BEXHILL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, Assembly (4 page)

“You mean you
liked bossing people around!” said Margaret, putting on an
exaggerated frown.

“I never bossed
you about - that’s very unfair!” Paula riposted.

“Well, you
couldn’t really say much to me when I was made a Prefect, too. But
I bet you wanted to!”

“Talking about
‘bossy’, I remember when you read the Riot Act one night at prep.
You sounded so pompous!”

“Now, now,”
said Mr Masterson, “no bickering! You were both excellent Prefects,
just the sort we needed. So, Margaret, what was your
worst
moment at Bexhill?”

“Oh, that’s
easy! When you gave me twelve with the senior cane for smoking. I
couldn’t sit comfortably for days afterwards!”

“What!”
exclaimed Henry, “when was the wretched girl caught smoking? I’d
have thrashed her so hard that she’d
never
have been able to
sit down again!”

“Relax, Henry,”
said Evelyn. “I knew all about it and talked to Margaret
afterwards. I was satisfied it was just a spur-of-the-moment
silliness and that she wouldn’t smoke again.”

“I remember
that,” said Mr Masterson, “it was you, Alice and..and...yes, if I’m
not mistaken, Jane, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right:
you placed three chairs in a row and made us all bend over them,
facing the fireplace. I was the last in line. Waiting for my turn
while you dealt with the other two was the worst bit.”

“You took your
punishment very bravely, I recall, and so did Jane. But Alice
jumped about all over the place and wouldn’t stay still. I had to
call in Miss Holloway to hold her down.”

“Poor Alice,
she really didn’t like it at all, especially when you gave her some
extra smacks with Stinger for getting up. But I suppose she
deserved it - she was the one who gave us the cigarettes.”

“Did she? So it
was her! I asked you whose cigarettes they were and you wouldn’t
say. That’s why you all got twelve. If she’d owned up, I might have
let you two off with six.”

“Now you tell
me! But we wouldn’t have sneaked on her anyway. We didn’t know we’d
have got less if she’d admitted owning the packet. If we had, we’d
have laid into her afterwards.”

“I’ve always
rather admired the way the girls stick together when they’re in
trouble,” said Evelyn.

“It’s part of
the school ethic,” said Marge. “But it must be damned annoying at
times when they all stand shoulder-to-shoulder and you can’t tell
which of the wretches is the most guilty!”

“That’s why my
policy is always ‘thrash the lot and you’re bound to get the
culprit,” said ‘Three Taps, smiling. “So, Margaret, did you ever
smoke again?”

“No. I didn’t
like it much on that occasion and so I never tried again.”

“I’d like to
think it was the memory of that sore bottom that deterred you.”

“Well, of
course it was that, too.”

“So much,” said
Henry, “for all this new-fangled talk about banning corporal
punishment in schools. Typical Labour Party bosh. Short, sharp
shock and get it over with. It’s always worked in the past; always
will. What do you say, Edward?”

“I agree. I
think banning the cane would be a great mistake. It’s hard enough
as it is to keep discipline in the classrooms nowadays.”

“I agree,” said
Evelyn. “The Headmaster and I were discussing it just the other
day. We are even thinking of giving each of the teachers a paddle
and encouraging them to use it if the class starts getting too
unruly.”

“Jolly good
idea,” said Marge.

“Why don’t we
ask those on the receiving end, as it were? What do you think,
girls? Would you rather have had detention or extra prep or
something than the threat of the cane?”

Margaret looked
at Paula. Paula spoke.

“Oh no, I don’t
think so. Some of the teachers did give us detentions or extra
prep, and we hated that. It was boring and so demeaning: everyone
could see you sitting there in the classroom while they were having
time off. I wasn’t spanked very often, but I’d much rather have had
a good smacking and got it over with. It only lasts a few seconds,
after all!”

“I used to hate
the wait when I knew I was going to get a thrashing,” said
Margaret, “but I agree with Paula, it’s better than detention. I
mean, there was even some status attached to getting the cane,
wasn’t there, Paula?”

“Oh yes, the
girls used to show off their stripes quite proudly. The juniors
really admired you if you could get through a caning without making
a fuss.”

“It wasn’t so
easy - not making a fuss,” said Margaret, looking at the Headmaster
and wondering whether she should continue. She decided to go for
it. “I mean, when Mum canes people, she just sort of gets on with
it. It’s different with ‘Three Taps’ over there!” She nodded at
Mr Masterson.

“What do you
mean, and who’s ‘Three Taps’ anyway?” he asked, smiling, but
puzzled.

“Don’t you know
you’re nickname is ‘Three Taps’? I’m sure the girls still call you
that,” said Paula, grinning at him.

“Why on Earth
‘Three Taps’?” he was laughing now.

“You tell him,
Margaret. You had more cause to know why he’s called that!”

“Come on,
you’re keeping us in suspense,” said Marge, sitting forward. “I
want to know why you awful girls call my husband ‘Three Taps.”

“All right,
I’ll tell you,” said Margaret, “but promise you won’t get
offended?”

“Of course I
won’t, but if you don’t get on with it, I’ll ask Henry whether he
keeps a cane around here somewhere!”

“It’s because
of the way you beat us. It’s always the same. You tell us to take
down our pants and bend over; you prepare us by lifting up our
skirts, and then the ritual begins. It’s the worst bit, isn’t it
Paula?”

Paula nodded
enthusiastically.

“You tap our
bottom with whatever you’re going to use - Stinger or the tawse or
a cane - and then start lecturing us. It’s just awful, waiting for
that first swipe. Tap. Yak, yak, yak! Tap. Yak, yak, yak! Sometimes
it’s two taps, and then more yak-yak.”

Everyone was
laughing.

“But why
‘
Three
Taps
’
?” exclaimed the Headmaster.

“Because that’s
when you know the first stroke is about to arrive. When you feel
three taps, you can be certain it’s the end of the lecture and the
thrashing is going to begin. It’s always the same. Tap, tap, tap.
Whack! Ask any of the girls!”

“Paula, is this
nonsense true?” Marge could hardly get the words out for
laughing.

“Absolutely!
I’ve experienced it myself. He’ll always be ‘Three Taps’ to me and
all the girls he’s ever thrashed!”

“Well I’ll be
damned,” said Edward, “I never realised, but now I think about it,
I believe you’re right. Three taps and off we go. It’s a bit like
bouncing a tennis ball before you serve. These wretched girls are
quite observant, aren’t they?”

“We’ve haven’t
got much else to do when we’re bending over and waiting for that
first stroke. Counting the swirls on the carpet has its
limitations,” Margaret giggled, glad that her risky remarks had
gone down well.

“So,” Henry
looked around the table, “everyone agrees with me then - corporal
punishment is a good thing and is here to stay?”

“Well, at least
in schools,” said Marge, “I suppose when they leave, they’re
getting a bit old to be put over someone’s knee.”

Margaret saw
her mother glance at her. She blushed.

Hardly anyone
knew the school secretary’s first name: it was Marlene. Her parents
had been fans of Miss Dietrich, and the little baby, adorned with
the fairest of locks, appeared to be from the same mould. Everyone
at Bexhill knew her simply as Miss Holloway. She had joined the
school straight from secretarial college and had proved an adept
and conscientious employee, discrete to the roots of her
naturally-blonde hair. She was also very pretty and being
apparently unattached, she attracted the close attention of the
male staff, young and old, bachelors and also (sadly) the
spoken-for.

She lived in a
small flat a few minutes’ drive from the school. The deposit on it
had been a 21
^st
birthday present from her parents, and
now she just about managed to cover the instalments from her
salary. She was gregarious by nature and found it easy to make
friends, with whom she would spend the weekends. She was not
attracted to nightclubs - she found the noise and cigarette smoke
annoying, but she enjoyed visiting the charming rural pubs which
abounded in the local area. Her car was a much-cherished,
second-hand Morris Minor and when, one day, it flatly refused to
start, Dick came into her life.

Dick was not a
mechanic as such, but he had been in the REME during his National
Service and so had a passing acquaintance with engines. He also had
a passing acquaintance with Annie, one of Miss Holloway’s best
friends, and so when Marlene telephoned her to say she couldn’t
make it to a pre-arranged date in the Miller’s Arms, Annie had
volunteered Dick’s services.

He was quite
good-looking in a slightly overweight way, with an easy charm and a
box of tools. He spent an hour under the bonnet of the Morris, went
off and fetched some obscure spare part with several wires dangling
from it, and within another twenty minutes there was a reassuring
burble from the car’s exhaust. Dick refused all payment, except for
the cost of the new distributor, so Marlene insisted on taking him
to lunch.

She sent him to
her bathroom to clean up, expecting to find her towels covered in
grease and the hand-basin awash with grime when she next looked in,
but to her surprise, everything was neat and spotless, including
Dick. They drove off in the Morris to a pub overlooking the sea,
ate fish and chips and drank cider, and afterwards walked along the
cliff path in the bright, blustery April sunshine. When they turned
to walk back, Dick took her hand. Within a few hundred yards, their
fingers were interlaced.

This was the
late 1950s, so when they got back to Marlene’s flat, they didn’t
tumble into bed: they exchanged a chaste peck on each other’s cheek
and parted, promising to meet again soon.

They did.

***

Miss Holloway
arrived at the school every morning just before eight o’clock. Her
office was opposite the headmaster’s study and acted as a kind of
‘information centre’ for the school. Miss Holloway’s knowledge
of the girls was encyclopaedical, gained from having to type out
reports at the end of each term. She was often a source of
intelligence about who had been selected for sports teams, which
dormitory someone was to be in the following term, travel
arrangements home, and even - discretely - what sort of mood the
headmaster or deputy head might be in. This latter information was
often sought by those nervously waiting their turn in Miss
Holloway’s office before appearing in front of ‘Three Taps’ or
Mrs Winchester in order to be ‘dealt with’. Being ‘dealt with’
almost always involved physical punishment with a hairbrush, tawse,
or cane.

It was the
‘waiting room’ aspect of her duties that bothered Miss Holloway the
most. Punishments were meted out either after lunch or after
supper. Girls who were to see the headmaster in the afternoon would
report to Mrs Holloway’s office after the midday meal, while
everyone else had a rest period. Sometimes there would be several
of them slated for these awe-inspiring meetings. They would sit on
the half dozen chairs laid out for visitors along one wall of the
office until either Mr Masterson or Mrs Winchester buzzed on
the intercom to tell the secretary to send in the first victim or
the first group, if several girls had been involved in the same
incident. The rest would fidget nervously on their chairs or else
sit pale and immobile, like rabbits caught in a car’s headlights.
They rarely spoke. Although the door to the headmaster’s study,
just across the corridor from the secretary’s office, was made of
heavy oak, there was no mistaking the sound of a thrashing: the
smack of Stinger, the whack of the tawse, or the crack of a cane,
all too often followed by a cry or a yell. At this point, even the
bravest would start to chew their lips or flick nervous glances at
the door to the study, waiting for the sufferer to emerge,
red-eyed, tear-stained, and clasping her backside. Then the anxious
look towards Miss Holloway: who would be next? The fluttering in
the stomach - half hope, because it was better to get the whole
thing over with; half fear that the dreaded moment of truth had
arrived.

Of course
anyone might have been upset at having to supervise girls in such
an obvious state of distress and it would have been quite normal to
feel some sympathy for them in their plight, no matter what they
had done or how much they might deserve what was coming to them.
Miss Holloway’s problem lay elsewhere. To her shame and moral
confusion, she found she was becoming erotically excited on these
occasions.

Of course she
felt an empathy with the poor, frightened girls, but she was
undeniably turned on by what was happening just a few feet away in
the headmaster’s study. The clearer the sound of the punishment
coming from within his sanctum, the more thrilled she felt. She
would see the waiting victims in a new light, imagining how they
would soon look, with their pants pulled down, their skirts raised,
their hands grasping the wooden seat of a chair or the edge of the
headmaster’s desk, their bottoms lifted - anticipating, pale and
unmarked, the first swish of the brush or leather or rattan. On
these occasions Miss Holloway could feel her own underwear becoming
damp and she would blush inwardly at the depravity of her
thoughts.

Some of the
‘victims’ fell into well-defined categories: