BEGGARSDALE was in need of a spot of light relief this week, what with fears that the old quarry is about to be turned into a rubbish tip and some pretty dreary weather. But it came from a very unexpected source: Teacher Tess.

And although we chortled a bit at first, we quickly realised it wasn't very funny at all.

The one thing you can say about Tess, Local Commandant of the Politically Correct Thought Police (LoCoPoCoThoPo), is that she will always argue her corner, even if the corner involved almost always has too many sharp edges for most of us locals.

But being a passionate supporter of this Government under almost all circumstances, she has taken some hard knocks in recent weeks, most particularly over the war in Iraq - she even went off to London to the anti-war marches.

But it was noticed that she was coming home early from her school in the city in the past week or so - early enough, in fact, to join the early doors brigade in the Beggars' Arms at teatime.

Now the only one who would dare to ask Tess about her private business at the Beggars' is the Innkeeper and even he is extremely diffident when he approaches her.

So it wasn't until Tuesday that he finally worked up the courage to ask: "You're home early these days, Tess. Have you changed schools or something?"

Every neck in the bar craned. She glared at each of us in turn, then shrugged her shoulders and almost bleated: "If you must know - and you'll find out soon enough, I suppose - we have been put on short time.

"The school's so far over budget that we are having to send the kids home after lunch..."

There was a titter of laughter but we smothered it before it became a guffaw. What looked suspiciously like a tear had formed in Tess's eye and she almost stuttered: "There's talk that we might have to have redundancies too..."

Her pain was so real that Cousin Kate, the post mistress, put an arm round the teacher's shoulder to comfort her - which, considering the two have been philosophical and political sparring partners for yonks, raised eyebrows even higher than Tess's news.

With a little nod of thanks, Tess made her farewells and left. Then the real debate started when Kate demanded of anyone caring to listen: "What I can't understand is where has all the money gone?

Now in her time, Tess has sparked off some pretty fierce rows in the Beggars' - but nowt quit like this. Everyone wanted a say and the debate went on until closing time.

Schools that can't pay their teachers. Kids who can't go to university. Railways that are cancelling trains. Road schemes that have been abandoned. The list went on and on.

But the indignation peaked when Owd Tom produced yet another of his tattered newspaper cuttings which reported that the city of Bradford was looking for a new chief executive for a salary of £200,000 - £25,000 more than the Prime Minister.

Eventually, the night ended in a singsong to the tune of the famous 1960s protest anthem: "Where has all the money gone ... gone to civil servants by the ton. When will we ever learn, when will we ever learn..."* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.