The ancient bus rattled down the hill and spluttered into the village, finally coming to a halt outside the schoolhouse with a sigh and much squealing of brakes. Everyone alighted and said their goodbyes, then went their separate ways to the homes which would now feel so empty without the children.

Anne stayed by the school gate, reluctant to go home just yet. While George had a conversation with the bus driver, she let her gaze drift over the small schoolhouse with its pocket-handkerchief playground, and then along the huddle of cottages and shops that lined the village street. She felt a great affection for it all, especially today when the thatched roofs glowed in the sun and the gardens were full of colour.

‘I shall miss this place when I do leave,’ she said after the bus had left in a cloud of exhaust fumes. ‘Everyone has been so kind and welcoming to us over the years that it really does feel like home.’

‘Belinda and I feel the same way,’ said George, ‘but unfortunately things are about to change and we might not be here much longer.’

Anne was startled from her thoughts. ‘Why? What changes?’

‘I wasn’t going to say anything until the staff meeting tomorrow, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.’ He took a breath as if to steel himself for what was to come and clutched his jacket lapels. ‘I received a letter from the Education Board yesterday morning telling me that once the evacuees have left, the numbers will be too low to sustain the cost of running the school, and if we don’t increase our intake come September term, it will be closed down.’

‘No!’ Anne gasped. ‘But where will the village children go?’

‘They’ll go by bus to the bigger school in the next town, I suspect,’ he replied sadly. ‘Of course they won’t get the same close attention to their educational progress in those large classes and will have to learn to adapt to being just a number amongst so many.’

He gazed at the small brick building with its plaque declaring its foundation in 1856, and gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s awful to think the school has been here for almost a hundred years and it’ll be closed on my watch.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s not your fault the Education Board are being so short-sighted. The numbers are bound to rise again now the men are home.’ She eyed him with concern. ‘But what will you and Belinda do if it does close?’

‘Find a position in another school, I suppose,’ he replied. ‘I can’t pretend that Belinda and I won’t find it an awful wrench to leave, but we both agree we’d rather avoid the larger city schools and try to find another village where we can settle down and become part of the community as we have done here.’