The Heart of the Dales by Gervase Phinn Page B

telegraph was so obviously finely developed.
    â€˜I don’t know Mr Harrison that well,’ continued the clergyman. ‘He’s of the Methodist persuasion, you know, so we don’t see him in church although he does hold the school’s harvest service at St Mary’s. Speaking of the harvest service, Barbara,’ he began, ‘I thought that this year –’
    The headteacher clearly did not wish to be diverted from the subject in hand. ‘He does try so hard, Mr Harrison,’ she said in an overly sad and sympathetic voice. ‘He must feel so very disappointed that so many of our parents chose to send their children on to other schools rather than his.’ She looked at me expectantly. I could tell there was another agenda going on here but I was determined not to be a part of it.
    â€˜I am sure he does,’ I replied.
    â€˜It’s quite a mystery really, isn’t it?’ said the headteacher.
    It was no mystery. All three of us knew why so many parents opted to send their children elsewhere. Mrs Braddock-Smith was waiting for me to make a comment but I remained silent.
    â€˜And how is Mrs Battersby?’ asked the archdeacon. ‘Herhusband is one of my churchwardens, you know, a man of – er – strong views which he is not afraid of expressing.’
    â€˜She’s very well, too,’ I replied and before they could ask about the other teacher, I added, ‘and so is Mrs Sidebottom.’
    â€˜Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ said the archdeacon, realising at last that I would not be any more forthcoming on the question of Ugglemattersby Junior School. He glanced at his watch. ‘Nearly time for assembly, I think.’
    When the bell sounded for the end of afternoon playtime, the Infants filed into the hall to a stirring tune, hammered out on the piano with great vigour by Mrs Hartley, and sat down cross-legged on the floor. I had gone to the back but was ushered forward to the front by the headteacher to a seat next to hers and the archdeacon’s. I faced the sea of red. In the very front row, sitting straight-backed and serious-faced and with his arms folded tightly over his chest, was Joshua.
    â€˜Good afternoon, children,’ said Mrs Braddock-Smith when silence had fallen.
    â€˜Good a-f-t-e-r-n-o-o-n, Mrs Braddock-Smith,’ they chanted.
    â€˜This afternoon in our assembly we have got not one but two very important visitors with us,’ said the headteacher. All eyes looked at the archdeacon and me. ‘You all know Archdeacon Richards, who is our special friend and comes to see us often, but some of you will not yet have met our other important visitor. His name is Mr Phinn and he is a school inspector. Mr Phinn is here to see all your wonderful work and hear you read. Shall we all say a good afternoon to our visitors?’
    â€˜Good a-f-t-e-r-n-o-o-n, Archdeacon Richards, good a-f-t-e-r-n-o-o-n, Mr Phinn, good a-f-t-e-r-n-o-o-n, everybody,’ the infants chanted.
    â€˜Good afternoon, children,’ I replied.
    â€˜Good afternoon, children,’ repeated the archdeacon.
    â€˜You know, Mr Phinn,’ continued the headteacher, waving an expansive hand at the rows before her, ‘not only are these children such remarkable readers and excellent writers, they are also wonderful singers as well, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Yes, Mrs Braddock-Smith,’ the whole school said in unison.
    â€˜And I am sure Mr Phinn would like to hear you sing, wouldn’t you, Mr Phinn.’
    â€˜Yes, I would,’ I said loudly and wishing she would get on with the assembly. I had heard quite enough about how wonderful the children were for one day.
    â€˜Well, let us all stand up nice and smartly,’ said the head-teacher, ‘fill those lungs and raise the roof.’
    Very soon the hall was filled with the singing, which was sadly drowned by the over-zealous playing of Mrs Hartley.
    â€˜Did you