Open Writing

After my previous months of freedom I found it difficult to settle down to the strict routine and discipline, and the first two nights of prep were a nightmare. Never in my life had I been given any homework, and I could not get used to the idea that all was done in utter silence.

Looking up from my studies, quite without thinking, I spoke to Mu on my right, to receive a reprimand from the mistress taking prep. This happened not once only, but a few times. The following evening I was brought out before the class and made to work in full view of all these strange girls, some looking at me with sympathy but others with derision. I was embarrassed beyond words, wishing the ground would open and swallow me up.

I developed a hacking cough that first term, and a cough persisted in the winter during the whole of my stay at Southlands. I think the air from the Downs, and the sea, and the icy cold of our bedrooms were too harsh. Many, many times I found the water in my tumbler frozen solid, and had to plunge the sponge into hot water to thaw it out. Never, before
or since, have I experienced such intense cold.

We girls were harassed by a mistress who came to us by my second term. She was a horror and we were very frightened of her. One girl would stand at the door, opening it smartly when the Horror approached.

She strode in, her nose sharp as a beak, her bloodless lips so tight they disappeared in a narrow line, hair scraped back into a bun, her face bleak and cold as the coldest winter's morn. The pile of books clasped before her middle she now banged down on the small table so that it shook and rattled as we felt our teeth were shaking and rattling, in fear.

Then began a stream of questions concerning the prep of the night before, but as all breath fled when her peremptory finger darted at each of us in turn, we were only able to stutter and the finger passed from terrified girl to terrified girl accompanied by "you, you, you, you!"

I had a few battles with her, one of which I remember particularly well. She gave us such a quantity of work to prepare that it was impossible to do justice to our other lessons, and our form mistress complained. "All the other mistresses are seriously concerned, girls," she told us.

We held a conclave and decided to invite the Horror to meet us in the classroom at a certain hour, when we would make a protest. It would be me they chose to be the spokesman! I agreed only on the condition that the girls would support me.

The hour arrived and the Horror entered. Fixing us with her beady eyes, she pulled at her jumper, and glared. In a deathly silence, pregnant with expectation, and quickly, so that I had the initiative, I rose, and clearly spoke the agreed words.

At once she turned on me angrily spitting out the question "Do you want to run the school? You come and stand here. If so, I'll be very content to give up my job and see what you can make of it."

Unflinching, I stood my ground, for I had lost a great part of my fear in despising the woman. I continued to be sensible and practical, but was casting side glances at the girls sitting frozen and silent at their desks. Now was the time I needed their support, but believe it or not, no single figure arose, or spoke, and finally, and triumphantly, the Horror stumped out of the room.

I rounded on the others, spewing out my disgust at their lack of loyalty and support. The influence of such a woman in a boarding school can hold a touch of menace, there is no escape. And she certainly spoiled, in part, what should have been happy days at a very delightful school.

Sport was not a great feature. Hockey and netball were played in the winter, and tennis in the summer, but we had no coach for this and the courts were bumpy, merely being the Hockey field prepared by Polly, the old pony, pulling the heavy roller and led by the groundsman.

I tried very hard at hockey, enjoying the game immensely, playing forward, but never managed to become good enough to get into the first, or even the second, team. The only time I ever played in a match was a disaster.

I had stayed in from the usual walk, along with a few other girls, to have my hair washed by the visiting barber. Suddenly the captain dashed into the room and told me to get ready for hockey at once, as the opposing team were a player short. I felt stunned, and suggested one or two other names only to be told I was the best available and must play up!

Here, then, was my chance! Perhaps I would play so brilliantly that I would be chosen for the regular team after all, and no girl seized her hockey stick with more determination!

I played exceedingly well, better than ever before, and almost forgot that it was for the opposing side. I had an obvious opportunity for scoring what proved to be the only goal. Without hesitation I banged the ball, beautifully placed, straight and hard into the net, and not until the clapping arose did I realise the enormity of this fine shot!

I apologised all round after the match was over, and was most distressed before the gym mistress. She unsmilingly told me that I could not have done otherwise. So my one and only match caused me nothing but shame and misgiving!