Room 2D

From Roué 38 Distraught she looks, and distraught she is entitled to look; for Sonia has just spent a rather distressing ten minutes over her Uncle Jack’s knee. Such events are fairly common on her much-hated weekly visits to her father’s widowed brother. Things as seemingly trivial as taking an opposing stance in a conversation is likely to be enough to prompt the man into action. Of course, a spanking for something as petty as that would result in the girl getting no more than half-a-dozen or so smart slaps to the backs of her legs. More serious faults — such as swearing or any sort of impoliteness — would mean a dozen or more crisp smacks to the seat of her knickers. Anything more grave than that — such as today’s little transgression (having a nip of the man’s gin when she thought he wasn’t looking) — called for far sterner measures. Sonia knew that these ‘sterner measures’ would be resorted to the very moment she’d been cau...

From Roué 38 It was  that  day again. The Day of the Hunt. Every other Sunday the more well-to-do inhabitants of Little Chitterworth met for a stirrup cup prior to riding off in hot pursuit of the cunning and elusive fox. It was a day much hated by two particular young ladies of the charming little village — Kathleen and Bernadette Flynn, the maidservants of Master of the Hounds, Sir Rodney D’Arcy. The Flynn sisters had been in Sir Rodney’s employ since their mid-teens when he had lived in their native Ireland. When he announced that he was retiring and returning to his roots in the Shropshire countryside, the girls accepted his invitation to join him. The girls’ mother, Sir Rodney’s cook on the other side of the water, had been handsomely pensioned-off, and saw her daughters’ opportunity as something they would be foolish to pass up. That was all some years back — Kathleen now being 25, and Bernadette 21. Working for the old boy was, for the most part, a doddle; their c...

From Roué 37 Miss Glover had her own special brand of punishing inattentive pupils. Unlike the vast majority of her fellow members of staff she, more often than not, wouldn’t resort to chastising talkative and giggling girls. Instead, she would order the miscreant to stand in the corner. Although this never failed to set off a bout of sniggering from the girl’s classmates (possibly the reason for the punishment in the first place), the woman revelled in the humiliation suffered by the girl in question. Standing there at the front of the class and facing the wall was indeed a most embarrassing thing for a girl of sixteen to have to do. It was the sort of punishment a junior or infant pupil would be more likely to be made to undergo. And it was because of this very fact that Miss Glover chose this particular method of disciplining her charges. It had been during a discussion on the greats of Russian literature that such a course of action was called for. Deeming the relative merits o...

From Roué 37 Sarah looked up in horror at Miss Kember. Had her ears deceived her? Did she hear right? Had the teacher really said what she thought she’d said? Her doubts were answered by the young woman who impatiently repeated her statement. ‘I told you to report to Mr Weller, girl. Now run along.’ The flaxen-haired sixth-former wasn’t alone in her astonishment at Miss Kember’s instruction. To report to Mr Weller, the Headmaster of St Catherine’s, would, as Sarah and her classmates well knew, result in punishment — to be precise,  corporal  punishment, and, as the entire school — pupils and teachers — knew, Miss Kember was very much against such correction. A mere fortnight had passed since a letter written by the liberal-minded young woman had appeared in a national daily. In it she most firmly condemned the use of CP. Now, though, the anti-CP Miss Kember was ordering one of her class to visit the study of the Head. It was an act totally out of character, and the eyes ...

From Roué 36 ‘Come out here,’ the voice of Mr Illingworth, Art teacher, boomed out amid the hubbub of the classroom, ‘and bring your drawing with you.’ The giggling and general risible sounds coming from the part of the room where the Form’s cheekiest and most infuriatingly disobedient pupil sat being sufficient evidence that this girl, fair-haired, pretty Brenda West, was yet again up to her tricks. She made her way between the rows of desks and, with a defiant smirk upon her impish features, handed him her effort. Titters and sniggers abounded, and Brenda turned to face her classmates, a broad grin on her face. She was very much the sort of girl who revelled in being the centre of attraction, and now, here she was, centre-stage, receiving the plaudits of over twenty admirers. Mr Illingworth held the drawing in front of him. ‘Hmmm… Good…  Very  good,’ he announced, almost to its creator’s annoyance. ‘What do you think, class?’ he asked as he turned the drawing around to...

From Roué 36 It was for persistent talking and giggling during Geography that Jackie Morton, Form 5B, had been instructed to remain behind after her classmates had departed. As the lesson was the final one of the day, all was quiet as the girl sat at her desk in the front row. The only other person present in the classroom was the teacher who had called for her detention. Mr Hall sat at his desk, a couple of yards from where his errant pupil was seated, clearing away the papers, pens and other sundry items. This completed, he turned his attention to Jackie. Resting his forearms on the desk-top, he spoke. ‘I trust, Jackie, that in between your chit-chatting and sniggering you managed to pick up the occasional smidgen of information; that, as far as you are concerned, the lesson wasn’t entirely a waste of time… Eh?’ ‘No, sir… I…I mean yes, sir,’ Jackie fumbled her way through her reply. ‘Very well, then,’ chirped Mr Hall, ‘you therefore should not have too much difficulty in givi...

From Roué 36 Albert Smythe had never had much time for the fairer sex. Indeed, he had married only to ensure a continuation of the family line. His wife had passed away several years ago — but not before presenting him with two sons (both by now well up the military ladder) and, shortly before her demise, a daughter, Gertrude. This third and last issue was, not to put too fine a point on it, an accident, and, because of that and his disinterest in females in general, she was also unwanted; in the way. So, at the earliest possible opportunity, Smythe had despatched young Gertrude to his sister in the Isle of Wight. It was there that the girl spent her formative years in the care of her Aunt Gladys — the woman sending regular reports as to Gertrude’s progress to her brother’s secretary up in London. By the time she had finished her schooling, the girl’s academic advancement had been quite good — so much so that a post as receptionist at the local surgery was in the offing. To complet...

Story with some nice Alan Bell illustrations, from Roué 23 It was 1966 — that halcyon period when mini-skirts had come in, and stockings and suspenders had not yet gone out. Dedicated observers were treated to the sight of more white thighs and stocking-tops than they were ever to see again. Just such a dedicated observer was Mr George Jones, draper and pillar of the community in his small home town. Mr Jones was sitting, as usual when the shop wasn’t busy, in his office-cum-storeroom at the back. When not serving he always had plenty of accounting and bookwork to keep up, and was happy to leave his young assistant, Carol Summers, to look after the trickle of customers. Carol had entered the storeroom to look for a type of cloth required by a woman who had just come in. She asked Mr Jones where the particular cloth was kept. ‘It’s up there, Carol. You’ll need the steps,’ he told her, indicating the row of shelves immediate...