Chalk Dust & Broomsticks, Chapter 19

Protestors gather to complain about selling off of the playing field at Primrose School.

July 1999

Chapter 19 - Protestors Gather

Preparations for the protest, regarding the selling off of the school field, known as The Dumps, were going on apace. Everyone got involved. In her kitchen in the cottage at Woodend, Shirley made some fairy cakes for everyone to enjoy. They were simple, small, easy to hold and perfectly inconspicuous. She gathered her ingredients: local eggs, rich butter, churned by a nearby farmer, finely milled flour and caster sugar. She worked methodically, the muscle memory of years of baking soothing her frayed nerves. The aroma of vanilla and sweet batter quickly filled the kitchen.

Shirley's kitchen was a warm, chaotic masterpiece of the domestic arts. It was dominated by a vast, perpetually warm, midnight-blue Aga range, which anchored the room and dispensed a reliable, dry heat. Above it a rack sagged gently under the weight of copper pots, polished only by use. The worktops were solid, scarred elm, strewn with mismatched ceramic bowls, rolling pins, dusted with flour and tiny glass jars filled with potent, custom blended spices and tinctures. It was a space that prioritized function and joy over sterility - a direct antithesis to the sterile, calculated environment Althea Gardner adored.

As Shirley mixed the batter, her gaze drifted to a small, unassuming jar, tucked away on a high shelf, nestled between the dried mandrake root and the powdered dragon's blood (used for courage, not consumption). The jar contained a small amount of dark, viscous oil: an extract she had prepared years ago from a specially cultivated plant: cannabis.

Snapping her fingers, she said, 'That should spark things up a bit!' Little Mo purred in agreement.

Shirley didn't just add the oil; she performed a quiet, focused act of kitchen magic. She measured out a precise amount of the tincture into a small, antique silver spoon. As she drizzled the potent, earthy oil into the vast, sweet swirl of the cake batter, she spoke a low, rhyming incantation, focusing her intent:

"By butter, egg and flour, so sweet and bright, I bind this here to bring the sacred light. No harm shall come, no ill intent shall stray but let the stiffest neck relax and play. Grant them the freedom of a childish view, to see the frogs, the pond and what is true."

As the mixing completed, Shirley poured the enchanted batter meticulously into dozens of paper cases. As the cakes baked in the warm womb of the Aga, the scent that emerged was not just vanilla, but a faint, underlying note of earth and freedom.

Shirley baked and cooled nearly one hundred fairy cakes. She iced them simply with lemon buttercream and topped them with a single, edible sugar violet, a nod to the wildflowers that had once ringed the frog pond. They looked utterly wholesome, innocent and perfectly appropriate for a local community gathering. The cakes were carefully packed into three large, traditional wicker baskets and covered with linen napkins.

Shirley's role would be subtle: she would appear as a supportive member of staff, offering simple refreshment to the assembled crowds she would ensure the stiffest, most self-important members of the committee, namely Captain Waverley, the local councillor, Mrs. Morgan and the perhaps nervous Mrs. Catchpole - received a cake early on...

As evening drew in, bringing a refreshing coolness to Woodend, Shirley washed the last of the bowls. She looked at the baskets of sweet, mischievous offerings. Althea had crushed her with paperwork and protocol, making her feel obsolete, but Althea had forgotten a crucial detail: the world of education, like the world of nature, is not a spreadsheet and sometimes, the most effective weapon against cold, clinical efficiency is the irresistible, unmanaged chaos of genuine, unfettered mirth.

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The press had been on the phone every day all week and Mrs. Manipulator was really enjoying the sense of importance the event was giving her. She had her spiel off to a fine art by Friday ...

"Althea is not taking any more calls this morning", she told everybody. A green curl coiled itself around the telephone handset and she admired her polished red nails. Even though she was at retirement age, she still wore 4-inch-high heels. It resulted in a front tilt of the body, which caused her posterior to poke outwards and backwards when she walked.

Dora had been drumming up support amongst the parents. They didn't need much encouragement. "Lets' make a party of it?" suggested Mrs. Brown, the cooking mum.

Every member of the governing body was involved on one side or the other.

Gerald took his dogs round the field and kicked a brick crossly. "It's the pits!" he muttered to himself. "Just what I don't want, people nosing around the school premises. The whole place will be crawling with all sorts of people. Police everywhere, yobs (vandals) everywhere, kids everywhere.

Saturday July 12th, a.m.

Althea was smartly dressed in a green suit. She wanted to get the day over with as soon as she could. Nick Blunt was sitting in the staffroom, talking to the other governors. She wanted to avoid HIM. She saw out of the window that Gerald's wife, Jane, was coming across the car park. She wanted to avoid HER as well. Mrs. Parker walked down the corridor with a soppy look on her face. Althea definitely wanted to avoid HER attention and there, to crown it all, was Shirley, getting out of her car and taking several wicker baskets out of the boot.

By lunchtime all the governors were present and most of the staff. A number of parents and residents were congregating on the field with placards saying: 'Save Our Field!' held aloft. There were press and local MP's and every teenager between the ages of 13 -19 who lived anywhere at all near The Dumps.

Gerald was almost beside himself with worry. When he thought of all the things which could go wrong with this day, he felt the middle finger on his left hand start to jump. It always did that when he was under stress. He had his dogs for comfort but they were picking up his worried thoughts and it was making them jumpy. "I hope the police leave that boiler house alone today," he worried. Memories of the chopping and slicing of Alex's body came back to him with a vengeance.

Shirley set out the cakes she had lovingly made, on a trestle table on the field. She clicked her fingers as she arranged them. Nobody knew what was in the cakes but they would soon find out. Her secret ingredient was guaranteed to make the party a success. There was a lot of emotion in the air: anger that The Dumps may be sold off, excitement that so many people were coming together to protest and fear that events may turn nasty. With so many cameras about, it was unlikely that anything would go wrong. The police were showing support, as was Reverend Bdgell, who was smiling benignly at everyone as he circumnavigated the field for the third time.

On the field Shirley noticed that there was an army of little green frogs underneath the cake table. They were refugees from the wildlife area, which had been concreted over. The wildlife pond, carefully tended by the children of the Dollhouse, for decades, was a living lesson in ecology and quiet wonder. The governors had argued its existence was an 'insurance liability', and Althea, seeing only an inefficient use of premium real estate, had immediately ordered it drained and concreted over to facilitate the stacking of building materials. The children's distress had been palpable. The frogs, of course, had simply vanished into the earth, their watery home replaced by a grim, grey slab.

Langwich Council had made a new appointment in a bid to raise standards in the town's schools. Rodney Bumbleit would take over as Head of School Improvement on October 1st and would replace Amy Doneenough, who left for a new job in Scotland in February. Rodney's career spanned a variety of roles including Advisory Teacher, Head of Department and Inspector for Staff Development. Councillor Sharp, Langwich Council's executive member with responsibility for schools said... 'I am pleased that we have been able to recruit such a high calibre head of service.'

A fascination of on-lookers had gathered at the foot of the podium. The speeches started. Althea spoke first...

"...As you know, ladies and gentlemen, we are expecting the results of our Ofsted Inspection sometime soon. The inspection took place during the Spring Term as I'm sure you remember. It was a very difficult time for us. If the inspection is unfavourable, then the school will be closed and the field will revert to the Council. I have every expectation that the inspection will prove our school is excellent,' she lied, but we shall need to work hard and comply with the rules and legislation regarding the staff, pupils, building and grounds and your co-operation in all these matters will be of paramount importance. You must see, therefore, that protests like this one are both unnecessary and misjudged. They are, in fact, a complete waste of time!'

Mrs. Catchpole and Mr. Blunt both spoke up for keeping the playing fields, saying that the areas of green were disappearing fast all over the town and it would be a crime to deprive the school and the neighbourhood of such a valuable resource. Finally, the local MP, Mrs. Morgan, and the representatives of the local authority spoke. They explained that if the school were to close, the Local Authority would provide an alternative area of green for the local residents. More lies... Placards waved more vigorously, protestors heckled. The representatives reassured everyone that decisions to sell off popular playing fields for housing development were not taken lightly under any circumstances. Nobody believed a word of it.

Gerald came across the field with his two dogs. Pippin was a large golden retriever. Petal was a black labrador. Suddenly she saw something ahead and beyond the gathering and jerked on the lead. The tug surprised Gerald, who let go, releasing the lead and giving freedom to the dog. Pippin bounded across the field in the direction of Althea, who was talking animatedly to one of the councillors, followed by Petal who was barking furiously. Just behind her was a large black cat, which looked very much like Shirley's cat, Bast. The cat saw the dog and took fright, leaping across the field like a black panther to whence it had come. Pippin's lead wrapped itself around Althea's legs, causing her to lose her balance and fall backwards on top of a mess of small boys, who were poking some frogs in a large puddle. Headteacher, boys, frogs and mud became a windmill of arms and legs as they rolled about in the mud! The crowd of protestors, now feeling the narcotic effects of Shirley's cakes, could only laugh and hold their sides until they nearly split.

"My dear Ms Gardner, allow me to help you up?" cajoled Reverend Budgell, as he bent his arm down towards her. Althea extricated herself from her pupils and allowed the Reverend to assist her. She followed him back to her new office, mercifully finished - at last and where she intended to take a shower and clean herself up before returning to the field...

Althea stood in the shower cubicle in the corner of her new office and began to wash off the mud. Her beautiful green suit would have to go to the cleaners.

The protestors had begun to circle the field in a figure of eight, waving their placards in the air above their heads. 'Save our Field, Save The Dumps,' they chanted. Mrs. Brown's husband suddenly started taking all his clothes off. He pulled his jumper over his head and threw it in the air in gay abandon. Then he stepped out of his trousers and did the same with them. Other protestors did likewise until almost everyone protesting was nearly naked. The children were all giggling. The councillors were all laughing too. Everyone else was laughing and prancing about. It was the strangest meeting of protestors you ever saw. They all kept hold of their banners and placards and the press photographers clicked away and away and away.

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