Looking Ahead 1

Story from Uniform Girls 12

From: Permanent Deputy Under Secretary, YSS Div. Home Office

To: Miss J Carver, Assistant Chief Executive, YSS Div. Home Office

Date: 24th March 1997

Thank you for your reply to my memo of 20.3.97, regarding punishment in Girls’ Remedial Training Centres.

I note that you are not against an increase of the maximum number of strokes from 18 to 24, provided this is administered in two lots of 12 strokes with a forty eight hour interval in between. This seems sensible to me.

As regards punishments in RTC’s. I am glad you think these should be regularised and not left to the Commandant’s discretion.

I will arrange a meeting of all Executive Officers to discuss this matter, when I will be in the Chair. Prior to that, I intend to visit a small number of RTC’s in order to see, at first hand, the present levels of discipline. Kindly arrange transport for me on 26th March. I wish to leave at 10 a.m., and shall be visiting the Stroud RTC in Gloucestershire, which is a Centre for Land Girls.

----//----

In the back of the Daimler limousine, provided for civil servants of his rank, Aubrey Blunt, CBE, dealt with the paperwork he had brought with him in his official black briefcase. He was a conscientious man and hard-working. He would never have considered relaxing with a newspaper or a book as they sped smoothly down the motorway to the West Country. The grey-uniformed driver, with peak cap, he had noticed was a young woman. She seemed very proficient, however.

They arrived at their destination just before 1 p.m., nicely in time for luncheon, which Aubrey was sure the Commandant would provide. A visit by a Permanent Deputy Under-Secretary was a rather special event, after all.

The first surprise was to see the sign — RTC No. 5 — was not outside the gate of some barrack-like building, which Aubrey had half been expecting, but outside an actual farm. Still, on reflection, that made sense since it was occupied by the more incorrigible Land Girls whose Commanding Officers deemed would benefit from a ‘short, sharp shock,’ which Remedial Training Centres were specially designed to provide. They had only been set up in recent months and were still rather in the experimental stage. Aubrey had been responsible for their institution and, after some hesitation, had decided that no further legislation was required under the Youth Training Programme Act. However, he was constantly aware that some journalist or busy-bodying Opposition M.P. would start making ‘revelations,’ or getting up on hind-legs in the House, complaining about the severity of discipline now being implemented. For, though the Act laid down that the maximum number of strokes of the cane which could be handed out in a YSC was set at 18 (at that time), as far as he knew the Commandant at an RTC had more or less a free hand. Thus it was important that Aubrey should see for himself — and, if necessary, issue the necessary instructions — in order to prevent excesses.

The driver descended and opened the farm gate. Aubrey noted the trimness of the young woman’s legs and figure. He also noted that there seemed a complete lack of security around the farm. No high fences, no barbed wire, no locked gate. Was that wise? Not so much from the point of view of the conscripts getting out but unwanted visitors getting in. He would mention this to the Commandant. The girl got back into the limousine and they drove along a muddy farm track and stopped outside the farmhouse door. The driver descended and opened the door for Aubrey. ‘Name?’ he enquired of her.

‘Driver Morris, sir,’ came the clipped reply, with the young woman standing at attention.

How remarkably, thought Aubrey, this Youth Training Scheme has improved the general attitude and behaviour of young people. Long gone were the sloppy, ‘hippy’ type days of the 70’s and 80’s. All youngsters nowadays had experienced discipline and were conscious of its importance.

‘I should go and get a meal in the village, Driver Morris,’ said Aubrey. ‘Pick me up at four p.m.’

‘Very good, sir.’ A smart salute and the young woman closed the door. As Aubrey advanced to the door, the limousine drew smoothly away.

----//----

Luncheon was simple but excellent. Real farmhouse fare. ‘Prepared by one of the conscripts here,’ explained the Commandant. His name was Bushmill and he was a florid-faced ex-army man in his fifties, still using his rank of Major.

‘How many conscripts have you here at the moment?’ enquired Aubrey.

‘Very few as it happens, sir,’ came the reply. ‘Four to be exact. But two more are expected tomorrow.’

‘What’s the normal complement?’

‘More like a dozen, sir. Though we once had twenty here. More than we could accommodate actually. Quite a number of them had to bed down in the stables.’ The Major gave a quick little grin. ‘Didn’t do them any harm to rough it for a week, though.’

‘No, I imagine not,’ agreed Aubrey. ‘They’re not here to be mollycoddled.’

‘Quite so, sir,’ said the Major emphatically. It seemed an appropriate moment to raise the subject of discipline but, first, Aubrey tackled the matter of security and made a number of suggestions. More like directives really.

‘But none of them would be so stupid as to run away,’ protested Major Bushmill. ‘They wouldn’t get far. And they’d certainly wish they hadn’t made a break when they were brought back!’

Patiently, Aubrey explained that he was more concerned with keeping unwanted people out. Reluctantly, the Major, who didn’t seem too bright, agreed there might be a point there. He would requisition the necessary rolls of barbed wire immediately.

‘Staff?’ enquired Aubrey.

‘Just two, sir. We call them instructors.’

‘Sufficient?’

‘Unless there is a growing intake, yes sir,’ answered the Major, watching the man from the Ministry taking notes. He would be glad when this particular unwelcome visitor had gone and he could get on with his work. Conscript Davies, who was departing on the morrow, had earned herself a good caning and he had decided to give it to her himself.

‘What about Corrective Discipline here?’ asked Aubrey, as if reading his thoughts.

‘What about it, sir?’

‘The quantity of it. The severity…’

‘Nothing’s actually laid down, sir,’ seeing his visitor nod, then purse his lips. ‘So it’s rather at my discretion. Or that of the instructors.’ Aubrey nodded again and made some notes. Just as he had expected. Something would have to be done about that.

‘l see,’ he said. ‘Well, Major, I’d like to make an inspection.’

‘Of course, sir. Shall I accompany you?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Major. I’ll just make my own way around. Observing, you know?’

‘Just as you wish, sir.’ Both men stood and Major Bushmill indicated that Aubrey should precede him from the room.

----//----

The first sight that greeted Aubrey on his little solo tour was a girl perched up on a farm gate chewing a piece of straw, a pitchfork alongside her. It smacked instantly to him of sloppiness; not at all what one would expect to see in an RTC. The girl who was wearing the Land Girl uniform of brief khaki dungarees, with a red stripe at the side, and a white T-shirt, turned with a startled gasp as she heard him approach.

‘What are you doing up there?’ demanded Aubrey.

‘Er… just taking a breather… s-sir… I feel knackered,’ she answered nervously.

‘Is it permitted?’ She was rather a pretty young thing, he thought, with curly, light brown hair. A bit cheeky-looking though.

‘Don’t really know, sir. Only got here yesterday.’ Yes, definitely a bit cheeky. They were usually the sort who ended up in an RTC, according to reports he received.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Conscript Webster, sir.’ She leapt down off the gate as footsteps crunched towards them. A youngish, bearded man came into view and Aubrey saw, with approval, there was a cane in his hand. More like an RTC, he thought.

‘What are you doing up there, Webster?’ the man barked out. ‘Finished loading the hay yet?’

‘N-not quite… sir…’

‘Well, you damn well should have done.’ The man glanced at Aubrey. ‘Instructor Harvey, sir. I understand you’re making an inspection.’

‘That’s right. This girl has just informed me she is ‘knackered.’ I didn’t like the expression.’

‘I should think not, sir. Webster, bend over that gate. Legs astride.’ She looked at Aubrey and went a shade pink, but her RSS training made her obey without delay. The cane swung and whacked across a thinly-clad bottom. Once, twice, three times.

‘Ooowww… aaahhh… ouch!’ came the cries. Nothing too serious there, thought Aubrey.

‘Get back to work, Webster. And when you’ve finished, I want you in that stable over there.’ The instructor pointed with his cane. The girl picked up her pitchfork and hurried off. ‘Sorry about that, sir,’ said Instructor Harvey, but the girl’s new here. Idling like that’s simply not permitted here. She’ll learn that later this afternoon. And then won’t do it again.’

‘I see,’ mused Aubrey. So those three cuts were not the end of the matter. ‘What do you intend.’

‘To give her a proper thrashing, sir. Perhaps you’d like to be present, sir?’

‘I think it only my duty,’ replied Aubrey primly. ‘Part of my inspection.’

‘Quite so, sir,’ said Harvey, approvingly it seemed. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see how the others are getting on. They’re out in the fields.’ For a moment, Aubrey considered accompanying him, then decided against it. The idea of trudging across acres of wet fields didn’t appeal to him. Instead, he wandered rather aimlessly about the farmyard — which seemed to be in pretty good order — before settling down a bale of straw in the stable the instructor had indicated. In the far corner, was a pen containing newly-born calves. A very different setting, he reflected, from his neat and tidy office in Whitehall. I must get out like this more often, he told himself, suddenly noticing a riding crop hanging up on one wall. It had a leather tab at its end. Would the instructor use that, he wondered. It looked considerably more formidable than a cane!

----//----

Aubrey was half dozing (that lunch certainly had been good) when Instructor Harvey came into the stable, bringing the girl with him. She looked pretty done in and frightened too. ‘You may get away with things at your RSS, but you don’t here!’ Harvey was saying. He took down the crop. Aubrey made a mental note. Should they be permitted? ‘Clasp your hands on your head and bend forward, Webster.’

‘P-please… sir… I’m not used to… to such hard work…’

‘You’ll get used to it soon enough. Just do as I say.’ Aubrey watched the girl bend as directed. ‘Legs astride,’ came the next order. It was also obeyed. The crop cracked down and produced a gasping howl, Webster’s bottom jerking back and forth. ‘When I tell you to do a job… you do it!’ The crop cracked down again. Another gasping howl; more juddering of that young bottom. Still, the girl is pretty tough, thought Aubrey. RSS training, doubtless. They became quite hardened in course of time. That was why some of them needed the extra discipline given in an RTC.

Again! Then again! Webster’s howls were growing louder, the calves in the pen becoming rather agitated. ‘Enough… oh it h-hurts so… eeeenough!’

‘Enough?’ It was a kind of snort from Instructor Harvey. ‘I’ve only just started. You’re idle, Webster, but I’m going to cure you of that. Drop your shorts.’

‘Please — n-ooooo!’

‘Do it!’ Ingrained discipline made the girl obey. Aubrey found himself gazing upon a nicely rounded bottom, scantily clad in a pair of small white briefs. Harvey now forced the girl over some piece of farm machinery (he discovered later it was a turnip-grinder!) The girl’s legs clamped on it and the handle projected between her thighs.

Crack! And again… Crack!

‘Yaaahhh… yeeegh… no… oh no!’

The crop certainly made her writhe, thought Aubrey, not altogether complacently. But this was his duty. To inspect; to judge.

‘Knickers down!’ Ahh… so humiliation was part of the disciplinary procedure, was it? Aubrey approved. He also approved of the girl’s naked behind when the briefs were reluctantly lowered. And then only after much pleading. A threat from the Instructor to begin her thrashing again, seemed to be the deciding factor.

Six more cracking strokes fell across that frantically twisting behind before Harvey let up. Then, with Harvey delivering a homily on obeying orders, Webster stood, hands on head, tears streaming down. Her briefs were still about her thighs as she faced Aubrey and he saw that, in her contortions, her T-shirt had ridden up to expose a delightful pair of young, rounded breasts.

‘Take those knickers right off!’ snapped Harvey. Off they came. Webster now obviously had a most healthy respect for his crop. She wanted no more of it; so obedience and submission were the order of the day. Aubrey approved. That was what an RTC was all about. Few, he knew, came back for a second dose. ‘There’s the stable yard to be swept and cleaned. Thoroughly. You will now do it. Webster.’ The girl looked about to protest but then thought better of it.

‘lt… it’s… mmfff… r-raining,’ she whimpered.

‘Then wear this,’ said Harvey brusquely, and tossed her a short, yellow waterproof of the kind life-boatmen wear. Webster, still sobbing, put it on. Then made her way miserably out into the yard. And the rain.

‘Do you often use that crop?’ asked Aubrey.

‘Frequently,’ replied Harvey, who was looking at their visitor as if seeking words of approval. Aubrey made another mental note. The use of such an implement must definitely be brought up at the meeting he was proposing. ‘It seems appropriate on a farm,’ added Harvey.

‘Maybe,’ said Aubrey enigmatically.

----//----

Half an hour later, Instructor Harvey was dealing with Webster again, but this time less severely. Not allowing for the rain, nor the thrashing he had just given her, he seemed by no means satisfied with the progress of her work. Aubrey, who had just returned from taking a distant look at the bent, toiling field-workers, watched from a discreet distance as Webster’s yellow covering was raised… and half a dozen or more real walloping slaps were laid across her already tender bottom.

‘If you can’t do better than this,’ Harvey could be heard bellowing, ‘you’ll get another taste of the crop!’

Aubrey was becoming distinctly impressed by the standards of discipline at this particular RTC. On the other hand, he was becoming increasingly concerned that they should not be observed by anything but official eyes. Problems lay ahead, he realised that. He must be prepared.

----//----

Taking a welcome cup of tea whilst awaiting the arrival of his car, Aubrey was informed that a message had come through from his driver to say that the Daimler had some clutch trouble. Should she get another car sent down from London? Aubrey considered. It would be damn late by the time it got there, then there would be the wearisome night drive back.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ll stay overnight.’ Major Bushmill put on a very good show of being delighted to offer his visitor a bed for the night. And dinner.

‘What time will you be leaving, sir?’ he asked.

‘Oh… no hurry. Saturday tomorrow, isn’t it?’ It had suddenly occurred to Aubrey that he would have a further opportunity to look round this most interesting RTC.

After another excellent meal, he retired. But he found it difficult to get to sleep. Partly indigestion. But mainly because he could not get the image of that squirming young bottom out of his mind.

Really, he told himself quite crossly, just before he finally dropped off, you should not let yourself get so affected in this way. After all, it is your duty you are doing.

----//----

Aubrey, always an early riser, was up and about by 7 a.m. and decided to take a pre-breakfast stroll around the farm. He quickly discovered that he was by no means the first to arrive there. A file of uniformed Land Girls was marching smartly towards the fields, each garbed in those abbreviated khaki dungarees. The red stripes down the sides of the shorts flickered back and forth as they stepped out, the soft flesh of thighs and calves quivering with their movements. Bringing up the rear was an instructor, with a whippy-looking cane in his hand. Aubrey nodded approvingly. A hard day’s work obviously lay ahead for these youngsters. They would all return to their RSS’s with a much chastened outlook on life. With a much reduced desire to ‘buck the system.’ He felt a small glow of pride. All this was his doing. His role in the moral renaissance of the country’s youth was a vital one. That would surely soon be recognised by those higher up the establishment scale. The CB (or even a K!) which he secretly longed for, could soon come his way.

Then he caught sight of the Webster girl, who was again working in the farmyard itself, and his heart thumped a little faster. Doubtless on the orders of Instructor Harvey, the girl was no longer uniformed. All she was wearing were her calf length white socks, a pair of white shoes, and the white briefs he had seen taken down the previous day. She was busily wielding a pitchfork, taking hay from a barn and dumping it into a cart. Discreetly, Aubrey stood behind a tractor to watch, admiring the way those young breasts bounced and bobbled as she worked. No doubt at all that she was really putting her back into her task. That thrashing she had received must have done her a power of good.

Then Instructor Harvey appeared on the scene, coming around the end of a barn, shouting something at her. Webster stopped and turned momentarily, then went back to work. Harvey came striding up, looking angry. Though Aubrey could not hear properly, it seemed that, hard as she had been working, her instructor reckoned she should have finished loading that cart already. Peremptorily, he got hold of her by grabbing the elastic of her briefs, then dragged the protesting girl backwards into a shed. Within a few moments, there was the sound of a palm descending on bare flesh and yelping cries of pain.

It went on and on. A real sound spanking. A dozen. Eighteen. Past twenty four. Aubrey lost count. The girl was howling and begging for mercy. Just as Aubrey was thinking of going to take a look for himself, the spanking ceased. Harsh words over moaning sobs. Then Webster more or less tottered out of the shed carrying those tiny briefs in her hand. Still sobbing, she went back to work now quite naked. Except for shoes and socks of course.

The instructor’s words were clear as he strode away. ‘Next time I come back Webster,’ he said, ‘I shall bring a cane with me!’

No wonder that pitchfork went so busily to work!

Aubrey watched for quite a while. Now able to admire that bouncing reddened bottom as well as the joggling breasts. What a delightful spectacle in the morning sunshine! Definitely something to make a man forget about his breakfast.

Finally, feeling the old adrenalin flowing, Aubrey emerged from behind the tractor which had hidden him for so long. He crunched over the yard towards the girl, now able to see the sheen of sweat on her flesh. With a gasp, she swung round to face him. The sight of that nubile 19-year-old body made him feel young again. Suddenly realising where his gaze was hotly directed, the girl hung her briefs over her mound, flushing furiously.

‘G-go… away please… oh please.’ she begged.

Aubrey put on his stern, official expression. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me in that fashion, Conscript Webster!’ he rasped. ‘Are you not aware of who I am?’

‘N-no… sir…’

‘I’m the Head of the Department that runs places like this,’ said Aubrey with some pride. The girl seemed suitably impressed. ‘If I so wished, I could arrange for you to have an official caning from the Commandant himself — for your cheek.’ The girl looked even more impressed; if not to say downright scared. ‘Do you know he is empowered to give you 24 strokes at any one time?’

‘Oooh… no… ooo!’ It was a cry of sheer terror. Of course, the Commandant was empowered to do no such thing, but what did that matter? There was no harm in scaring the living daylights out of girls like this.

‘And you can take those briefs away,’ snapped Aubrey. ‘Your instructor has detailed you to work naked, so work naked you will.’ He watched with satisfaction as the briefs slid away. For five seconds… ten seconds… they stood there, facing each other, in a tense silence, the girl breathing heavily, young eyes fearful. Then Aubrey suddenly turned on his heel and strode towards the farmhouse.

I almost lost control, he thought, rather agitated. That would never have done. No, as Head of Department, he must keep a firm grip on himself. And that, in fact, a short while later, was precisely what Aubrey Blunt, CBE, was doing!

----//----

From: Permanent Deputy Under Secretary, YSS Div. Home Office

To: Miss J Carver, Assistant Chief Executive, YSS Div. Home Office

Date: 28th March 1997

Yesterday, I returned from my first visit to an RTC. This was No.5, at Stroud in Gloucestershire. I have to state that I found discipline was extremely strict but is certainly administered in a haphazard fashion. I think this will have to be remedied. There were other matters not to my satisfaction. Very bad security for example.

Accordingly, I wish you to convene a meeting of all Executive Officers for 11 a.m. tomorrow morning (29th March), when I will report my findings and these matters can be discussed by all.

Continued in Uniform Girls 13