Molly enjoyed pottering around and pleasing herself. She had been the village school teacher for nearly thirty years. At first she had missed her enthusiastic students but quickly retirement brought with it plenty of enriching experiences.

One day Molly was working in her garden when a voice called to her, 'Miss Gray?'

Molly looked up from what she was doing to see a pretty young lady in a flowery dress peering over the hazel and wild rose hedge. 'Yes? How can I help you dear?'

'Well you wouldn't know me but you taught my mother many years ago. I was wondering if we could have a chat?'

Molly got slowly to her feet and brushed her hands across her skirt; she beckoned the young lady into the garden.

'Sorry it must seem terribly rude of me - Sally, Sally Johnson and my mother is Polly.'

'Of course, Polly, such a dear child. Oops,' she giggled,' that was some years ago. How is your mother?'

'Very well. She sent me over to see you because I've recently trained as a teacher - and you were a great inspiration to so many.'

'Have you a post?' asked Molly.

'The village school,' said Sally smiling broadly.

'Why don't we have a nice cup of tea and perhaps you would like to hear about the school's history.' As Molly turned for the door she tripped and she went crashing down on the path; as she hit the ground there was a sickening snap.

'Oh dear,' grimaced Molly, 'What on earth have I done?'

'Lie still Miss Gray and I'll phone for help.' Sally made Molly comfortable as she could, plying her with hot sweet tea before she was taken to hospital.

'I'm dreadfully sorry dear, perhaps we could resume our little chat another time.'