BEXHILL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, Assembly Read Online Free PDF Page B

hand. Within a few hundred yards, their
fingers were interlaced.
    This was the
late 1950s, so when they got back to Marlene’s flat, they didn’t
tumble into bed: they exchanged a chaste peck on each other’s cheek
and parted, promising to meet again soon.
    They did.
    ***
    Miss Holloway
arrived at the school every morning just before eight o’clock. Her
office was opposite the headmaster’s study and acted as a kind of
‘information centre’ for the school. Miss Holloway’s knowledge
of the girls was encyclopaedical, gained from having to type out
reports at the end of each term. She was often a source of
intelligence about who had been selected for sports teams, which
dormitory someone was to be in the following term, travel
arrangements home, and even - discretely - what sort of mood the
headmaster or deputy head might be in. This latter information was
often sought by those nervously waiting their turn in Miss
Holloway’s office before appearing in front of ‘Three Taps’ or
Mrs Winchester in order to be ‘dealt with’. Being ‘dealt with’
almost always involved physical punishment with a hairbrush, tawse,
or cane.
    It was the
‘waiting room’ aspect of her duties that bothered Miss Holloway the
most. Punishments were meted out either after lunch or after
supper. Girls who were to see the headmaster in the afternoon would
report to Mrs Holloway’s office after the midday meal, while
everyone else had a rest period. Sometimes there would be several
of them slated for these awe-inspiring meetings. They would sit on
the half dozen chairs laid out for visitors along one wall of the
office until either Mr Masterson or Mrs Winchester buzzed on
the intercom to tell the secretary to send in the first victim or
the first group, if several girls had been involved in the same
incident. The rest would fidget nervously on their chairs or else
sit pale and immobile, like rabbits caught in a car’s headlights.
They rarely spoke. Although the door to the headmaster’s study,
just across the corridor from the secretary’s office, was made of
heavy oak, there was no mistaking the sound of a thrashing: the
smack of Stinger, the whack of the tawse, or the crack of a cane,
all too often followed by a cry or a yell. At this point, even the
bravest would start to chew their lips or flick nervous glances at
the door to the study, waiting for the sufferer to emerge,
red-eyed, tear-stained, and clasping her backside. Then the anxious
look towards Miss Holloway: who would be next? The fluttering in
the stomach - half hope, because it was better to get the whole
thing over with; half fear that the dreaded moment of truth had
arrived.
    Of course
anyone might have been upset at having to supervise girls in such
an obvious state of distress and it would have been quite normal to
feel some sympathy for them in their plight, no matter what they
had done or how much they might deserve what was coming to them.
Miss Holloway’s problem lay elsewhere. To her shame and moral
confusion, she found she was becoming erotically excited on these
occasions.
    Of course she
felt an empathy with the poor, frightened girls, but she was
undeniably turned on by what was happening just a few feet away in
the headmaster’s study. The clearer the sound of the punishment
coming from within his sanctum, the more thrilled she felt. She
would see the waiting victims in a new light, imagining how they
would soon look, with their pants pulled down, their skirts raised,
their hands grasping the wooden seat of a chair or the edge of the
headmaster’s desk, their bottoms lifted - anticipating, pale and
unmarked, the first swish of the brush or leather or rattan. On
these occasions Miss Holloway could feel her own underwear becoming
damp and she would blush inwardly at the depravity of her
thoughts.
    Some of the
‘victims’ fell into well-defined categories:
    The wretched
figure of the Fourth Former, awaiting her first taste of Stinger.
At least she’d be