Room 2D

Photo-story from Janus 160 Harriet Grace, Head Prefect at St Catherine’s School for girls. The epitome of all the virtues: beautiful, full of grace, bright and studious, Oxbridge-bound. Flowing blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. A face and figure most girls would die for. Perfect personality, wonderful singing voice, virtuoso violinist, superb athlete — holder of the school record in long jump and hurdles. A halo would not look odd on that flaxen head. Goodness glows from her. Even her name is perfect. Harriet Grace. Girls in younger years have crushes on her. The hearts of male teachers thump when they glimpse her going through her paces in the gym or bounding in skin-tight shorts down the runway to soar into the air on shapely legs, hair tossing like wheat in a breeze. Harriet Grace. Could any of her admirers and acolytes have imagined that she could ever be Harriet in disGrace? The story is painful to relate — yet strangely thrilli...

From Blushes 34 Her peers at school had always told Charlotte how brilliant she was at ‘art’ — and the quality of her life drawings had inevitably extracted praise from her teachers, even when she was younger. Now she’d taken the plunge and, instead of opting for university, she had decided to attend a particularly good art college on the south coast near Brighton. Despite the tough competition for entry, Charlotte — or Charlie as she was known to most of her friends — sailed through and was immediately put under the wing of the most talented teacher at the college, John Mitchley. A man with numerous exhibitions to his credit, John drove his students hard, and liked to stretch their talents to the limit in his search for excellence. Occasionally; he had a small number of students to his lovely home on the hills above and outside Brighton, where they would paint, draw, and simply talk about their interest in art. For Charlotte,...

Mr Briggs from  Monitors Duty  returns. From Uniform Girls 20 Annie could feel the draught under the door, the age of the house revealed in its gaps like wrinkles on a face. In white shorts and sleeveless yellow T-shirt, she was not dressed for the coolness of the evening. The dress, however, was not voluntary, but compulsory. He had specified exactly what she should wear, and the time at which she must report. Annie wasn’t even sure if the caretaker was  allowed  to punish her, but the risk of querying his motives could lead to an even more severe punishment at the hands of someone in real authority. To be caught out once in a day was careless, to be caught out twice as she had been was downright foolish. The mild caning the caretaker had administered during the thunderstorm in the morning would be as nothing to the swishing she expected to receive in a few minutes. Not wearing a watch, she wondere...