Living in a village

Today, mostly meetings.  Fortunately, the last of these was at the pub, so I had a pint of John’s excellent home-brew.  Indeed, I pedalled off there early so that I’d be sure of getting a drink before the meeting.

When one is quite unreasonable, does admitting it make it okay?  Today, I was talking to the Head about him having extra meetings every night this week, and searchingly asked when he’d take a break.  At the weekend, he said, except of course for the report he has to write for the governors’ meeting next week.  I tutted and fussed a bit (whilst acknowledging that, of course, I realised that all the work needs to be done and that’s that) … and then asked him to do something else for me, which is-school related, but not actually quite reasonable for me to ask.  And he kindly agreed, and then I mentioned that it made more work, against all I’d been saying – it isn’t what you say, of course, but what you do, and I really was stretching a point there.  I was interceding at the wish of a parent who is a personal friend, and for a very specific reason which, all the same, is beyond anything I’d normally do – and I wasn’t asking for a decision to be changed, in fact, just for a personal intervention that will motivate a pupil, I hope.  So, it’s okay, but borderline, and you have to know that someone won’t take it amiss to do that.  I do feel rather guilty, actually – and I did apologise, but even as I said sorry (an apology, not expressing sympathy) I said that it’s all very well saying sorry when you’ve got your own way.  He laughed.  Ahem.

I never, in all the years when I was a governor and Ro was a pupil, intervened one bit on his behalf, you know.  It’s quite wrong to do that, I think.  I never went into a lesson where he was a student, kept a low profile, never used any inside knowledge.  I trust that no one would have thought I was wanting any extra attention, but I went the other way if anything.  Still, being self-reliant is good for people.  Make him fight his own battles, I say.  Anyway, if I was wrong, it’s too late now.  Next summer, it’ll be ten years since he left school.  Gosh.

There have been a few changes in the village.  One old lady just died, days before her hundredth birthday.  She was sent here as a refugee from London, back in wartime, with her two little boys.  The Sage, as a small boy, rushed in to his mother.  “I’ve got a new little baby brother or sister, who’s in a pram on the lawn!”  Ma had to explain that she was babysitting for Mrs M., sadly it was not the Sage’s baby brother at all.  Mrs M. liked it here and her husband, in due course, joined her and they lived here all their lives.  And Gordon and Jill have just moved away, they retired here and have joined in lots of village events and societies, and we’ll really miss them.  Friends have just sold their house and haven’t found another yet, it seems that they will have to move out of the village.  After our meeting this evening, a few of us were scheming for them to be put in touch with the family of another old friend who has died, maybe they might like his bungalow?

One comment on “Living in a village

  1. Mike and Ann

    Yes, it’s good to live in a village. Or, anyway in a small community. I like to think that we live in a town that’s just the right size – large enough to have lots happening, and small enough to know (more or less) everybody. And it’s nice to know (although this is not completely necessary if I’m honest) that eleven hundred years ago it was the Capital of the KINGDOM of East Anglia.


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