Poppy Fields: Classroom Warrior! It’s the day of the sponsored walk

Part 2: Could comprehensive status be on the horizon for Gas Street School? And what of Poppy’s unmarried mum status?

The Big Rec was only a fifteen-minute walk from Poppy’s flat, but that didn’t stop her being late for the sponsored walk.

“Looks like they’ve started without us,” she told her six-year-old son Joe as she led him by the hand across the pot-holed parking area. “What a lovely day for a walk in the park, isn’t it?”

The sun picked out highlights in the young English teacher’s copper hair and loose, multi-coloured sundress as they left the noise of the busy main road and emerged on a flat expanse of featureless grass. In the distance, she made out tiny groups of Gas Street Secondary Modern pupils making their way around the perimeter of the green oasis where it was bordered by a biscuit factory, canal and highrise estate.

“Late again, Miss?” Naomi called her usual greeting as a knot of thirteen-yearolds from 3E came running off the path to meet her.

It was Saturday and they were out of uniform. Mickey Crumb, the class clown, was wearing flared jeans and a football shirt. Tracy and Linda were in hot pants and stripy tank tops. Kipper, slouching along in the rear, looked as sleepy as ever. “Who’s this, then?” asked Tracy. “This is Joe, my little boy.” “Oh, he’s gorgeous, Miss!” Naomi crouched beside Joe as the others fussed around him and Poppy introduced them.

“Have you got a boyfriend, then, Miss?” Tracy asked, curiously.

“Husband, you mean!” Linda hissed and nudged her friend in the ribs.

“No,” Poppy smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband. But we’re quite happy, just me and Joe, aren’t we, Joe?”

She ruffled his hair. He beamed at her, enjoying the attention of his new friends.

The kids didn’t seem fazed by their teacher’s unmarried motherhood, but she hadn’t expected them to be. They were too young to be prejudiced or judgmental. Those had to be taught, and Poppy saw her job as teaching more positive values. “Does he see his dad?” Naomi asked. “Shut up, Naomi!” Linda hissed. “It’s all right, Linda.” Poppy smiled. “And no, it’s just me and Joe.”

The simple fact, she knew now, was that she and Joe’s father should never have been together. They came from different backgrounds and were heading for different futures. But they’d been university freshers, full of hormones – and because she had Joe now, she wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Mickey squatted at Joe’s height and confided, “It’s all right not to have a dad, mate. I ain’t got one either.”

“I’ve got two,” Tracy said. “But you could keep both of them for all the use they are.”

“Is Joe coming on the walk with us?” asked Naomi, taking the child’s hand.

“No, I think you’d get too tired, wouldn’t you Joe?” said Poppy. “He’s going to have a lovely day in the play area with Madame Grand.”

“Come on, Joe,” said Tracy, taking his other hand. “Let’s go and find Madame Grand. She’s our French teacher.”

Abunch of teachers, parents and children were hanging around in groups, chatting outside the pavilion.

Poppy looked around for Harry Cavendish. The thought of his wry smile and dove-grey eyes always put a spring in her step as she was coming to work, even though she knew she was being silly. Like most of the male staff, he only had eyes for the legs of Pamela Brahms, the statuesque sports teacher.

Poppy let out a sigh as she found no sign of the handsome maths teacher. She couldn’t miss Pamela, though, in her dazzling white shorts and tight-fitting tennis shirt. The brunette’s cut glass tones sliced through the hubbub as she bossed around some volunteer parents who were manning the refreshments table.

As Tracy and Naomi led Joe to the nearby swings and roundabout, where the mother hen-like Madame Grand was supervising some of the other teachers’ children, Poppy went to the desk where Cecil Deadwood, the headmaster, was recording the laps of the walkers.

He glanced at his watch, handed her a supervisor sash and said without a smile, “Good of you to join us, Miss Fields.”

“I’m always happy to support the school – on my day off,” she smiled, with equal sarcasm.

Deadwood snorted, and as Poppy turned away she wondered if she was

“It’s all right not to HAVE A DAD, mate. I ain’t GOT ONE either”

“The IMPORTANT thing is that you do whatever YOU WANT to do”

sailing too close to the wind with the school’s old guard. She couldn’t help it, though. They were just so rigid.

The kids were waiting for her on the path and they set off together. Poppy was proud of the little group that had latched onto her in her few weeks at Gas Street. Their desire to learn was as unquenchable as a long-starved hunger and the way they followed her around made her feel she was doing something right, even if the rest of the staff disapproved of her style.

Not that she liked the idea of having teacher’s pets. She wanted to help all the school’s often troubled kids. “Lampy!” she snapped. Billy Lamp, a hulking thirteen-year-old Teddy Boy, looked up guiltily from where he was twisting the arm of the much smaller Ernie Dean behind a nearby tree.

“Leave him alone, and come and walk with the rest of us. Both of you,” Poppy instructed.

Lampy eyed her warily, then reluctantly ambled towards them, his big square chin tucked into his chest. He was as tall as she was.

“Come on, Lampy,” Poppy said in a softer tone. “You’re a big, tough lad. You should be looking after the smaller boys. If you did, people would look up to you.”

She studied his face, and wondered if she was getting through. With his eyes averted, it was hard to tell. She decided to give it time to sink in.

“Have you got your radio with you?” she asked cheerily.

“Yeah,” Lampy mumbled in his gravelly voice, and pulled a small portable from the pocket of his long black jacket.

“Let’s have some music while we walk, then.”

“You’re not like the other teachers, Miss,” Mickey beamed, dancing alongside her to the accompaniment of Mungo Jerry singing InTheSummerTime. “Aren’t I?” “It’s like they all come from another planet,” elaborated Mickey. “You’re more like one of us.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Poppy chuckled. “Everyone’s the same really, though. We’re all just people.”

“We’re not really like you though, are we?” said Tracy. “I mean you’ve been to university and whatnot and we all failed our eleven-plus.”

“Hey, I only just scraped through the eleven-plus,” Poppy told her. “And I only got a degree by the skin of my teeth. If I could get through university with a baby in my arms, I’m sure you could. You’ve just got to want to.”

“Imagine Lampy at university!” Mickey laughed.

“I ain’t goin’ to no university!” Lampy took a swipe at him as Mickey danced out of the way.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t,” said Poppy. “The important thing is that you do whatever you want to do, and don’t ever believe anybody who says you can’t.”

“I’m gonna be a hairdresser, like me mum,” said Tracy.

“I’m gonna be a government artist,” Mickey laughed, “and draw the dole!”

“What’s happened to the music, Lampy?” Poppy asked. “Battery’s gone flat.” “We’ll have to sing then,” Poppy declared. “Not singing!” said Mickey. “It’ll have to be just us girls then,” said Poppy. Taking Tracy and Naomi’s hands, she began to sing I’ d Like To Teach The World To Sing in a sweet soprano.

Before long, even Mickey was joining in, although he was singing the words to the Coca-Cola advert, rather than the New Seekers’ version.

“Ah, that’s what I like to hear!” a lusty Welsh voice announced. “Proper singing!”

Poppy glanced back to see Colin Burns, the bearded science teacher, trotting to catch up with them, in his shorts and rugby shirt.

“Come on, Lampy, let’s hear that lovely baritone, boyo!” the Welshman urged, as he joined in heartily.

“I think we should start a school choir, don’t you?” Colin beamed at Poppy.

“I think we should,” she agreed.

Orange juice, Poppy?” Harry was waiting in cream slacks and a check sports jacket, a paper cup in each hand, as Poppy came off the path for a break.

“Now there’s a welcome sight!” Poppy grinned as she took a cup, gratefully.

“You’re a life saver,” agreed Colin, hand outstretched.

“Sorry, Colin, I’ve started this one.” Harry’s grey eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it? I’d better go and get my own, then.” The disgruntled science teacher followed the kids running towards the refreshment table.

Left alone with Harry, Poppy said, “You even wear your tie on Saturdays?”

“We are on duty.” Harry fingered the striped silk.

“It’s not our school tie, though, is it?” Poppy said before she could stop herself. “It’s from that posh school you went to.”

“Please don’t start that business again,” Harry murmured. “Sorry.” “There’s nothing wrong with being proud of the school you went to,” Harry insisted. “Wouldn’t you want 3E to remember the things you taught them?”

“Yes... but I can’t see Mickey and Lampy wearing Gas Street ties when they’re thirty!” Poppy laughed, and was relieved when Harry did too.

Blushing a little under the warmth of his gaze, she glanced around for her pupils and groaned inwardly when she saw Pamela strolling towards them. She might have known the sports teacher wouldn’t leave her alone with Harry for long.

“At least we know now why you’re always late,” Pamela gave her the most dazzling false smile Poppy had ever seen. “It can’t be easy bringing up a son without a husband.” “I manage.” Poppy narrowed her eyes. “Still,” Pamela sighed, “I suppose absent fathers are the curse of our times. I wouldn’t be surprised if half our fifth formers end up in the club, even without your influence.” “I beg your pardon?” Poppy snapped. “There was no need for that, Pamela!” Harry cut in sternly. “Poppy has done nothing but good for this school. I’ve seen in my own classes how much more polite, attentive and eager to learn the kids have been since Poppy started teaching them.”

“Hmmm.” Pamela pouted. “Well this hippy-drippy approach might be all the rage but it wouldn’t work on kids like Beefy Harris. Plenty of cane is what that lot need, and the younger they are when you show them who’s boss, the better.”

Before Poppy could swallow enough of her outrage to respond, there was an outbreak of shouting and running as two girls crashed to the grass with a grip on each other’s hair.

“What did I tell you?” Pamela muttered. “Stop that at once!” The sports teacher bellowed as she sprinted off to tug the combatants apart.

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” Poppy said, as they watched Pamela yelling at the unrepentant girls.

“It was all true.” Harry pushed back his blond hair. “Look, Poppy, I know you think I’m a stuck-up public schoolboy but I came to Gas Street for the same reason you did – to try and give these kids a better chance.” He gazed at Pamela, as she marched the girls to the gates with loud promises of detention.

“I guess I had some of the zeal knocked out of me along the way,” Harry admitted.

“Let’s hope you get it back,” Poppy told him.

What do you think of all this talk about going comprehensive?” Colin asked, as he carried a plate of shepherd’s pie and a dish of spotted dick and custard to the corner of the riotous dining hall where Poppy, Harry and Pamela were already eating.

“Deadwood’s against it, of course,” the Welshman went on as he sat down in his white lab coat, with his knees sticking up above a table designed for infants. “He’s scared that if we merge with the grammar school he’ll be second in command.”

“Cecil would resign before that happened,” said Pamela, whose gazellelike legs were bent up just as awkwardly.

“That would be no loss,” said Poppy, between forkfuls of pie. She loved the dinners at Gas Street and always lined up with Lampy and Mickey for seconds.

“I shouldn’t think Mr Deadwood would like to hear you say that,” Pamela glared at her. “Especially in front of the children.”

Naomi, who was sitting at Poppy’s elbow, tucked her head down as she ate and pretended not to be listening. Mickey, at the end of the table, made no such pretence – he was all ears and eyes as the adults conversed.

“Half our FIFTH FORMERS will end up IN THE CLUB EVEN WITHOUT YOUR INFLUENCE”

“It’s about time we dragged this place into the twentieth century,” Poppy said, unrepentantly.

“You would say that,” Pamela sniffed. “Some of us prefer the traditional values of discipline and order to all this anythinggoes, Swinging Sixties stuff.”

“It’s the Seventies, Miss,” said Mickey, and earned himself a glare. “What about you, Harry?” Colin asked. “Yes, Harry,” Pamela purred. “Surely I can count on you to support Mr Deadwood and myself in trying to stop this nonsense?”

“I actually think the comprehensive system is a good idea,” Harry began.

“Well, really, Harry!” Pamela banged her fork on her plate. “I’m surprised that a man who went to the school you did would want to hold back the brightest kids by mixing them in with this lot!”

“These are the kids being held back, by the Tripartite system!” Poppy said hotly.

“I quite agree, Poppy,” Harry said firmly. “Comprehensives are about giving everyone an equal chance. A broader curriculum. Better facilities for us, too.”

“We could do with some of those!” Colin agreed.

Pamela harrumphed. “Next you’ll be wanting to abolish school uniforms.”

“Yay, no uniforms!” Mickey drummed his fists on the table and made everybody’s plates dance.

Pamela pointed her fork at the boy. “Well, it’s not going to happen, sunshine.”

The stink of chlorine, boisterous splashing, slap of bare feet on wet tiles and echoing shouts brought back queasy adolescent memories for Poppy. She’d never been a sporty girl, and school swimming lessons supervised by belittling tyrants like Pamela had never been much fun for her.

As she squeezed into her bikini as an adult, she wished she hadn’t queued up for quite so many second puddings in the dining hall. Pamela, of course, swam like a shark. Poppy stood on the side of the public baths, with a sarong tied around her hips, and watched the sports teacher ploughing up and down like an Olympian in a sleek black one-piece and matching cap. Harry was racing her through the foam as if they’d forgotten they were supposed to be supervising a class of teenagers.

It was no use getting her hopes up, Poppy realised with a sigh. Harry may have proved an unexpected ally in her views on education, but in his accent, athleticism and background, he and Pamela were two of a type.

For the first time in a long time, Poppy thought of Joe’s father. He’d still had the awkwardness of youth when she’d known him, they both had. But she reckoned he’d look something like Harry now, with the same assured style. He’d always had the accent and the sense of entitlement that went with it.

“You come down the SHALLOW END and HELP ME with the beginners”

Even when she was pregnant, she’d known it wouldn’t work. They lived in different worlds. Like her and Harry.

“Go on, get out there!” The bark of a Welsh accent made her turn in time to see Colin ejecting Lampy and Kipper from the boys’ changing room.

“Smoking in the showers, they were!” Colin held up a confiscated cigarette packet as he walked over in a pair of black trunks. “Don’t suppose you fancy a puff?” the bearded teacher asked. “Not for me.” Poppy laughed. “Not much of a swimmer?” Colin guessed shrewdly. “Not really,” she confessed. “Well, you come down the shallow end and help me with the beginners.”

When the bus got back to Gas Street, the kids were off in a flash, leaving just a lingering smell of Brut aftershave. “Splash it all over!” as Mickey had mimicked the television ads.

As Poppy sorted out her straw bag, she couldn’t help eyeing Harry and Pamela, chatting by the door. Both were relaxed and glowing from their exertions in the pool. She felt a stab of jealousy as Pamela said something quietly and gave Harry a playful little tap on the cheek before jumping off the bus with a chuckle. “Poppy, I hope you don’t mind me asking…” She became aware of Colin standing close to her. His face was also quite red, but she didn’t think it was from swimming.

“I was wondering,” he said awkwardly, “if you might like to come for a drink with me over the weekend?”

“Oh!” Poppy looked at Harry, who was still at the door, looking her way. Waiting for them? she wondered. Or waiting to see how she answered Colin?

It was a couple of weeks since Colin had last issued an invitation and she’d hoped he wouldn’t again. He was a nice man, but not really her type. Even so, she felt bad about brushing him off last time and didn’t want to hurt him.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, eyeing Harry.

“Oh, I know you can’t go out in the evenings because of Joe,” Colin said. “I was thinking of Sunday lunchtime at that pub by the Rec.

“It’s got a garden so you could bring Joe along. I could bring a ball and maybe have a kick about with him in the park afterwards.”

Poppy couldn’t help but be touched by his thoughtfulness and realised it would make a change for her and Joe not to spend Sunday with her parents. “That would be nice.” She smiled. She glanced back to the door and was just in time to see Harry step down into the playground, his eyes lowered.