There were fewer there than Tom had expected, but they all knew Jack. They had clearly dressed for the occasion, as if for church, many of the suits as shiny as Tom’s own (he deliberately hadn’t worn his new, birthday-present one) and were for the most part middle-aged, the youngest being at least thirty. There were even, to his astonishment, a few women, mostly middle-aged too, but a couple of young ones, rather depressingly dressed, in drab too-long skirts, and shapeless cardigans over equally shapeless jumpers. Angela would not have admired their style, he thought.
Jack introduced him to a few of the men. He clearly regarded the women as not worthy of his attention. They were all friendly; Jack had told him he wasn’t to make a great song and dance about what he did for a living, but a couple of them asked Tom and he wasn’t going to lie. They seemed impressed, and then to Tom’s absolute astonishment, Jack said, ‘Oh, he’s a bright lad, all right. Went to the grammar school, you know, did his Higher. Three Distinctions, wasn’t it, Tom?’
It was the first time Tom could ever remember his father boasting about, or even admitting to, his academic success.
‘By heavens, you must be a clever one,’ said one of the men. He held out his hand to shake Tom’s. ‘Ted Moore. Very glad to welcome you, Tom. We need some young blood, especially of your calibre.’ He smiled at him. ‘I hope you’ll decide to join the party.’
‘I already have,’ said Tom.
At seven, the committee took their places on the platform, and the minutes of the last meeting were read and signed. Then came Any Other Business, mostly such matters as whether the two failed street lights on the High Road had yet been given the attention of the council, and who should represent the branch at the forthcoming Remembrance Day parade.
At eight o’clock, tea was served by the ladies, together with some very dried-up cheese sandwiches and extremely soggy biscuits. In the middle of this, Alan Broadburn, the evening’s speaker, arrived, flustered and red in the face. He had been held up at the town hall. ‘By the mayor. I did tell him of course that I had this meeting to attend, but he wanted my opinion on something rather important.’
Tom wondered what the important matter was, but he guessed it was more likely to be about street lights or dustbins than any matter of national concern. He made a note that at the next meeting – not this one; Jack would be horrified at his drawing attention to himself so early – he would raise the matter of the possible need for public air-raid shelters. If it took months to get street lamps mended, how on earth would any shelters get dug before the war was a distant memory?
The chairman, Councillor Roberts, clapped his hands and asked everyone to return to their seats as Councillor Broadburn would now give his talk on ‘Challenges in Education in Hilchester’ adding rather peremptorily, ‘And perhaps the ladies would clear the things away?’
The ladies were clearly going to miss at least the beginning of the talk, which seemed very unfair to Tom. He half rose to offer help, but Jack tugged at his jacket and shook his head at him in disapproval.
‘Let them do it,’ he said, his voice low, looking anxiously about him lest anyone should have noticed. ‘That’s their job, they expect it.’
Councillor Broadburn rose to his feet and cleared his throat, pulling out a sheaf of notes from his large, shabby briefcase. Tom was rather pleased by the subject, clearly an advance on street lighting, despite his concern about the ladies. Then, just as the talk began, the door burst open and a girl came in. She had clearly been running as she was out of breath, her face flushed. It was a very pretty face, Tom noted, crowned by brown curls, with big brown eyes and what one of Angela’s magazines would have described as a rosebud mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘So sorry. I missed the bus.’
‘Councillor Broadburn is only just starting his talk,’ the chairman said. ‘The other ladies are washing up. Perhaps you could go and give them a hand before you sit down.’
This was clearly designed as a reprimand, but the girl was not to be put in any place except a chair in front of Mr Broadburn.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve come to hear the talk. It’s of great interest to me as I’m a teacher and I don’t want to miss any of it. I’m happy to wash up afterwards.’
Her brown eyes met the chairman’s defiantly; he could hardly insist without causing a scene. The talk began.
If Tom had expected to hear a debate on standards of education, or the relative merits of the state and private schools in Hilchester, he was to be disappointed; it was an elongated and very boring rant about the conditions in the schools: leaking roofs, constantly failing heating systems, cracked windows, and most important of all, a shortage of basic stationery, not just paper, but pens and pencils. ‘Shocking, it is, quite shocking. And of course it’s all down to lack of funds, and has this government helped? Of course they haven’t. The education budget is a disgrace. Totally insufficient, but why should they care, their children are all in the private school, no worn blackboards or leaking roofs at Eton, we can be sure of that . . .’
There was a loud ‘hear, hear’.
The late-arrival girl put her hand up.
The chairman shook his head at her disapprovingly
‘Questions at the end, if you please, Miss – Miss –?’
‘Leonard,’ she said, ‘Laura Leonard.’ She seemed undeterred by the reprimand. ‘I just wanted to say—’
‘There will be plenty of time for questions at the end,’ said the chairman firmly.
‘Well, at least he has all the right ideas,’ said Laura Leonard, uncrushed, ‘and we must be thankful for that at least. But I simply wanted to add my experience to raise another matter, closer to the matter under discussion.’
‘Miss – er – Leonard, I did say “questions at the end”,’ said the chairman rather feebly but Councillor Broadburn invited Miss Leonard to make her point.
‘Well, one problem at my school, St Joseph’s Hilchester Primary, East Hilton, is that—’
‘Position there?’ said the chairman, determined not to allow her the floor uninterrupted.
‘Deputy Headmistress,’ she said with a look that could only be described as smug, ‘and my problem is lack of books. They’re in really bad condition some of them, pages missing, that sort of thing. And I have to say, it’s getting worse. The children mistreat the books—’
‘Mistreat them? I find that very shocking. That seems to me to smack of a lack of discipline, Miss – er –’
‘Leonard,’ said Laura Leonard, her eyes brilliant, clearly fired up for battle. ‘I do assure you, we do our very best with discipline, in every area of school life, but why should children treat carefully a book with half the pages falling out? I spend quite a lot of time glueing them back each evening. But is it so surprising the boys decide to make darts with them?’
‘I’d have thought,’ said the chairman, seizing revenge, ‘well-disciplined children would do nothing of the sort. Perhaps those in your care—’
‘With respect, sir,’ said Laura Leonard, ‘there are thirty-seven children in my class. I do my very best, we all do, but some children are undisciplined at home and therefore disruptive at school. Without doubling the staff at our disposal, it is virtually impossible to keep order all the time. Perhaps you would like to make a visit to St Joseph’s one day and see for yourself?’