Today was the first day of the school holiday and staff and children celebrated the wedding of our school caretaker, Mrs Ruby Smith, at St Mary’s Church.
Extract from the Ragley & Morton School Logbook:
Saturday, 25 July 1987
It was a perfect morning and, where the sky met the earth, sunlight lit up the horizon with a rim of golden fire. The air was warm and a breathless promise hung over the fields of golden barley. The branches of the sycamores stirred with a sibilant whisper as the world awoke to a new day. It was Saturday, 25 July, Ruby’s wedding day, and a shaft of light streamed into our new kitchen.
It was eight o’clock and Beth was preparing to leave. ‘I’ve pressed your suit,’ she said, ‘and you’ll remember I’m going in early to help Vera with the flowers in church.’
‘That’s fine,’ I said, ‘and I’ll follow on with John. I’ll be there for ten thirty. I’m reading a lesson so I need to be prepared.’
Beth looked the perfect English rose in a pale blue two-piece suit with her honey-blonde hair in a French plait under a matching broad-brimmed hat.
‘I’ll meet you there,’ she called over her shoulder as she checked her appearance for the final time in the hall mirror. ‘And I’ve a couple of other things to do in Ragley.’
She picked up her gloves and handbag and hurried out.
Vera had already called in to 7 School View to check that all was well.
Diane Wigglesworth had arrived at the crack of dawn with her hairdressing equipment and a busy couple of hours awaited the Ragley hairdresser. However, she had done this many times.
‘Come on, Ruby,’ she said. ‘You first, then the bridesmaids.’
Joseph had gone for an early-morning walk to clear his head and he stopped outside George and Mary Hardisty’s cottage. With the summer colour of bright geraniums and the autumn fire of Virginia creeper on its whitewashed walls, it was a picture-postcard home. George was Ragley’s champion gardener and Joseph admired the scene. Beyond the colourful summer blooms and perfect lawn, George was busy hoeing between his rows of prize vegetables.
Joseph gestured towards Ragley’s finest garden. ‘Isn’t God great?’ he said.
George looked up and nodded with phlegmatic grace. ‘Yes, vicar, y’right there … but y’should ’ave seen this place when ’E ’ad it to ’Imself.’
Good point, thought Joseph, but he remained silent and walked on.
It was ten o’clock when I set off with John. All roads seemed to lead to St Mary’s and its ancient stone was lit up in the sunshine. It felt as though God was in His heaven and all was well on this momentous day.
We parked near the church and walked up the path to the entrance, where men in lively groups and ladies in summer dresses milled around. Our son was wearing a new suit and I had never seen him look so smart. How long he would stay like that was another matter.
Ruby’s son Duggie was acting as usher and giving out service sheets. Duggie only had one suit: the black frock coat he wore when he was walking in front of a funeral cortège. Consequently, he looked as if he was an extra in a remake of High Noon. Wisely, he had left his tall black top hat in the wardrobe at the funeral parlour.
‘Here y’are, Mr Sheffield,’ said Duggie, giving me a service sheet. ‘Sit where y’like.’
His new girlfriend, sexy Sonia from the shoe shop, was hovering in the background in a skimpy dress and sparkly six-inch stilettos. When she had asked Duggie why he had ‘TINA’ tattooed on his bum he said that Tina Turner was his favourite singer and that Sonia was his ‘Private Dancer’, and she had been daft enough to believe him. Meanwhile, Duggie was secretly pleased that her previous partner, a colour-blind wallpaper salesman from Hartlepool, had returned to the north-east.
The church shimmered in the morning heat haze, but inside it was cool and calm. Elsie Crapper had taken her Valium and was playing soothing music. The church had never looked more beautiful. Everything, from the candles to the altar cloth, was in place. The ladies from the cross-stitch club had contributed a floral display next to the pulpit and the tireless efforts of the flower-arranging group had added fragrance and colour. John and I found a seat at the end of a pew and Beth came to join us. I looked around. Suddenly sharp refracted sunlight from the stained-glass windows lit up the ancient stone and the altar. The pews were filling up rapidly and I looked at the friends I knew so well.
Major Rupert Forbes-Kitchener, looking every inch the local squire, was sitting with his daughter, the confident and elegant Virginia Anastasia. Rupert had provided his classic Bentley for the bride, with his chauffeur, the immaculate Tomkins, at the wheel.
Anne Grainger looked stunning in a mauve two-piece suit. She smiled in my direction and appeared more relaxed than usual. Next to her John Grainger was not only in a smart suit but he was also clean-shaven. John was being particularly attentive and Anne had wondered about his sudden change of heart during the last few days. Her DIY-obsessed husband had been replaced by an active and willing partner who reminded her of their early life together. It would be later when John confessed he had realized he was losing her to a handsome antiques dealer. For now he was trying to repair their fractured life and Anne had welcomed his change of heart.
Sally Pringle, as always, lived up to her extravagant dress sense with a bright yellow-and-pink summer outfit along with a spiky and ostentatious feathered hat that brought to mind an electrocuted flamingo. Colin, in a sober grey suit, had their daughter, Grace, on his knee and the happy little girl was looking more like her mother every day.
Pat Brookside was classically dressed in a beautiful navy blue suit. Next to her was her handsome partner, David Beckinsdale, and rumour had it, according to Vera, that they were about to become engaged.
The big surprise was Marcus Potts, who arrived with his girlfriend, Fiona. They walked into church hand in hand and Marcus could not have looked more content. Fiona had flown home from America to spend the summer vacation with her father in Cambridge. However, Marcus had persuaded the free-spirited young woman to join him for a week in York. They both waved in my direction and settled down near the back of the church.
Meanwhile, Shirley and Doreen, our cook and dinner lady, had made sure they were sitting at the end of the pew so they had the best view of Ruby when she walked down the aisle.
In the silent vestry Joseph opened the old wardrobe, took out his long black cassock and slipped it over his tall, gaunt frame. From the shelf above he selected a white surplice and cope and added them to his sartorial ensemble.
Finally, he held his white stole in his hands and stared at it for a long time. Vera had edged it with the most wonderful and intricate array of gold crosses and he cherished the memory. He lifted it to his face and kissed it gently. As he arranged it around his neck he shed private tears in the quiet sanctuary of this secluded space. He missed the companionship of his sister more than she would ever know and he carried his loneliness like a millstone of memories.
Earlier, George Dainty and Deke Ramsbottom had met with Joseph. They had visited the vestry and completed the formalities of payment for the legal fees and bell-ringers. Now they were sitting on the front pew waiting in anticipation.
George had bought a new three-piece suit from Harry Solomon in York and in his buttonhole he sported a white carnation. Deke had pulled out all the stops and gone for a Doc Holliday look straight out of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. He was wearing a long black duster coat, pinstriped trousers, wing-collar shirt, bootlace tie, Paisley waistcoat and black boots. While his sheriff’s badge was polished to a high shine, he had decided, on reflection, to leave his spurs at home as they jingled when he walked and he didn’t want to cause a distraction during the service.
At the front of the church, Ruby’s family had gathered. Thirty-three-year-old Racquel was sitting next to her husband at the end of a pew to keep an eye on little Krystal. Ruby’s granddaughter was to be a bridesmaid along with her youngest daughter, Hazel.
Sharon looked a picture as she held hands with Rodney Morgetroyd, who had delivered his milk earlier than usual to give him time to change into his Duran Duran suit. Meanwhile, Natasha was secretly holding hands with PC Julian Pike, who was dressed in his best uniform. They were seated next to Sergeant Dan Hunter and his wife Jo, who had been on the staff when I arrived at Ragley School. They waved in our direction from their pew and it was good to see they appeared content in their life together. I remembered the day they had first met in our village school. It really had been love at first sight.
Elsie Crapper rummaged through her pile of scores and selected a piece of music that would set the scene. It had been chosen by George. ‘That advert on t’telly,’ he said, ‘y’know, where they say ’appiness is a cigar called ’Amlet … the mild cigar.’
It was the only piece of classical music that George could recall.
Elsie spread out her sheet music of J. S. Bach’s Air on the G String and began to play. Predictably, there was a muttering among the men in the congregation keen to show their knowledge of popular cigar advertisements. She followed this with Luigi Boccherini’s ‘Minuet in A’ from String Quintet in E Major, Opus 13, No. 5, one of her favourites which, for Elsie, was almost as good as Valium.
Ruby arrived in style in the Major’s classic Bentley, complete with Tomkins the chauffeur. There was a cheer from the parents and children who had gathered by the lych-gate outside the church.
By her side was her eldest son, Andy, who was pleased that his mother had found some happiness at last. He knew times had been difficult for her over many years, but that was about to change. In recent months he and George had talked long into the night and he knew his mother was marrying a good man.
‘Jus’ look at t’bridesmaids, Margery – pretty as a picture,’ said Betty Buttle.
‘Takes y’back,’ said Margery wistfully.
‘A bit of ’appiness at last for Ruby,’ said Betty.
Margery nodded knowingly. ‘An’ she deserves it.’
Hazel and Krystal wore pink short-sleeved dresses with matching jackets. Each girl carried a tiny posy and had summer flowers in her hair, and Hazel was keeping a careful eye on her little niece.
Vera looked the picture of elegance in a beautiful lace-trimmed lilac dress. Outside the church door she was making final adjustments to Ruby’s collar. The bride’s outfit was simple in design but perfect for her special day. With Vera’s help, Ruby had selected a flowing light blue silk skirt with a matching long jacket and a pale cream blouse. Diane the hairdresser had worked wonders with Ruby’s chestnut curls and they framed her rosy, dimpled cheeks. Her bouquet comprised six roses, one to represent each of her children, and the fragrant flowers had been selected with exquisite care by Vera from her garden.
‘There,’ said Vera, after she had rearranged the bow on Ruby’s blouse. ‘Just perfect.’
‘Ah never thought ah were beautiful enough t’get married, Mrs F.’
Vera looked at her friend. ‘My dear Ruby,’ she said softly, ‘this is your day and you look lovely. George is a lucky man.’
Andy stepped forward. ‘Time t’go, Mam.’
There was a hushed whisper among the congregation as Elsie played the first bars of the ‘Bridal March’ and everyone turned their heads to see the arrival of the bride. Andy, immaculate in his army sergeant’s uniform, looked with deep affection at his mother. Ruby linked arms with her first-born and together they walked down the aisle.
The service was one I shall always remember. George looked with pride at the woman he loved and, as Ruby turned to pass her bouquet to Vera, she whispered, ‘Thank you,’ and Vera squeezed her hand. It was a tiny gesture that meant so much.
It was my turn for the first reading. I walked to the front of the chancel and mounted the step behind the brass lectern. The huge Bible was resting on the wings of a wondrous eagle and a red ribbon marked the page. It was the popular reading from Corinthians, chapter 13, verses 4–8, and I spoke in a slow, clear voice that echoed above the heads of the congregation.
‘Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.’
I looked up and saw Vera smile and nod in acknowledgement. It was a job well done.
We sang hymns, including Ruby’s favourite, ‘Love Divine, All Loves Excelling’, until finally the moment arrived and a hush descended as we heard the words we all knew so well.
Joseph did not need to look at his service book. ‘Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife,’ he asked, ‘and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’
His voice was soft, but it was a message bound in iron.
So it was on that long-ago summer’s day that Ruby Smith, our school caretaker, became Mrs Dainty and all who knew her rejoiced.
When George and Ruby emerged into the sunshine, Nora, Dorothy and Nellie threw handfuls of confetti and cheered. Big Dave and Little Malcolm flanked Tyrone Crabtree as they leaned against the lych-gate and watched their excited partners. Nora gave a searching look in Tyrone’s direction and hoped it might be her turn next. Unknown to the Coffee Shop owner, Tyrone was thinking the same thing.
‘Y’can’t beat a good weddin’,’ said Big Dave.
‘Y’reight there, Dave,’ agreed Little Malcolm.
In the village hall there were toasts and speeches, followed by a wonderful feast.
The live group rattled the walls, Clint Ramsbottom played his records and everyone danced. I had never seen Ruby look happier and, by popular demand, Old Tommy Piercy played the piano and the bride stood on the stage and sang ‘Edelweiss’.
It was a moment to savour and everyone stood up to applaud.
Later, when the festivities were dying down, Ruby and George set off for Whitby. Beth was talking with her friends while John played hide-and-seek under the tables with Krystal. I walked out and welcomed the fresh air, then on impulse decided to call in to school for a final check before the holiday.
I unlocked the old oak door and stepped into the entrance hall. A shaft of light lit up the office door and I remembered the first time I had seen it. On that day almost a decade ago, my predecessor, a smiling Mr Pruett, had opened it and invited me in. It had been the beginning of a journey I would never forget. Then I opened the double doors that led to the school hall and recalled the generations of children singing hymns and listening to stories in morning assembly. The empty school was filled with the echoes of those who had gone before – the five-year-olds who were now teenagers … Elisabeth Dudley-Palmer, Heathcliffe Earnshaw, Jimmy Poole, Hazel Smith and so many more.
I returned to the office and looked around at a room I knew so well. There was Vera’s empty desk, the filing cabinet that was her domain and hers only, the smiling faces of the children in the photographs, memories of times past. Finally, I locked the door and said a silent goodbye to the academic year 1986/87. It had been an eventful one and I wondered what the future would bring.
When I walked down the drive I paused at the gate. My name was there on the school sign and I was proud to have played my part in the history of this little village school.
It was a warm, sultry evening and the earth was returning the heat of the sun. Beth was sitting on the village green playing with John. She waved and I went to join them.
‘Jack,’ she called out to me, ‘there’s something I want to tell you.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been waiting for the right time. It’s a surprise.’
I pushed a lock of honey-blonde hair from her eyes. ‘Really?’
‘Yes – but a good one.’
She beckoned me towards Ronnie’s bench and tugged my arm. ‘Let’s sit here.’
We settled down side by side and I put my arm around her shoulders. ‘So, what is it?’
‘We’re lucky aren’t we – having all this?’
We surveyed the scene around us.
‘Yes, we are.’
John was playing with handfuls of the new-mown grass under the weeping willow. Nearby, Old Tommy Piercy was smoking his pipe as he fed the ducks on the pond. Deke Ramsbottom with his three sons, Shane, Clint and Wayne, waved to us as they wandered into The Royal Oak for a drink. Down the High Street Margery Ackroyd and Betty Buttle were discussing the wedding, while outside the village hall Heathcliffe Earnshaw was chatting with Mo Hartley, who in later years was to become his wife. His brother Terry looked on from a distance with a puzzled frown. Meanwhile, Timothy Pratt was shooing away Scargill the Yorkshire terrier from the forecourt of his Hardware Emporium.
Life in Ragley village was getting back to normal and continuing its timeless cycle.
In front of us my school stood like a silent sentinel with its bell tower and steeply sloping slate roof. Summer sunshine reflected from the Victorian windows, the avenue of horse chestnut trees swayed in the gentle breeze and I recalled the first time I had experienced this tiny part of North Yorkshire many years ago. Over time I had grown to love it … my world, my land, my home.
Finally Beth decided to break the silence.
‘I’ve got some news,’ she said softly.
I looked into her green eyes, wide and loving, open pages of affection. ‘What is it, Beth?’ I asked.
Gently, I kissed her neck and the breath of roses filled my thoughts.
She held my hand while I said nothing, simply waiting.
‘Can’t you guess?’ she said with that mischievous smile I knew so well.
I sat back and shook my head.
‘Oh Jack, you’re a lovely man but sometimes you just miss the obvious.’
‘Go on then,’ I said, ‘tell me.’
She took a deep breath, held me close and whispered in my ear. ‘I’m expecting a baby.’
And in a heartbeat my life was complete.