Room 2D

Story from Janus 57 by Michael Burntwood Gym shoes pattered over the varnished wooden floor of the gym hall. The netball match had started. It would settle the question, which team was to be appointed to play in the school championship final against the winning team from the fifth form heats. Long-legged sixth form girls were running up and down from one side to the other following the ball, eager to do their best to win the game and on Parents’ Day belong to the team which would show the younger girls that sixth form young ladies as always are the best. One of the teams was dressed in dark blue leotards and the other wore white sleeveless vests tucked into brief running shorts of shiny red nylon. Today, however, it seemed as if there was something wrong. Miss Hampton, the gym teacher, had to blow her whistle to break the game from time to time. Again the shrill tone from her whistle sounded within only the first minutes...

From Uniform Girls 7 ‘Sixteen would certainly be much too old to start ballet if a girl were hoping to take it up  professionally ,’ declared Edward Repton. ‘Of course. But as a healthful exercise, as a system of physical and mental training and discipline, then almost any age is suitable. For that 16 is admirable, and I applaud your intention.’ Elizabeth Milbury flushed slightly. ‘Oh I’m so pleased.’ They were in the Milburys’ sitting room; Edward Repton, Mrs Milbury and her daughter Sarah who was 16-and-a-half. The Milburys had only recently moved to the area and Mrs Milbury had heard about Mr Repton from one of her new neighbours. ‘Girls of that age need an interest,’ Monica Wilmot had said. ‘Otherwise all they can think of is boys.’ Elizabeth certainly agreed and ballet training was such a marvellous idea, the only thing was that Sarah might be a little old to start. Monica said she knew Mr Repton did start girls at th...

From Uniform Girls 8 It was a rather damp and muggy Autumn afternoon. Earlier, the ground had been filled with excited, enthusiastic kids running, jumping, throwing a variety of objects, or simply horsing around. By and large, they were unsupervised. Technique was at a discount. Being there and doing something energetic was all. That was the reason, reflected Herb Wainwright, why British athletics, on the international scene, was in such an abysmal state. We got ecstatic about winning a bronze, very excited about coming fourth or fifth, even gratified if one of our team reached a final. It wasn’t good enough in his view. The Americans, the Russians, the Germans were out to  win . Coming second or third was considered a failure. That was the difference. Britain, in this present age, lacked the true competitive spirit. Herb gazed around the near-deserted ground. Hurdles had been left lying on the track, javelins lay like cas...