04 Village Teacher by Jack Sheffield

Author:Jack Sheffield [Sheffield, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The Problem with Men

All staff began to prepare mid-year reports for distribution at half-term. Our outdoor education weekend in early June for the children in Class 4 was booked.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:

Monday, 2 February 1981

COLIN PRINGLE LOOKED in his briefcase and knew his life had changed for ever.

On his way home from work he had called into Woolworth’s in York. He stared intently at a bottle of Johnson’s baby shampoo. For 59p it promised ‘no more tears’ on the label. He looked up at Sally, who nodded in approval. As an afterthought, he had also bought some Johnson’s baby oil for 69p, a large tube of Aquafresh toothpaste for 25p and a bottle of Silvikrin shampoo for 39p.

‘These are for your hospital bag,’ he said and Sally gave him a strained smile. The time was getting close.

Sally was finally fed up with pregnancy and wanted it all to be over. Ruby had suggested long walks and pineapple chunks to hurry things along, whereas a voluble Mrs Ackroyd in the General Stores had sworn by spicy foods and herbal tea. Sally had tried all these but her backache was worse and she couldn’t sleep at night. The midwife had told her the baby’s head was engaged, and going to the toilet had become an uncomfortable experience. Sally had also begun to experience fake contractions but kept it to herself. Sharing this news with the nervous Colin would probably give him a heart attack. She looked at him sadly. He had given up smoking and was sucking giant humbugs as if there was no tomorrow. Still, she thought, it wasn’t his fault. After all, he was just a man.

Meanwhile, three miles away, Sheila Bradshaw was making an announcement. ‘T’problem wi’ men is they’re only good f ’one thing an’ most of ’em are useless at that.’

Don the barman looked sheepishly at me and then glanced nervously at his buxom wife. He pulled a half pint of Chestnut Mild. ‘Here y’are, Jack,’ he said and then added in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘and good luck when y’finally get married.’

It was Monday evening, 2 February, and I had arranged to meet Beth in The Royal Oak. The members of the Ragley Rovers football team stared at Sheila as she fiddled with the controls of the television set in the taproom. The sight of Sheila in a skin-tight micro-miniskirt and halfway up a step-ladder was a welcome distraction from their mournful analysis of last Saturday’s heavy defeat to the Thirkby United Colts XI. A group of fifteen-year-old boys had put six goals past them.

‘It were too frosty t’tackle ’em,’ muttered Clint Ramsbottom.

‘Y’reight, Nancy. Pitch were like glass,’ agreed Shane.

Clint winced when his big brother called him ‘Nancy’ but, as always, he nodded in acknowledgement. No one in their right mind would ever disagree with Shane.

‘Them kids were like Torvill an’ Dean out there,’ said Big Dave.

‘Y’reight there, Dave,’ said Little Malcolm. ‘We should ’ave worn skates instead of football boots.’

Everyone nodded even though most had never heard of Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, the new European ice-dancing champions.

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