The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  Prudence felt paralysed. Her hands clasped each other sweatily in her lap and she felt shame coursing from head to toe. She knew the Headmistress's words were true and she also knew that her usual browbeating protestations and hastily invented but cleverly convincing excuses would not work with the woman on the other side of this desk. She had finally met someone who wasn't too polite to confront her. Nevertheless, her pride rose up and she started to frame a defence.

  "I'm sorry if what you've heard -" she began.

  "NO, Miss Waring!" Miss Markham's steely voice cut through her opening gambit, scattering it. "There'll be no improbable explanations for what is indefensible." Prudence was left open-mouthed. Her shoulders slumped slightly in partial defeat and she shifted uneasily on her seat. Miss Markham pressed on. "You should be ashamed, and I can see by your posture and your eyes that you are. But I can also see that years of unfettered pride and selfishness prevent you from allowing yourself to admit that shame." She paused to allow her words to register. Prudence was looking at her hands, her face on fire. The interview was not going at all as she'd imagined it.

  The Headmistress placed her hands on the arms of her chair and continued. "I am not prepared to have on my staff a selfish and manipulative bully." Prudence's head sank lower. "However, I am prepared to give you a chance to redeem yourself." She paused. "What I am about to propose is outside the normal boundaries of a Headmistress's relations to her staff and you are completely free to reject my proposal. But I must warn you that if you do then I shall take steps to have you removed from your post within the month. As you may know, the Governing body have complete faith in my ability to lead this school and will back any measures I decide to take, however unorthodox." She leaned forward and placed her hands together before her on the desk. She spoke more gently. "It is my belief, Prudence, that you are in dire need of atonement. You have used your obvious intelligence in pursuits unworthy of you. It's time to reclaim your self-respect." She paused again. "And to achieve that end, it is my proposal that you submit to a caning, here in this study, today." Prudence looked up in shock.

  "Wha..."

  "Let me finish. I will give you six firm strokes of the cane on your bare bottom. It will hurt a great deal and leave stripes that will cause discomfort for several days, but you will have redeemed yourself. And a second benefit is that in the process you will learn at first hand what the girls in your charge, if you choose to stay at Cropton Hall, will experience when you refer them to me." Prudence stared open-mouthed. "If you can accept this punishment, then you will have my respect and you will keep your post, assuming your conduct is satisfactory hereafter. No one will know what has taken place except for Miss Bainbridge with whom I have already discussed this proposal. Given the unusual nature of this course of action, Miss Bainbridge will also be present to witness your beating." Prudence looked aghast and while she struggled to respond, the Headmistress continued. "Now you will go away and consider everything I have said. If you agree to this proposal - and I am deadly serious about this - then you will return here at six o'clock this evening in a more suitable skirt." She stood. "Miss Waring, this interview is over." Prudence, still completely stunned, rose slowly, scarcely able to believe the situation she now found herself in. She made her way unsteadily towards the door.

  "Prudence," said Miss Markham, gently, "please think carefully. Miss Bainbridge has said she is happy to advise you should you wish. For myself, I do believe you can have a future here."

  Prudence nodded vaguely and left the room, dazed and defeated.

  ---oOo---

  Edith Mary Bainbridge: her diary

  Sunday September 5th 1953

  Met with Verily again yesterday afternoon. She'd just returned from checking that the relevant classrooms had their implements on hooks as they should - the new canes had been delivered in the morning. We went through the prefect list and dormitory allocations, and looked over Miss Stokes' and Miss Kendal's schemes of work. She seemed excited about today and the girls' arrival: "the phoney war is nearly over" was how she put it. But she was also, I surmised, preoccupied about Prudence Waring.

  "Do you think she'll come?" she asked me over a cup of rather weak Twinings at about 4.30. I was as uncertain as she was. Prudence had not come to see me.

  "Are you sure you're willing to support me in this way of dealing with Miss Waring?" she asked a little later. We'd already discussed this at length the other day when I told her I was absolutely with her, but I could see she needed greater reassurance so I said,

  "Verily, you have my support in spades." This seemed to do the trick because she changed the subject and asked if I was still playing bridge. I told her about the pleasant evenings last year with Clarissa, Margaret and the Countess. With Clarissa gone, of course, I'm without a partner but Verily offered herself "if you can put up with my amateurish bidding" she said. This is an unexpected treat to look forward to, even if she is as poor a bidder as she says. Anyway, I can always teach her.

  In the end, Prudence Waring came up trumps. Not only did she present herself at six sharp, she was humility itself. I was amazed. Whatever Verily had said to her earlier had clearly had a profound effect.

  Verily met her at the door and said she was going to treat her exactly as she would a naughty pupil. Prudence agreed to this without demur (much to my surprise, I must say - I was waiting for this "new" Prudence to crumble and become the familiar, manipulative young woman I knew). Verily made her wait outside on the bench for a full ten minutes, and made a point of swishing the senior cane loudly a few times right by the closed door, giving me a conspiratorial smile.

  Before we finally summoned her in, Verily asked me to stand by the corner of the bay window behind her desk so that Prudence would be aware of my presence there. Verily laid the cane lengthwise in line with the front of her desk for effect and went to open the door.

  Prudence's eyes widened at the sight of the cane, as intended. She was fiddling nervously with her hands and avoided my eyes. In a plain blue pleated skirt and blouse she looked not unlike a schoolgirl and Verily proceeded to behave towards her exactly as if she were. Standing now behind her desk, in her black gown, Verily was every inch the commanding Headmistress.

  "You have behaved appallingly and you are here to be punished. You will receive two strokes on your bare behind for each of the incidents we discussed." She paused. "Do you have anything to say before you are caned?"

  Prudence looked up momentarily and caught my eye. I could see now that she'd been crying and there was an expression of remorse in her eyes that actually did seem genuine. She spoke simply, addressing herself first to me:

  "I accept that I have behaved stupidly and selfishly ... unforgivably ... and I accept that I completely deserve this punishment." She turned briefly to say to Verily. "Please cane me as severely as you see fit." With that, without waiting to be told, she lifted the sides of her skirt and pushed her undergarment down below her knees. Then, leaning forward slightly, she flipped her skirt up onto her back, and bent forward across the desk, grasping with both hands the side nearest where I was standing. She even pressed her torso flat against the desk so that her bottom was thrust out and more fully exposed, as if to say, "I willingly offer this target!" Again, I was totally taken by surprise. Verily and I exchanged astonished glances before Verily said,

  "Very well. For your behaviour to Miss Stokes, two strokes."

  Prudence took those two remarkably well. They were laid on with considerable strength, the impact forcing her forwards and eliciting gasps and a high-pitched "Ouch!" after the second. But she held on and continued to present her bottom as high in the air as she could.

  "And two strokes for your disrespect to the Headmistress," said Verily after a suitable pause. The third and fourth strokes seemed if anything slightly harder and made me wince, standing so close to Prudence's naked, vulnerable bottom. Prudence cried out quite loudly at the third, as if shocked, and at the fourth she couldn't help herself from rising up
and grasping her rear. However, she quickly corrected herself and bent forwards again. I noticed however that she did not thrust her bottom out quite so promptly now, and when she did it was more tentatively, pushing it out, then retracting slightly. I must say I was impressed, and I could see Verily was too, though she gave little away, concentrated as she was on the caning of this twenty-five-year-old's posterior.

  The last two, for failure to produce schemes of work, reduced Prudence to tears. Verily laid them on very fiercely indeed and each was met with loud, repeated "Ow"s and much undignified gyrating over the desk, though she managed, to her credit, to keep her hands from losing their grip.

  Once she'd had time to dress and compose herself, Prudence turned to each of us in turn and said, "I'm sorry." She then offered Verily her hand, saying, "Thank you, Headmistress, for teaching me a valuable lesson and giving me a chance to prove myself here. I will do my utmost not to let you down." Verily shook her hand, smiling, and said,

  "Thank you, Prudence. I'm sure you will one day make an excellent Headmistress yourself."

  It was an extraordinary scene which I will never forget. Prudence was so changed as to be completely unrecognisable. Verily truly is some sort of miracle-worker. The next few weeks will be very interesting indeed. I predict that this school will be transformed by Christmas.

  Meanwhile, it's three o'clock and some of the girls are arriving already - I can hear Mr Arnold and his chaps lifting trunks up the stairs and the occasional squeal of delight of two friends meeting. I'd better make myself useful. This is, in effect, Verily's first day.

  6. Better than Butter

  Rachel felt excitement tingle up her middle as Dr Thomas carefully steered the old Bentley through the imposing gates and past the board announcing "Cropton Hall Boarding School for Girls" with the familiar crest, the same crest to be found on the breast pocket of the blue blazer lying on the back seat. She took in the familiar grounds as they proceeded down the long driveway towards the imposing three-storey building.

  "Well, here we are, Rachel." Her father sounded tired - it had been a two hour drive through winding country roads. "If you don't mind, we'll get your things out of the boot and I'll head off straight away. Need to get an early night."

  This suited Rachel fine. It was always a bit embarrassing having parents around when meeting up with school mates. The large gravelled area that stretched for fifty yards along the front of the Hall was dotted with parked cars: boots open, pupils and parents unloading trunks, hugging awkwardly in parting, or making their way towards the main entrance. Rachel spotted Miss Bainbridge in conversation with someone's mother and saw Miss Dawson as well, talking to a tall lady with brown hair wearing a black gown. She wondered if it could be Verily Markham, the new Headmistress. She looked quite nice: she was smiling and her eyes sparkled as she surveyed the scene. Rachel wondered if she should deliver her mother's letter straight away. Meanwhile, she was also looking around eagerly for Susan, but saw no sign of her.

  Her father had to drive to the far end before he found a space to park in front of some trees. He got out and went round to open the boot. Rachel helped him lift out the battered green trunk by the leather handles at each end. It had R. Thomas stencilled on the top, and just below that you could still make out the faint lettering of P. Desmond. It was heavy and they deposited it on the gravel with a crunch. While Rachel retrieved and put on her blazer, her father stretched and placed his hands on his lower back. Rachel noticed the woman in the gown approaching. She gulped nervously.

  "Good afternoon. I am Miss Markham, the new Headmistress." She held her hand out to Dr Thomas who shook it, saying,

  "Ah, yes. Congratulations on your appointment. I'm Dr Thomas. Very pleased to meet you. And this," he said, turning to introduce her, "is my daughter Rachel."

  Miss Markham smiled but also seemed to be casting an appraising eye over Rachel. "Welcome back Miss Thomas. I hope you're ready to work hard?"

  "Yes, Miss," said Rachel, overawed by the older woman's presence. She was certainly nothing like Mrs Weekes.

  "That's what I like to hear," responded the Headmistress, turning back to her father.

  "Er, Miss?" Rachel asked. Miss Markham turned back, with a look that suggested Rachel's interruption had better be for a worthy reason. It was, and Rachel, reaching into her pocket for the letter, said meekly, "My mother asked me to give you this."

  "Yes, Miss Markham," added her father as the Headmistress took the letter, "it seems you were a pupil here at the same time as my wife. She was Patricia Desmond then."

  Miss Markham thought for a moment, then her face burst into a radiant smile and she looked at Rachel with renewed interest.

  "Of course I remember Patricia - we were excellent pals. Well, well." She brandished the letter. "Thank you, Miss Thomas. I shall save this for later." She looked around. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she said to Dr Thomas, "I must circulate. I'm trying to meet as many parents as I can today."

  "Of course," said Rachel's father. "I must be off myself." Miss Markham walked off to introduce herself to a couple looking a little lost by their Rover, with their daughter, a young fourth-former in a pristine uniform slightly too large for her, clearly a new girl, looking rather terrified.

  "Goodbye then, Rachel," said her father. "Be good," he said, "though I doubt you will be," he added with a mischievous wink. Rachel smiled awkwardly and watched as he got back in the driver's seat, started the engine and eased the car off towards the top of the drive. She waved after him for a few seconds before looking around for someone to help her carry the trunk to her dorm.

  ---oOo---

  On noticeboards in the sizable foyer inside the main front door were posted lists of girls by form group and by dormitory for this academic year. Susan scanned the dorm lists eagerly. She was mainly interested in whether she'd been put in the same dorm as Rachel but the identity of her dormitory Captain was also significant. Finally, on the last sheet, she saw her name, and to her delight and surprise saw R.Thomas two places below, and the Captain was Jean Atkinson, quite a friendly girl she didn't know very well - but not one of those petty, officious types always ready to report you.

  Also in Dorm K, which was at the end of the second floor in the West wing, not far from Miss Dawson's sitting-room, were Christina Ward, a quiet, sensible girl who'd been in 5C with them; Alice Jennings, a fourth, now fifth-former, a great hockey player with a reputation for humour and trouble, (and another with the rare distinction of having been spanked by Mrs Weekes); another fifth-former, S. Evans, she hardly knew and two new fourth-formers, Wilson. C and Stewart. Not bad! But she was wondering why they'd put three of them who'd had the plimsoll last year in the same dorm when there must've only been eight or ten girls smacked last year in total. As she mulled over this puzzlement, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Miss Bainbridge stood over her.

  "Welcome back, French. Happy with your dormitory allocation?" she asked.

  "Yes, Miss," responded Susan, blushing at the Deputy's clairvoyance.

  "We've put you, Thomas and Jennings together, you'll notice."

  So it was deliberate. How strange. "Yes, Miss." She wasn't going to ask why.

  "But we have a new Headmistress now," continued the Deputy, "so the consequences of misbehaviour will be rather more serious."

  "Really, Miss?" Susan wished she'd go away so she could go straight up to her dorm to find Rachel.

  "And remember, French," concluded Miss Bainbridge, moving off, "salt belongs in the dining-room and nowhere else."

  Susan blushed a deeper red. "Yes, Miss," she said.

  ---oOo---

  Dorm K was buzzing with new term excitement. It was 9.45, a quarter of an hour before lights out, fifteen minutes after fifth-formers were supposed to be in their beds and half an hour after the time for fourth-formers. The new girls, Stewart and Wilson, were sitting up in theirs enjoying the scene, feeling their way into this new culture. Evans lay in bed, subdued, perhaps homesick. Christina Ward was re
ading and the dorm Captain was downstairs in the bathrooms. Alice Jennings, who loved to get everyone laughing and was good at it, had been entertaining the dormitory for a good half-hour. But in the last ten minutes her performance had become a little tedious, descending increasingly into simple showing off - about everything from the boy she claimed she'd "been with" during the holidays to the dares she'd got up to last year and the whacking she'd had. Rachel, who'd been laughing along most of the time and was now undressing for bed, couldn't resist the chance which offered itself to put Alice in her place.

  "And how many whacks did you get?" she demanded.

  "What's it matter?" said Alice defensively.

  "Well, two light taps with a plimsoll is not exactly worth boasting about, that's all." The new girls giggled at Alice's discomfiture.

  "Quite," said Susan, backing up her friend, outnumbering Alice. As it was well known that Rachel and Susan had both received six heavy whacks in their visit to Mrs Weekes' study, and had had marks that lasted to prove it, Alice couldn't argue. So she picked up her pillow instead and, with a war-like whoop, launched herself at Rachel. The older girl was just undoing her bra and the impact of the pillow sent it flying out of her hands. She turned, momentarily angry, her bare breasts bouncing.

  "Oy! That hurt," she shouted, but immediately saw the playful challenge for what it was, and smiled, picking up her own pillow.