MarianHeart
Virgin
- Joined
- Nov 27, 2010
- Posts
- 1
An exclusive boarding school in Somerset, 1965, seeks a sixteen year old pupil to sit at the front desk in front of her beautiful new teacher...
***I, Miss March, have recently been appointed as head of English and am settling into life at an all-girl's educational establishment -a far cry from the inner-city zoo from which I'd recently escaped. ***
The change in setting and the type of pupil could not have been in starker contrast to the Islington state school where I'd recently taught Art & History. Farnsham Academy, a sprawling late Georgian pile, had been built on the wealth of its philanthropist founder, the noted feminist writer, Mary Wells-Bryce and, although having at its core a startling sense of discipline and respect amongst the five hundred or so pupils, it nevertheless carried with it a spirit of freedom and happiness that was evident from the first moment I stepped in through the huge oak entrance doors and was welcomed by a beaming headmistress.
'We're delighted to have you here,' Enthused the surprisingly young Mrs Bennett who I'd placed at just over forty years of age -yet from our correspondance I had assumed to be much older.
'I trust your journey was comfortable?" As she spoke, her arm rested on the small of my back and I waited for her to lead the way, yet instead we stood there, unmoving, as she delivered what I took to be the standard introductory speech for all new, fresh-faced and slightly nervous young teachers. Her words, however, were somewhat lost on me; it surely wasn't all my imagination that her hand, not a moment before resting in a warmly formal greeting on the small of my back, had changed it's angle from the horizontal to one of ninety-degrees. Her fingers had seemed to settle, non-threateningly, yet oh-so definitely, on the upper part of my buttocks. At the precise moment I could feel my confusion and nervousness rise to the surface -and possibly embarrass myself utterly-she gave my rear a gentle pat and marched forth down the Italian marbled hall as I followed, my composure slowly returning, as she chimed radiantly that all who came into these venerated walls were indeed blessed by God. As I stared after her I also made an inner note that the middle-aged Mrs Bennett had certainly been blessed by God. Her long shapely legs almost seem to glide down the narrow passageways that led off here and there and the roll of her hips took more of my attention than the beautiful oak panels we passed by. I hoped my own slim figure would be preserved over the years by the gods of Farnsham -and that perhaps also the past would be laid to rest by pastures new.
Memories of the place from which I'd fled and the near-disaster that was narrowly averted, came rolling back to me but my wandering mind was brought to a halt -just in time -as Mrs. Bennett swung open a classroom door and gestured for me to enter.
'Sit down girls, sit down.' I heard her voice say above the din of scraping chairs being pushed back as the attentive pupils stood to attention. She smiled broadly at the resident teacher standing, with chalk in hand, at the blackboard.
'Just calling in to introduce our Miss March to her new form, Miss Elliot. Class, I want you to say a very warm welcome to your new form tutor, Miss March.'
Swallowing my first-day nerves I moved two steps forward as the class of fresh-faced sixteen year-olds unisoned their greeting: 'Hello, Miss March' and this somehow put me at my ease. I smiled and nodded around the room of twenty or so girls who would soon be in my charge.
And as my gaze moved around the room, taking a mental register of the staring girls before me, my heart skipped a beat and time froze as it does when one falls from a great height -which, in retrospect, I was.
Of course, it couldn't be her -that was impossible; she was many miles behind me now, yet out of all the faces that eyed me with that intense curiosity belonging to teenagers, one eclipsed all the others. It took every ounce of willpower to wrench myself back to the situation in hand and the voice of Miss Bennett commanding the girls that they be nice and help me in any way possible.
As we left the classroom, my heart became a kettle drum whose thunderous crashes must surely be audible to everyone. I couldn't help but turn back to the seated girls as I slowly closed the door behind me. All had settled back to attentiveness to the teacher calling out equations to the sound of scraping chalk, but one had not. And I knew that she would not. Our eyes locked for that briefest of moments -a moment that spoke more volumes than anything I had heard since I had arrived at the school.
As I continued my guided tour it was as if everything and everyone I met along the way were coming from a far-off place. I had no thoughts other than the vision that had just presented itself before me. I thought of the next day -of my first day with my new charges. I was terrified and excited in equal measure and as I was shown into my new lodgings -a shared room it appeared -my only thought was to run back to London as fast as my legs could carry me.
Instead, I unpacked, laid out my clothes neatly and took from a discrete compartment the photograph that would remain with me until the day I died. Huge brown eyes looked back at me and, as ever when I gazed at Lucy's portrait, her expression seemed to say something else entirely. This afternoon, she simply said: "Hello, again."
I resolved to stay. To see what this new world had in store for me. To see if I had truly been blessed by God -or had become the Devil's own plaything.
*****************************************************************************
***I, Miss March, have recently been appointed as head of English and am settling into life at an all-girl's educational establishment -a far cry from the inner-city zoo from which I'd recently escaped. ***
The change in setting and the type of pupil could not have been in starker contrast to the Islington state school where I'd recently taught Art & History. Farnsham Academy, a sprawling late Georgian pile, had been built on the wealth of its philanthropist founder, the noted feminist writer, Mary Wells-Bryce and, although having at its core a startling sense of discipline and respect amongst the five hundred or so pupils, it nevertheless carried with it a spirit of freedom and happiness that was evident from the first moment I stepped in through the huge oak entrance doors and was welcomed by a beaming headmistress.
'We're delighted to have you here,' Enthused the surprisingly young Mrs Bennett who I'd placed at just over forty years of age -yet from our correspondance I had assumed to be much older.
'I trust your journey was comfortable?" As she spoke, her arm rested on the small of my back and I waited for her to lead the way, yet instead we stood there, unmoving, as she delivered what I took to be the standard introductory speech for all new, fresh-faced and slightly nervous young teachers. Her words, however, were somewhat lost on me; it surely wasn't all my imagination that her hand, not a moment before resting in a warmly formal greeting on the small of my back, had changed it's angle from the horizontal to one of ninety-degrees. Her fingers had seemed to settle, non-threateningly, yet oh-so definitely, on the upper part of my buttocks. At the precise moment I could feel my confusion and nervousness rise to the surface -and possibly embarrass myself utterly-she gave my rear a gentle pat and marched forth down the Italian marbled hall as I followed, my composure slowly returning, as she chimed radiantly that all who came into these venerated walls were indeed blessed by God. As I stared after her I also made an inner note that the middle-aged Mrs Bennett had certainly been blessed by God. Her long shapely legs almost seem to glide down the narrow passageways that led off here and there and the roll of her hips took more of my attention than the beautiful oak panels we passed by. I hoped my own slim figure would be preserved over the years by the gods of Farnsham -and that perhaps also the past would be laid to rest by pastures new.
Memories of the place from which I'd fled and the near-disaster that was narrowly averted, came rolling back to me but my wandering mind was brought to a halt -just in time -as Mrs. Bennett swung open a classroom door and gestured for me to enter.
'Sit down girls, sit down.' I heard her voice say above the din of scraping chairs being pushed back as the attentive pupils stood to attention. She smiled broadly at the resident teacher standing, with chalk in hand, at the blackboard.
'Just calling in to introduce our Miss March to her new form, Miss Elliot. Class, I want you to say a very warm welcome to your new form tutor, Miss March.'
Swallowing my first-day nerves I moved two steps forward as the class of fresh-faced sixteen year-olds unisoned their greeting: 'Hello, Miss March' and this somehow put me at my ease. I smiled and nodded around the room of twenty or so girls who would soon be in my charge.
And as my gaze moved around the room, taking a mental register of the staring girls before me, my heart skipped a beat and time froze as it does when one falls from a great height -which, in retrospect, I was.
Of course, it couldn't be her -that was impossible; she was many miles behind me now, yet out of all the faces that eyed me with that intense curiosity belonging to teenagers, one eclipsed all the others. It took every ounce of willpower to wrench myself back to the situation in hand and the voice of Miss Bennett commanding the girls that they be nice and help me in any way possible.
As we left the classroom, my heart became a kettle drum whose thunderous crashes must surely be audible to everyone. I couldn't help but turn back to the seated girls as I slowly closed the door behind me. All had settled back to attentiveness to the teacher calling out equations to the sound of scraping chalk, but one had not. And I knew that she would not. Our eyes locked for that briefest of moments -a moment that spoke more volumes than anything I had heard since I had arrived at the school.
As I continued my guided tour it was as if everything and everyone I met along the way were coming from a far-off place. I had no thoughts other than the vision that had just presented itself before me. I thought of the next day -of my first day with my new charges. I was terrified and excited in equal measure and as I was shown into my new lodgings -a shared room it appeared -my only thought was to run back to London as fast as my legs could carry me.
Instead, I unpacked, laid out my clothes neatly and took from a discrete compartment the photograph that would remain with me until the day I died. Huge brown eyes looked back at me and, as ever when I gazed at Lucy's portrait, her expression seemed to say something else entirely. This afternoon, she simply said: "Hello, again."
I resolved to stay. To see what this new world had in store for me. To see if I had truly been blessed by God -or had become the Devil's own plaything.
*****************************************************************************
