Eileen Gibson (nee Woodward), Monica's mother, had herself been regularly beaten by her own mother, and Eileen in turn had made sure that the slightest infraction by the teen-aged Monica of her (often arbitrary) rules had resulted in regular and very firm whackings with slipper, hairbrush or tawse (which she'd purchased especially for the purpose). Young Monica, both literally and brow-beaten into a kind of resentful, though respectful, submission by her mother (herself the much-whacked victim of hers) did what most children do. She ended up repeating the behaviour in an unconscious attempt to evade her most terrifying fear: recognising her mother for the sadly repressed sadist she actually was. To Monica's mind, beating girls very hard at the slightest excuse was entirely right and justified - after all, had her own mother not done just that? And was her mother not the arbiter and model of all that was good and right? It was, in a sense, between Monica and her antecedents, a case of the sins of the mother being visited even unto the third generation.
Add into this witches' brew the fact that Monica had known and feared, since the age of thirteen, that she was of the Sapphic tendency (the only way, self-disgustedly, she could bring herself to express the concept of lesbianism) - a condition she would sooner die than admit to anyone, let alone act upon - and 'Gibbo's' predilection for administering blistering beatings was all too understandable.
"For your homework for Monday, you will write up your notes and read Chapters 9 and 10 of your Toynbee in readiness for a test, and I can promise a very hot bottom for anyone scoring less than 80%."
Julia looked at the clock: it was only five to. The bell for lunch didn't go till one o'clock. Why was Gibbo finishing early? And, quick-minded as she was, she suddenly knew: Gabrielle ... Miss Markham must have handed the job over to Gibbo. It'd been two and a half days already and she and Gabby had been wondering if they'd forgotten. Her heart sank and she turned to her friend, seated next to her on the double-desk they shared. Gabrielle was tall, like Julia, with long, slightly curly brown hair, and lovely, clear brown eyes. Julia could see she had no idea what was about to happen. She felt helpless and suddenly very distressed. She couldn't even warn Gabrielle, who even now was closing her exercise book, smiling slightly, perhaps thinking about lunch, blissfully unaware. Julia also wondered how Miss Markham could have done this. She clearly didn't know what Gibbo was like.
"Now then girls, talking of hot bottoms, I'm afraid I have a painful duty to perform." You hypocritical bitch, thought Julia: afraid? Hardly! Painful duty? You'll love it!
"I imagine you are all aware that Bennett here," she said snidely, nodding in Julia's direction, "has not been enjoying any entirely comfortable lessons since Tuesday evening when she was caned by the Headmistress for her attempt to cheat during our summer homework test. What you may not know, as indeed I myself did not, was that the notes she was caught using..." Julia felt Gabrielle suddenly go very still at her side. Gabby knew Gibbo's reputation as well as anyone, though Julia didn't think she'd ever been a victim. "...were not, as she mendaciously claimed, her own, but were provided to her, in an equally deliberate act of cheating in my view, by Miss Pearson."
Clearly some of the girls in the class, including Helen Patterson who was smirking now with pleasure, had not known this and all eyes turned on Gabrielle, who was blushing furiously and looking down at her lap.
"Miss Bennett, I am informed, has been sufficiently punished in regards to this incident. However, it falls to me..." and the expression on her face, Julia noticed with contempt, revealed her pleasure in the fact, "...to see that Pearson here learns the error of her ways."
Julia slid her hand surreptitiously across the gap in the seat between herself and Gabrielle, and touched her friend lightly on the side of her thigh. It was all she could do. Gabrielle acknowledged it with the slightest inclination of her lowered head.
"Pearson! Step up here, if you please." The offering of an apparent choice struck Julia as just another example of the despicable hypocrisy of this sadistic dragon masquerading as a pedagogical guide to the young.
As Gabrielle got up from her seat and made her way very reluctantly forward to the front of the class, Miss Gibson removed the large wooden-backed hairbrush from its hook by the blackboard. Gabrielle stood, her head still lowered, red-faced and clearly very embarrassed and humiliated, by the teacher's table.
"Aiding and abetting cheating, Pearson, is another form of cheating in itself and, in my view, you can count yourself very lucky indeed that you haven't yourself received a thrashing from the Headmistress. However," she paused and brandished the heavy-looking hairbrush, "I intend to do my best to provide an equally salutary lesson. Bend over."
At least it'll be on her knickers, thought Julia. Classroom whackings were never given on the bare, in the interests of decorum apparently.
Gabrielle bent over the table, holding on to the sides with her hands. Julia swore she saw Gibbo licking her lips as she lifted Gabby's blue skirt and blazer up and away to reveal the seventeen-year-old's generously rounded bottom clad in its green knickers. With tears in her eyes, Julia watched her friend helplessly. Just as Miss Gibson was taking up position and rolling up her right sleeve, Gabrielle turned slightly and gave Julia a look which she would never forget: it seemed to say, 'Pray for me; stay with me; give me strength'.
The whole class were shocked by the force with which Miss Gibson brought that hairbrush smacking down into Gabrielle's bottom. Few had ever witnessed the hockey mistress' powerful arm in action, and none since they'd been fourth formers. The teacher employed a maximum back lift and added a ferocious twist of her wrist just at the last minute. The CRACK that echoed through the classroom made several of the girls jump, while many paled and winced. Gabrielle, however, made not a sound. Julia was impressed and silently exhorted her friend to keep it up. Apart from being jolted forward by the impact, which she couldn't help, Gabby's only reaction was to raise her head and grimace.
The second whack followed fairly quickly and again Gabrielle bore it stoically, though her right foot did lift from the floor and hover for a few moments before descending again. As Gabrielle was side on to the class, Julia couldn't see precisely where the whacks were landing, not that it made much difference.
The third one landed with equal ferocity and Gabby's head jolted up again, her face screwed tight in furious endurance. But still she made no sound. Julia felt afraid for her, fearful that Gibbo would see this as defiance, as a challenge. On the other hand, what more could the dragon do? She was already beating the poor girl with everything she had.
The silence in the room, meanwhile, was utter, each girl hearing only the frightened thumping of her own heart in between the explosions of the flat wood on Gabrielle's upturned curves.
The fourth and fifth thwacks came very close together as if Miss Gibson sought to break Gabrielle's resistance by surprise. It nearly worked too. Gabby bore the first as she had the others, but when the hairbrush struck again so soon, she voiced a shocked, "Ooooh!" and her shoulders lifted as if she might get up. Before Miss Gibson could berate her for this, however, Gabby had subsided to the table again, turning her anguished face away from the class. Julia felt numb, but so proud of her friend. She'd had no idea that Gabby would prove so brave, so strong, so dignified in the face of such a punishing onslaught of fearsome blows, especially as, so far as Julia knew, she'd hardly ever been whacked before. As she tensed herself in sympathy for what must surely be the last, she noticed a look of frustration on Gibbo's face, as if she were trying to get some piece of machinery to work and it just wouldn't. Ha! thought Julia, gleefully. Not so cocky or in control now, are you?
Miss Gibson's back lift for the final assault was lower, like a tennis-player's groundstroke, and the back of the hairbrush came up into Gabrielle's sit spot, lifting the poor girl onto her toes as she was jerked forward. Julia heard one or two gasps from fellow pupils, but from Gabby? Not a sound. She writhed and shook her head and her legs lifted, but she bore it in silence, only the sound of her lab
oured breathing to be heard as the echo of the explosive whack died away. Miss Gibson looked momentarily bewildered before a steely expression came over her face. Again, Julia was silently cheering.
"Get up, Pearson and resume your place." Gabrielle rose slowly, reaching behind her to help her blazer and skirt carefully back into place, and, with lowered head trying to hide her agony and tear-filled eyes, she went back to her desk. She stood by it for a moment, looking down at the seat. Julia looked up at her, her eyes filled with compassion.
"Sit down, Pearson ... now!" ordered an icy Miss Gibson. Easing herself carefully down, Gabrielle obeyed, wincing as her backside came into contact with the seat.
"And so, girls," said the mistress, trying to bring a lighter note into her voice, perhaps sensing the shock and fear in the room at her actions, "let us have no more cheating please, of any description." At that moment they heard the bell ringing in the distance. "Lunchtime, girls," continued Miss Gibson, brightly, "food for the tummies helps us digest food for the mind!" Julia looked down to hide the utter contempt she felt at this repetition of Gibbo's favourite saying before mealtimes. "Class is dismissed!"
But as Julia started to get up and offer a hand to Gabrielle, thinking how they just had time before lunch at one fifteen to nip up to the dorm so she could return the soothing cream favour, she heard Gibbo's voice, ominous again...
"Not you, Pearson. Remain seated, please. I haven't finished with you."
Gabrielle's face nearly crumpled but she managed to fight back the tears. At that moment, Helen Patterson, on her way out, said to Miss Gibson,
"Good lesson, Miss," and she glanced at Gabrielle as she said it.
For Julia it was too much, and when she saw the mistress turn and take down the strap from its hook, she couldn't restrain herself. She stood, red-faced, furious, by their desk and glared at Miss Gibson.
"No, Miss! You can't whack Gab-, Pearson again, Miss. That's not fair!" She was almost shouting.
"I beg your pardon," responded the shocked mistress. "How dare you speak to me like that?" She stepped forward threateningly, holding the strap between her hands. "Patterson, shut the door after you please," she called. All the other girls had departed and the door closed.
Julia was too angry to be cowed.
"How dare I? Because you're wrong and I don't care what you do, you're still wrong. You already whacked her hard enough! It's not fair!" She was on the edge of tears. Miss Gibson stood there, herself boiling with indignation, temporarily speechless. Then she lunged forward and grabbed Julia by her upper arm, pulled her round roughly and pushed her over the front of the shared desk. Julia struggled but was no match for the hockey mistress' strength. Gabrielle, still seated, backed away as far as she could. Holding Julia down with a firm left hand between her shoulders, Miss Gibson put the strap down on the desk in front of Gabrielle. She lifted Julia's skirt and blazer up her back and grasped them with her left hand, then she picked up the strap again and proceeded to whack Julia on her knickered bottom.
"You will never ... (WHACK) ... ever ... (WHACK) ... speak to me ... (WHACK) ... or any teacher ... (WHACK) ... like that ... (WHACK) ... ever again ... (WHACK)."
Julia cried out at each stroke as the strap fell on her still-painful, striped bottom. It revived all the worst stinging and throbbing; it was almost like being caned again. When Miss Gibson released her grip and stepped back, breathing heavily, Julia just lay, sprawled over the desk, crying. She was in agony, and it was all so, so totally unfair. God, how she hated this woman, this school, this life!
Gabrielle had now started to cry too. She'd borne her own punishment with great difficulty, but seeing her friend whacked just two feet away, seeing the violence of Miss Gibson's anger wreaked on Julia's bum, which Gabby knew to be so sore already, was too much, and the sorrow she'd hid came pouring forth.
Miss Gibson stood there and observed the two crying girls. With a deep breath she tried to regain her composure.
"Bennett, get up and get out! And don't think this won't be reported to the Headmistress!" Julia didn't move. Miss Gibson grasped her by the collar, lifted her up and turned her to face the door. "Out of my sight, girl!" she repeated, giving Julia a shove. Gabrielle just watched in horror.
Julia felt completely defeated, though still enraged. She also craved escape. She didn't want to give Gibbo the pleasure of seeing her in agony and tears, and, though it meant abandoning Gabby, she stumbled towards the door, opened it and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Outside, she stood there, wincing with the pain in her bottom, and leaned her shoulders back against the wall. She heard Miss Gibson's voice faintly from within, catching only some of what she was saying.
"How dare you ... deception ... me look foolish ... Lower your ... bend over..." Then she heard the sound of the strap meeting Gabby's bare flesh and she just cried. As the sound of each stroke came through the door, Julia's sorrow and rage racked her body. The emotional pain was as intense as the physical pain in her bottom. After six thwacks, and still no sound from Gabby, she heard footsteps and wondered if she should hurry away, but she didn't care what happened now, she just wanted to hug Gabby and cry.
The door opened and Gabby appeared, looking very flushed, her cheeks streaked with tears, her face a grimace of pain. Julia took her hand and pulled her away down the corridor, as Miss Gibson's voice called after them,
"This will be reported!"
Too right it will, thought Julia, desperate only to get away from that fire-breathing dragon, and already she was thinking about how she could tell Miss Markham about what had taken place, and whether the Head would have any sympathy with her at all. She'd been defiant and rude, but ... dammit, in a good cause, or what she thought was a good cause, anyway. Mistresses shouldn't be allowed to just whack and whack without limit!
Ten minutes later, Julia and Gabrielle filed into the dining-hall beside their fellow Upper Sixth-formers. They'd washed their faces, but their eyes betrayed their recent tears, and their cautious steps their throbbing bottoms. As for their spirits, Julia's lovingly careful application of cold cream on Gabrielle's crimson, bruised behind, and Gabrielle's equally tender reciprocation, and Julia's account of her instincts about Miss Markham, all these had the two friends feeling much revived and ready to face life again with renewed courage. The young heal quickly.
Monica Gibson, however, seated at the head of a table of fourth-formers, was wondering why she felt so ill-at-ease.
11. Susan and the Stalking Strap
Most of the unmarried staff, except for whoever was Duty Mistress, dined together at eight o'clock at the top table in the dining-room, an occasion by tradition graced, except on Sundays, with a choice of red or white wine, cases kindly donated by Sir Wilfred Althorp, Chair of the governing body. This Thursday evening, while the girls were at their prep, eight of the mistresses were gathered round the large, almost square, oak table, and by the time dessert appeared there was much jollity.
Verily had a gift on such occasions for putting her status to one side sufficiently that everyone felt relaxed and encouraged to speak freely. As for Edith, those who had worked with her for longer had never seen her so animated and, in a word, content. Mrs Palmer and Mrs Beecham, who repaired to their respective marital homes at day's end, didn't know what they were missing, these happy evenings in the dining-room at Cropton Hall.
"So, Prudence," said a slightly flushed Edith, sipping the Vouvray and gathering the last of her raspberry blancmange on the edge of her teaspoon, "we're all wondering!" This enigmatic assertion was greeted with puzzlement in most quarters, including the now embarrassed Prudence, but with nods of assent from Monica Gibson, Verily and Margaret Dawson.
"Yes, Prudence, when's it going to be?" asked Monica.
Prudence was blushing visibly now and struggling to maintain the smile she knew she should try to wear in the face of this teasing. But it was hard because she had no idea what they were talking about; nor did Emily Stokes, seated to her left, who l
ooked on in both amusement and sympathy with her colleague's clearly unwelcome turn in the spotlight of her seniors.
"Er ... I'm not sure..." began Prudence before Verily came to the rescue.
"I think the rather cruelly tantalising curiosity of our colleagues, Prudence, concerns the timing of your first use of a punishment slip?" She spoke kindly and gave the young woman a warm smile. Prudence, still confused, said,
"But I haven't given any yet!" with a hint of defensiveness in her voice.
"Exactly, my dear!" rejoined Edith, laughing. "We've been wondering about the apparently angelic behaviour of the girls in your classes! Not one instance of misbehaviour?"
Noticing Prudence's continuing discomfort, Verily stepped in again.
"Well, I for one congratulate Miss Waring for not leaping in too hastily, and I'm sure her charges have been behaving themselves exceptionally well out of respect for their excellent teacher!" Prudence blushed even more deeply, but the hunted look in her eyes was replaced by one of bashful happiness.
"Absolutely, Verily," added Margaret, sensing what was needed, "I second that!"
The conversation moved on to plans for the weekend - hockey trials, choir auditions and the Sunday service - and soon the party, as indeed it had resembled, began to break up. Emily joined Prudence outside in the corridor and suggested they go to her room for a cup of tea and a cigarette, an offer Prudence was happy to accept.
"Edith and Monica were a bit unkind I thought," said Emily as they climbed the stairs towards her room on the top floor of the North wing.
"Oh, they meant no harm," said Prudence lightly, "and anyway, they're right, I suppose."
"Mm," said Emily. "I've referred three girls so far, and I did feel a bit guilty."
"I know what you mean," said Prudence. "But I'm sure they deserved it."
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 13