Reggie Griffiths was over the moon. After four years of hard work, exams, with only the odd wild student party thrown in to relieve the stress, he had finally passed out as a newly qualified teacher of English Language. At last he was at liberty to unleash his free-spirit and unquestionable talent upon the world of secondary education.
As a graduate with honours, he had been able to choose his post very carefully. Not for him the mad scramble for jobs at the run-down inner city comprehensives. Oh no- for Reggie the world was virtually at his feet. Many high-class educational establishments had been tripping over themselves to attract his services. He had not hurried to choose, but when the post of NQT at the prestigious and very exclusive Eastville High School
Now, at eight-thirty, on his first morning, he paced up and down between the neat rows of desks in his newly decorated classroom. He adjusted the chairs, picked up the odd speck of paper from the polished wooden floor; making sure that everything was just so, in readiness for nine o’clock , when he would be meeting his students for the very first time. A good first impression was essential.
Reggie was a fairly tall sort of chap, almost six feet in fact. He was unquestionably handsome, (the girls at college had thought certainly thought so), with short light- brown hair that was parted on the left.
For his first morning, he had chosen to wear a brown checked sports jacket, grey flannel trousers, a white shirt and a mustard coloured tie. It was not the height of modern fashion, but he was seeking to project the image of being a little older, and a lot more experienced, than he actually was. He was, after all, only a few years older than the girls he would be teaching, and he still looked young and fresh.
Arriving at the blackboard, he carefully placed the big felt rubbing block neatly to one side of the ledge provided, checking at the same time that there would be sufficient chalk available for his purposes. The first lesson of the day would be fourth-year grammar – correct usage of verbs. That should give him a good start-off.
After that he would be teaching the first-year pupils; then in the afternoon the second and third years respectively. The fifth and sixth forms were outside his province for the moment, but no doubt there would be opportunities to teach them as well later on, either on staff training days or when colleagues were off sick etc.
From the blackboard, he went over to the tall mahogany cupboards, opening each in turn to verify that all of the materials which he would be needing were in place. Being at the upper-class end of the market, the school wanted for nothing in the way of resources. Many of the textbooks were brand new. “Order whatever you need” had been the Headmistress’s instruction.
He had taken her at her word and worked his way meticulously through the school’s bespoke order catalogue, until eventually he had arrived at the final page. It was then that his eyes opened wide with astonishment.
At first he had been unable to stop his hand from trembling as he studied the short list of items therein. Canes and leather tawses of all shapes and sizes, each with a photograph, the price of course, plus a brief description of the qualities each had to offer.
As he had studied the page in wonderment, scarcely able to suppress his excitement, the appendage within his trousers had suddenly begun to enlarge. The “Sprite Deluxe” model in particular had attracted his attention, being a particularly devilish looking piece of equipment with a curved handle. Yet when it came to actually placing one on his order form, he lost his nerve, figuring that in a girls-only school, nobody would be expecting him ever to need or use one.
It was Mrs Simpkins, the kindly but brusque school secretary, who had publicly and somewhat embarrassingly brought the omission to light on the staff induction day.
“Canes Mr Griffiths, you have forgotten to order canes!” she had announced in her shrill voice, causing all of his colleagues present in the staff room, mainly women, to turn their heads in his direction.
“B-b-but surely I won’t need one of those will I?” he had blustered self-consciously, drawing smiles of confirmation all round from his coleagues.
“Of course you will need one Mr Griffiths!” replied Mrs Simpkins incredulously, seemingly at a loss to understand his naivety. “In fact you will probably need more than one. How on earth are you going to maintain discipline in the classroom if you do not have a cane to back your authority?”
“W-w-w-well I thought that being w-well bred girls from good homes it wouldn’t be necessary,” had stammered Reggie lamely, clearly intimidated by the secretary’s forthright manner. “I d-don’t know which one to choose…. I mean, I……”
“Never mind Mr Griffiths,” retorted the secretary, shaking her head in disbelief. “I will order some for you. You clearly have a lot to learn about teaching methods and discipline, but you will soon learn once you have been here for a couple of weeks. The young girls will give you an easy time for the first few days, but only while they are sizing you up. Then you had better be ready to crack down hard, mark my words, or your life won’t be worth living.”
Reggie had looked for confirmation in the expressions on the faces of his colleagues, only to receive knowing nods in return.
“Agnes is right Reggie,” confirmed Rosemary Hawkins, the deputy headmistress. “Our young ladies may indeed come from well-to-do families, but they tend to be spoilt brats on the whole, who tend to get their own way at home. The parents send their girls here expecting them to get some firm discipline now and then, and we try not to disappoint them. A few sharp taps with a swishy cane never harmed anybody!”
Reggie had bowed to the superior wisdom of his colleagues, forming a mental picture of little pink posteriors in navy blue knickers, hissing and crackling from a close encounter with “Mr Bamboo”. His train of thought had been interrupted by Mary O’Hare, the Head of History.
“If I could just mention,” she had whispered confidentially, “I would recommend that you also avail yourself of a plimsoll, or slipper as we call it. The cane is excellent for dealing with the more troublesome little minxes, but it does have the disadvantage of leaving some pretty spectacular marks on the little dears’ posteriors, and can really only be used on them once a fortnight at most. That is more than enough to bring most of the little witches into line, but some of the serial offenders need a dose nearly every day. We don’t want the parents complaining about their little darlings being beaten excessively do we?”
Jim listened open-mouthed as Mary continued.
“The slipper is just as effective pain-wise,” she explained, “But it doesn’t make quite so much of an impression, if you catch my drift? You can use it as often as you like without causing a great deal of aesthetic damage, and the girls soon get the message. After all, punishment carries a high percentage of shaming as well as pain; they won’t enjoy having to exhibit their knickers at the front of the class too often. I would keep the cane in reserve as your “punishment of last resort” if I were you.”
Reggie had taken her advice. Thus it was, with “zero hour” approaching, his tour of inspection of the classroom led him to the imposing desk situated to the right-hand side of the blackboard. He opened the lid. Inside, amongst all of the textbooks and classroom notes was an old worn white plimsoll, size nine, tatty and flexible. He picked it up and smacked it against his palm.
It stung viciously. Mary was right: it truly would be effective. And because the sole was so wide – the mark that it would impart on the errant bottom would take much less time to disappear than did a cane weal. He wondered absently how long it would be, before he would need to use it.
His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the school bell. It was five-to-nine. Outside in the playground, the high-pitched shrieking of adolescent female voices ceased and a distant whistle signalled the order to proceed to classrooms. Reggie nervously opened his classroom door, went to his desk, and sat down to await the students’ arrival.
Presently, in twos and threes, a file of fourteen year-old girls, smartly dressed in their uniforms of white shirt, blue cardigan and dark blue pleated skirts entered the room. They all took their places behind their chairs, standing respectfully to attention.
Aware that all eyes were focused expectantly upon him, Reggie went and closed the door, cleared his throat and began to speak.
“Good morning girls.” He said in his most authoritarian tone. “My name is Mr Griffiths. You will address me as “sir” if you please!”
“Good morning sir!” chorused the young ladies, in almost precise unison.
So far so good, thought Reggie. At least they are polite and showing respect.
“Please take your seats.”
When they were all seated, just a few desks remained vacant. No doubt one or two pupils were absent through illness; hopefully none would be late. Reggie thought about the slipper in his desk. Being late was definitely a punishable offence. He took out the register, putting a tick against the list of names as he called them out. Only two empty spaces remained when he had finished.
Having asked the girls to take out their grammar books, he began to outline the principles of verb conjugation. They were barely a couple of minutes into the lesson, when suddenly there was a knock on the door behind him. Looking round, he saw a good-looking young schoolgirl with medium length, straight dark hair, standing in the doorway.
Yes?” he asked her, a little annoyed at the interruption.
“I-I am sorry sir!” the girl stammered. She had a pronounced Italian accent. “It is my first day and I get lost. Is all very new to me here.”
Reggie eyed her up and down. She really was very pretty; slim and well proportioned with dark appealing eyes. His initial instinct was to say that it was alright and not to worry, but then the authoritarian side of his nature took over.
“What is your name girl?” he enquired brusquely. “You are late. I take a very dim view of tardiness!”
“It is Ellie sir – Ellie Maldini.”
Reggie checked the register and noted that she was one of the absentees. He put an “L” against her name, hesitated, then lifted the lid of his desk, taking out the slipper and barely noticing the audible gasp from the seated pupils.
“Right Ellie,” he said. “Come and stand here in front of the class, face the blackboard and touch your toes. I will not tolerate lateness for whatever reason. It is considered very disrespectful, both to me and your colleagues.”
Ellie’s jaw dropped open slightly as if to say something, but apparently thought better of it. She walked hesitantly towards the backboard, turned smartly to face it, and bent over as ordered.
“Is like this sir, you want me?” she asked nervously, gazing intently at the floor. Her fingertips were not quite reaching her shoes.
“Part your feet slightly,” replied Reggie. “You will find it easier that way.”
He watched as Ellie complied. With her feet planted eighteen inches apart, she could now reach the toes of her shoes in reasonable comfort. Reggie hesitated for a second, admiring the way that her straightened legs disappeared tantalisingly beneath the hem of her blue pleated skirt. Should he lift the skirt to expose her knickers? It was a question that was occupying the onlookers’ minds also. In the classroom you could have heard a pin drop.
There was a temptation to fold it back for sure, but he declined and left the skirt in place. It barely concealed her pants anyway. The slipper felt good in his hand as stepped to one side, drew back his arm, and gave her three hard swipes on the bottom in quick succession, the sharp thud reverberating off the classroom walls. Ellie gasped for breath with the impact, but otherwise said nothing.
“Right, you may get up Ellie; go and sit down. Perhaps you will not wish to be late again?”
Ellie rubbed her hands vigorously over her skirt and tearfully shook her head. “No sir. Thank you sir” Blushing furiously, she went quickly to a vacant desk, seated herself and opened her satchel.
Reggie glared at the rest of the class. One or two girls had the vestiges of a smirk on their countenances. He made a mental note of who they were, thinking darkly that he would soon wipe the grins off of their impudent faces if they gave him the slightest excuse.
“Right girls, let that be a reminder to all of you; we do not accept lateness. Now let us carry on with the lesson. Ellie take out your grammar book please and open it to page thirty-five ……”
The lesson passed without incident and come break-time, Reggie found himself once more sitting next to Mary O’Hare in the staffroom, as they drank their coffee.
“How are you getting on?” she asked. “Have you used your slipper yet?
“Yes I have actually,” he replied. “A girl called Ellie was late and I gave her a couple of good whacks. I hadn’t expected to be using it so soon though.”
Mary looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Not Ellie Maldini?” she asked in astonishment. “The new girl – she speaks with an Italian accent?”
“Yes that’s the one. Why do you ask like that; have I done something wrong?”
“No. I am sure it will be fine. It’s just that today is her first day in an English school and she is the daughter of the Italian Cultural Attaché. I am sure that she will have some very interesting things to tell her parents tonight when she gets back home.
