer still, the clank of paintboxes being cleaned at the stone sink by Linda.

*

It was peaceful in my garden. I sat shelling some peas which John Pringle had brought me, enjoying the warm evening sun.

In the elms, at the corner of the playground, the rooks cawed incessantly, and from the quiet schoolroom came the distant clank of Mrs. Pringle's scrubbing-pail.

I thought of all the changes that had taken place in this last school year. We had parted with Miss Clare, enjoyed Mrs. Finch-Edwards' boisterous session, welcomed Miss Gray, and, a rare thing indeed, seen a wedding planned for one of the staff of Fairacre School.

The three new children, who had entered so timidly on that far September morning, were now part and parcel* of Fairacre School. Each had added something to the life of our small school; that little microcosm, working busily, within the larger one of Fairacre village.

I watched the swallows, so soon to go, swoop* screaming over the garden, and wondered if Mr. Hope, that unhappy poet-schoolmaster, who had lived here once, had sat here, as I was doing now, looking back. He, and, for that matter,* all my predecessors, whom I knew so well from the ancient log-book, although I had never seen their faces, must have joined in the hotch-potch of fêtes, outings, festivals, quarrels and friendships that make the stuff of life in a village.

The click of the gate roused me. There, entering, were Mrs. Coggs and her two little daughters. They gazed about them with apprehension, with monkey eyes as dark and mournful as their brothers'.

I put the past from me, and hurried down the path to meet my future pupils.

High above, on St Patrick's spire, the setting sun had turned the weathercock into a bird of fire. He flamed against the cloudless sky, looking down upon our miniature school world and all the golden fields of Fairacre.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16