on each boot.
Everyone in the Coffee Shop turned to look at Ragley’s version of Wonder Woman.
Nora stared at the red boots. ‘Hey, Dowothy, they look jus’ like the wed boots I wore in
Cindewella
; ’cept for them white stwipes down the fwont,’ she added.
‘Malcolm bought ’em for me,’ said Dorothy excitedly.
Little Malcolm beamed from ear to ear. He was five feet four inches tall, but at this moment he felt like a giant.
I returned to the table with the coffees and chocolate bars.
‘Why is Dorothy spinning round and round?’ asked Beth.
‘That’s what Wonder Woman does,’ I said. ‘She spins round in her red boots and turns into a superhero.’
This item of knowledge clearly surprised the three women sitting round the table.
‘Impressive,’ said Sally, after an astonished pause.
‘What’s in the bag, Beth?’ asked Jo.
‘It’s a gift from Jack,’ said Beth, smiling and unpacking her Carmen Compact Curler.
‘You certainly know the way to a woman’s heart, Jack,’ said Sally.
Beth’s soft green eyes looked relaxed as the three women began an animated conversation about the benefits of high-quality curling tongs.
I sat back in my chair. Life was good again.
Little Malcolm caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. I guessed we were both thinking the same thing.
It was two pounds fifty well spent.
Chapter Seven
A Gift for Jeremy
Mrs Pringle invited parents into school to support Class 3’s topic work. Miss Golightly from the General Stores provided an exhibition of photographs
.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Wednesday, 6 December 1978
TIDY TIM WAS polishing his apostrophe.
It was half past eight on the morning of Wednesday, 6 December, and Timothy Pratt was up a ladder cleaning his grammatically correct shop sign.
‘Be careful, Timothy,’ I shouted, as I stepped gingerly on the frost-covered pavement of Ragley High Street.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Sheffield,’ said Timothy, as he moved on to the letter ‘s’. ‘Ladder’s got non-slip rubber grips.’
Tidy Tim was cleaning his shop sign prior to decorating it with spray-on snow and a strand of Christmas lights. Next door to Pratt’s Hardware Emporium, outside Piercy’s Butcher’s Shop, a boldly written sign read ‘ORDER XMAS TURKEY’S NOW!’ and on the door of the General Stores & Newsagent was the notice ‘BAKERS STRIKE – NO LOAVE’S TODAY!’
I shook my head in dismay and vowed I must do another lesson with my class on the use of the apostrophe, so that the next generation of shopkeepers could write correct notices.
Each morning on my way to school I parked my car by the parade of shops on Ragley High Street to buy my morning paper. The General Stores and Newsagent was the first shop in the terraced row, and this morning it looked cheerful with a long strand of red and green light bulbs attached to the metal frame of the canvas canopy over the front window. On display were the usual large glass jars of liquorice allsorts, bull’s eyes, sherbet dips, penny lollies, giant humbugs, dolly mixtures, aniseed balls, chocolate butter dainties, jelly babies, extra-strong mints and liquorice torpedoes to tempt the passing trade of children on their way to school.
I followed Heathcliffe Earnshaw and his little brother Terry into the shop. The shop-owner, Miss Prudence Golightly, peered over her pince-nez spectacles and observed with a gimlet eye the two little boys. The General Stores was always a hive of activity each morning and the villagers, who called in for their newspapers and cigarettes, were all aware that the tiny, four-foot-eleven-inches-tall Miss Golightly had a number of idiosyncrasies, as the Earnshaw brothers were about to discover.
Heathcliffe clutched his five-pence piece firmly in his grubby right hand and stared at the vast array of chocolate bars next to the counter.
‘What d’you wan’, Terry?’ demanded Heathcliffe.
‘Ah wanna currywurry,’ mumbled five-year-old Terry.
Heathcliffe,
Everyone in the Coffee Shop turned to look at Ragley’s version of Wonder Woman.
Nora stared at the red boots. ‘Hey, Dowothy, they look jus’ like the wed boots I wore in
Cindewella
; ’cept for them white stwipes down the fwont,’ she added.
‘Malcolm bought ’em for me,’ said Dorothy excitedly.
Little Malcolm beamed from ear to ear. He was five feet four inches tall, but at this moment he felt like a giant.
I returned to the table with the coffees and chocolate bars.
‘Why is Dorothy spinning round and round?’ asked Beth.
‘That’s what Wonder Woman does,’ I said. ‘She spins round in her red boots and turns into a superhero.’
This item of knowledge clearly surprised the three women sitting round the table.
‘Impressive,’ said Sally, after an astonished pause.
‘What’s in the bag, Beth?’ asked Jo.
‘It’s a gift from Jack,’ said Beth, smiling and unpacking her Carmen Compact Curler.
‘You certainly know the way to a woman’s heart, Jack,’ said Sally.
Beth’s soft green eyes looked relaxed as the three women began an animated conversation about the benefits of high-quality curling tongs.
I sat back in my chair. Life was good again.
Little Malcolm caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. I guessed we were both thinking the same thing.
It was two pounds fifty well spent.
Chapter Seven
A Gift for Jeremy
Mrs Pringle invited parents into school to support Class 3’s topic work. Miss Golightly from the General Stores provided an exhibition of photographs
.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Wednesday, 6 December 1978
TIDY TIM WAS polishing his apostrophe.
It was half past eight on the morning of Wednesday, 6 December, and Timothy Pratt was up a ladder cleaning his grammatically correct shop sign.
‘Be careful, Timothy,’ I shouted, as I stepped gingerly on the frost-covered pavement of Ragley High Street.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Sheffield,’ said Timothy, as he moved on to the letter ‘s’. ‘Ladder’s got non-slip rubber grips.’
Tidy Tim was cleaning his shop sign prior to decorating it with spray-on snow and a strand of Christmas lights. Next door to Pratt’s Hardware Emporium, outside Piercy’s Butcher’s Shop, a boldly written sign read ‘ORDER XMAS TURKEY’S NOW!’ and on the door of the General Stores & Newsagent was the notice ‘BAKERS STRIKE – NO LOAVE’S TODAY!’
I shook my head in dismay and vowed I must do another lesson with my class on the use of the apostrophe, so that the next generation of shopkeepers could write correct notices.
Each morning on my way to school I parked my car by the parade of shops on Ragley High Street to buy my morning paper. The General Stores and Newsagent was the first shop in the terraced row, and this morning it looked cheerful with a long strand of red and green light bulbs attached to the metal frame of the canvas canopy over the front window. On display were the usual large glass jars of liquorice allsorts, bull’s eyes, sherbet dips, penny lollies, giant humbugs, dolly mixtures, aniseed balls, chocolate butter dainties, jelly babies, extra-strong mints and liquorice torpedoes to tempt the passing trade of children on their way to school.
I followed Heathcliffe Earnshaw and his little brother Terry into the shop. The shop-owner, Miss Prudence Golightly, peered over her pince-nez spectacles and observed with a gimlet eye the two little boys. The General Stores was always a hive of activity each morning and the villagers, who called in for their newspapers and cigarettes, were all aware that the tiny, four-foot-eleven-inches-tall Miss Golightly had a number of idiosyncrasies, as the Earnshaw brothers were about to discover.
Heathcliffe clutched his five-pence piece firmly in his grubby right hand and stared at the vast array of chocolate bars next to the counter.
‘What d’you wan’, Terry?’ demanded Heathcliffe.
‘Ah wanna currywurry,’ mumbled five-year-old Terry.
Heathcliffe,
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