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The Great Village Show. Alexandra Brown
Читать онлайн.Название The Great Village Show
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007597406
Автор произведения Alexandra Brown
Издательство HarperCollins
‘Yes,’ I sigh, ‘but realistically it comes down to money at the end of the day. If the school …’ And it really does feel like my school, and I’m sure all the other villagers feel the same way – the school belongs to each and all of us together, Lawrence is right; we love the school, it’s just been a part of Tindledale life for ever and ever – since the mists of time, and I’m not even exaggerating. ‘… isn’t deemed affordable any more, then they’ll close us down.’
‘But surely it’s not just about money – what about all the extra stuff you do? The special needs support? Just last week you were telling me how well that little boy recently diagnosed with ADHD was doing.’ Lawrence now seems as shocked as I did when I first heard the news. ‘It’s about a whole community.’
‘I know, and you know, but from the point of view of the council, unless I can find a way to attract more children to the school, then it’ll be closed down.’
‘That’s too bad …’ Lawrence lets out a long whistle.
‘Well, it is a massive problem: there are only four children in this year’s Reception class and the nursery numbers are dropping too, so next September’s intake could be even less. We have capacity for sixty children in total, but there are currently only forty-nine, so unless we can find an additional eleven children, it’s cheaper for the council to pay for the school bus to collect my pupils and take them to the big school in Market Briar,’ I explain, having already gleaned this gem of information from the woman I spoke to on the phone at the council. I called right after I had inhaled my ham and homemade plum chutney sandwich at lunchtime, and before I went to spend the other twenty minutes of my lunch break helping Archie Armstrong with his speech therapy exercises because his mum, another single parent, is profoundly deaf so can’t really do it herself. So, firstly, I enquired as to why the council felt it necessary to send in a team, without warning, followed by a formal letter, and not just pick up the phone to chat about it first, and secondly to ask what this means in real terms, to which I was told, and quite tersely I have to say, that unless the pupil numbers pick up, the school will most likely close at the end of the next academic year, with a decision made by the end of this year’s summer holiday period. So we’ll know in September.
‘Hmm, well, from a purely selfish perspective, I need the village children close by for the Christmas pantomime rehearsals – how else am I going to find twenty singing children to perform “Ten Little Elves” for the grand finale? And be available to rehearse during the school day?’ Lawrence shakes his head as we sit quietly, each of us pondering, searching for a solution.
‘Well, you won’t. And I can hardly see the head teacher at the big school in Market Briar agreeing to let you use the school hall for rehearsals because the village hall’s heating has packed up again,’ I puff, and it’s a very good point, one I must remember to bring up at the village show meeting, as last time the judges commented on how it was extremely chilly in the village hall – and that was in summer time, so they ‘dreaded to think how arctic it might be in winter’. We don’t want to get marked down again for making the same mistake – perhaps we could get some plug-in radiators or something, if the parish council can be persuaded to part with some funding.
‘So what are we going to do then?’ Lawrence looks concerned.
‘Well, short of asking if any of the villagers plan on adopting lots of school-age children in the next few months, I have no idea! But one thing I do know, Lawrence,’ I pause to take a breath, ‘is that I’m not going to stand by and let the inspectors close down my school. Certainly not!’ I say, getting into my stride.
‘Good! That’s the spirit,’ Lawrence rallies. ‘We need to attract new blood to the village – young families, young couples to have lots of babies – yes, and how about Sybs and Dr Ben? I wonder if they’ve talked about having a family yet. A BIG one.’
‘Hmm. Funnily enough, Sybs didn’t mention it when I saw her yesterday,’ I joke.
‘Then you must ask her right away!’ Lawrence turns to face me with a very serious look on his face. ‘There’s no time to waste. And she’s a twin! And they say that twins run in families, so if she and Dr Ben get cracking now, you could have two more pupils lined up for the nursery in nine months’ time. Surely if we can show the demand is there, babies that will be five and ready to start school in the blink of an eye, then the council will have to change its mind.’ His voice trails off.
‘But I can’t do that!’ I say, horrified. ‘We are friends, but not that close – can you imagine? “Oh Sybs, I was just wondering if you and Ben were getting it on, frequently, as in making babies any time soon, because I’m now touting for business!” I could do a poster perhaps – WANTED! Children to fill my school. What on earth would she think?’ I shake my head.
‘Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Sybs isn’t one to take offence,’ Lawrence says gently, and I soften, knowing that he’s just trying to help. I quickly reconsider – maybe he has a point, and what other options do I have right now? It could be my best chance.
‘Hmm, maybe I should go a step further and open up Tindledale’s very first fertility clinic, just to be on the safe side.’ I laugh.
‘Good idea,’ Lawrence says, not missing a beat.
‘Or perhaps you could ask Sybs – you’re closer to her than I am,’ I smile.
‘Yes, I might just do that!’
‘But, joking aside, Lawrence, we do need to come up with some serious ideas to boost business for you and to make sure the school stays open,’ I say, pointing an index finger in the air, as if marshalling a rescue package for a major conglomerate.
‘What about coffee mornings? Parent and toddler groups where you can show off the school and its facilities to prospective parents? Do you do stuff like that already?’ Lawrence asks.
‘Um, no, not really. But I know St Cuthbert’s does,’ I say enthusiastically, my mind going into an overdrive full of taster sessions and newsletters, spring festivals and teddy bears’ picnics in the Tindledale woods. That would be fairly easy to organise too … Hmm, I’m going to get on to that right away. ‘And how about a crafting circle? Children love making things – I could ask Hettie or Sybs to show the older children how to knit, crochet, quilt and cross-stitch – broaden the curriculum, because it’s not all just about numeracy and literacy and league tables. We could even set up a mini petting farm. I’m sure I could round up enough rabbits, guinea pigs, chickens, goats and lambs – the possibilities are endless.’
‘They sure are. But tell me about St Cuthbert’s – is this the big school they’d bus your children to?’ Lawrence asks.
‘Oh no, it’s the private school on the old Market Briar Road – their numbers are flourishing, so I know there are lots of children in the area. Mostly families that have relocated from larger towns where the schools aren’t performing so well, but then St Cuthbert’s has far better facilities than we do – Olympic-size swimming pool, all-weather sports arena and a proper arts theatre with a sound deck and professional lighting and all of that, somebody said. My little village school – with its patch of tarmac for a playground and regular rounds of begging letters to parents for donations of kitchen roll and shaving cream for messy play – really can’t compete.’ I shake my head.
‘Ahh, but your school is ranked Outstanding on the government thingamajig.’
‘Ofsted!’ I offer, and he’s right, and we’re very proud of this fact.
‘And what about Blue? Didn’t you take him into school when you were doing the Beatrix Potter project? A real live Peter Rabbit. Surely the inspectors will be impressed by that initiative. And I bet they don’t bring nature into the classroom at the big school in town,’ Lawrence says hopefully, eyeing Blue, who is now snuggling on my lap, his little paws perpetually moving as he cleans his face.
‘That’s