much to the chagrin of his neighbours. It took him from home early in the day, and often obliged him to spend the best part of the week away from Thrush Green.
Some said that he was one of the directors of that same firm of exporters for whom his wife had worked.
Others maintained that he had a top job - very hush-hush - in the Civil Service, the Army, the Admiralty or MI5.
A few knew, for a fact, that he was connected with Lloyd's, the Stock Exchange, the Treasury and the Ministry of Transport.
Whatever he did, it was universally agreed that it was something of enormous importance giving him power over a great number of people, so that Harold Shoosmith had been heard to dub him irreverently 'Gauleiter Gibbons', but not, of course, to his face.
The meeting of the PTA committee met in Mrs Gibbons' large upstairs room which she called her office. It was a strange apartment to find in Thrush Green, where local committee members usually found themselves sitting in chintz-covered armchairs in someone's sitting-room, balancing a cup of coffee and an unsullied notebook, whilst discussing the latest gossip.
Mrs Gibbons' office was decidedly functional. There was a large desk made of grey metal and upon it stood two telephones, one red and one blue. There were two matching grey filing cabinets and a shelf along one wall which bore a number of mysterious gadgets, rather like miniature television sets, which had rows of keys, buttons and switches attached.
On a side wall was a chart with red and green lines swooping spectacularly across it, reminding at least one committee member of her own fever chart when confined once to Lulling Cottage Hospital. On another wall was a map of Europe and beneath that, on a shelf of its own, was a splendid globe, lit from within, which rotated majestically and drew all eyes to its movements.
Mrs Gibbons seated herself at the desk and surveyed her companions sitting before her in a semi-circle on rather wispy bedroom chairs. There were, she noted severely, far too few committee members.
The PTA really had eight committee members, but this evening only four were present. Besides Mrs Gibbons there were Molly Curdle, whose son was at the school, unmarried Emily Cooke who also had a boy in the same class, and a quiet father who had three children at Thrush Green school. Mrs Gibbons herself had a boy and a girl there, both remarkably bright, as might be expected from such parentage, but also thoroughly modest and sociable.
'Such a pity so many of the committee members are absent,' commented Mrs Gibbons. 'Never mind, we constitute a quorum so we can go ahead.'
The three nodded resignedly.
'It's just about Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty's presents, isn't it?' asked Miss Cooke. 'Won't take long, I mean? I've left my Nigel with Mum and she's got to go to Bingo later on.'
'Oh dear me, no!' replied Mrs Gibbons briskly. She added a particularly sweet smile, for although she secretly felt it highly reprehensible of Emily Cooke to produce a child out of wedlock, she did not want to appear censorious or hidebound in any way, and after all it might have been a grievous mistake on a young girl's part years ago. But somehow she doubted it. One did not need to live in Thrush Green very long before becoming aware of the sad laxity of the Cooke family.
'Well, let's get down to business,' said Mrs Gibbons. At that moment, the red telephone rang, and she picked up the receiver.
'Indeed?' said Mrs Gibbons. 'You surprise me,' she added. 'Not at all,' she continued. 'I will ring you back.'
She replaced the receiver, and smiled brightly at her companions, who had found the interruption decidedly disappointing, and had been looking forward to seeing their chairman with the receiver tucked between chin and shoulder, whilst taking down notes in efficient shorthand, just as people did on the telly.
'Any ideas?' she enquired.
As one would expect, there was a heavy silence. A blackbird scolded outside. A motor cycle
Some said that he was one of the directors of that same firm of exporters for whom his wife had worked.
Others maintained that he had a top job - very hush-hush - in the Civil Service, the Army, the Admiralty or MI5.
A few knew, for a fact, that he was connected with Lloyd's, the Stock Exchange, the Treasury and the Ministry of Transport.
Whatever he did, it was universally agreed that it was something of enormous importance giving him power over a great number of people, so that Harold Shoosmith had been heard to dub him irreverently 'Gauleiter Gibbons', but not, of course, to his face.
The meeting of the PTA committee met in Mrs Gibbons' large upstairs room which she called her office. It was a strange apartment to find in Thrush Green, where local committee members usually found themselves sitting in chintz-covered armchairs in someone's sitting-room, balancing a cup of coffee and an unsullied notebook, whilst discussing the latest gossip.
Mrs Gibbons' office was decidedly functional. There was a large desk made of grey metal and upon it stood two telephones, one red and one blue. There were two matching grey filing cabinets and a shelf along one wall which bore a number of mysterious gadgets, rather like miniature television sets, which had rows of keys, buttons and switches attached.
On a side wall was a chart with red and green lines swooping spectacularly across it, reminding at least one committee member of her own fever chart when confined once to Lulling Cottage Hospital. On another wall was a map of Europe and beneath that, on a shelf of its own, was a splendid globe, lit from within, which rotated majestically and drew all eyes to its movements.
Mrs Gibbons seated herself at the desk and surveyed her companions sitting before her in a semi-circle on rather wispy bedroom chairs. There were, she noted severely, far too few committee members.
The PTA really had eight committee members, but this evening only four were present. Besides Mrs Gibbons there were Molly Curdle, whose son was at the school, unmarried Emily Cooke who also had a boy in the same class, and a quiet father who had three children at Thrush Green school. Mrs Gibbons herself had a boy and a girl there, both remarkably bright, as might be expected from such parentage, but also thoroughly modest and sociable.
'Such a pity so many of the committee members are absent,' commented Mrs Gibbons. 'Never mind, we constitute a quorum so we can go ahead.'
The three nodded resignedly.
'It's just about Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty's presents, isn't it?' asked Miss Cooke. 'Won't take long, I mean? I've left my Nigel with Mum and she's got to go to Bingo later on.'
'Oh dear me, no!' replied Mrs Gibbons briskly. She added a particularly sweet smile, for although she secretly felt it highly reprehensible of Emily Cooke to produce a child out of wedlock, she did not want to appear censorious or hidebound in any way, and after all it might have been a grievous mistake on a young girl's part years ago. But somehow she doubted it. One did not need to live in Thrush Green very long before becoming aware of the sad laxity of the Cooke family.
'Well, let's get down to business,' said Mrs Gibbons. At that moment, the red telephone rang, and she picked up the receiver.
'Indeed?' said Mrs Gibbons. 'You surprise me,' she added. 'Not at all,' she continued. 'I will ring you back.'
She replaced the receiver, and smiled brightly at her companions, who had found the interruption decidedly disappointing, and had been looking forward to seeing their chairman with the receiver tucked between chin and shoulder, whilst taking down notes in efficient shorthand, just as people did on the telly.
'Any ideas?' she enquired.
As one would expect, there was a heavy silence. A blackbird scolded outside. A motor cycle
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