Room 2D

Story from Uniform Girls 16. Pretty model, I'm not sure I've seen her in anything else. A large substantial house, The Big House as it was known to the locals, Alwood Hall in fact, sitting imposingly in its grounds above the village of Little Alwood on this fine sunny July morning. A four-square early Victorian edifice dominating the local landscape as indeed its owner-occupier also tended to dominate the local inhabitants. Mr Henry Hollings standing now in his front reception room… Henry Hollings, lord of the manor, was in his fifties and of an upright, military bearing although he had not in fact served queen and country. He had spent some years in the east, though, on family tea plantations and out there a gentleman planter could conduct himself in the same lordly fashion as lords of the manor had in England in bygone days. So that Henry Hollings did still now act that way back in England and Little Alwood’s inhabitan...

I had never done this kind of thing before, but working three evenings a week as a waitress in such a posh restaurant sounds good to tell your friends. But my reason was different. I am a show-off at heart, and the thought of all those eyes looking at my legs gave me a big thrill. Of course, it wasn’t just the men that looked, and I was surprised at the effect it had on me when I saw women eyeing me too. I kidded my friends that the short skirt and frilly knickers were embarrassing to wear, but I knew I’d never been so happy in my life before as I was parading around half-naked to the world in this socially accepted outfit. Being a club rule ‘not to touch the merchandise’ did please me at first, but I soon noticed the other girls let the customers touch their thighs and pinch their bums and things, when they knew they’d get a bigger tip. Pretty soon I found myself getting the urge to be patted and pinched — not that I needed the extra cash — but this whole situation was bringing ou...

Photo-story by Julie Holmes from Februs 40 with Molly Pankhurst James Bowers, dapper in his suit, straight of back and determined in demeanour, strides in measured paces up the path of the suburban house. He has trodden his even steps for two miles, contemplating his mission, mentally rehearsing the admonishments to be delivered, envisaging the scene. Molly Pankhurst seems equally composed, although her eyes often flit to her watch to check the progress of time. Molly’s appearance is more casual: barefoot in captioned vest top and jeans, she curls on the sofa trying to work her way rapidly through the manual she should have memorised three months ago, chain-smoking her way through the pages of instructions and charts. The two images sum up their disparate personalities perfectly. Mr Bowers with his no-nonsense spectacles, staid clothes and established male pattern balding has a strong sense of duty, tradition and justice. Ms P...