Authors: Jack Sheffield
When we walked into Anne’s classroom, Rosie’s coat was hanging on a peg and she was sitting at a small trapezoidal table with Jemima Poole. They were modelling Plasticine animals for the class Nativity scene and both little girls appeared relaxed, engrossed and content. Anne stood up and said quietly to Maggie, ‘She’s fine, no need to worry, and we can give her a school lunch if you wish.’
‘Thank you so much, Mrs Grainger,’ she said. ‘I’m really grateful.’
We went to stand by the classroom door while Maggie said goodbye to Rosie. ‘I’ll be back soon, my little poppet,’ she said and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Rosie gave her a smile that almost broke my heart and then happily resumed work on her model, which appeared to have morphed from a small cow to a large sheep.
Penny nodded in satisfaction. ‘I’ve arranged for some temporary work for Maggie in the kitchens at the Citadel,’ she said quietly, ‘just until the new year and then she can look for something more permanent.’ Penny looked at her wristwatch. ‘So I thought we would go there now, if that’s all right with you, and I’ll call back at lunchtime.’
At twelve thirty Sally Pringle was in her classroom completing a final rehearsal before Wednesday’s Nativity play and strains of ‘Little Donkey’ echoed through the school. I was with Jo, Anne and Vera in the staff-room and an inquisitive Jo was full of interest in our visitor.
‘I don’t know much about the Salvation Army,’ said Jo.
‘Well, it was founded by William Booth,’ said Penny, sipping her Earl Grey tea.
‘He was a remarkable man,’ said Vera. ‘He certainly helped a lot of people. I remember reading that, as a Methodist minister during Victorian times, he was appalled by the poverty around him so he decided to dedicate his life to helping the poor, particularly those in hazardous occupations such as making matches. Sadly, at the time, many of the poor women in those factories died of “Phossy Jaw”.’
‘Phossy Jaw?’ said Jo.
‘Necrosis of the bone,’ explained Penny, ‘caused by the toxic fumes of the phosphorus … a terrible death.’
‘So Booth built a modern factory,’ said Vera, ‘with large windows, a rest room, a canteen and a place for the workers to wash their hands.’
Jo nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s quite a story,’ she said.
‘And we’re still trying to help those in need today,’ said Penny.
‘Like Maggie and Rosie Sparrow,’ said Anne, and Penny looked out of the window. More snow was falling and a bitter wind was blowing towards the village of Cold Kirkby.
Two miles away, Penny Boothroyd’s team of volunteers had transformed Maggie Sparrow’s tiny rented cottage. A morning’s hard work had resulted in a clean kitchen, curtains in the single bedroom and a welcoming log fire in the lounge. Although sparsely furnished, it was now a home.
The hamlet of Cold Kirkby comprised six terraced dwellings and a few farm buildings. The nearest shops were a mile away in Kirkby Steepleton, a long walk on a winter’s morning, but William Featherstone had rerouted his daily coach journey so Maggie and Rosie could now get to school and into York. Mary O’Neill, our local Social Services Officer, had telephoned to say all was well and she would monitor the situation. She asked if I could attend a hastily arranged case conference at five o’clock in their offices in Easington, our local market town.
At the end of afternoon school, Sally Pringle popped her head round Anne Grainger’s door. ‘Anne,’ she said with a grin, ‘thanks, you’ve done my choir a favour.’
‘Really?’ said Anne as she displayed a collection of chalk snowflake patterns on black sugar paper.
‘Yes,’ said Sally, ‘the new little girl has the voice of an angel.’
‘Rosie Sparrow?’
‘Yes. She’s bright as well. I’ve given her a verse of “Away in a Manger” to sing solo.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Anne, and Sally hurried back to her classroom. ‘Angel,’ murmured Anne to herself. She picked up a wire coat-hanger and, with the experience of a teacher of small children, bent it into the shape of a halo. ‘Good idea … now where’s that silver tinsel?’
At six o’clock the case conference was over and I sat back and admired the highly professional contributions made by Mary O’Neill and Roy Davidson. The Head of Services had also questioned Penny Boothroyd, resplendent in her major’s uniform, and the detailed sequence of events had been recorded. The safety of Rosie Sparrow had been secured and, following an impassioned speech by Penny, there was unanimous approval for mother and daughter remaining together. It was a job well done, and Penny and I left side by side.
We walked under the frozen trees towards the car park and on to a small stone bridge. Beneath us the dark, icy waters of the Foss flowed south towards the great River Ouse and the city of York ten miles away. ‘He leads me beside still waters,’ Penny said quietly as we paused on the bridge. Her words were like a caress in the darkness, a soothing gesture in a world of shadows.
I nodded in understanding. ‘The Twenty-third Psalm,’ I said.
She smiled and stared thoughtfully at the dark tumbling waters beneath our feet. ‘Life’s like that, rushing along with the current,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘The water that flows past is different today than yesterday. For me, Jack, it’s the river of grace, leading me to the still waters where life will be restored.’
Penny was on a journey I could barely comprehend, but she had chosen her pathway. There was an inner strength at the core of her soul, and somehow she had found peace in a raging world.
On Wednesday afternoon the hall was packed with parents for one of the highlights of the school year. The children in Anne’s class were presenting their Nativity play and many mothers had their hankies at the ready. Soon there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house.
Sally Pringle propped her teacher’s copy of
Carol, Gaily Carol
on her music stand, picked up her guitar, put the plectrum in her mouth while she flicked through the pages, selected number three, ‘Little Donkey’, and began to strum. The choir included Rosie Sparrow dressed as an angel in a white tablecloth and with a circlet of silver tinsel in her hair. It was soon clear to everyone that she had the sweetest voice, a good memory and a perfect sense of rhythm.
The surprise, however, was the casting of baby Jesus. After a little cajoling from Vera, Anne had agreed that the very lively Krystal Carrington Ruby Entwhistle, now four and a half months old, could act the part of baby Jesus. Ruby’s daughter, Racquel, had made sure the little girl had been fed and changed and, right on cue, between scene one and scene two, she placed her, fast asleep, in a small cot that Anne had converted into a manger.
Ruby was sitting in the front row. ‘Wild ’orses wouldn’t ’ave kept me away, Mr Sheffield,’ she had said on arrival. ‘An’ it’s good t’be back,’ she added. Next to her was a spare seat, reserved for Vera. Since the accident they had become even greater friends. Now there was an unbreakable bond between them.
Meanwhile, Maggie Sparrow was in the back row sitting next to Penny Boothroyd, who was now out of uniform and blended in like one of the many grandmothers. Maggie leant forward as Sally strummed the introduction to ‘Away in a Manger’ and when little Rosie sang her solo she could no longer hold back the tears.
Fortunately it was largely a trouble-free Nativity … that is until the very end. The shepherds looked the part in their tea-towel headdresses, the kings delivered their gifts and Mary and Joseph remembered their lines. However, no one had thought to mention to little Ted Coggins, playing the part of Joseph, that he shouldn’t actually
unwrap
the gifts that the kings had placed with great ceremony at the feet of baby Jesus. Consequently, there were a few giggles in the audience when Ted removed the shiny giftwrap to reveal not gold, frankincense and myrrh but rather a tin of spaghetti, an empty Persil packet and a box of Aqua Manda Golden Body Rub. Also, no one had explained to little Krystal that hers was a passive part. So it tended to distract from the general dignity of the occasion when she filled her nappy and the Nativity concluded on a decidedly toxic note. Vera winced slightly and held a handkerchief to her nose, clearly concerned that, while entirely understandable, it really was inappropriate behaviour for the Son of God.
At the end, Joseph Evans stood up and said a few words of thanks to Mrs Earnshaw, our temporary caretaker, whose contract had come to an end prior to Ruby’s return to full-time duty next week. He presented her with a hamper of food from Prudence Golightly’s General Stores on behalf of the school governors, and everyone joined in the applause. As she returned to her seat she gave Ruby a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Ruby,’ she whispered in her ear. ‘T’money came in ’andy.’
Finally, as the crowds dispersed, little Barry Ollerenshaw was puzzled by the three iconic gifts and approached the Revd Joseph Evans. ‘Ah feel sorry f’Jesus, Mr Evans,’ said Barry.
‘And why is that?’ asked Joseph.
‘Well, Jesus jus’ got that gold and frankincense and t’other one … no
real
presents.’
And, once again, Joseph was stuck for words.
As the families returned to their homes, meals were prepared and thoughts returned to the events of the day.
In the Earnshaw household, Mrs Earnshaw was glowing with pride as she fried sausages in a large pan. ‘Eric, our ’Eath an’ Terry sang their ’earts out.’
‘S’good, is that,’ said Eric, not raising his eyes from his
Racing Post
.
The boys were at the kitchen table writing their Christmas lists. Terry was writing as if his life depended on it, whereas the economical Heathcliffe had merely written one word: ‘Everything’.
‘Terry,’ said Mrs Earnshaw, ‘why are you writing such a long list for Father Christmas?’
‘Well Mam … it’s jus’ in case ah don’t believe in ’im nex’ year.’
Meanwhile, up the Morton Road, in her state-of-the-art kitchen, Petula Dudley-Palmer was watching the new television station, Channel 4. The first advert was for a Kenwood Gourmet ‘that even makes ice cream’ and Petula knew she must buy it.
Her husband, Geoffrey, a chief executive at the local chocolate factory, was also interested in this new television station. He thought he would mention at the next board meeting that, at £75 for a ten-second advertisement, this could revitalize sales of Lion Bars.
Likewise, Betty Buttle was tuned in to the same channel and considered the Co-op advertisement with interest. With Nescafé at 96 pence and ninety-nine teabags for 64 pence, she decided she might have to take her business away from Prudence Golightly’s General Stores & Newsagent and into the new supermarket in York.
Predictably, the final advert for a One Parent Benefit leaflet was ignored by both Betty and Petula. However, on the council estate, single parent Daphne Cathcart quickly scribbled down the title. Then she turned to nine-year-old Michelle and asked, ‘Who was that new girl in Mrs Grainger’s class – t’little blonde one wi’ t’lovely voice?’
‘She’s called Rosie, Mam,’ said Michelle, through a mouthful of beans on toast. ‘She’s reight nice an’ she’s like me an’ our Cathy.’
‘’Ow d’you mean, luv?’
‘Well,’ said Michelle, looking up from the television, ‘she ’asn’t got a dad.’
That evening at seven o’clock it seemed as if all the residents of Ragley had gathered on the village green. At the foot of the giant Christmas tree, lit up with a thousand coloured lights, was the Salvation Army brass band, conducted by Penny Boothroyd.
Penny had persuaded our postmistress, Amelia Duff, to play her flugelhorn and, with the haunting, mellow opening bars of ‘Silent Night’, our carol concert began. It was then that I remembered Old Tommy’s adage about not brooding over the dark days but, instead, finding comfort in the bright ones. I looked down at Beth, put my arm round her shoulders and smiled as I remembered the strength in her slender body and the look of love in her green eyes. The fine thread of history had interwoven our lives, bound together in a shared destiny, and here we were, together on this perfect night.
And so it was that, under the vast purple sky over the plain of York, we huddled in our little groups and enjoyed music that stirred the soul. Christmas was coming to Ragley village and, as snow began to fall once again, we raised our voices to the heavens. It had been a day to remember and a time to reflect on the lives of others less fortunate than ourselves.
A presentation of a watercolour painting was made in school assembly today by Mrs Sue Phillips, Chair of the PTA, to Miss Vera Evans prior to her marriage tomorrow to Major Forbes-Kitchener
.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 17 December 1982
THE CONSTANT CAWING
of the rooks in the swaying branches of the tall elms was a familiar sound to Vera. It was the call of the countryside.
As Vera and Joseph set off in their little white Austin A40 for the last day of term and crunched down the gravel drive towards the Morton Road, Vera stared back at the vicarage. It had been her home for so many years and she wondered if she would miss these familiar scents and sounds when she was in the manicured, peacock-strutting grounds of Morton Manor. Joseph sensed her mood and gave her a nervous smile. It was Friday, 17 December 1982 and, for the school secretary of Ragleyon-the-Forest Church of England Primary School, a new world awaited … a new life.
Meanwhile, in Bilbo Cottage Beth appeared a little tired with her exertions as she packed her briefcase. ‘I’ve checked your suit, Jack,’ she said. ‘It’s back from the cleaners and looks fine.’ She hung my charcoal-grey three-piece suit in our huge double wardrobe in the tiny space on the left reserved for my modest collection of clothing. ‘And I’ve ironed the monogrammed white hanky that Vera gave you last Christmas ready for your top pocket, so we’re all set for the big day.’
‘Thanks Beth,’ I said as I fastened the buckles on my leather satchel and put on my duffel coat and scarf. ‘See you tonight and good luck for the end of term.’ I kissed her as we stepped out into a frozen, silent world with a fresh dusting of snow.