A Temporary Schoolgirl

by

Rob Willson

 

I was then fourteen, nudging fifteen, and Queen Victoria was a very old lady.

My father had a job in India and he was there with my mother, which meant that I was under the guardianship of his youngest sister, Aunt Beth, who was a fairly wealthy childless widow.

During the school summer holidays. A fire had occurred at my boarding school, which necessitated extensive repairs and they notified Aunt Beth that the school would be closed for about the first three months of the new term.

This left Aunt in a big quandary. She could not get an answer from my father as to what she should do, because the time taken for letters to and from India in those days was far too long. She did not think he would want me to change schools permanently, because I attended his old school and no boys’ boarding school was willing to take me in just to fill such a short gap. Finally, Aunt Beth decided to consult her older sister, Mabel. Luckily, the inland post was quicker then, and with several deliveries a day.

Mabel was particularly well placed to advise on the subject, because she was the owner and Headmistress of Bowater Hall, an exclusive boarding school for girls with wealthy daddies.

Of course, in those days, young children were not consulted about things that affected them and so it was that it had all been decided and agreed when I was told of the Family Decision.

Aunt Mabel had offered to let me attend her school for the interim period on the strict understanding that I should expect no special treatment, either as a boy, or as her nephew.

I first heard of it when given two days’ notice of being bundled off to Bowater Hall. I spent the train journey wondering how many of my old school friends I would see again, when my own school re-opened. I hoped all the missing ones would be the boys I had come to dislike and that none of my special friends would be among them.

I arrived in the early afternoon and was met at the railway station by a young man with a horse and trap. He greeted me with a rather peculiar look and then drove the short distance to the school without speaking again.

He took me to the front door, where I was handed over to the Head Housemaid. She greeted me very curtly with the instruction, ‘Follow me’. No ‘Please’ and certainly no ‘Sir’. This was very different from the deference I was shown by Aunt Beth’s servants.

She stopped before a door marked ‘Principal’, knocked, opened the door and curtsied.

"The new pupil, Ma’am".

She ushered me into the room, curtsied again and went out shutting the door behind her.

My aunt was sitting behind a very large imposing desk and she came forward to shake my hand.

"Hello Harry. These are very strange circumstances for us to meet again". (I hadn’t seen her since I was very little).

"Hello, Aunt Mabel", I replied.

"Now that is the very first thing we must get straight", she said sitting down again and motioning me to a chair.

"You must never again refer to me here as ‘Aunt Mabel’. While you are at this school, you will call me Ma’am, like everyone else does. Is that clear?"

"Of course Aunt…sorry. Of course Ma’am".

"So there can be no possible misunderstanding, the first thing you should know is that I run this school on very strict lines. Any pupil who disobeys, or defies, me is caned. If necessary, quite severely. And you will be no exception. Is that clear also?"

"Yes, of course, Ma’am."

"The teachers here and the Matron also have permission to punish pupils without reference to me, unless the case is particularly severe one, which might merit the birchrod."

This fact did not particularly disconcert me. In those days, all schools used corporal punishment, almost to excess, and most parents possessed a cane, or strap (or both!), and used it frequently.

The thought of being caned by females was not very attractive, especially if it happened in front of the other pupils (girls!), but I would put up with it. My aunt had made it plain I had no choice in fact!

It would not be the first time. My nanny had been a great disciplinarian, who spanked my bare bottom over her lap at every opportunity. My mother had known of this, but had never interfered.

Aunt Mabel was speaking again.

"You have probably already have been told that you will not be treated differently to my other pupils." She waited for me to nod my agreement and continued.

"I wonder if you realise what exactly this means. For instance, girls here are not allowed to wear their own clothes and I cannot make an exception for you, so that means that you will have to wear the school uniform."

She waited for this to sink in. Of course, I had never considered that interpretation. I only thought it meant I would not be given any extra privileges.

"You mean," I broke off.

"Yes, exactly", she said. "The uniform is a black dress with a white pinafore and you must wear those, together with anything else that goes with the uniform."

"Oh Auntie, I can’t dress like that. Really it would be too humiliating."

"I see you have already forgotten two things which you agreed you understood. First, that I should be addressed as Ma’am and the second that defiance brings punishment. So you can either obey me straight away, or do so after you get a sore bottom. And surely that would not be a good beginning to your stay with us?"

I quickly saw I had no option and nodded agreement, sullenly.

"And you can take such an insolent expression off your face for a start, or you will feel my cane here and now."

"Yes, Ma’am. Very sorry Ma’am".

"However, there has to be one small difference. All the girls sleep in dormitories, but you will have your own room in the wing where the boy servants sleep. But you are to have as little to do with them as possible and will certainly not make friends with them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma’am".

She then rang a small handbell and the maid came back into her study with yet another curtsey.

"Ethel will be in charge of you when you are in your room. You are not to treat her as a servant, because she has authority over you and you will obey her. New girls are usually given three strokes of the cane by their dormitory maid every night of their first fourteen days before they go to bed, in order to get them acclimatised to the new regime. Of course, this is done in front of the other girls in the dormitory, but that cannot happen with you."

I gave a sigh of relief – a bit too soon!

"Consequently, Ethel will give you three each evening and another three in the morning to make up for the absence of room mates."

She now turned to Ethel, who had listened to the foregoing with considerable pleasure. She had been expecting young Harry to be a lot of extra work with no reward, but this was beginning to sound like it might be fun after all.

"It hadn’t occurred to me before, but we cannot really have him staying here with a name like Harry. Can you think of a common girl’s name that no other pupil has?"

Ethel thought for a moment and then suggested, "How about ‘Molly’, Ma’am?"

"That’s good. Molly it shall be. Now take him, I mean Molly, to Matron for the usual induction."

Ethel curtsied and led me out.

She muttered to me, "You should have curtsied then. If you forget in future, it will get you a very sore arse."

I couldn’t decide what had shocked me most. The fact that I would be expected to curtsy like a girl, or that a maid had actually used the word ‘arse’."

I followed her along the corridor, when Ethel suddenly stopped and pointed out of a window. A crocodile of pupils, wearing white pinafores, was crossing the grounds under the guidance of a teacher. I noticed that there was no talking going on. They were walking quietly and demurely with their hands clasped in front of them. It was an unnerving sight.

Ethel then said, "See that Harry? That is what you will look like very soon. It is not a very attractive uniform is it? In fact, it is much more suitable for very young girls. If it’s any consolation, most of the girls hate it almost as much as you will, judging by the look on your face. However, one thing I am sure of is that 200 girls will enjoy seeing you dressed like that and so will most of the teachers and all of the maids".

I was horrified when I saw the ugly uniform that she was taking me to be put into. I also noticed that one girl seemed to have a placard hanging round her neck, but I could not read what was on it from where we were, and two girls each had a bright orange tall conical hat on her head.

I asked ‘Miss Ethel’ what they were.

"They’ll be dunces’ caps. If you are the one in your class wearing it at the end of the school day, you get three strokes when you take it off until the next morning. Apart from punishing girls with the cane and strap, the teachers often use humiliation instead of, or in addition to, corporal punishment.

They seem to have a competition to see who can think up the worst humiliation for the girls and they have very good imaginations. They are always surprising me with their new ideas.

"They don’t only use humiliation as a punishment, but also as a general disciplinary measure, as you will soon find out.

"Now come along, we need to get you into your pinny as soon as possible. By the way, any girl caught not wearing hers is promised not to be able to sit down for a whole week, but there is no risk of that happening to you", she added mysteriously.

She grinned at me and continued on her way with me scurrying to keep up with her.

She finally knocked on a door marked ‘Matron’. She went in and curtsied again.

"The new pupil Matron."

A new voice said, "Come in Harry". It then added, "Do you remember me?"

I looked at the matron and saw that she was dressed in a very similar starched uniform to the one she had worn when she was my nanny, several years ago. So, this is what had happened to her after I had got too old to have a nanny.

"Now I am sure you remember how I taught you to show respect for me when I was your nanny, so do it. If you have forgotten, I am sure you haven’t forgotten my ‘behaviour corrector’, which is hanging on the wall over there."

I followed her pointing finger and saw a very familiar leather paddle hanging besides a three-foot rattan cane.

Slowly, I approached Matron, knelt in front of her and raised the hem of her starched apron to my lips. I said, "My respects Nanny, I mean Matron". This custom was something my mother had not known about and would almost certainly have disapproved of.

"Good boy, you remembered perfectly, apart from that little slip of calling me ‘Nanny’. Now repeat it with a little curtsey before and after."

I obeyed.

"Now show my assistant the same respect."

I then knelt in front of the maid, after curtseying, and repeated the kiss on her apron hem and said, "My respects Miss Ethel".

"You will not do that in public, but you will always pay your respects to us in here, or to Ethel when she comes to your room."

At this point, Ethel, who had obviously been very pleased with the gesture, spoke.

"If you please Ma’am, the Head says he is to be known as ‘Molly’ while he is here and is to be referred to as ‘she’."

"Right Molly. Now let’s have every stitch off you so that you can be examined and bathed".

I hesitated.

"There is no occasion for false modesty. I have seen you naked very many times in the past and have washed your little Willy quite often as well. Don’t you worry your head about Ethel. This is something she will have to get used to if she wants to become a matron herself."

I continued to hesitate, in spite of myself.

"Do I have to re-introduce you to my ‘behaviour corrector’ so soon?"

With that threat, I immediately obeyed and was soon naked. Ethel immediately gathered up my clothes and put them in a basket.

She opened a cupboard and took out two white rubber aprons. They put them on and then, with Ethel’s help, Matron gave me a perfunctory medical exam and then a bath, after clipping my hair very short to what was to become known, generations later, as a crew cut.

This was followed by my being strapped to a wooden frame and getting four enemas. The last of the four was icy cold and was most unpleasant.

As they dressed me, I found out what my Aunt had meant by ‘anything else that goes with the uniform. Ethel laid out a full set of girl’s underclothes, but I was first handed a tiny pair of rubber baby pants and told to pull them on.

I protested that they were far too small, but they insisted and I found I could get them on, after a great struggle, but that they were stretched like a second skin over my buttocks. When Matron made me bend over, they became as tight as a drum skin.

"The Head decrees that girls should wear these for modesty’s sake in case they have to be caned in public. Of course, if she canes you in her study, it will be ‘on the bare’. Girls tell me that these pants provide no protection from the cane at all and, in fact, many girls think the caning is worse on the pants than on the bare. No doubt, you will have the opportunity to make up your own mind on that score before too long!"

After the underclothes, came the shapeless black dress and finally, THE PINAFORE. Like the ones I had seen from the window, this was completely plain with a high round neck. It was also heavily starched.

Before putting me into it, Ethel showed me the back. Where I expected to see a button and buttonhole, were two small metal rings and Ethel held a small padlock in her hand.

"Many of the girls are spoilt when they first come here and don’t want to wear the uniform, so we have to lock them into it, until the rebelliousness gets whipped out of them. However, you will always wear this type and I will have the pleasure of locking it on you afresh each morning."

I held my arms out obediently and she slipped it on me and then I heard the click as it was locked on. Now I was well and truly pinafored! There was no escape, but then, escape had never been an option.

The lock explained the mystery of why I did not risk being caught without my apron.

I looked at myself in a large mirror and saw what a ridiculous sight I made with my ultra-short boy’s haircut, so far removed from what the average girl’s hair of the time looked like. I might be called ‘Molly’, but my appearance would leave nobody in any doubt about my gender.

Ethel was also right in that it was a style which would bettdr suit much younger girls than the teenagers in this school. They would feel almost as embarrassed at wearing it as I did.

Both of the women burst out laughing at my expression at seeing my appearance for the first time and their laughter made me go a bright scarlet, which made them laugh even harder!

I was then warned that I would be expected to keep my apron in pristine condition at all times. They were inspected several times a day and any girl caught with even the smallest smudge on her pinny was caned and wore a placard saying, ‘Slattern!’ for the rest of the day.

"Now Ethel will take you to your room, where she will explain and teach you a few more things, and then leave you to think about your new situation, while you wait for suppertime."

Ethel took off her rubber apron, hung it back in the cupboard and then curtsied and muttered "Copy me as best you can, for the moment".

I made a clumsy copy of her curtsey and then she led me off to my room.

When we were out of Matron’s hearing, Ethel said, "I am telling you this unofficially, that if you upset any of the girls, they can easily dirty your apron to get you into trouble, especially if they gang up on you, so I suggest you do your very best not to make any enemies among them."

On the way, she added, "Now you already see what I meant about humiliation. The rubber knicks, the lockable pinafore and not forgetting your haircut. You saw yourself the way it is absolutely incongruous with a pinny. In fact you look quite ridiculous and the girls will just love the sight.

And there’s the kissing of my apron hem. By the way, that is a new one for me. I suppose Matron had forgotten about that idea until she saw you again.

"I expect that she will now make all the girls do it for her. If she doesn’t, I’ll make a point of suggesting it. Then, once the girls have got accustomed to the new idea, I’ll tell the dormitory maids that you do it for me too and they will soon have all their girls following suit.

"The next step will be to leak the fact that you were indirectly responsible for the change and they will hate you for it and help to make your life here a total misery."

Once inside my room, she said, "Have you forgotten about showing me proper respect so soon? I see they have remembered to put a cane in here. Do you want me to christen it, Molly?"

I shook my head, curtsied and knelt to kiss her apron hem.

She then showed me the contents of a small chest of drawers. More girl’s underwear, rubber pants, etc. Then the contents of the wardrobe. There was another couple of dresses. Several more pinafores like the one I was wearing and three with frills on their bibs and shoulders and along the bottom hem.

"They are for evening wear, after six PM, and that frilly mob cap goes with them", Ethel explained. "Also for Sunday, especially for church services in the village"

 

Church services in front of the local villagers, especially their children, dressed like that!

Every time I had thought that I had hit rock bottom, something new was added to my misery.

Also hanging in the wardrobe was a white rubber apron, which Ethel explained was for cooking and laundry lessons and for when I was allocated to kitchen duties as a punishment. (‘WHEN’, you notice, not ‘IF’).

Also, I was to wear it when I cleaned my room. I was to be responsible for keeping my room spotlessly clean. As Aunt Mabel had said, Ethel was not my maid and I did not give her orders. She gave them to me!

Before leaving me alone with my misery, Ethel gave me a short course on how to curtsey properly and when to do it.

"If you are in any doubt about whether it is appropriate, then I suggest you play safe and make one.

"There is also another school custom I must tell you about, although it is not a very old one. It was brought here about six months ago by ‘Mam’selle’. I think they had it in her old school in France, when she was a pupil.

"Every morning, the school day starts with a ‘Confession Session’. Each girl who hasn’t been whipped for three days has to say, ‘Please Ma’am. I haven’t been punished for three whole days, but I must have done something during that time to deserve a good whipping, so will you please give me one now, so that I can have a clear conscience?’

"Then she is given six hard strokes. Sometimes there are several girls in this group in each class, so the day begins with a lot of crying.

 

(Mam’selle also had another custom of her own. Her preferred instrument of punishment was a French ‘martinet’. This was like a miniature cat-of-nine-tails specially made for children. Her one had actually ten slim leather thongs. It didn’t look formidable and the first stroke didn’t hurt too much, but its effect was cumulative.

Imagine. Ten strokes with it meant a hundred mini-lashes, most of which fell on top of those already there. So we tried to avoid it just like we did the cane, but Mam’selle kept a list of our names and made sure that every pupil got at least one taste of it each lesson.

Her favourite pupils usually got six strokes, while the others got ten or twelve. As a boy, I was never going to be among her favourites, no matter how good my French was, and a tick against your name did not prevent you from getting a second or even a third spanking with it. Her list was merely to make sure she didn’t miss anyone out.)

"But don’t worry. That will not apply to you for at least a couple of weeks."

"Why not?" I asked in my stupid innocence.

"Because I shall be caning you morning and night, don’t you remember? That reminds me that you have not been caned this morning."

"But I wasn’t even here then", I protested.

"No matter, this will keep the ‘books’ straight. Fetch the cane, please." (Have you noticed the sarcastic way people over you say ‘please’, when you have no option?)

This was not at all straightforward. As I was to find with so many things at Bowater Hall, a caning had to be accompanied by a little ritual designed to heighten the experience.

I had to acknowledge the order by a curtsey and then present the cane on my outstretched palms with another curtsey.

"Not that way you stupid girl. I am not left-handed."

I quickly reversed the cane and offered it again with another curtsey.

Ethel took it and swished it twice through the air. I wondered how a person could make the rod sound so menacing and painful by doing that, before it even touches you. I then expected to be ordered to touch my toes in the traditional manner, but not so.

"Now I want you kneeling on the bed, facing the headboard."

I then noticed for the first time, that the bed had only one sheet – a white rubber one - and no blankets.

"Is this all I will have to sleep on?" I asked plaintively.

"That is all you will need", she replied. "The room will be warm enough, although you will sleep naked. By the way, you will not be able to get off the bed, because that collar attached to the strap will be locked round your neck. But that’s enough of that. You can’t put this caning off any longer, so get up there and kneel down."

I obeyed, reluctantly, kneeling on the clammy rubber sheet.

"Now get your nose down to the rubber".

As I obeyed, my pinafore naturally fell away from my buttocks. She then turned back my frock and petticoats and opened the slit in my drawers. I was left with only the rubber knickers on. I was glad she did not want me to remove them, because it had been such an effort to get them on in the first place.

"No pull your nose back as near as you can to your knees and arch your back nicely. I want your arse sticking up as high as possible and there will be extra strokes if I think you are not trying hard enough, or if you move."

This time her use of the word ‘arse’ did not surprise, or shock, me.

She positioned herself to my side and measured up to the target. She then, very slowly and deliberately produced three parallel strokes of fire across the cheeks of my bum, with about ten seconds between each one.

The knicks certainly did not give any protection at all and I thought that there might also be something in the idea that they made the caning worse.

Ethel then left me kneeling there and put the cane back on to its hook. She came back and inspected her handiwork. Rubbing her hand over my smarting bottom.

Eventually, she gave me permission to relax and to sit on the mattress. I gasped as my bare thighs came into contact with the cold sheet.

I said ruefully, "That cane really hurt, you know?"

"Of course it did you silly girl (she had decided to rub in my new status), it was meant to. In fact, most of the canes used here are specially made for us. Let me show you."

She took the cane down again and showed me the tip of the ‘business end’. The centre of the cane was a dull grey colour. She explained.

"They drill out the cane for about two or three inches and fill the hole with molten lead. This makes the cane heavier at that end and makes it more ‘whippy’.

"Of course, those three strokes were on your knicks, but the ones tonight will be ‘on the bare’ and you will be able to compare the two."

"It’s all right for you to talk like that," I complained. "You don’t get the cane."

"Don’t speak to me in that cheeky way or you will get another dose of it. But whatever gave you that idea that I don’t get the cane?" asked Ethel. "Matron canes all the maids regularly, including the Head Housemaid, ME!"

"Every Sunday morning, after church, we maids have a Disciplinary Parade with a ‘Confession Session’ like you girls do. We have to confess if we haven’t been punished during the previous week and, if that is so, we get a minimum of ten strokes from a cane just like this one. Mind you, there are not usually many maids in that position, because Matron keeps a very tight control over us."

"Yes I bet she does, from what I remember of her as my nanny."

"I can well imagine that you know only too well", grinned Ethel, her good humour restored.

She then told m to lie down to rest for an hour until she came to fetch me for the evening meal, when I would be introduced to my teachers and fellow pupils, and she locked the collar round my neck.

"Just one more thing before I go, Molly. How old are you?

"Fourteen".

"Fourteen, Miss", she admonished me.

"Fourteen, Miss."

"I know that, but when will you be fifteen?"

"In about three weeks time, on the seventeenth".

"Well make the most of your last three weeks of freedom."

"What do you mean by that?" "Miss", I hurriedly added as she frowned at me.

"Every girl’s fifteenth birthday is marked by her being put into stays. Very tightly laced stays also I should add."

"But surely that won’t apply to me, Miss?"

I don’t see why not. After all, you are already pinafored and wearing rubber baby pants like the rest of the girls. What makes you think you will miss out on the corset?"

"I suppose not", I groaned.

"I suppose not either, so, as I said, make the most of the next three weeks. Life will never be the same again once you have begun tight lacing."

"But some of those girls we saw from the window earlier must have been over fifteen."

"Of course they were. But you must remember that the ugly loose dress and this style of pinafore do not show up a corseted waist. You can take it from me that they were tightly laced up, most of them, from the way that they walked. As you will soon find out!

"Girls are split into pairs in their dormitories and each laces the other up and they have to make sure that there is no gap. Teachers or maids do random checks and any girl not fully laced gets six hard strokes and the girl who did the lacing badly gets nine.

"But you won’t have to worry about that aspect, because it will be me who laces you up each morning and I won’t risk getting caned on your behalf. By the way, after two weeks in your first corset, you will be given a smaller one to wear, and so on, until Matron is satisfied with your waistline."

She then said, "I think we are going to have a lot of fun together, don’t you?"

When I grimaced and shook my head, she added with a grin, "Well, maybe you won’t, but I will and would like to thank the person who caused the fire at your old school.

"Now I have work to do until I come to fetch you in about an hour. I suggest you rest as much as you can. Bye-bye".

She then left me with my thoughts until she came for me to attend the evening meal, when I would be introduced to the rest of the school.

I lay there trying to take in what had happened to me already in that one day and came to the conclusion that this was probably the lowest point of my life. BOY, WAS I WRONG ABOUT THAT!

Ethel eventually returned and, as soon as she had unlocked the collar, I got off the bed, curtsied and ‘paid my respects’, and then curtsied again and instinctively stood in the time-honoured ‘maid position’ of waiting for the next order with my hands clasped in my lap, across my pinny.

She was very pleased at not having to remind me again and said, "You know, that is a charming little gesture. I must see that it spreads throughout the school. And you do a humble little curtsey so well, considering how little practice you have had."

 

 

(To digress into the future for a moment. Matron took up Ethel’s suggestion enthusiastically and so Ethel told the other maids as she had threatened to do.

In fact, she did not actually tell them, but took me to the room where the maids were gathered and made me ‘pay my respects’ to her in front of them, at which they hooted with laughter. She then told her friends to line up and I had to pass along the line ‘doing a Molly’ – as she put it – to all of them in turn. All 20 of them.

In the middle of my demonstration, cook came in to see what the loud laughter was all about (there apparently wasn’t much of that at Bowater Hall!) and I then had to ‘do a Molly’ to her and to her assistants as well.

There was a price to pay for this. One of the few communal activities for the pupils was to play hockey for exercise and I was made to join in. Although I had never played the game before, the varied teams I played for during the next few weeks invariably won the match.

Why? Because our opponents were more interested in ‘accidentally’ whacking my shins with their hockey sticks in retaliation for now having to ‘do Mollies’, than in scoring goals. My ‘team-mates’ collaborated with them by passing the ball to me as often as they could, to give them as many opportunities as possible.

The referee was well aware what was happening, but did nothing to help or protect me. She thought it was a sort of pupils’ ‘Kangaroo Court’ and that I was being punished for some transgression against the ‘Schoolgirls’ Code’.

On one occasion, after a particularly blatant, and painful, foul, which the referee saw and ignored, I half-tried to remonstrate with my attacker – the same girl who was to dirty my pinafore deliberately on my first night there. At this, she blew her whistle, penalised me for ‘unladylike conduct’ and gave me ten vicious strokes on the buttocks with her tawse, on the spot, and I had to play the rest of the match with a very sore bum to accompany my black and blue shins.

After about six weeks, ‘doing a Molly’ had passed into the customs and ‘traditions’ of Bowater Hall, just as the Morning Confessions had and so the anger eased off, but would never finally disappear because of the nickname Ethel had given the new custom.

I did, however, have the small satisfaction of knowing that, at least once a day, every girl in the school had to line up in front of her dormitory maid and perform the ‘charming gesture’ of kissing the maid’s apron in such a humiliating fashion, as I had to do with Ethel, several times a day.)

Back to ‘now’.

She then led me to the school dining room, where the girls and maids were waiting expectantly.

When I was ushered in, I curtsied to the teachers sitting at the top table, as I had been coached to do by Ethel. This caused a burst of giggling from the assembled girls and more than one of the maids, at the sight of this boy with his short hair and school pinafore performing a polite girlish curtsey.

The Headmistress then announced, "Some of you may have heard a rumour that you were about to be joined by a boy pupil. As you can see, it was true, and this boy, to be known as ‘Molly’ (another burst of stifled giggling) will be with us for a short while, until his own school is repaired. Also, he is to be treated no differently to the rest of you, as you will see from the way he is dressed.

"And if there is any more unseemly giggling the staff will come among you with their canes and I might just cancel supper for all of you."

This threat shut the noise off.

I was led to a place that had been left for me at a table for a dozen pupils. As I sat down and looked round the table, several girls, who thought they would not be observed, stuck their tongues out at me.

A long Latin grace was said and I realised how hungry I was, as I had had nothing since my early breakfast. The meal was put in front of us by Ethel and I noticed immediately that it was not particularly appetising. That was because I had come from Aunt Beth’s, but the food looked no worse than that at my own school.

I started to eat and, as everyone concentrated on her own meal, the girl opposite me, one of those who had put her tongue out, got some food onto her spoon and flicked it across as me. It hit the bib of my pinafore and slid down and made it appear that I had been clumsy with my own food.

Ethel had advised me not to make any enemies, but it seemed I already had at least one!

Some of the girls could not help ‘tittering’ as I miserably scraped the food off with my spoon and Ethel’s attention was caught by the sound.

When she saw the stain, she called the matron over to see it.

"Matron. Come and see what this clumsy child has done."

Matron grabbed me by the ear and hauled me to my feet.

"The punishment for slopping food down yourself, is six strokes of the cane at the end of the meal and to wear a rubber bib like a baby at mealtimes for a week.

All the girls in the room seemed to stop eating to see what was going on so soon with the new pupil. That is, all but the girls on my table who were all well aware of what had actually happened and were continuing to eat, all pictures of innocence, while waiting to see if I would do, or say, anything stupid.

I promptly obliged them!

I exclaimed indignantly, "It was not me that did it." I pointed across the table at the culprit. "It was her!"

There was a loud gasp of mixed amazement and satisfaction that I had so easily fallen into the trap.

Matron asked them all "Who is the guilty party? Do any of you know?" Some of the girls shook their heads but the rest indicated me.

Then the Headmistress appeared by my side.

"I don’t know what sort of conduct was expected of you at your previous school, but here we do not approve of tittle-tattling and trying to blame others for your faults. Consequently, I am increasing the punishment to twelve strokes of my special cane and you will now wear the bib for two weeks, 24 hours a day. And no there will be more food for you this evening, since you do not seem to appreciate it."

At this Draconian increase in my sentence, some of the girls looked a bit ashamed at their complicity, but the guilty one just smirked.

Five minutes later, I found myself kneeling on a hard wooden penitent’s stool at the front of the room, under the top table on its raised platform. In addition to my pinafore, I now wore a humiliating bright yellow rubber bib, also locked on.

As she put this on me, Ethel leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Well, I did try to warn you, but I really don’t know how you could make an enemy so quickly".

She knew full well what had happened, but it was obviously a case of girls sticking together and the innocent boy going to bed with a well-whipped arse.

I couldn’t answer her, because my mouth was filled with a huge, oversized baby’s dummy, which I was told that I was only allowed to take out of my mouth when I was eating, or to answer a teacher, whilst I continued to wear the bib. Usually it would hang round my neck on a brightly coloured ribbon, but, at the moment, it was tightly strapped in place.

I could see the waiting punishment block with its straps for holding the victim down, with the special cane lying on top of it. As far as I could make out, from the slim white shape of it, it was probably made of whalebone, no thicker than a knitting needle, about 1/8^th inch thick. It was obviously a very fearsome instrument of correction. I could well imagine howling my head off after only a small part of the punishment in front of all these young girls.

The dummy might make an efficient gag against talking, but I had no doubt that any squeals I made would be heard all over the room.

There was a subdued atmosphere in the dining room, as everyone waited for the end of the meal.

After another five minutes, my knees began to ache terribly and I, perversely, began to wish the meal would end, so that I could get the punishment over with and rest my knees. At that point, I was not aware that the punishment included kneeling there again for another two hours after the final stroke had been delivered.

As I knelt there, waiting for my quite undeserved thrashing to begin, I remembered that I was also due to get another three from Ethel ‘on the bare’ later that evening and that was now in addition to the dozen I was waiting for at the moment. I thought it very unlikely that Ethel would either cancel them or give me a token three, bearing in mind her earlier comment about ‘keeping the books straight’.

I thought that I was about to begin the worst three months of my life, but ONCE MORE, I WAS VERY VERY WRONG. I had no idea of just how bad things would become, because there were some other points from the future which nobody knew about at that moment.

The two letters from Aunt Beth to my father were still in the hold of a ship on the long voyage to India. The first told him of the damage to my school and the second gave a very brief description of the interim arrangement.

About the time that my three-month period would be up, my father’s reply would arrive. In it, he would say that he thought his two sisters were far better placed to make the decision than he was from that far away and that he would abide by any arrangements they made.

He even added that he knew that Bowater Hall taught to very high academic standards and that, as far as he was concerned, he personally thought that there would be very little difference if the interim arrangement for my education were to continue until I was eighteen, when he was due home, at the end of his tour of duty. In his ignorance about my true situation, he had no idea of the amount of pain and humiliation that was contained in that ‘very little difference’.

"That is if nobody minds?" he would add.

I minded very much indeed, but I did not have a vote in the matter.

Aunt Mabel certainly did not mind because of the extra fees she would get and the amusement it gave her staff to have a boy to torment. Aunt Beth did not mind because she knew nothing of what the ‘no special treatment’ entailed and it saved her from the problem of further decision-making and of accommodating me during school holidays.

Because most girls’ parents were abroad, like mine, Bowater Hall did not send girls home during the holidays. In fact, there were no holidaysat all and that was why it had more the air of an orphanage rather than that of a boarding school.

Ethel was very pleased at the news, because her ‘fun period’ was being extended – to three years!

Shortly after I arrived at the school, Aunt Mabel promoted her to become Assistant Matron. But apart from the change of title and changing her maid’s cap and apron for a nurse’s and a very meagre, token increase in her wages, she had much the same duties as before.

However, her new status did exempt her from the Matron’s weekly discipline parade. This was particularly welcome to her, because Matron had incorporated ‘doing a Molly’ for all maids at this occasion. Although the maids liked having the pupils kiss their aprons, they definitely did not like having to kneel and humbly kiss Matron's.

They took every opportunity to revenge themselves on me by reporting infringements of the school rules, usually when I was completely innocent. They didn’t need to prove it, but only to say that I had done whatever it was I was accused of doing.

One spin-off from this was that, during my first three months, I was caned almost every day and therefore only had to take part in one Confession Session. I’m convinced that the only reason that happened was that Ethel ordered them to lay off for a couple of days, so that I could have the experience of ‘confessing’.

So, Ethel was now free on Sundays after church and told me that she had decided to ‘share’ that spare time with me. She did this by starting a practice of giving me weekly enema sessions. She insisted that these were for my health’s sake.

When I got rather cheeky and asked her if she had them for the same reason, she said that this did not apply to grown-ups and then gave me a very severe caning for being ‘impertinent’.

After that, I learnt to curb my tongue and to recognise the fact that Harry/Molly was truly in a completely no-win situation.

Ethel devised a ritual for these weekly enemas. First I had to do a ‘Molly’ and then I had to be completely naked and fold my arms behind my back. She then fastened them together by a strap. This was not necessary in one way, because there was no chance that I would defy her, but it enabled her to manhandle me just as she would be able to do with a small child.

That was how I was dressed, or rather undressed. Ethel, on the other hand, had a special apron for these sessions. It was soft towelling, with a rubber lining to make it waterproof.

This was the type of nursery apron usually worn by nannies to bathe and change young babies. Ethel always referred to it as her ‘Baby Apron’, not as her ‘Nanny Apron’.

Whenever we were summoned to Matron’s room and found her and Ethel wearing Baby Aprons, we knew they were going to do something unpleasant and embarrassing to us, such as an enema. The same applied if they were wearing rubber aprons over their uniform ones.

At the end of each session, she would announce that I was to be spanked for some reason or the other, none of which ever seemed valid to me. She then reversed her apron, so that the rubber lining was now outside.

She then got hold of my penis and dragged me by it over to a low stool on which rested a paddle. She seemed to have three different sorts. One of very flexible rubber, another, stiffer, of leather and, finally, one made of wood. It didn’t make much difference to me, which she used, because I soon found that they all hurt a lot.

I was required to lie there quietly with my naked body against the rubber lining of her apron, which somehow heightened the experience. She told me that this was in case I had any ‘accidents’, but didn’t explain what she meant by this.

As a very young Victorian teenager, I hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant and, by the way she said ‘accidents’, I didn’t like to ask!

There was never a set number of strokes announced and she continued to spank me until my bum was quite red and sore. Once I realised that I also had to be sobbing my heart out for her to decide I had had enough, I didn’t try any longer to ‘be a brave little soldier’ and hold my sobs back. I never tried to fool her by crying too quickly, as I knew she would be well aware of what I would be trying to do and that it would be the worst for me.

The session ended with me showing my respects again. So, this weekly routine of enemas and spankings were added to my schedule.

This time between church and lunch on a Sunday, was one of the few free periods given to pupils and the others soon began to notice that I was always late in joining them. They guessed what was going on, although not the details, because of my red puffy eyes and the stiff way I walked.

Consequently, they began to feel sorry for me and so, at last, I began to make some friends. As a result of this, my torment began to dry up. Then my main persecutor suddenly had her apron dirtied three days running by my new allies. She had no idea who had actually done this and my friends were clever enough to do it in such a way that I could clearly be seen to be completely innocent.

When she was faced with a third caning and another day of wearing the ‘slattern’ placard, she suddenly ‘lost it’ and accused me of doing it. She had fallen into the same trap as she had earlier laid for me.

As a result, I had the satisfaction of seeing her, supper-less, kneeling on the penitent’s stool with the placard round her neck. Because it was ‘her’ third day running, compounded by a false accusation, the Head sentenced her to 24 strokes of the medium birch on her bare buttocks.

By the second dozen, we were all wincing in sympathy as the strokes fell remorselessly.

The message soon got around and my persecution completely dried up, even from the maids, but I was still left with the Sunday enemas and spankings from Ethel. I had hoped that she would soon get bored and tired of this ritual, but she was enjoying it far too much and I began to look forward to my own school re-opening soon to bring it to an end.

Of course, as I knelt there on my first evening, all this was in the future. I eyed the whalebone rod apprehensively and hoped I wouldn’t disgrace myself by crying my eyes out like a baby in front of all those young girls.

(I actually did far worse! They took the dummy out of my mouth and the rod proved to be a fiercesome instrument. I shamed myself by howling my head off. ‘Squeals’ didn’t come into it!)

Then, much later, came the bombshell of my father’s letter and I had to come to terms with the fact that the rescue I had been anticipating would not now happen.

Because of my father’s ignorance of the circumstances of my situation and Aunt Beth’s mixture of ignorance and innocence, I now faced three years of painful, pinafored purgatory as a ‘temporary schoolgirl’.

 

THE END

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Rob Willson. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.