04 Village Teacher Read Online Free Page B

have done in her sleep. Sadly, routines change.
    On Wednesday morning a watery sunlight filtered through the wind-torn clouds and cast a tapestry of flickering shadows on the land below. The drive on the back road from Kirkby Steepleton to Ragley village was always a pleasure on an autumn morning and I wound down the window as I trundled along. The last of the ripe barley, soon to be harvested, shimmered in the gentle breeze. Fields of russet gold swayed in sinuous rhythm in perfect harmony with the light and shade. It was a sight that lifted the spirit and satisfied the soul. However, while there was peace on earth, goodwill to all men was to be in short supply in the school office.
    Vera frowned at the short, plump, prematurely balding man wearing a creased red polo shirt with a bolt of lightning logo that looked as if he was auditioning for a part in
Flash Gordon
. In Mr Graham Grubb’s opinion, the gleaming new electric typewriter could virtually operate itself and he wasn’t going to waste much time on this old dear who was looking at him as if he’d forgotten to do his maths homework.
    ‘Right you are, Miss Heavens,’ he said, ‘first of all I’ll switch it on and then you need to sit comfortably. Now remember: listen and you’ll learn; don’t and you won’t.’
    Vera took an instant dislike to this pompous young man with his well-rehearsed patter and complete lack of charm. ‘It’s Evans, not Heavens … and will you be sucking Polo mints throughout the entire demonstration?’ said Vera in a cool, disarming manner.
    ‘Er, no, Miss, er, Evans,’ he mumbled and quickly placed his half-sucked mint into a grubby handkerchief.
    Now that the pecking order in her office had been established, Vera glared at this newfangled contraption in its shiny case and wondered where the carriage-return handle was hiding. ‘Very well,’ she said regally, ‘let us begin.’
    Mr Grubb coughed nervously and recommenced. ‘Well, Miss Evans, you feed t’paper in t’same way as y’manual and then ’old yer ’ands in a different position.’ He held out his hands over the keyboard as if he were blessing it. ‘So y’touch-typing will be a lot lighter on this ’un than on y’manual. Y’ll notice t’print will be constant, like, and won’t be light or dark like on y’old typewriter.’
    Vera frowned again.
Her
typing was always constant.
    ‘An’ y’replacement ribbons are in a cartridge in a plastic container, so no more mucky fingers,’ continued the young engineer. ‘An’, best of all, as there’s no carriage return, ’cause y’typeball an’ ribbon move from side t’side. A quick flick of y’little finger on t’return key an’ t’golf-ball goes back to t’left ’and margin.’
    This had an impact on Vera. If there was no carriage return she could organize her desk differently. Her ‘Flowers of England’ coaster, a picture of lavender in full bloom, could now have a new home on the right-hand side of the machine. Things might not be as bad as they first seemed, even if this young man did drop his aitches.
    ‘But you’ll ’ave t’be careful, Miss Evans,’ said Mr Grubb insistently, ‘of not accidentally touching t’space bar.’ He stared at Vera and nodded as if a problem had been solved. ‘But
you’ll
be OK,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It’s jus’ ladies with, er, large, er, y’know, big b-b-bosoms, when they lean forward,’ he stuttered.
    Vera’s frosty stare switched from cool to glacial. ‘Are we finished, Mr Grubb?’
    ‘Y-yes,’ he said, quickly switching off the typewriter and now eager to escape, ‘so any problems, jus’ ring IBM.’
    ‘IBM?’ said Vera.
    ‘International Business Machines, Miss Evans – or, as they say in t’trade, “I’ve Been Married”!’ He scurried away and shot off down the drive in his little white van.
    Meanwhile, Vera’s brother, Joseph Evans, had called in to take his weekly Religious Education lesson. He was teaching Sally’s class and