Walking along to the linnet’s song feeling the pulse of nature beneath her feet, Clair’s smile was as warm as the sun. This is what she had worked so hard to have. She had made a dash for some tranquillity in her life and had found it here in a small village in Suffolk.

She had reached the old oak tree her three dogs already knew the drill, and were wandering off sniffing the ground for hares, rabbits and deer. She was eclectic by nature and it showed in her assortment of dogs. Bear, her chocolate mastiff, Peaches, a Chihuahua and Fox Terrier cross and Scruff an apricot assortment that looked like a Jack Russell on stilts ­­– all from broken homes.

The mornings haze, slowly evaporating by the sun made a shimmering glow over the landscape. She had soon reached her destination, pulled Bears holdalls off his back and carefully emptied some of its contents, arranging them on the bank of the natural pond. In the distance, four deer stood, acknowledged their presence and nonchalantly walked away.

Clair knew most walkers had been and gone so she could paint in solitude. For her painting at this time had become her compulsion and her passion. It was making her quite antisocial – if she didn’t start talking to someone soon she would forget how too! She reflected on this point as she drew in the bulrushes and mixed her paint.

Her dogs with their noses to the ground in contentment, gave her comfort. She captured the beams of light, and picked out the differing lush greens of the leaves and grasses, all mixed in with the deep brown yellow of the growing corn. This background made the deep velvet of the bulrushes shine with lustier. Something was odd; too many dogs, a black Lab had joined her pack. He had calmly and without bother just taken up his place. Where there was a dog, meant there was an owner. Clair’s panic rose.

Her paintings were immensely private to her. She started to hyperventilate as she went into the now familiar uncontrollable, fever pitch of anxiety. A soothing calm voice apologised for disturbing her. The blood that had flowed to her ears muffled the words as she franticly looked round, but the sun glared her vision, so that only an outline of the man could be seen.

‘Gosh you’ve captured Rip!’ She looked down at her work and there in the foreground, was the character of him, captured by his demeanour, which burst out through his velvet eyes and glistened with innate intensity. She was stunned that she had been so absorbed – she had painted a dog she had never seen before. Rip must have been there for sometime, watching her through the long reeds. She stood back and agreed – she had done a mighty fine job!

The man slowly came and sat by her on the bank, slipping off his rucksack. In London, she had been hidden by the constant flow of the masses, she found in the country she became more prominent and felt exposed. It had over whelmed her and gave her panic attacks. For the first time she felt her breathing became more controlled, less frantic on its own.

“Sorry for startling you, I didn’t mean to pry but I would like to know if you would consider selling me your painting?”

“Oh!’ Clair fumbled not knowing what to say. She actually believed he meant it.

“I like the way you’ve shown his humour.” Clair smiled – she had somehow painted a mellow chuckle in the dog’s eyes. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” He asked.

“I’ve just moved into the little cottage, on the bad bend – back there.” She pointed in the vague direction.

“Oh I heard there was a young townie just moved in there.” He chuckled, a mellow and congenial chuckle to match his dog’s expression. She could also tell he had sized her up, understood her straight away. He accepted her for her, now that was refreshing.

“I’ve a couple of rolls” would you like to join me?”

“Love too, would you like a slice of quiche?” He started to laugh as she brought out the full picnic she had prepared – including half a bottle of champagne. She started to laugh with him. Bear’s bags where like the magicians hat, a feast fit for a table slowly emerged. Normally she would never have shown anyone, afraid of the ridicule. She liked picnics to be special, just for the sense of occasion. People thought her silly, over the top but to-day she turned fifty, and well there was something different in the way she felt, to-day she didn’t care quite so much what people thought, helped by John’s enjoyment of her little foible.

The Linnets took to the sky, Bear lay down and Peaches curled up for their lunchtime snooze, while the other two dogs went looking for anything that moved. The Linnets song hit the serenity note as two new friends talked about life in general and the village history in particular. There they sat amongst the grass, Clair with her tall elegant champagne flute, and John with his thermos flask cup.

As she loaded Bear’s bags up, John with natural ease called the dogs, and they all walked along the side of the fields to the road. It was no surprise to her that he was a dog trainer, his ability to command respect through his soft encouraging energy, was inspirational.

She got a girlish sense of fun at his face as he saw Peaches climb up into Bear’s backpack. Peaches face poked out periodically with a comical twisting to-and-fro to see what was happening and then she would pop back inside. Peaches now twelve deserved a rest. John was impressed with her agility and energy and instead of making a fuss or poking fun – he took a picture and set it as a screen saver.

“Most people would not believe a fighting dog would ever behave that gentlemanly way. I have to go to the local school and give a talk about dogs, the children would love to see Peaches and Bear” Clair visibly shied away, her pulse racing. John held her elbow while she breathed through it. “I would have to lead them, if you don’t mind, for insurance purposes – you know how it is these days.” He let go as soon as her breathing was normal and held her gaze until he was sure she was calm again.

Each time the insurmountable happened, she had coped and enjoyed the elation of overcoming, the awkward reaction to meeting new people ­– thanks to John’s warm and perceptive personality.

When they had gone a little further, he asked her if she would consider taking on a commission for him. One of his closest friends birthday was coming up and he wanted something special for him. Could she paint a dog from a picture? She said she would give it a go. He nodded and looked at her sideways and his expression made her believe that she was good enough for the task and his faith in her made her anxiety abate.

As they walked along the little birds hovered and soared, singing all the while. As Clair looked up she felt her new roots beginning to be set down here, amongst this year’s ripening harvest and the Linnets unwavering song.

Three Tier-system in Education

This is a letter that I have sent in the vein hope it will be read before a meeting that I have just heard about takes place. In reality I'm not sure how much difference it will make but I thought we lived in a democracy, the way this has been handled I don't think we do.

The impact of restructure is a mighty one and at the moment we just seem to keep going through endless circles of change for the better? I think not. Why restructure when you can think wisely and tinker, to get things right.

My name is Tina Rodwell I was educated in a two-tier system in Cambridgeshire, and I’m dyslexic. I was in the lowest classes at school; my teachers and I were exasperated with the situation. They thought I could do better and saw intelligence and blamed lack of effort on my part for my exam results. I just thought I was thick because I could not learn the way they wanted me too.

My husband’s education, caught up in the struggle of putting the three-tier system in place was unsettled. Parents at that time, being told it was a good system. I firmly believe with the right support it could be. If children going up to the middle school were “buddied up” with their pier group of the previous year and again when they first go through the high school, transition would not be a problem. That way there would be no six weeks of worry over the holidays to what would be expected of them or what to expect. I believe this is what the pyramid system was all about and was persuaded of its merits.

My daughter went through a year of turmoil when teachers left because they thought Bacton was going to close.

My eldest son at Stowupland has had drop out teachers with constant replacement teachers. The biggest issue with schools no matter where you live or system you use, is keeping good teachers. I would guess that the conflict between school in fighting – caused by the uncertainty and their hands bound by the job they do, must be unbearable. Overall they are – people that want and need to teach.

All three of my children are dyslexic and have dyspraxia tendencies and a thing called Irlen syndrome. It does not matter to me what you call it but I do understand that we all learn in different ways – people and therefore children are not pre-programmable items. We live in a diverse society yet we still put constraints on it. This is used as a very valuable commodity by government when putting forward fluid statistics to support their ideas, after all it sounds good.

My eldest son wants to be a doctor and would, I think make a good one, but with his disabilities being misunderstood, and lack of consistency of teachers this is unlikely to happen.

The impact of rhetoric of government makes it all sound so plausible but expects us (the bound and gagged public) to walk a walk we instinctively know has no foundation and does not work.

Teachers are not allowed to express themselves, neither are the governors of our schools and trying to get a polite and courteous reply to a simple question has so far been beyond the council.

On Tuesday 26^th 0212 a meeting is to be held in Stowupland high school where no independent parent representative will be asked to attend and they will only discuss one proposal, my question is why?

This has been going on for six years and my children have suffered. Yet I was told to be quiet in one of the first meetings held, as this would not concern me, my son at the time was too young so this would not effect him. My family has been and will continue to be badly affected, with the coercion during this process unforgivable.

My daughter will be at high school taking her A levels when the restructure takes place. She will not know what school or teachers she will have through her A levels. How is this going to work for her and her teachers?

My youngest will be forced to stay in a Victorian school with substandard facilities with two extra year groups. He will no longer have subject specific teachers going into his sixth year of education. Let me just clarify that. He will have one teacher that will teach all subjects with no subject specific equipment.  He will have to wait until he is 11 going in 12 before he will be able to get to school safely (I kid not have you seen the primary schools in these areas) there will be no question of walking our children to school and no proper exercise at school.

He wont have a dining hall he can comfortably eat in, don’t get me started on toilets, a football pitch, tennis court so sport will be out.

Maths teacher and the equipment that they need in these computer frenzied times.  No support for English, not to mention the Sciences, but it is the teachers I morn the loss of, without the teachers what is the education system and that is what this proposal will take away form Angus.

My Question is for what or whose benefit are we changing the system?

Do you listen to the corn pop?

Do you walk along a country path after the rain, and hear the corn pop as the sun shimmers down, when the earth smells clean and washed. The swallows fluttered wings quiver as their acrobatic swoops catch your eye and the linnet’s sweet song carries with the summer breeze, with all the heartiness of life, setting the English scene.

Do you take a deep breath, hold it and let the aromas of flowers entertain your senses? Hear the corn shudder in the breeze and rattle as though they are empty? But there in those seemingly empty shells, contained and bound is the food that will soon feed us, doesn’t it make you wonder?

As the rain comes down in thunders spots, that’s exactly what I dream of. I have been bedraggled and blown off course more times today than I would care to mention. Well Miss flights of Fancy, you will have to wind in your wings and take them somewhere else as the English weather is not for turning and you just can't fly in this weather. All I can say is hosepipe ban.