by Mike London
"Next girl!" came a call from the study.
Rosamund took her hands from her head, walked in and closed the door behind her.
"Name and form?" asked the recently appointed headmistress.
"Rosamund Clifford, Upper Sixth," the schoolgirl responded.
"You know why you are here, Rosamund. I hope you feel a proper sense of disgrace at your behaviour and its consequences. Remove your blazer, skirt and knickers!"
Rosamund obeyed. She had heard the stories and had expected as much. Furthermore, she knew that any argument or explanation would be pointless and would almost certainly serve to make matters still worse. Rosamund was sure that she had not done anything deserving of punishment, but she couldn't help feeling a deep sense of shame as she removed her clothes. She put them on the headmistress's desk. As she did so, she saw the cane lying there. It looked longer and thicker than the ones that she'd seen in the school classrooms.
"Bend over and touch your toes," ordered the headmistress. "You will receive six strokes of the cane."
Rosamund quickly slipped her shoes back on again and bent over. It took her a while to reach a position satisfactory to the school mistress, who encouraged her compliance with sharp slaps to the backs of her thighs.
After a brief pause, Rosamund was aware of the cane tapping across her bare backside and then she suddenly felt its impact right across the meat of her arse. A second later and she gave vent to a loud yell and stood bolt upright as a previously unimaginable degree of pain suddenly overtook her. She danced around in front of the headmistress's desk with her hands clasped to her outraged bottom.
"That stroke will not count, Rosamund," said the headmistress calmly. "Bend over again right now! If you do not resume your position immediately, there will be extra strokes."
Rosamund groaned despairingly and forced herself to resume her position.
The headmistress knew her business well - at least that part of it concerning corporal punishment - and she continued to lay the cane on hard, each subsequent stroke being aimed at lower and lower areas of the girl's rump. Rosamund yelled at each stroke but somehow forced herself to remain bent over although she wriggled desperately, her bottom wobbling like a jelly on her long legs.
The fourth stroke bit into Rosamund's delicate flesh just above her thighs and the sixth former howled at an even more intense pain.
"Stay still, girl, unless you want extra strokes," said the headmistress.
Rosamund managed to curb her squirming slightly. She had by now lost count of the strokes and did not know how many were still to come.
The new headmistress watched Rosamund's bottom as its gyrations gradually reduced. She knew that there were still three strokes remaining - two more from the original tariff of six and an additional stroke supposedly in substitution for the one when Rosamund had stood up. She intended to make each stroke count.
The school mistress moved her position slightly and carefully aimed the next stroke so that it would cross the earlier ones. She lashed the cane down with no diminution of force. She smiled grimly when, as she had expected, she saw Rosamund unable to remain in position.
The schoolgirl did not fully stand but she half straightened and put one hand to her bottom before immediately pulling it away. That was enough for the headmistress.
"Rosamund, you naughty girl, get yourself bent over again! That will be an extra stroke."
Rosamund, who was sobbing by now, compelled herself to obey. Once again, there were three strokes to go. Her bottom was so sore by now that, although each stroke landed on already caned flesh and evoked a shrill cry, she was able to take the final strokes with relative ease. The headmistress continued unwaveringly. She knew that Rosamund would continue to feel the effects of those strokes for several days to come.
Finally, the eighth stroke was delivered. Rosamund whooped in anguish but remained resolutely bent over. The headmistress watched her painful contortions for about half a minute and then said, "Very well, Rosamund, you may stand. I hope that you have learned your lesson."
Rosamund stood. She was careful not to touch her bottom. She had heard stories that girls who did so would be made to bend over again for an extra dose of the cane. Rosamund very much did not wish that to happen to her.
"Now get yourself dressed, you little hellion!"
Rosamund found that this was much more easily said than done. It took her several minutes to manoeuvre her knickers back up over her welted and swollen bottom. Putting her tight school skirt back on was almost as bad, and the pain in her pulsating hindquarters continued to intensify. After that was accomplished, she put her blazer back on as quickly as she could. She wanted to get far away from the headmistress's study as rapidly as possible.
The headmistress first treated her to a lengthy lecture, however, perhaps hoping that Rosamund might rub her backside and render herself liable to additional strokes. Finally, she told Rosamund to go.
Rosamund stumbled to the door, almost blinded by her tears. She scarcely noticed the two younger girls standing, hands on their heads, outside the study. They noticed her, however, and the sight of a sixth form girl - a former prefect - obviously in severe pain after an encounter with the headmistress's cane - was scarcely reassuring for them.
Things had been so different less than a fortnight earlier, at the start of the school year.
The sun shone brightly though rather ineffectually on a September morning in 1963, illuminating the historic and extensive grounds of Lady Alfwynn's School. A new school year had just got under way and, though it might be overstating the case to say that the girls were eagerly looking forward to the imbibing of more knowledge at the school that they more often and rather irreverently called Alfie's, some at least were enjoying the prospect of meeting up again with friends whom they had missed over the long summer holidays.
There was a brief break between Morning Prayers and the first lesson of the day. Five girls were gathered by the tennis courts discussing the prospects for the new term. These were Caroline Linton, Angela Redfern, Julia Browning, Fiona Stone and Rita Hunter. They were all sixteen years old and would now be in the fifth form and officially senior girls at the school. Caroline could also expect to be Form Captain again, as she had been in the fourth form.
All twenty-five of the girls in 5B would have a vote in the matter, of course, but as the clique of five girls always voted as a block and as, between them, they had a good deal of influence, being responsible for selecting the form teams for both netball and hockey, Caroline had held the captaincy since their second year.
The five of them were also pleased to have found out that they would all be sleeping in the same dormitory - number six - and that they would have sole occupancy of the dorm. That would open up the possibility of an occasional midnight feast or at least being able to chat amongst each other in relative safety after lights out.
They would have a new form mistress now. Miss Stokes, who had taken them in the fourth year had been a dear old thing but had rarely been of much help when girls turned to her for assistance on abstruse points of History or of Latin. The five chums felt that they had not learned a great deal over the past year because, apart from Miss Stokes' general lack of any information not printed in the school's textbooks, she had not been able to satisfactorily keep order during her lessons. They felt that this was down to her preference for giving out lines and detentions rather than ever resorting to corporal punishment.
From what they had heard, things would be very different under Miss Partridge, their new form mistress. She was known to make regular use of both the slipper and the cane but was not regarded as using them excessively. Girls whom she had taught would often echo the verdict of the scholars at Rugby School under the headmastership of Frederick Temple - she was, as he had been, "a beast, but a just beast." The five friends thought that a little more discipline during lessons would be all to the good. In the fourth-year, girls like Janice Greene and Debbie Neville had often disrupted lessons and had only occasionally been punished for it, mostly by means of lines which they had often not even written out.
The five girls caught sight of Helen de Vere, apparently taking a cat nap on a nearby bench. She was not disruptive as Janice and Debbie often were, but she was remarkably lazy both with regard to school work and also in competitive sport and games.
"I wonder how she'll get on with Miss Partridge," said Fiona, looking in Helen's direction.
"Well, time will tell," replied Angela, tritely.
And, as it happened, time would have many things to tell concerning all of the girls of 5B at Alfie's.
The bell went for the start of morning school and Caroline and her friends, together with the rest of the girls of their year, walked to their new form room. Miss Partridge was already there, sitting behind her desk on its dais. Caroline and Rita sat down next to each other at the front. Rita was rather short sighted and liked to sit near the front of the class because, even wearing glasses, it was hard for her to see the board clearly. There were some disadvantages to sitting at the front and Rita had frequently been in trouble when teachers had seen that she was absent-mindedly doodling in an exercise book when she should have been working.
Angela and Fiona sat directly behind Caroline and Rita while Julia was one row further back, sitting next to Hazel Derwent. Hazel was a quiet and studious girl who was not particularly keen on sports. She had always been friendly with Caroline and the others but had never quite become part of their clique.
The lesson began with roll call. Each girl answered "Adsum" to their name - the Latin for 'I am here'. Then they began working through the seventh poem of Book IV of Horace's Odes. The girls had been told to prepare this over the summer holidays and were now expected to be able to read it out passage by passage and translate it.
Miss Partridge picked a girl at random. "Debbie Neville, you will begin!"
Debbie was quite glad to be the first girl chosen. She had not prepared the whole of the Ode as she should have done, but she had looked over the first few lines. She was able to read her passage with no more than a few minor stumbles and when asked to translate did so well enough.
Miss Partridge discussed the meaning of the poem so far and answered a few questions from some of the girls. Gloria Oakwood was particularly keen to ask intelligent seeming questions as she hoped to get on Miss Partridge's good side. As the teacher addressed Gloria's question, Angela turned to whisper something to Fiona. That proved to be a mistake.
"Angela Redfern, remove your blazer and come out to the front of the class," rapped Miss Partridge.
Angela looked at Fiona glumly as she left her blazer over the back of their chair and walked out to the front.
Fiona was sorry for her friend, but also relieved. She knew that many teachers would have called her out to the front as well, even though she hadn't said a word. The other girls looked on.
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