Stranger At The Door, Day31

With a curt nod, he left Sarah rooted to the spot with shock until the tears overflowed

Mr Leadbetter was staring again at Pud Maxton. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked. “Alexander Maxton, but they cry me Pud ’cause Ah’m fat.” Mr Leadbetter peered at the register. “When are you takin’ oor foties?” sounded a voice. Mr Leadbetter jumped slightly as Abie Makin made his enquiry. There was a murmured echo of enquiry from the rest of the children. “Quiet, children.” Sarah tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. Pud Maxton was tugging at his collar.

“If he doesna hurry up an’ take the foties, ah’ll choke,” he announced. “This collar’s too ticht.” Mr Leadbetter glared at him. “I am not here to take photographs. I am here to see if you are learning your lessons properly. How old are you, boy?”

Pud Maxton didn’t answer but applied himself earnestly to his book. His classmates followed suit. Sarah lifted the pointer.

“Look at the blackboard, children,” she said, wondering why Rachel had tiptoed from her seat at the back and was tugging Mr Leadbetter’s sleeve. A moment later he followed her pupil to the back of the class, where Rachel proceeded to give him a tour of the table where special things, including her flower book, had been laid out. He seemed interested.

Complaint

Sarah’s voice steadied and the normal rhythm of lessons began. It was near noon when the visitor finished making notes and snapped his briefcase shut.

“I’d like a word with you before I go,” he told Sarah. “Dismiss the children for the rest of the day.” The room emptied in record time, and Mr Leadbetter did not mince his words.

“I’m here because there’s been a complaint from the new dominie that many of the children from Langrigg are not attending school. He told me that you are running a school of sorts here, so the Board felt that enquiries should be made.”

Sarah suddenly felt the heat of the anger that was rising in her. “When I assisted my father, he always complained that there was poor attendance among the children, which wasn’t surprising, since they’d to walk upwards of two miles to the school,” she said.

Mr Leadbetter stared at her in astonishment. “The School Board have been approached about this several times,” Sarah went on, “by Mrs Mary Ellen Walker. Nothing was done. She asked me to start a class for the younger children, and the Wee School, as it’s known, has grown from that in a few months.”

“Ah.” Mr Leadbetter gave the ghost of a smile and wagged his finger at Sarah. “But there are children here who are of an age where they should be attending the dominie’s school. And while I am on that particular subject, I should mention that several dates of birth are missing from the register.”

He paused for breath. “That Alexander Maxton, for instance. A boy who seemed to be altogether too big for his seat,” he finished triumphantly.

“A boy who truanted nearly every day when my father was dominie,” was Sarah’s reply. “And he’s not alone in that. I’m not going to turn him and others like him away, even if their parents decline to give their dates of birth.

“If these children are going to have any chance at all in life, they’ll have to start by learning their lessons.”

Mr Leadbetter stared at her for what seemed a very long time and Sarah suddenly felt very tired. He cleared his throat.

“I like much of what I’ve seen here today, Mistress Morrison, and I commend you for your efforts. However, I must report back to the School Board, and until I have their final decision on the matter, I must ask you to suspend teaching.”

Sarah stared at him. “Close the school?” “Yes. I’ll be in touch with you as soon as a decision has been reached.” With a curt nod, he left Sarah rooted to the spot with shock until the tears overflowed.

Crying

Mary Ellen, making her usual visit to the house, found Sarah with eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Dinna take on so, Sarah,” she told her briskly. “Everything’ll work out just fine, you’ll see. Leadbetter liked what he saw. And the bairns’ll enjoy their wee holiday, even if they drive their mithers demented.”

Daniel came in at that and was told the news. He struggled to control his anger as Mary Ellen signalled to him with a slight shake of her head.

“Would this no’ be a good time for Sarah to go and see her father, Daniel?” she asked. “She’s been worried about havin’ to close the school so that she could get away to Edinburgh for a few days. Now the problem’s solved.”

Sarah’s expression brightened. “What do you think, Daniel?” she asked. “It’s worth considering,” was his answer.

The expression on his face told Mary Ellen that there should be no delay. Bit by bit, Sarah’s spirits rose as the arrangements were discussed for her to leave the next day.

“The sooner ye’re away, the sooner ye’ll be back,” Mary Ellen said encouragingly as plans were made.

Once they were home again, Mary Ellen recounted the day’s news to her husband. “I feel for thae young anes, Pate.” She sighed. “It’s ae thing after anither for the two o’ them, and they’ve hardly got settled inta their married life.”

Pate’s reply was suddenly drowned out by a commotion out in the street. The strains of a melodeon were backed by a ragged outburst of cheering and laughter. Mary Ellen went to investigate. She came back smiling.

“Get your crutches, Pate, and I’ll pit a chair at the door for you. Auld Sanny Black’s doin’ the clug wallop, an’ his son’s playin’ the melodeon for him.”

Pate had already reached for his crutches. “It’s many a long day since Sanny gied us a dance.” He laughed. “This Ah’ve got tae see.”

Disappointed

In the street outside, the children, still in their finery, were gathered, clapping in time to the music and an old man was dancing on a square of wood, his heavy boots beating a tattoo on it. On the fringe of the crowd, some of the mothers, their skirts hitched up to their knees, were joining in the dance. As it ended, Mrs Makin smoothed down her skirt and came over to Mary Ellen.

“The bairns were a’ dressed up and disappointed about the photies, so we decided to have a wee party, even though it’s gey cauld,” she explained.

“Will we get biscuits ’n’ that?” A dishevelled Abie appeared at his mother’s elbow, just as Nellie Burnett sidled up to Mary Ellen. “The weans were sent hame at dinner time,” Nellie, the village gossip, began. “Is there somethin’ goin’ on?”

“Mistress Morrison’s got tae go tae Edinburgh on family business,” Mary Ellen informed her.

“The Wee School’ll be closed for a few days till she gets back. Now you get away and dae what you dae best, Nellie. Spread the word. It’ll save Mistress Morrison puttin’ a notice on the school door.”

There was no reply. Mary Ellen chuckled as she saw Nellie approach the nearest group of mothers at a brisk trot.

More tomorrow.

This story was originally written specially for The People’s Friend, which published it under the title The Life We Choose. There’s more fiction in The People’s Friend every week, available from newsagents and supermarkets at £1.30.

Artwork: Andrew Lloyd Jones