Room 2D

An enhanced version of the YSS story A Matter of Communication from Uniform Girls 32 A big girl in thin football shorts. As the sea wash sprays against her, it is apparent that she is wearing little else, save a simple cotton tee-shirt. She holds a brightly-coloured triangle of fabric in each hand. The offshore wind has ruffled through her hair, but her recent exertions have given her a glowing healthy sheen upon her bare young limbs. The Island Master sits a few feet away, on an old wooden bench. Susanne is undergoing instruction. And she is achieving very little success. As yet. He checks her stance. ‘Feet together, young lady. Stand up straight. Hands by your side. Hold your stomach muscles in. Pull your shoulders back. Come on. Sort yourself out! You will not be slovenly in my presence!’ Susanne jumps to attention. In her hands she grasps the two brightly-coloured triangles of fabric. ‘Now face the sea and send y...

From Janus 95 featuring Jilly Waistrose from  Moral Welfare Edith Hodge is proud to call herself a spinster. Men have never been any good to her, and her two black cats are all the company she keeps. She has her council flat and her job as a cleaning supervisor, and is known for her tough, down-to-earth manner. ‘Muck me about and see what you get!’ could be her motto. But Edith is not a nasty lady, just very practical and strong-willed, and well able to cope with life’s vicissitudes. No respecter of persons, and not afraid to call a spade a bloody shovel. Unintimidated by man or woman, the big boss or her workforce. To her, Jilly Waistrose is a piece of cake. ‘You’re just a waster, girl! You don’t know what day of the week it is. If I’d had a tenth of your privileges, I’d have made something of myself, I can tell you. You’re a ridiculous creature!’ Hard words but thoroughly deserved, as Jilly had been ...

From Uniform Girls 51 Eric Crossley Hanfield glanced round his study and sniffed the smell of fresh furniture polish. The school had been empty during the summer recess but that was now almost over and the cleaners had been in and it seemed done a good job. Yes just a week to the start of the new autumn term and there was inevitably a lot to be done, much of it routine and boring — but not all. This morning for instance he had the most stimulating task of caning a girl. Eric Hanfield walked over to look out of the mullioned window. St Margaret’s Private School for Girls was situated on the edge of the town in an acre of mature ornamental trees and shrubs, many of which across the immaculate lawn were now resplendent in their autumn reds and golds. The school had been owned and founded by Eric’s father, Dr James Crossley Hanfield, who had bought the property and named his school for his mother, adding the “Saint” with hi...