by Pet Jeffery
A teacher's concentration, as well as that of her pupils, can lapse during a headmistress' speech at morning assembly. It was not that Miss Dashwood was a dull speaker, but such issues as the first years' hockey fixtures were of little interest to anyone not directly involved.
In fact, I would have preferred Miss Dashwood to be a less commanding presence. At the start of term she had arrived to replace our former headmistress, Miss Barren. That was two weeks ago; it seemed much longer. From the moment of Miss Dashwood's arrival, life at the Rudyard Valley Girls' Grammar School had changed almost beyond recognition. Under Miss Barren's regime, discipline and academic standards had fallen lamentably. I had to admit that someone had needed to do something. But did that something need to be as radical as Miss Dashwood's approach? Discipline was Miss Dashwood's watchword.
Under Miss Barren, naughty girls had received verbal reprimands, senior staff gave pupils detention for serious wrongdoing and, on average, the headmistress had expelled an especially recalcitrant pupil every eighteen months or so. Now, by contrast, discipline entailed spankings and whackings with a plimsoll, even for minor transgressions. Perhaps a third of the staff administered such punishments; I was not one of their number. Girls who, hitherto, might have received either a severe telling off, or detention, now found themselves in Miss Dashwood's study awaiting the cane. On the basis of my own observations, I recognised that the new headmistress applied her cane to pupils' bottoms with devastating effect. In the space of a fortnight, no fewer than six girls had returned to my classroom with tears in their eyes, and a reluctance to sit. My guess was that, taking the school as a whole, Miss Dashwood caned seven or eight girls in the course of an ordinary day.
The anecdotal evidence of staffroom chatter supported that alarming total of seven or eight well-caned bottoms a day. Word was that, on Thursday of last week, Miss Dashwood had a dozen girls in her study simultaneously. A search of satchels and desks had shown all twelve to be in possession of cigarettes. As we teachers sipped our Friday morning breaktime tea, Miss Hope, the gym mistress, had added extra detail.
"In the first period this morning, I slippered Eleanor Tyson, the lazy little madam. She had four purple lines across her bottom, just as neat as you like. It'll be a while before she thinks of smoking again."
Miss Griffiths asked, "Did you see the marks? Surely you don't mean...?
"I slippered her on her bare bottom, of course, just as Miss Dashwood said I should. On top of her caning, a well-applied plimsoll really made Tyson howl. And a good job, too!"
"That's right," Mrs Hubbard agreed, "Miss Dashwood was most insistent that I spank miscreants' bare skin: either their bottoms or their thighs. As a matter of fact, I had to spank another of the smokers this morning: Gillian West. She hadn't done her homework, if you please. When I saw the state of her bottom, I hadn't the heart to wallop her buttocks, so I told her to raise her knickers. She obviously thought I was letting her off."
Mrs Hubbard, or Geraldine Styles as she'd then been, was one of my childhood friends. Aged nine, she had blackened the eye of a boy who had attempted to grab her satchel. Perhaps her willingness to spank pupils should not have surprised me.
"Did you let her off?" Miss Hope asked, a note of disapproval in her voice. "I don't think Miss Dashwood..."
"Of course, I didn't. I gave her legs a good slapping, instead."
At this point, I swallowed the last of my tea and departed from the staffroom, with the idea of taking a few lungfuls of fresh air before my next class. I disapproved of corporal punishment for girls, and I had heard too much talk of it. There was no denying that, under Miss Barren, the school had failed our pupils. But I refused to believe that the answer to Rudyard Valley's problems lay with spanking and the cane.
I might have accepted Geraldine's view of corporal punishment more readily, had I not been jealous of her wedded state. John, my fiancé, had been a pilot with 264 Squadron, flying a Boulton Paul Defiant over the low countries in May 1940. When he went missing, I told myself that he must have bailed out, and a Dutch or Belgian farmer was sheltering him for the duration. But for that delusion, perhaps I would have connected with one of the US servicemen based at Market Shilton, become a GI bride, and now be living the American dream. Perhaps I would have received more sympathy had John lived long enough to fight in the Battle of Britain, and if he'd flown a type of aeroplane that people remembered.
Moments after I emerged from the staffroom, choking on the idea of spanking girls, and on the unfairness of life in general, I passed Miss Cowan in the corridor. She was the deputy headmistress, and Miss Barren's friend. I knew that the last couple of weeks had been difficult for her to bear; her opposition to physical punishment was as strong as Miss Barren's had been. Miss Cowan smiled weakly in my direction and then darted away; she reminded me of a prey animal with a predator at her heels. Miss Dashwood's unmistakable silhouette occupied the open doorway that led out into the sunny playground. Was that a cane in the headmistress' hand? I preferred to remain in ignorance on this point. Rather than gain a clear view of whatever the headmistress grasped, I turned on my heel to hurry after Miss Cowan, who now ascended the stairs, and was approaching the first landing. I wondered how long Miss Cowan, or I, could remain on the Rudyard Valley staff.
On the following Tuesday, my thoughts had drifted during morning assembly. Few of Miss Dashwood's remarks seemed to concern me. The monotonous view, from near the back of the hall, didn't aid my concentration: row after row of identically clad girls, a sea of green blazers and matching pleated skirts. Had I been on the stage with the headmistress, I would have seen their faces, rather than the backs of their heads. I would also have seen the mass of green relieved by glimpses of white blouses, and the yellow stripe of their ties. Further splashes of yellow might have caught my eye in the school badges on the blazer breast pockets. The badge depicted a woman casting seed with, above, the intertwined letters RVGGS and, below, the Latin motto Labor Omnia Vincit, meaning 'Work Conquers All'.
With little else to engage my interest, I considered my plan for the first lesson of the day, with form 4B; my intended remarks on trigonometry seemed sure to provoke disruption on the part of two or three bored girls. Short of adopting the new policy of corporal punishment, how could I engage and hold their interest? Would it help if I introduced the topic with a little joke? What pleasantry might the girls greet with polite laughter? Too much hilarity would be counterproductive, not that I was much of a comedian, nor did mathematics present many openings for mirth. At this point in my deliberations, Miss Dashwood startled me by pronouncing my name.
"Miss Althorpe, I need to speak to you after assembly, perhaps you would wait for me outside my office. Form 4B, you were to have taken first period with Miss Althorpe. You will instead join Miss Hope's gym class." I took the ensuing audible groan to be a vote in my favour and against Miss Hope, or at least against whackings from Miss Hope's plimsoll. "Three girls are to wait outside my office after assembly: Helen James, Juliet Winter, and Rebecca Thompson. To continue with disciplinary issues, I have noticed several cigarette-ends behind the hockey pavilion. I reiterate my warning that, without exception, I will cane any girl caught smoking or in possession of cigarettes; I will listen to no excuses. Now, on a lighter matter..."
A flicker of a smile momentarily illuminated Miss Dashwood's features. I suspected that she had intended a pun on 'lighter' in the sense of 'less serious' and that of a cigarette lighter. She was, I noted yet again, an attractive young woman. Miss Dashwood looked to be in her mid-twenties, but her position as headmistress assured me that she must be somewhat older. Dark wavy hair fell loosely to below her shoulders, contrasting with the severe cut of her suit. Once her smile faded, her face was impassive but pleasant, giving no hint of the brand of discipline she administered. She seemed to me an enigma.
During morning assembly, I stood near the back of the hall, while Miss Dashwood occupied the stage. This meant that I stepped into the passageway at least five minutes before the headmistress emerged. Miss Dashwood's office door was no more than three paces from the assembly hall exit. I felt at a strong disadvantage, as I waited with the three girls whilst the rest of the school trooped past. My companions regarded me with unconcealed hostility.
Helen, Juliet, and Rebecca were fourteen or fifteen-years-old, and they were clearly about to receive the cane. I knew the probable reason for their punishment. On Thursday, the day on which Miss Dashwood had caned a dozen smokers, I had been on playground duty during morning break. I'd seen the three girls sneaking off and, filled with misgiving, I'd followed them. The trio scurried to where the headmistress parked her gleaming new powder blue Austin Somerset. When the girls took craft knives from their pockets, I gathered that they intended to slash Miss Dashwood's tyres. I yelled for them to desist; the girls stood irresolute by the car. When I joined them, I lost no time in confiscating the craft knives, and I issued a warning that, if the headmistress' Austin came to harm, I would report this incident to Miss Dashwood. It seemed to me that I'd coped well with the crisis.
That might have been the end of the matter, but for the fact that girls like to talk. I was aware that Helen, Juliet, and Rebecca had complained to their classmates about my intervention. It surprised me that canings had not followed more swiftly; playground chatter concerning mischief surely filtered through to the headmistress.
The girls clearly realised why they waited outside Miss Dashwood's office.
"You said that you wouldn't tell on us," Juliet said reproachfully.
"I didn't," I replied.
"Oh yeah, then how come..."
At that moment, Miss Hope passed by.
"Silence, girls!" she bellowed. "Stand up straight! No slouching! You're waiting for the cane, not to go home. Even in a bus queue, you'd be a disgrace to the school."
The girls sprang to attention. I judged that Miss Hope had whacked them with her plimsoll repeatedly, and they were eager to avoid a repetition.
I, too, straightened my stance, and I wondered why. Helen, Juliet, and Rebecca were most certainly waiting for the cane. But I was a member of staff and, in any case, I had done nothing wrong. Nevertheless, I felt increasingly uncomfortable, as though I were about to receive a sore bottom.
After what seemed an unfeasibly long time, but was presumably only a few minutes, Miss Dashwood approached. Miss Stockton, the school secretary, walked at the headmistress' side; the secretary clasped a hard-covered quarto sized notebook. I had little doubt that this volume was another of Miss Dashwood's innovations: a punishment book in which Miss Stockton recorded the frequent canings.
I made to follow Miss Dashwood and Miss Stockton into the office, but the headmistress motioned me to remain where I was.
"If you wouldn't mind, Miss Althorpe," she said, "I'd prefer you to remain here to supervise James, Winter, and Thompson, while I have a word with Miss Stockton."
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