Part 4 (1/2)

”Just listen a moment, will you, Thomas,” I said, catching sight of Mrs. Dunn sitting at the back of the room with a self-satisfied smile on her face. She seemed to be quite enjoying my discomfort. ”We can perhaps talk about that later on. Now I want us all to look very carefully at this picture of the rabbit. I saw quite a few rabbits this morning asl-'

”My granddad kills them an' all,” said Thomas. ”He pegs a little string net ower t'rabbit warren holes and lets one of his jills down.”

”Jills?” I asked.

”His ferret. He keeps her half fed to make her keen. If he underfeeds her, she eats t'rabbit and won't come up out of t'ole. If he overfeeds her she won't go down at all. He lets her down thole and she chases t'rabbits out into t'net. Then my granddad breaks their necks. He's reight good at that.”

”Really,” I said feebly. ”Well perhaps later on we could hear all about that, Thomas, but for the moment let's look at the picture and think of the shapes and colours in it.” I selected the final large photograph of a dormouse and decided on a pre-emptive strike. ”And what about dormice, Thomas? Does your granddad kill those as well and hang them up on the fence?”

”No, he quite likes dormice. They don't really do any harm.”

Thank goodness for that, I thought. ”Right then,” I said cheerfully, 'let's all look at this shy little dormouse, clinging to a stalk of wheat. Look carefully at the colour of his fur and his large round eyes which'

”Sheba kills dormice, though,” said Thomas in his flat, matter-of-fact voice.

”Sheba?” I sighed.

”Our farm cat. She catches 'em in t'fields, carries 'em into t'kitchen and plays with 'em before killing 'em. We try to get 'em off of'er but she runs off.”

”I see,” I said wearily.

”And sometimes she brings shrews into t'kitchen an' all, and bites their 'eads off and'

”Is there anyone else who would like to say anything about animals?” I interrupted, in the hope of changing the subject. A small, pixie-faced little boy sitting right under my nose raised his hand eagerly.

”Yes?” I said pleasantly, looking into the keen little face. ”What have you to tell me?”

”I've got frogs on my underpants,” he announced proudly.

By the end of the morning the children had produced some short, interesting poems about the animals. Most were not about little, soft-furred moles, adorable little dormice, gambolling rabbits or playful squirrels but were blunt, realistic descriptions of the animals that they knew so much about far more than I ever would. They clearly did not need a set of large photographs to prompt them. There were images of 'fierce, sharp-toothed badgers', 'crows which picked at the dead animals on the road', 'fat, black rats that hid in the hay' and 'red foxes creeping behind the hen coop'. Thomas's effort was quite clearly the best: On a frosty morning, my granddad Takes his jill to catch rabbits.

She has a little blue collar and a silver bell, Tiny red eyes and creamy fur, And she trembles in his hands.

”Thomas lives on the farm at the top of the dale,” explained Mrs. Dunn as we headed in the direction of the school hall for lunch. She was quite animated and talkative. ”Like most farming children, he's been brought up to be unsentimental about animals. They are on the farm for a purpose, not as pets, and any creature which affects their livelihood is regarded as a pest. You should hear what he's got to say about foxes.” She paused for a moment before adding, ”Thomas has a great deal to say for himself, hasn't he? You might have guessed, Mr. Phinn, he's Oliver's younger brother.”

At lunch I sat between Thomas and an angelic-looking little girl. The boy surveyed me for a moment. ”Meat and tatey pie for lunch,” he said rubbing his hands. ”My favourite.” He stared at me for a moment. ”I reckon you won't be 'having any.”

”Why is that?” I asked, intrigued.

”You're probably one of those vegetarians. Me granddad doesn't like vegetarians. He says they take the meat out of his mouth. ”There's nothing better than a good bit o' beef on your plate or a nice bit o' pork on your fork.” That's what my granddad says. He doesn't like vegetarians, my granddad.”

Woe betide any vegetarian foolish enough to cross his granddad's land, I thought to myself. They'd end up, along with the moles and the squirrels, hanging up on t'fence.

Before I could inform Thomas that I was not, in fact, a vegetarian, the little angel sitting next to me whispered shyly, ”I like rabbits.”

”So do I,” I replied.

”My daddy likes rabbits too.”

”Does he?”

”And my mummy likes rabbits.”

”That's nice.”

She took a mouthful of meat and potato pie before adding quietly, ”They taste really good with onions.”

I am certain that I learnt more from the children that morning at Highcopse Primary School than they did from me. Heading back to the office after lunch, on that bright autumnal afternoon, along the twisting ribbon of road, I came once more upon the swaying box on wheels with the cut-out hand waving ”Have a nice day' in the back window. I glanced again at the driver as I overtook. He gave me his shaky wave. I smiled and waved back. I was in such a good mood that had the extremely dirty-looking individual still been at the side of the road intent on getting to York, I might very well have stopped to give him a lift.

Later that afternoon, on my way back from collecting some guideline doc.u.ments from the Print Room, I b.u.mped into George Lapping in a corridor in County Hall.

”h.e.l.lo,” he said laconically.

”What are you doing at County Hall, George?” I asked. ”I thought you rarely ventured out of Backwatersthwaite.”

”I've been dragooned,” he said.

”Pardon?”

”Enlisted, press-ganged, selected to sit on one of these advisory committees. I got the sort of invitation you couldn't refuse from the CEO. It's on ”Key Skills”. Now what do I know about key skills? You're responsible, putting me in the spotlight and encouraging that H MI to visit me. I knew it would happen.”

”I meant to give you a ring about the HMI. She's been then, has she?”

”Oh, she's been all right,” he replied with a wry chuckle.

”Have you got a minute, George?” I asked him. ”Just let's pop into one of the empty committee rooms and you can fill me in.”

A moment later George was giving me a blow-by-blow account of the visitation of Miss Winifred de la Mare, H MI.

”For a start,” began George, ”I didn't remember receiving this letter which she said she sent, saying when she would be coming, so it was a real shock when she arrived on my doorstep. I was walking up the path to the school one morning just before half past eight and, as I always do, I paused to admire the view. Anyway, as I approached the entrance a huge brown creature jumped out at me. It gave me the shock of my life. I thought at first it was a grizzly bear. When I had calmed down a bit, I realised it was, in fact, a large woman in thick brown tweeds, heavy brogues and this hat in the shape of a flowerpot.

' ”You were expecting me!” she snaps.

' ”Was I?” I replied.

'”Yes!” says she.

' ”Oh!” says I. ' ”I wrote you a letter,” says she.

' ”Did you?” says I. ' ”Did you not get it?” she asks.

' ”I might have,” I replied.

' ”It was very important,” says she.

' ”Was it?” says I. ' ”Official!” says she. ”In a large brown envelope.”

' ”Really?” says I. ' ”The name is de la Mare,” says she. ”Do you not remember?”

' ”Can't say as I do,” says I.”