by Gary Kane
"Hmm, that sounds interesting," Debbie said as she read the small ads in the morning paper.
"What's that, dear?" I replied. My wife's notion of 'interesting' is a 20 percent off in a sale for something neither we nor anyone else could ever possibly need, so it was a struggle to pretend any enthusiasm.
"Schooldays: The happiest days of your life," she read from the advert. "Relive your childhood experiences at our weekend retreat in an authentic school setting in an old manor house... blah, blah, blah... For further information, phone... blah, blah, blah. It sounds wonderful. What do you think?"
I did not remember my schooldays being particularly happy the first time around, so I had no great ambition to relive them.
"Hmm, I don't know," I replied hesitatingly.
"Well I think it sounds great," she enthused, sounding really excited. "And you did say you would take me away somewhere for my birthday."
It was one of those birthdays ending in a zero, and she had been feeling a little down recently just thinking about it.
"I was thinking more along the lines of Paris or Amsterdam," I explained.
"Paris or Amsterdam? What's there? They're just cities. What can you do in Amsterdam that you can't do at home?"
I was about to suggest 'window shopping', but decided it might be more prudent to say nothing.
"I'll tell you what, why don't I give the school a ring and get a bit more information?" Debbie said. "Then we can make an informed decision."
I decided that seeking more information could not do any harm; it might even provide me with more ammunition to say 'no'. So I agreed.
Debbie was on the phone for about ten minutes. I began to suspect things were not going too well when I heard her gushing words like 'lovely' and 'wonderful', but I knew for certain they had gone belly-up when I heard her saying 'Debbie and Jim Rogers' followed by my credit card details.
"Oh, it sounds really great." She bubbled with excitement as she put the phone down. "Apparently they only run retreats once a month and places are limited. I knew you would absolutely love it too, so I just went ahead and booked it. We are scheduled for the weekend after next."
"Great," I said, trying to sound pleased. It was her birthday treat after all, so Amsterdam would just have to wait.
"They are going to email us some forms to fill in. Special dietary needs, clothes sizes, things like that."
"Clothes sizes?"
"Yes, for the uniforms. They are going to provide the uniforms."
"We have to wear uniforms?"
"Yes, doesn't it sound dreamy?"
"Amazing," I said, wondering if things could get any worse.
We arrived at Bottomley Manor around mid-day on the Friday. An informal reception desk had been set up in the hallway, where we were each given a parcel containing our uniform and directions to our respective dormitories. I was allocated bed 1 in dormitory A, whilst Debbie was bed 6 in dormitory C. There were three dormitories, gender segregated. Each dormitory contained 8 beds. We were instructed to change into our uniforms and then gather in the Assembly Hall at 1 o'clock where there would be a meet and greet reception.
My heart sank when I tried on my uniform in my dorm. It consisted of shoes, socks, shirt, tie, blazer and short trousers. It fitted quite well, but the shorts seemed extremely short. I had not worn short trousers since I was 9 or 10, so I felt absolutely ridiculous. After changing I met up with Debbie in the corridor as we had arranged.
Debbie's uniform was very similar except instead of short trousers she had a very short skirt, but at least she had the legs for it. In fact, she actually looked rather fetching. However, being confined to single sex dormitories was going to put a damper on any aspirations I might develop in that regard.
When we arrived at the Assembly Hall I was relieved to discover that most of our classmates looked equally ridiculous. There were a couple of large tables at one end of the room displaying a very tempting buffet lunch, but everyone else was seated in chairs at the other end, so we joined them.
A couple of minutes later a tall, rather intimidating, middle-aged woman marched up to the front and introduced herself:
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name, for the benefit of those who do not already know me, is Ms. Burkinshaw. I am the headmistress of Bottomley Academy."
I would have to say she really looked the part and had we been real schoolboys and schoolgirls, I have no doubt she would have put the fear of God into us.
"I can see some familiar faces - so nice to see you again. I also see some new faces; you are also very welcome. I hope this will be the first of many visits to Bottomley Academy. Unfortunately Ms. Goodbody, our normal teacher, is indisposed, so I will be doubling up as your teacher as well as headmistress this weekend."
I could not be certain, but I thought I heard a few of my 'classmates' groan under their breath.
"I would also like to introduce our new Head Girl, Dolores Rickman, whom many of you will know from previous visits," Ms. Burkinshaw continued, indicating a woman dressed in the same school uniform as the other women, but sporting a silver badge on her lapel inscribed with the word 'Prefect'. She had quite shapely legs beneath her short skirt, topped by a reasonably attractive slim figure. However, the overall effect was spoilt by an over-abundance of make-up on her face which gave her a vaguely witch-like appearance. Although presumably meant to make her look more attractive, it actually had the opposite effect and made her look about ten years older than what I would imagine was her actual age. The term 'mutton dressed as lamb' sprang to mind.
The new head girl's recent promotion did not appear to be a popular choice amongst some of the regulars. I know you should never place too much credence on first impressions, but something about her suggested she might have a nasty vindictive streak in her personality.
"You will have received a copy of the school rules," Ms. Burkinshaw continued. "Please read them very carefully, if you have not already done so. The rules in this school are very strictly enforced, so I would remind you that, as noted in our guidebook, this may involve corporal punishment. However, there are forms for anyone who would like to be excused from the normal regime. Please raise your hand if you would like an exemption form."
I was about to raise my hand when Debbie tugged my sleeve. Looking around, I noticed that no-one else had put up their hand. Not wishing to be the only wimp in the class, I decided I would just have to take my chances. However I had bad memories from my real school days, so I resolved not to do anything that might risk a visit to the headmistress.
"Good," Ms. Burkinshaw announced when she saw no-one had raised their hand. "As you know we like to push each of you to your limits, but everyone's limits are different. Should you find yourself in too deep then the safeword is 'volcano'. This will buy you a short breathing space. However, should that prove insufficient, you may request to be expelled. All punishments will then stop immediately, but bear in mind that expulsions are permanent and if expelled you will not be allowed to attend school again at any point in the future."
What did she mean by 'pushing us to our limits'? Were we going to have to do gymnastics or cross-country running or something? I had not done any meaningful exercise for years. My reservations about the weekend were growing stronger by the minute.
After a few more housekeeping announcements, and repeating her desire that we would all enjoy the weekend, Ms. Burkinshaw invited us to partake in the buffet that had been laid on at the back of the room.
The buffet provided an opportunity to take stock of our fellow students. By my estimate there were five couples (including ourselves), three unattached men and seven unattached women (including Dolores). Most were about the same age as ourselves. Debbie and I were amongst the youngest, but no-one was more than about 10 years older than us. My eye, however, was drawn towards a stunningly attractive girl who looked about 10 years younger than all of us. She had fine features and a beaming smile that seemed to light up the room. I later learnt her name was Krystel Bell.
After stocking up with food, the crowd drifted into little groups of three or four, although Krystel's group not surprisingly attracted more than its fair share of the unattached males. I was about to go over to join them when we were button-holed by one of the unattached women. She was pleasant enough, but if talking was an Olympic sport she would be a shoe-in for the gold medal. In an almost non-stop stream of consciousness she told us her name was Pamela Spalding; that this was her first time here; that Debbie was lucky to have a husband who came with her as her own husband would not be seen dead in a place like this (I wished I had shown the same resolve); that she could not believe they would actually use corporal punishment; that the school she had attended had used corporal punishment, although she had never been strapped or caned herself, but that she had always wondered what it would be like; and so forth. I think she was just about to launch into a diatribe about how the ban on corporal punishment in the schools was responsible for an upsurge in delinquency, when Ms. Burkinshaw fortunately rang a bell to announce the beginning of the first class.
The first class, on Mathematics, initially proved uneventful. It was all rather basic stuff, and although by no means a mathematical genius I quickly realised that I was unlikely to learn anything new. A general restlessness began to pervade the room and my mind began to wander. I was beginning to wonder why we had paid good money for this when a loud yell from Ms. Burkinshaw interrupted my musings:
"Krystel! Are you paying attention, girl?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Really? It looks to me as if you were gazing out the window. Would you like to remind the class what was I talking about?"
"Er... you were talking about fractions, Miss."
"Could you be a little more specific? What was I saying about fractions?"
"Er... em... you were saying that they are very useful."
Ms. Burkinshaw gave her a long withering look.
"Out to the front, girl, and fetch the tawse."
It was only then I noticed a heavy leather strap, split into two tails at the business end, hanging from a nail beside the blackboard. It was accompanied by two canes. Krystel did not look too pleased to be sent to fetch it, and gave Ms. Burkinshaw a long resentful look as she obeyed.
"Hold out your hand, girl."
I was enjoying the scene being acted out before us. I assumed that Krystel was an actress employed to play the role of an indolent schoolgirl for our entertainment and that at most she would only receive one or two light taps.
CRACK.
Bloody hell! I almost jumped out of my skin. It sounded like a pistol shot. Krystel clamped her hand between her golden tanned thighs, which she tightly clenched in an instinctive attempt to ease the throbbing pain. If she was acting she certainly fooled me.
"Other hand, please," Ms. Burkinshaw commanded.
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