Modern Life Short Story: A School Inspector Calls

MODERN LIFE SHORT STORY BY AMY SHORTEN

Jessica began to wonder if she would ever live up to the previous principal’s legacy…

Sighing with relief, Jessica placed a “Great Effort” sticker on her final piece of marking and added the copybook to the pile on the floor.

It had been a good day with her fifteen pupils but she was eager to get going.

She was meeting a friend for a belated birthday dinner to celebrate them both turning twenty-nine.

As she scooped up her bag, the silence of the empty classroom was pierced by a beeping sound outside.

A large flatbed lorry was manoeuvring into the tiny school yard.

A once yellow, now mostly brown skip was perched on the back.

The crew must have opened the gates without her noticing.

“Excuse me,” she called as she raced outside, pulling on what her dad called her posh principal coat. “Can I help you?”

A middle-aged man who had been directing the driver turned to face her.

“You ordered a skip a while back,” he muttered. “Here it is. We’ll collect it next week.”

Jessica blinked.

“I ordered it months ago, for a fresh start before the school year started.

“I kind of assumed you weren’t coming.”

The man rolled his eyes.

“So you don’t need it?”

“Well, it’s not ideal. It would be a bit of a hazard. Will we try again in the holidays?”

Her question was met with stony silence.

“Look,” she continued, “I’ll pay you for your trip and your trouble and we’ll pencil in a date for mid-August, perhaps?”

The man took a moment to size her up.

“Where’s Mrs B? I’ll chat this through with her.”

Jessica stiffened. Would she ever hear the last of her predecessor?

“Mrs Bryant retired at the end of last year. I’m the new principal, Jessica Shannon.”

“I see. Pity. Ah, well. Times change.”

“Yes,” Jessica replied wearily. “Yes, they do.”

She slipped a bank note out of her phone case, offering it to the man.

“Will this cover your expenses?”

He nodded and took the money.

“Thanks, love. But the skip’s going nowhere. There’s no room back in the yard this week.

“We’ll see you next Monday!”

The next morning, Jessica was still seething as she fumbled with her key in the school’s front door.

“No room in their yard, indeed!” she spluttered to herself as angrily as she had to her friend over dinner last night. “But what about our yard?”

Ballymahon Parochial School had only a small rectangle of concrete to the front, with a narrow outdoor corridor to the side and back of the building.

The school had access to local playing fields a short walk away, but for their regular playtimes the children were limited in their outdoor space.

Now, the skip was taking up a sizeable portion of that area, with a foul odour wafting from its base.

She heard the gate clang and turned to see the junior room teacher, Anna, staring at the offending object.

“I know, it’s the last thing we need,” Jessica groaned. “Utter incompetence from the guys at SuperSkip.

“Someone’s going to crack their skull on it at playtime.

“And Liam will probably lick it just to see what it tastes like, won’t he?”

Anna burst out laughing.

“Yes, Jess, he probably will. But I’d say he’s already tried to eat a worm this morning, so really, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Her tone softened as she looked at her colleague.

“But I’m more worried about you. You look like you’re about to cry.

“What’s this really about? You’d usually just laugh about something like this.”

Jessica kicked at a piece of gravel with the toe of her new boot, heavily lined to keep her feet warm during yard duty on chilly days.

She’d forgotten how perceptive Anna, only a year or two older than herself, could be.

“I’m waiting, Jess,” Anna urged in a mock reprimand. “We need to get to the bottom of this before the kids arrive.”

Jessica lifted her head to look at the welcoming sign and cheerful window displays of the two-teacher school.

It all looked so upbeat and positive.

How could she tell Anna that she felt constantly intimidated by the legacy of her predecessor?

The legendary Charlotte Bryant had been in charge for decades. Everyone in the community had a fond word or memory to share about her.

And they were never shy of pointing out how things had been done in the past.

Now, even the skip man was drawing comparisons, making her, a newcomer to the area, feel utterly unworthy of her role.

“It’s fine, Anna, honestly,” she finally managed. “I’m just frustrated, that’s all.

“Let’s head in and boil the kettle.”

She fumbled with the key and pushed the front door open for the day.

The first part of the morning passed relatively smoothly.

Liam did indeed lick the yellowish metal.

While trying to convince him to rinse his mouth out, Jessica overheard a group of ten-year-olds discussing which of their siblings they’d like to put in the skip if they got the chance.

But overall, her pupils reached break time without a hitch.

It was half past eleven when everything kicked off.

Charlie Moore had, as usual, been staring out of the window into the street.

All of a sudden, he leapt to his feet, scattering maths cubes.

His cry of “Positions, people!” bounced off the classroom walls.

A flurry of frantic activity followed as the children darted out of their seats and began to straighten books, dust down surfaces and shove items into cupboards.

Jessica watched with a mixture of confusion and intrigue, too shocked to respond.

Each pupil seemed to have a particular focus, scurrying to complete their task while Charlie counted down from twenty.

When he reached seven, he picked up the pace after a glance out of the window.

The rest of the children sped up accordingly.

By the time he reached one, a frantic little girl was slamming a pile of school leadership books on to Jessica’s desk.

And when he got to zero, the children were sitting quietly in their places, a picture of innocence.

A split second later, the outer doorbell rang.

Charlie glanced up at Jessica.

“Good luck,” he whispered.

At the start of lunch break, Jessica and Anna stood waving at the school gate as the inspector’s car disappeared.

“Why did she leave so quickly?” Anna asked as the two women turned back to keep an eye on the playing children.

“The skip.” Jessica cast a bitter look at the looming contraption. “Of all the days for her to turn up! She said there should have been no question of letting it stay.

“As principal, I should be in total control.

“Then she went on about how she missed seeing Charlotte’s interesting history displays.”

Her shoulders slumped and she slouched back against the stone wall.

“You asked earlier what was wrong. It’s just… I always feel I’ll never be good enough here.

“Charlotte sounds like an angel crossed with a superhero.

“I’m not trying to be disrespectful, I just don’t know how she did it.”

Anna aimed a stern look at a boy who was about to shove his little brother, before nodding.

“Everyone wondered why I didn’t step up and apply for her job. Sounds like you’ve figured that out.

“But look, you’re a fresh face around the place, you have your own style and you’re doing great.

“The children are happy and the parents are happy. Everyone else in the parish is just running on nostalgia.

“On the bright side, one of Charlotte’s systems was handy today. She had the children well trained in that inspector alert!”

Jessica laughed.

“Yes, she did, to be fair. I hadn’t a clue what was happening.

“The leadership books were a good touch. The inspector said it was good to see me pursuing professional development.

“She also said she’ll be back soon, when I’ve had time to get rid of the skip.”

“Well, then.” Anna rubbed her hands. “Let’s make the most of it.

“Ring SuperSkip and tell them we’ll fill it after all. We’ll get that clean slate you were looking for.

“In fact, we’ll do it tonight. I can skip my run.”

She scurried off to fetch a football from a tree, leaving Jessica to form a plan of action in her head.

After an exhausting evening of sorting and disposing, Jessica and Anna were feeling deflated.

Not even a large pepperoni pizza from the take-away down the street had lifted their spirits.

Both women had known that Charlotte’s classroom – now Jessica’s – and the school’s storage areas needed a good clear out.

Jessica had struggled to find space for her own things since she arrived.

But it was only as they threw themselves into the task that they realised how much work there truly was.

Stacks of musty books, pages clinging with damp, filled a corner cupboard near the classroom sink. Many dated from the early 1980s.

Textbooks from bygone curricula were stacked to the back of bookshelves and hardened tubs of paint filled half the art store.

“I guess I need to take some responsibility,” Anna said sheepishly. “I didn’t realise it had got so bad.

“I should have dropped some subtle hints.”

“I don’t think anything subtle would have helped with this lot,” Jessica replied, sweeping her arm round the room. “Why do you think she kept it all?”

“Not a clue. To be honest, I’d say she was just busy keeping on top of each day’s problems.

“When did you say the skip’s being collected?”

“Monday,” Jessica replied. “Or so they say!

“It’s going to be tight. I think we’re going to need to call in the cavalry.”

And so she did, announcing the next morning that lessons would be paused for a few days so that pupils could participate in “real-world learning” and help fill the skip.

“If you come across something you really like, you can keep it,” she told the excited children.

The rest of the week passed in the happiest blur of school life that Jessica had ever known.

Some pupils, thrilled to escape from their own books, took great pleasure in sorting the old ones.

At times, the teachers found them huddled in groups, leafing through pages and gasping in horror at the lack of colour.

Charlie, after cleaning out a cupboard, felt a curious mixture of shock and delight when he found rude graffiti on the back wall, signed by his own father.

“Dad would go through me if I said that.” He grinned as he showed it to Jessica. “Can you take a picture before we wash it off, please?”

She just about smothered a giggle behind her arm.

But on Friday evening, as a procession of children clutching their treasure of damaged sports equipment, tattered library books and incomplete board games left the yard, Jessica’s bubble burst.

“Ms Shannon! Can I have a word, please?”

The newsagent from up the road was approaching, fire in her eyes.

Jessica pasted on her best smile.

“Of course, Nuala. But if you’re concerned about the children helping with our clear out, I can assure you we’ve planned their activities carefully around curricular skill areas.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have. And it’s good for them to do a bit of physical work.

“But that’s not the problem. No, I’m just a bit concerned.

“You see, it looks to the village as if you’re trying to remove all traces of Mrs Bryant.

“She did such wonders for the school, for the community. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Here we go again, Jessica thought as she braced herself.

On Monday morning, as Jessica pulled into her parking space, Anna was waiting for her, an amused look on her face.

“Look!” She giggled, pointing to the skip, where a stained two-seater sofa was teetering on top.

“I passed this morning to get milk and saw Charlie’s dad and his brothers heaving it up.

“I heard him swearing when it slipped a bit – I believe it was the same word Charlie found in the cupboard.”

Jessica smiled.

“That man’s getting a bit of a reputation, isn’t he?”

The teachers stood in silence, soaking in the quiet of the morning and reflecting on the remains of forty years of history piled up in front of them.

“Did you find anything you liked this week?” Jessica finally asked, pulling herself back to the present.

She was surprised when Anna dropped her eyes to the ground awkwardly.

“I did find something,” she said warily. “Not that I like, in particular, but something I think you should see.”

She led Jessica through to her classroom where she pulled a faded pink folder out of a drawer.

Laying it on her desk, she patted it twice before heading for the door.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said mysteriously. “Just make sure to read till the end. I’ll have a cuppa ready for you when you’re done.”

Curious, Jessica settled into Anna’s swivel chair.

Like almost every other piece of paper she’d found this week, the sheets in the folder were damp and hard to separate.

It became clear they were handwritten notes from school Board of Management meetings.

Not official minutes, but the personal musings of a board member, jotting down things to remember or tasks to complete.

The handwriting was exquisite and elegant, from a different time.

But when she reached the final page, she noticed a change.

Scribbled messages, clearly written by someone else, were scattered round the edges.

They reminded her of the hurried notes her pupils passed in class, even now in the age of screens.

Shame for the others, they were way more qualified, one said.

It’s all sewn up now, declared another.

The longest was scored through but still legible.

Well, if she can teach as well as she can charm the rector’s son, perhaps it will all work out.

Casting her eye back to the main text, Jessica read, Appointment of Miss Charlotte Purser as principal: April 30, 1982.

In the staff room, Anna was pouring milk into their morning coffee.

“I did some detective work,” she said quietly. “I reckon those notes belong to Daphne Taylor.

“She taught here in the 70s and 80s. The writing matches some other things I found this week.

“As for the extra comments, well, I reckon Daphne’s neighbour at the table needed to vent during the meeting.

“A Rev. Bryant was rector at the time and would have been chair of the board.

“He moved on to another parish a few years later, but his son and Charlotte stayed on after they got married.”

Jessica felt her jaw drop. Anna laughed and passed her a mug.

“Look, Jess. None of this is proof of anything.

“Charlotte may have been the best applicant. These are just silly notes scribbled in a meeting.

“But there’s doubt. I reckon Charlotte always felt it. Whether the favouritism is true or not, she probably worked so incredibly hard all those years to prove herself.