anarchistic_masochist
08-05-2010, 01:06 AM
The following is a story that I wrote a while ago. It was a lot of fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it!
A Costly Miscalculation…
“Myra Longford, you are to report to your House Master immediately.” Anticipatory tears prickled at the corners of her eyes and her heart slammed against her ribcage as she stared forlornly at the handwritten notice she was to present to him. Mr. Bainbridge, her Mathematics tutor frowned as he ****ned her latest test paper. Scrawled in the corner in thick red marker pen, was a giant ‘F.’ She had failed. Again.
Myra bowed her head with a sigh of resignation. “Yes Sir,” was her meek reply. Her classmates looked on shooting knowing glances. Some were sympathetic, others less so. There were certain students in her Maths class that were positively revelling in the fate that was to befall her. At Saint Claire’s, corporal punishment was the norm and being caned for failing tests was school policy. Myra had embarked on the Walk of Shame, that dreadful trudge to the House Master’s office for an appointment with the Yellow Uncle. A small sob escaped her.
This was so unfair. Myra was a bright student who excelled in every subject, that is, every subject except Mathematics. She had always struggled. Simple calculations seemed impossible, mental arithmetic unfeasible and as for long division, forget it! She had revised and studied hard, frequently breaking down in tears, as she knew all too well what the consequences were for failure. It seemed a foregone conclusion and as far as she was concerned, she may as well had received her painful penance from the House Master beforehand.
All too soon, the large oak-panelled door of the House Master’s study loomed in front of her. Instinctively she straightened her green and red school tie and smoothed down her black pleated skirt. She glanced down at her black ‘T’-bar shoes. They looked a little scuffed so she moistened her handkerchief with a little saliva and wiped them clean. Saint Claire’s had a strict uniform policy and Myra did not want to earn extra strokes for non-compliance. She was about to knock when she heard the familiar voice of Mr. Tennant, the Housemaster locked in a heated exchange with that of Mr Birch, the Head Master. She paused and despite herself, strained her ears to ascertain the nature of the conversation.
“Mr. Birch, I must protest…” Mr Tennant, a tall, slim built man in his mid-thirties was trying to mask his exasperation. Mr. Birch was considerably shorter and stocky with it. He looked every one of his fifty-two years and his puffy face grew redder with every breath.
“Mr Tennant, you know full well what the policy is at this school. You have let too many indiscretions go.” He waved a green hard-backed ledger in his face. This was the punishment register, the record of every caning Mr Tennant had ever administered. Compared to other members of staff, who seemed to be all too keen to resort to such severe punishment even for minor offences, Mr Tennant’s record was spartan. The maximum amount of strokes he was allowed to give was twelve. What few episodes that were recorded, the most he had ever awarded was nine, and that was only on one occasion. Mr Tennant despised bullying and he remembered thrashing that unfortunate miscreant with uncharacteristic gusto. Mary Watkins, the culprit, had found herself touching her toes with her white cotton regulation knickers round her ankles for physically assaulting another pupil for the sheer pleasure of it. She was bawling repentance by the third stroke. Needless to say, she never bullied anyone again. He shivered at the memory.
“The more recalcitrant students will see you as a soft touch and will take advantage.” Mr Birch continued. “Standards will slip. I will not tolerate that. If you continue this liberal stance, I am afraid that you will have to reconsider your future here.”
“Mr Birch, corporal punishment is both barbaric and unnecessary. I have obtained excellent results from the students in my care without ever having to resort to the cane. I treat each case on its merit and it has been a policy that has proved its worth.”
“Nevertheless, I expect changes. Give those girls an inch and they will take a mile. You lose their respect and they will walk all over you. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen too many times. You may think me harsh, heartless and old-fashioned, but the old ways work. Do not disappoint me.” He opened the study door and was startled at the sight of Myra standing there. “Ah, Miss Longford, I gather from your forlorn expression that your visit to this office will not be a happy one.” “No, Sir” came the reply as she held out the note. Mr Birch swiftly relieved her of it.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he sighed with well-practiced cynicism as he examined the piece of paper. “Failed again, Miss Longford?” Tears streamed down her pretty features. “I’m sorry Sir.” “You will be young lady” came the predictable reply. He shot her an accusing, questioning look. “So, do you have an explanation for this constant letdown?”
Myra shuffled her feet. Her countenance was one of desperate imploring contrition. “I try Sir, I really do. I revise and study hard. I listen to my maths tutor and try to understand what he is trying to teach me, but it just goes over my head. I just….” Her voice trailed off and disintegrated into loud sobs that shook her shoulders. Mr Birch’s expression remained unchanged. He appeared totally unmoved by Myra’s plight. Mr Tennant wondered if his superior possessed a heart at all.
“You see Sir, this is exactly what I have been talking about! How can you expect me to punish a student for the sake of obeying school policy on the failure of examinations when she has quite clearly tried her best? I have had the pleasure of teaching her on several occasions and she has always been a model student.”
“Very well Mr Tennant, exercise leniency and discretion if you must but…” he turned to Myra “seeing as you excel in almost all other subjects, I expect nothing but one hundred effort and concentration from here on in. Am I making myself clear, Miss Longford?”
“Sir, you mean…” “Yes Myra, it would appear that Mr Tennant has spared the cane on this occasion. You should consider yourself extremely fortunate.” A dumbstruck Myra glanced at Mr Tennant for confirmation. “Yes Myra, you’re excused. I know you struggle with maths and I will personally see that you receive extra tuition to bring you up to standard. In the mean time, I will exercise discretion regarding your examination results.”
“Excuse me Sir, does that mean that until then, I won’t be caned if I fail another maths test?” Mr Birch, who was still loitering by the study entrance held his head in his hands. He despaired at Mr Tennant’s liberal approach but decided to bite his lip. Let him learn the hard way, he thought.
“That’s correct.”
“Oh, thank you Sir!”
“Quite. Now off you go.”
A jubilant Myra skipped off back down the corridor. She could scarcely believe her luck. She knew her classmates would resent such exoneration. She had already obtained a not altogether undeserved reputation for being a swot and a teacher’s pet. They thought her a little too eager in raising her hand if she knew the answer to a question and her constant good grades also annoyed her less able classmates intensely. She was invariably the benchmark against they were constantly measured as it was also school policy to be graded on a curve. If she were average like them, they wouldn’t have to work so hard avoiding the pain of rattan impacting on vulnerable flesh. Let her fail and be punished for once, they thought. The smug little cow.
So one can imagine their reaction upon discovering that she had avoided such a fate, due to her swotty reputation! Not that Myra cared that much. As far as she was concerned, school was about learning and obtaining qualifications that would set her up for life. It was not a popularity contest. Although secretly, she wished that she could, just for once win a modicum of respect from her peers. She was to get her wish, but at a painful price.
To be continued....
(What did you guys think?)
A Costly Miscalculation…
“Myra Longford, you are to report to your House Master immediately.” Anticipatory tears prickled at the corners of her eyes and her heart slammed against her ribcage as she stared forlornly at the handwritten notice she was to present to him. Mr. Bainbridge, her Mathematics tutor frowned as he ****ned her latest test paper. Scrawled in the corner in thick red marker pen, was a giant ‘F.’ She had failed. Again.
Myra bowed her head with a sigh of resignation. “Yes Sir,” was her meek reply. Her classmates looked on shooting knowing glances. Some were sympathetic, others less so. There were certain students in her Maths class that were positively revelling in the fate that was to befall her. At Saint Claire’s, corporal punishment was the norm and being caned for failing tests was school policy. Myra had embarked on the Walk of Shame, that dreadful trudge to the House Master’s office for an appointment with the Yellow Uncle. A small sob escaped her.
This was so unfair. Myra was a bright student who excelled in every subject, that is, every subject except Mathematics. She had always struggled. Simple calculations seemed impossible, mental arithmetic unfeasible and as for long division, forget it! She had revised and studied hard, frequently breaking down in tears, as she knew all too well what the consequences were for failure. It seemed a foregone conclusion and as far as she was concerned, she may as well had received her painful penance from the House Master beforehand.
All too soon, the large oak-panelled door of the House Master’s study loomed in front of her. Instinctively she straightened her green and red school tie and smoothed down her black pleated skirt. She glanced down at her black ‘T’-bar shoes. They looked a little scuffed so she moistened her handkerchief with a little saliva and wiped them clean. Saint Claire’s had a strict uniform policy and Myra did not want to earn extra strokes for non-compliance. She was about to knock when she heard the familiar voice of Mr. Tennant, the Housemaster locked in a heated exchange with that of Mr Birch, the Head Master. She paused and despite herself, strained her ears to ascertain the nature of the conversation.
“Mr. Birch, I must protest…” Mr Tennant, a tall, slim built man in his mid-thirties was trying to mask his exasperation. Mr. Birch was considerably shorter and stocky with it. He looked every one of his fifty-two years and his puffy face grew redder with every breath.
“Mr Tennant, you know full well what the policy is at this school. You have let too many indiscretions go.” He waved a green hard-backed ledger in his face. This was the punishment register, the record of every caning Mr Tennant had ever administered. Compared to other members of staff, who seemed to be all too keen to resort to such severe punishment even for minor offences, Mr Tennant’s record was spartan. The maximum amount of strokes he was allowed to give was twelve. What few episodes that were recorded, the most he had ever awarded was nine, and that was only on one occasion. Mr Tennant despised bullying and he remembered thrashing that unfortunate miscreant with uncharacteristic gusto. Mary Watkins, the culprit, had found herself touching her toes with her white cotton regulation knickers round her ankles for physically assaulting another pupil for the sheer pleasure of it. She was bawling repentance by the third stroke. Needless to say, she never bullied anyone again. He shivered at the memory.
“The more recalcitrant students will see you as a soft touch and will take advantage.” Mr Birch continued. “Standards will slip. I will not tolerate that. If you continue this liberal stance, I am afraid that you will have to reconsider your future here.”
“Mr Birch, corporal punishment is both barbaric and unnecessary. I have obtained excellent results from the students in my care without ever having to resort to the cane. I treat each case on its merit and it has been a policy that has proved its worth.”
“Nevertheless, I expect changes. Give those girls an inch and they will take a mile. You lose their respect and they will walk all over you. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen too many times. You may think me harsh, heartless and old-fashioned, but the old ways work. Do not disappoint me.” He opened the study door and was startled at the sight of Myra standing there. “Ah, Miss Longford, I gather from your forlorn expression that your visit to this office will not be a happy one.” “No, Sir” came the reply as she held out the note. Mr Birch swiftly relieved her of it.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he sighed with well-practiced cynicism as he examined the piece of paper. “Failed again, Miss Longford?” Tears streamed down her pretty features. “I’m sorry Sir.” “You will be young lady” came the predictable reply. He shot her an accusing, questioning look. “So, do you have an explanation for this constant letdown?”
Myra shuffled her feet. Her countenance was one of desperate imploring contrition. “I try Sir, I really do. I revise and study hard. I listen to my maths tutor and try to understand what he is trying to teach me, but it just goes over my head. I just….” Her voice trailed off and disintegrated into loud sobs that shook her shoulders. Mr Birch’s expression remained unchanged. He appeared totally unmoved by Myra’s plight. Mr Tennant wondered if his superior possessed a heart at all.
“You see Sir, this is exactly what I have been talking about! How can you expect me to punish a student for the sake of obeying school policy on the failure of examinations when she has quite clearly tried her best? I have had the pleasure of teaching her on several occasions and she has always been a model student.”
“Very well Mr Tennant, exercise leniency and discretion if you must but…” he turned to Myra “seeing as you excel in almost all other subjects, I expect nothing but one hundred effort and concentration from here on in. Am I making myself clear, Miss Longford?”
“Sir, you mean…” “Yes Myra, it would appear that Mr Tennant has spared the cane on this occasion. You should consider yourself extremely fortunate.” A dumbstruck Myra glanced at Mr Tennant for confirmation. “Yes Myra, you’re excused. I know you struggle with maths and I will personally see that you receive extra tuition to bring you up to standard. In the mean time, I will exercise discretion regarding your examination results.”
“Excuse me Sir, does that mean that until then, I won’t be caned if I fail another maths test?” Mr Birch, who was still loitering by the study entrance held his head in his hands. He despaired at Mr Tennant’s liberal approach but decided to bite his lip. Let him learn the hard way, he thought.
“That’s correct.”
“Oh, thank you Sir!”
“Quite. Now off you go.”
A jubilant Myra skipped off back down the corridor. She could scarcely believe her luck. She knew her classmates would resent such exoneration. She had already obtained a not altogether undeserved reputation for being a swot and a teacher’s pet. They thought her a little too eager in raising her hand if she knew the answer to a question and her constant good grades also annoyed her less able classmates intensely. She was invariably the benchmark against they were constantly measured as it was also school policy to be graded on a curve. If she were average like them, they wouldn’t have to work so hard avoiding the pain of rattan impacting on vulnerable flesh. Let her fail and be punished for once, they thought. The smug little cow.
So one can imagine their reaction upon discovering that she had avoided such a fate, due to her swotty reputation! Not that Myra cared that much. As far as she was concerned, school was about learning and obtaining qualifications that would set her up for life. It was not a popularity contest. Although secretly, she wished that she could, just for once win a modicum of respect from her peers. She was to get her wish, but at a painful price.
To be continued....
(What did you guys think?)