‘It most certainly is,’ she said with a warm smile, ‘but back home, Granddad Ron has some real live ferrets – and a dog. Would you like to see them?’
‘What’s a ferret?’
Peggy laughed. The little boy might look wan and half starved, but he was as inquisitive as Bob and Charlie and, she suspected, as mischievous. ‘It’s long and furry and likes nothing better than going down holes after rabbits.’
‘Why’s that fox biting ’is tail?’
‘Shut up, Ernie.’ Sally shot Peggy an apologetic glance, her smile hesitant as she introduced herself. ‘If you’re sure you can put up with all ’is questions, Mrs Reilly, then, yes, we’d like to come with you.’
‘That’s settled then.’ Peggy was not one to hang about. She picked up the case and took Ernie’s little hand. ‘Come on, Ernie, let’s get home and see if Granddad Ron has got back with those ferrets.’
Chapter Two
Anne Reilly was almost twenty-three and felt blessed that her first post since qualifying was at the local primary school where she’d once sat enthralled by the things she could learn. Her smile was soft with contentment as she collected the exercise books and stacked them on her desk. She loved teaching, and the children had been well behaved today, even her little brother, Charlie.
The bell began to ring; classes were over until Monday. ‘Don’t run,’ she called out to the stampeding children, ‘and stop pushing, Charles Reilly. You’ll get home soon enough.’
Her youngest brother shot her his cheeky grin and eased through the door before tearing down the hallway with an enthusiastic yell of freedom. At eight years old, Charlie had far too much energy – but he was bright and absorbed his lessons like a sponge. Anne had high hopes for Charlie.
She cleaned the blackboard, put away the chalk, rulers and pencils in the desk and set about tidying the classroom. The arrival of so many evacuees had swelled the numbers at Cliffehaven Primary, and there was very little room to manoeuvre around the desks and benches. But that wasn’t the most pressing problem, for space could always be found somewhere – it was more the fact that the majority of those evacuee children could barely read and write, let alone knew the names and dates of the English Kings and Queens or recited their tables. It seemed the East End children were needed to earn money, not waste time at school – and it was extremely difficult to run a classroom efficiently when half the children had to have special coaching to get them up to scratch.
Anne sighed as she stowed the reading books away in the cupboard. The headmaster was aware of how hard things were getting, but with a shortage of books and more evacuees scheduled to arrive over the next few weeks, the situation could only get worse. There had been talk of dividing up the lessons – the local children in the morning, evacuees in the afternoon – but that would mean only half an education for all of them, unless they worked through the holidays as well.
She stuffed the exercise books into her briefcase, pulled on her warm woollen coat and scarf and shut the classroom door behind her. Everyone had to do their bit, and if it meant shorter holidays and longer hours, then that was what she would do.
Her thoughts were disrupted by Dorothy who was emerging from her own classroom across the corridor. She and Dorothy had known each other all their lives and had attended the same teacher-training college. ‘You look as if you’ve had a bit of a day,’ Anne said with a smile.
‘You should try teaching that lot,’ Dorothy replied, sweeping back her wavy ginger hair. ‘Half of them can’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes, and it’s the devil’s own job to keep order. I can’t say I’m sorry it’s the weekend.’
Anne took her arm and gave it a sympathetic hug. Dorothy had several disruptive children in her class, and she fully understood how hard it was to keep them quiet and focused on their lessons. ‘What are your plans for the next two days? Are you seeing Greg?’
Dorothy drew the bulging briefcase to her chest and gave a rueful smile as they headed for the front door. ‘Marking this lot will take up most of the evening, but, yes, I’m meeting Greg for a drink later. Want to join us?’