four sides showing at once, and surmounted by what looked like a mammoth ostrich.
'I've got muck on my hand,' he said. 'Can I go out the lobby and wash?'
Maddening child! What a moment to choose!
'Not now,' I said, as calmly as I could. 'Just wipe it on your hanky.'
He produced a dark grey rag from his pocket and rubbed the offending hand, sighing in a martyred way. He was one of the younger children and I wondered if he might possibly half-believe in the sleigh bells.
'I'm just going across to the house,' I told them, squaring my conscience. 'Be very quiet while I'm away. The infants are listening to a story.'
All went according to plan. I struggled back through the sleet with the two sacks, deposited one outside the infants' door into the lobby, and the other outside our own.
The lobby was as quiet as the grave. I withdrew the bells from behind a stack of bars of yellow soap which Mrs Pringle stores on a lofty shelf, and crept to the outside door to begin shaking. Santa Claus in the distance, and fast approaching, I told myself. Would they be heard, I wondered, waggling frantically in the open doorway?
I closed the door gently against the driving sleet and now shook with all my might by the two inner doors. Heaven help me if one of my children burst out to see what was happening!
There was an uncanny silence from inside both rooms. I gave a last magnificent agitation and then crept along the lobby to the soap and tucked the bells securely out of sight. Then I returned briskly to the classroom. You could have heard a pin drop.
'There was bells outside,' said Joseph huskily.
'The clock's just struck three,' I pointed out, busying myself at the blackboard.
'No. Little bells!' said someone.
At this point the dividing door between the infants' room and ours burst open to reveal a bright-eyed mob lugging a sack.
'Father Christmas has been!'
'We heard him!'
'We heard bells, didn't we?'
'That's right. Sleigh bells.'
Ernest, by this time, had opened our door into the lobby and was returning with the sack. A cheer went up and the whole class converged upon him.
'Into your desks,' I bellowed 'and Ernest can give them out.'
Ernest upended the sack and spilt the contents into a glorious heap of pink and blue parcels, as the children scampered to their desks and hung over them squeaking with excitement.
The babies sat on the floor receiving their presents with awed delight. There was no doubt about it, for them Father Christmas was as real as ever.
I became conscious of Patrick's gaze upon me.
'Did you see him?' he asked.
'Not a sign,' I said truthfully.
Patrick's brow was furrowed with perplexity.
'If you'd a let me wash my hand I reckon I'd just about've seen him,' he said at length.
I made no reply. Patrick's gaze remained fixed on my face, and then a slow lovely smile curved his countenance. Together, amidst the hubbub of parcel-opening around us, we shared the unspoken, immortal secret of Christmas.
Later, with the presents unwrapped, and the floor a sea of paper, Mrs Pringle arrived to start clearing up. Her face expressed considerable disapproval and her limp was very severe.
The children thronged around her showing her their toys.
'Ain't mine lovely?"
'Look, it's a dust cart!'
'This is a magic painting book! It says so!'
Mrs Pringle unbent a little among so much happiness, and gave a cramped smile.
Ernest raised his voice as she limped her way slowly across the room.
'Mrs Pringle, Mrs Pringle!'
The lady turned, a massive figure ankle deep in pink and blue wrappings.
'What do you want in your stocking, Mrs Pringle?' called Ernest. There was a sudden hush. Mrs Pringle became herself again.
'In my stocking?' she asked tartly. 'A new leg! That's what I want!'
She moved majestically into the lobby, pretending to ignore the laughter of the children at this sally.
As usual, I thought wryly, Mrs Pringle had had the last word.
4. Mrs Next-door
O NE of the most exhilarating things about the
'I've got muck on my hand,' he said. 'Can I go out the lobby and wash?'
Maddening child! What a moment to choose!
'Not now,' I said, as calmly as I could. 'Just wipe it on your hanky.'
He produced a dark grey rag from his pocket and rubbed the offending hand, sighing in a martyred way. He was one of the younger children and I wondered if he might possibly half-believe in the sleigh bells.
'I'm just going across to the house,' I told them, squaring my conscience. 'Be very quiet while I'm away. The infants are listening to a story.'
All went according to plan. I struggled back through the sleet with the two sacks, deposited one outside the infants' door into the lobby, and the other outside our own.
The lobby was as quiet as the grave. I withdrew the bells from behind a stack of bars of yellow soap which Mrs Pringle stores on a lofty shelf, and crept to the outside door to begin shaking. Santa Claus in the distance, and fast approaching, I told myself. Would they be heard, I wondered, waggling frantically in the open doorway?
I closed the door gently against the driving sleet and now shook with all my might by the two inner doors. Heaven help me if one of my children burst out to see what was happening!
There was an uncanny silence from inside both rooms. I gave a last magnificent agitation and then crept along the lobby to the soap and tucked the bells securely out of sight. Then I returned briskly to the classroom. You could have heard a pin drop.
'There was bells outside,' said Joseph huskily.
'The clock's just struck three,' I pointed out, busying myself at the blackboard.
'No. Little bells!' said someone.
At this point the dividing door between the infants' room and ours burst open to reveal a bright-eyed mob lugging a sack.
'Father Christmas has been!'
'We heard him!'
'We heard bells, didn't we?'
'That's right. Sleigh bells.'
Ernest, by this time, had opened our door into the lobby and was returning with the sack. A cheer went up and the whole class converged upon him.
'Into your desks,' I bellowed 'and Ernest can give them out.'
Ernest upended the sack and spilt the contents into a glorious heap of pink and blue parcels, as the children scampered to their desks and hung over them squeaking with excitement.
The babies sat on the floor receiving their presents with awed delight. There was no doubt about it, for them Father Christmas was as real as ever.
I became conscious of Patrick's gaze upon me.
'Did you see him?' he asked.
'Not a sign,' I said truthfully.
Patrick's brow was furrowed with perplexity.
'If you'd a let me wash my hand I reckon I'd just about've seen him,' he said at length.
I made no reply. Patrick's gaze remained fixed on my face, and then a slow lovely smile curved his countenance. Together, amidst the hubbub of parcel-opening around us, we shared the unspoken, immortal secret of Christmas.
Later, with the presents unwrapped, and the floor a sea of paper, Mrs Pringle arrived to start clearing up. Her face expressed considerable disapproval and her limp was very severe.
The children thronged around her showing her their toys.
'Ain't mine lovely?"
'Look, it's a dust cart!'
'This is a magic painting book! It says so!'
Mrs Pringle unbent a little among so much happiness, and gave a cramped smile.
Ernest raised his voice as she limped her way slowly across the room.
'Mrs Pringle, Mrs Pringle!'
The lady turned, a massive figure ankle deep in pink and blue wrappings.
'What do you want in your stocking, Mrs Pringle?' called Ernest. There was a sudden hush. Mrs Pringle became herself again.
'In my stocking?' she asked tartly. 'A new leg! That's what I want!'
She moved majestically into the lobby, pretending to ignore the laughter of the children at this sally.
As usual, I thought wryly, Mrs Pringle had had the last word.
4. Mrs Next-door
O NE of the most exhilarating things about the
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