The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  "Ooo! That hurt," mimicked Alice, retreating over one of the new girls' bed. "One little bump from a pillow? Where's the oh-so-brave girl who got six with the plimsoll then?"

  Susan was sitting on her own pillow, her knees up under her chin, happy just to observe the shenanigans and especially Rachel's bare breasts which she noticed the new girls were also rather shocked to see swinging so freely. Most girls were bashful about nakedness of any kind. Rachel leapt after Alice, who squealed in mock terror as she was chased from bed to bed. Christina tried to complain but decided it wasn't worth bothering. Wilson and Stewart were giggling again and calling out encouragement to Rachel. Suddenly Susan had an idea. She picked up her hairbrush from her bedside chair and called out to Rachel.

  "Hey! Rache! Give her a taste of this!" She tossed it to her friend, but Rachel missed it and it fell with a rattle on the floor. As she stooped down to look under Wilson's bed to retrieve it, her bottom, clad only in her knickers, stuck up invitingly and Alice came up behind and gave her an almighty spank with her right hand, saying, "I might as well get mine in first," and retreated to her own bed, squealing again in delight.

  "Ow!" yelled Rachel, more from the shock, though it stung. "Right, that's it," she threatened, "you've had it!" She closed in on Alice, brandishing Susan's hairbrush. Alice made to get past her towards the door, but slipped and fell forwards across Susan's bed. Rachel was upon her in a moment and knelt astride the back of her knees while Susan quickly lay across Alice's shoulders, preventing her from pushing herself up to get away.

  "Are you ready, Miss Jennings?" asked Rachel, mimicking Mrs Weekes, though not as effectively as Alice herself had earlier. Susan's hairbrush was poised in her hand above Alice's pyjama-clad bottom. "Bristles or flat?" Rachel asked Susan. Susan looked at the door appraisingly.

  "Better make it bristles - less noisy."

  "Bristles it is, Miss French - good advice," said Rachel still in role as Mrs Weekes. Alice was still struggling hard but Susan had her shoulders and neck firmly under control and her legs were pinioned by Rachel's full weight. Her bottom bucked up and down as she hurled a steady stream of threats and abuse at the two sixth-formers, but it made no difference to Rachel's aim as she brought the bristled side of the hairbrush smartly down on to Alice's right buttock, followed immediately by another to the left. The pyjamas were summer ones made of a thin cotton but it can't have hurt much. Alice let out a "Yeeow!" anyway and Rachel, giggling, made ready to give her two more when she noticed a silence had fallen on the room. She looked up inquisitively. Miss Dawson stood in the doorway staring at her, Jean Atkinson, the dorm Captain hovering behind her. Rachel felt suddenly very naked and slowly made to cover her breasts with her arms. The mistress had a thunderous look on her face, but she spoke quietly.

  "What is the meaning of this?" She looked around before coming back to focus on Rachel, Susan and the suddenly quiet Alice. "I think you'd better get off Jennings immediately, Thomas, and give me that hairbrush." Rachel backed away. Susan had already released Alice's shoulders. Alice got up slowly and rubbed her bottom. Rachel passed the hairbrush to Miss Dawson, who felt the bristles with her fingers and looked enquiringly at Rachel. "Whose is this hairbrush?" she asked calmly, holding it up.

  "Mine, Miss," said Susan. Miss Dawson nodded. She turned to Atkinson. "And you were downstairs, is that correct?"

  "Yes, Miss, I was washing."

  "Right. Thomas, French and Jennings - dressing-gowns on! My sitting-room in one minute!" With which she turned and strode away.

  An embarrassed silence filled the room. Atkinson sighed and got into bed.

  "Good luck, you three!" she said. "You'll need it."

  Rachel went to put on her nightie and dressing-gown, while Susan and Alice reached for theirs. Christina muttered quietly, "Peace at last!" and the two new girls stared in fascination at the three miscreants, wondering if they were going to get beaten - they'd heard rumours all afternoon about the strict new Headmistress and everyone had seen the implements hanging in the classrooms with the Do Not Touch sign beneath. News of the cane hanging in Miss Bainbridge's room had spread from table to table during tea, in hushed, serious tones as if even speaking of it out loud would make it more real. Most girls in the school had never been caned. Many had had slipperings at their preparatory schools before coming to Cropton Hall, and many had strict parents who'd give them a hiding with a belt or hairbrush.

  It was Susan who plucked up the courage to knock on the closed door. It opened almost instantly and Miss Dawson held it wide, nodding for them all to enter. It was a smallish room with an upright piano on the right, a sofa facing a fireplace on the left and a desk and chair straight ahead under the window. Bookshelves, some small prints of country scenes and a mirror decorated the walls. All three girls noticed the nasty-looking wooden butter-pat lying on the piano lid.

  Miss Dawson stood over by the fire and proceeded to question them in great detail about what had been going on. They didn't attempt to lie, just tried to play down how riotous they'd been. Her interrogation seemed particularly focused on whether or not Thomas and French had been bullying Jennings. It had certainly looked like a very serious case of physical bullying when she'd first come upon them, but she also knew Jennings was a popular, playful, girl and had thus probably been at least partially a willing, even deserving, participant. Alice's answers were, thankfully for Rachel and Susan, honest - she even confessed to the spank she'd given Rachel - and Miss Dawson was fairly soon satisfied she had a clear picture of events. She arrived, then, at her conclusion.

  "I realise it is the first night of term and that everyone is excited. That does not, however, excuse your childish, raucous behaviour or setting such a bad example to the new girls in your dormitory. You, Thomas and French, could be in very hot water indeed when I report your behaviour to Miss Markham. I accept your word that what I saw was not bullying, but I feel duty bound to report the incident anyway. We'll see what she says tomorrow. Meanwhile, as sixth formers your behaviour is completely inexcusable. You will each receive five whacks." The girls gulped. This was a very different Miss Dawson than last term's. "You, Thomas will receive an extra one for your indecorous display of nakedness. As for you, Jennings, you not only played your part in this riot, but you were also out of bed after the deadline. You will also get five. Jennings, you will be first. You two wait outside." She ushered them out.

  The door closed and Rachel and Susan stood alone in the corridor. Susan reached for Rachel's hand and found it less clammy than her own. "Oh, God!" she said. "She'll see my Dad's marks."

  "Mine too - here, look," said Rachel, lifting her dressing-gown and nightie and turning her back to Susan. "Can you see - those three lines there?"

  "Yes, she can't help notice those. Check mine," asked Susan, lifting her own garments out of the way. Rachel bent down to look closely and saw some of the yellowy-black signs of old bruising as well as a couple of distinct marks on the sides of both cheeks.

  "Phew - you really did get it didn't you?" she said admiringly. She wanted to hug her friend.

  "What do we say?" asked Susan.

  "Nothing," replied Rachel. "If she asks, we just tell her the truth. What else can we do? She might even go a bit easier on us." Susan brightened up at this suggestion.

  At that moment there was a loud smack as flat wood struck curved bottom and they heard Alice squeal in the same high-pitched manner she had earlier. It isn't such fun this time though, thought Rachel ruefully. She felt Susan trembling slightly and squeezed her hand. The second whack came ten seconds after the first and elicited another decibel-challenging scream from within. They heard Miss Dawson speaking but couldn't make out the words - probably telling her not to make such a noise. It seemed to work because the next one was followed by a quieter though no less heartfelt "OOW". There was a pause then before a slightly louder crack of butter-pat meeting the Jennings rear. She screamed as loudly as she had in the beginning, almost drowning out the sound of the final whac
k which came immediately and brought forth another piercing scream.

  "Well," whispered Rachel, "she's really got something to show off about now, hasn't she?" Susan smiled awkwardly and nodded. She was trying not to show Rachel how nervous she was.

  The door opened and Alice stood before them, her face scrunched up in pain, tears on her cheeks.

  Her hands were clutching and rubbing her backside through her dressing-gown. "Ouch!" she whispered, trying to smile but not quite succeeding. Miss Dawson loomed behind.

  "Off to bed with you, Jennings, and not a word or you'll get more of the same. Do I make myself understood?"

  "Yes, Miss," said Alice with alacrity before she picked her way cautiously along the corridor.

  "So ... you two," said Miss Dawson. "Miss Bainbridge predicted that my butter-pat might be called for on the very first day, and you haven't let us down, have you?" She studied them both sternly but with a slight amusement. "Right, you'd better come in. It's late - I'll deal with you together," she said stepping aside. "Dressing-gowns off - hang them up there - and bend yourselves over the back of the sofa." She picked up the wooden implement - about twelve inches long including the short handle and four inches wide with grooves running length-wise. Rachel was first to get in position, nearest the window. The height of the sofa-back was such that she had to get up on her toes to reach over. She bent forwards and put her hands on the seat, looking to her left for Susan, who joined her almost immediately, and their shoulders touched briefly. Susan was a couple of inches shorter than Rachel and struggled to get into position. Eventually Miss Dawson took her by the hips and lifted her onto the sofa-back, leaving her feet dangling.

  Susan felt her nightdress being lifted out of the way and she held her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noticed and waited. Rachel felt her own garment being lifted. Miss Dawson spoke.

  "I see you have both been punished fairly recently. I must ask if this was by your parents, and what for. French?" It was very awkward for Susan to turn, so she had to offer her answer to the fireplace:

  "My father, Miss, because me and Rachel ... I was staying with Rachel, Miss, and we went out drinking and missed our curfew."

  "I see," said Miss Dawson. "And you Thomas?" Rachel was able to turn to look up at the teacher.

  "Same reason, Miss, but it was my mother. She got a switch from the garden, Miss." After a moment, Miss Dawson said,

  "Thank you for informing me. As these punishments were clearly some time ago, they will not alter the whacking you're about to receive." Rachel felt Susan's disappointment, and noticed how she was tensed up. She wanted to, but didn't dare, offer words of encouragement. And then she sensed Miss Dawson readying herself.

  The unforgiving wood slapped with a loud crack into Rachel's left buttock, jolting her forward. The strength of it lifted her feet off the carpet for a moment. It stung fiercely and left an instant throbbing.

  Miss Dawson had moved across to administer Susan's first whack. Turning slightly to the left, Rachel saw her lift the implement high and, with a determined look, bring it down to catch Susan squarely across her bottom. Susan gave a panicked groan and grasped the sofa cushion tightly.

  After the first two - Miss Dawson seemed to aim at two broad areas, upper and lower - each whack that was added fell on a previously reddened site and the throbbing became more intense and the stinging much greater. Rachel cried out softly after numbers four and five while Susan gave vent to louder yelps. After Susan's fifth whack, Rachel had forgotten she was getting an extra one and she was just getting ready to push herself up when the last one came in, harder than all the rest, right across the middle of her bottom, catching her completely by surprise. She bellowed with shock and pain, and almost tipped right over as the force of the stroke pushed her forwards. It took a few moments before she became aware again of Susan whimpering at her side.

  "Stand up and put your dressing-gowns on," came the Dorm Mistress's voice. Rachel got up straight away but Susan was still shaking with sobs and whispering "Ouch!" to herself intermittently. Rachel touched her on the shoulder and Susan turned her tear-streaked face to her friend as she slipped down to place her feet on the floor again. Her hands went to her bottom cradling it ever so carefully as tears continued to spill from her eyes. Rachel appealed to Miss Dawson with her eyes. The Mistress gave the slightest nod, and Rachel took her friend in her arms and placed a hand on her head and muttered soothing encouragements: "It'll be better soon...it won't be so bad in a minute..." Miss Dawson gave them a few moments before she handed them their dressing-gowns herself and sent them off to bed with a warning in their ears.

  On the way back to the dormitory, they held hands and Susan said, slightly resentfully,

  "It's all right for you. You don't mind it so much." Rachel said nothing, but outside the dorm she turned to face Susan, grabbed her by the chin and kissed her quite roughly, pressing her lips hard into Susan's and exploring deep into Susan's mouth with her tongue. Susan mumbled with pleasure, responding in kind. After half a minute, Rachel pulled gently away. Their lips glowed.

  "There," she said. "That shut you up, didn't it?" Susan's face lit up with a smile and she nodded.

  Lights were out so they had to feel their way back to their beds. Rachel's bed was in the far corner under a window. She could sense everyone awake in the darkness, and the questions they were burning to ask. Dressing-gown set aside, she lay down carefully on her front and started to explore her damaged buttocks with her fingers, running them gently over the surface, feeling for ridges or bruises, probing softly, noting the tenderest spots. She thought of Susan and one hand moved round underneath. She arched her buttocks up into the bedclothes, enjoying the increased soreness this friction produced. But after a while the position became too uncomfortable to sustain and she worried she was making too much noise.

  Then she heard Alice, her neighbour, lean across the divide between the beds, and she turned towards her. Their heads came so close she could feel Alice's breath on her face. In the faintest whisper, Alice said,

  "Sorry, Thomas." Rachel reached out to feel for Alice's head. She gently stroked the side of her face and whispered,

  "Me too. Sleep well."

  "Doubt it," whispered Alice, "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight."

  7. The Right Thing to Say

  Consecrated by the Bishop of Durham in 1921 soon after its completion, the school's Chapel served both sacred and lay purposes. Tall, clear-glassed windows, framed by long green curtains, shared the side walls with portraits of former Headmistresses, the founders themselves taking pride of place above the four steps leading up to the stage at the front. The centre of the stage was dominated at the back by the altar, its crucifix a simple wooden affair arranged on a white damask cloth-covered table. Angled out high on the wall behind rested the school crest: a shield with an open book and a girl kneeling in prayer arranged on either side of some kind of stick - it was ambiguous as to whether a hockey stick or a cane (Mrs Weekes had insisted on it being the former). On the right of the stage was the organ, its dull silver pipes partially encased in wood panels stretching towards the ceiling, with Miss Halsey the organist perched, this Monday morning, on her high seat.

  At 8.00, the school was gathered here for the first assembly of the new term. In high-backed chairs on either side of the altar, the fourteen members of staff surveyed their charges. At the front sat the school choir in two pews facing each other. Beyond the choir were a further fifteen rows of pews arranged in two blocks either side of an aisle, with the most junior - fourth years - nearest the stage, the Upper Sixth at the rear.

  Verily Markham had delayed her entrance deliberately and when she strode purposefully up the aisle, black gown flowing in her wake, and made her way up to the stage, 120 girls seemed to hold their breaths simultaneously. She stood behind the lectern.

  "Hymn 578," she announced. The organ started, all stood, pages rustled in turning, and the school began to sing,

  "And
did those feet in ancient times ... walk upon England's mountains green..."

  Verily had chosen something rousing, and to which she knew the words by heart, so she could scan the rows of girls as they sang, identifying those she'd met the day before. She had an excellent memory for names, a boon for any teacher, and came up with about ten or twelve in the first few rows.

  Rachel and Susan stood together about ten rows back. Susan was grateful for the chance to stand, her bottom still sore and throbbing faintly when she sat. And she loved this hymn. They'd done William Blake last Spring with Miss Dawson and she'd enjoyed exploring the symbolism: "dark, satanic mills" somehow made her think of that butter-pat! Rachel, meanwhile, was watching Miss Markham, wondering what her mother had said in that letter, and whether the Head had read it yet.

  After kneeling for prayers, enunciated with powerful clarity and projection by the Headmistress, everyone was seated again for the announcements. Verily Markham gripped the sides of the lectern and began:

  "Welcome, girls, to a new term, a new academic year, and to a new Headmistress. To those of you who've not been paying attention, my name is Verily Markham." Ripples of restrained laughter greeted this statement. "I won't keep you long this morning, as I'm sure you're hungry for your breakfast - and of course your first lesson..." A few groans, and more laughter, greeted this last. "However..." a slight increase in volume and intent silenced the gathering instantly, "I do have one important announcement to make, and it concerns discipline within the school." Suddenly the silence was as deep as the ocean floor. "Most of you will already have noticed certain items hanging on hooks in some of the classrooms. These are the classrooms of the senior staff I have authorised to use these implements to punish misbehaviour. The writing of lines will no longer be used as a sanction, but you will all be subject to corporal punishment whenever your teachers decide you deserve it. Furthermore..." Her right hand disappeared behind the lectern. "I will be dealing personally with any girl who gets herself into serious trouble." She produced the senior cane she had placed there earlier and flexed it between her hands to reveal its supple bendiness. Quite a few gasps greeted this demonstration and some of the new fourth-formers simply gaped open-mouthed. "This, I can assure you girls, hurts, so please do think carefully about your conduct." She surveyed the hall, content with the impact of her words. "Let us all work hard, and show respect and courtesy to each other, and I am confident that we too can build a kind of Jerusalem here at Cropton Hall. That is all." She turned around. "Miss Bainbridge?"