Room 2D

A special post of a story requested via comments on The Village Hall . From Uniform Girls 17 ‘Mr Stimford,’ her mother said reading from Aunt Clare’s letter and the name immediately set up a response, alarm bells jangling in her daughter’s head. A forgotten name but not really, just lying dormant in her mind and covered with layers of other things, other experiences, pleasant ones mostly, so that ‘Stimford’ was almost dead and buried. But it wasn’t dead and it now came back, rolling up to the surface. At first vague and unrecognised, just the alarm bell, and then, oh yes, of course. She saw him, pictured him. And that place: the village hall. And in particular the loft, up the stepladder. That dusty, dimly-lit triangular roof space. ‘Eileen! Are you listening? Or day-dreaming?’ She shook her head, bobbing the soft, short, medium blonde curls. Her cheeks were flushing, she could feel. As if her mother might know what she was pict

Story from Blushes 1 The village hall, a wooden building once central to the geography and the needs of the community eighty years before, is now a dilapidated relic left behind by the developments that have taken place around it. It stands alone on an ill-tended plot of land opposite the church and backing on to the George and Dragon, from which it is divided by an ivy-grown fence. At either end its doors are locked and through its dusty windows little of the interior is to be seen in the gathering dusk. On the ridge of the sharply sloped roof a pigeon struts perkily and dips its head to peck at something under a dislodged tile. From a single narrow window, high up under the angle of the peak which confronts the back of the pub, a chink of light shows briefly before it winks out. The pigeon loses interest in whatever is under the loose tile and flaps away to its roost, while high above an aeroplane traces its path across the deep

Photo-story from Blushes 83 with Vicky Maxwell as Penny Penny was going to do Naval Training in the summer holiday. At a place on the South Coast where a man who had been in the Navy had a large house and offered training to girls. Something like that was a very good thing to have on your record when you left school, together with your O and A levels (hopefully, if you got them). Having a stint of Naval Training on your record would show that you weren’t just academic but had practical ability too. Also it showed that you were disciplined and a prospective employer was sure to like that in a girl. So Penny’s mother, Mrs Sylvia Watley, was very pleased when Penny was accepted. Not that she was surprised because Penny, at 17, was a very attractive girl in addition to being in the top stream at school. A pretty girl with long honey-blonde hair, quite tall and with a lovely figure. And Mr Rambold would have been in no doubt about an