A St Angela’s story from Roué 13
The subject of Peggy Canforth’s knickers, noted in On Report Twice, highlights an area of some little confusion at St Angela’s: for unquestionably a variety of knickers — blue, white, cotton, nylon — could be found. What was the official position? Were they all allowed, or was Mr Fowley correct? Indeed, it was a matter which intrigued more than a few minds: and not just those local rustics who, in the nearby village on weekends when girls might have a pass out of school, would assemble on the Green, sitting on the memorial seat conveniently placed at the ‘Stop’ sign, and await these young ladies as they descended, skirts aloft, from their bicycles. For at a more exalted level even the Ministry, in Whitehall, must be interested to judge by the frequency with which School Inspectors needed to check: (Now lift your skirt. Miss, and let me have a look. Right up please.... that’s it. Ah... yes... mmmm...!)
Well let it be said at the outset that Mr Fowley was strictly within the letter of the law in maintaining that cotton knickers were the correct attire at St Angela’s. And thus he could if he wished quite properly confiscate the nylon knickers worn by Peggy: and also of course have an excuse to order the then knicker-less girl to be back at 2D later in the evening for punishment. Ah very nice for Mr Fowley! But the situation was not quite that simple; because in contrast many masters, including the Head and also Matron, would raise no objection to the wearing of nylon knickers.
The original specifications for St Angela’s attire did indeed call for cotton knickers, specifically navy-blue for winter and white Aertex for summer. But this clear-cut seasonal distinction had never really been enforced in practice: for one thing it was never clear, especially in the English climate, when winter and summer actually started and finished. So that while in general this plan was followed — and girls would normally be wearing blue ones in Winter Term and in, say, June it would be the thinner white Aertex — there were large periods when, if you went round lifting skirts, you would find both types.
But more important than this was the matter of nylon knickers, a subject which seemed especially to exercise Mr Fowley. Nylon knickers had undoubted attractions for many girls, especially older ones, who tended to think that cotton pants, whether white or blue, were distinctly schoolgirlish and old-fashioned. And they also knew that most masters (though not Mr Fowley) would turn a blind eye to this minor transgression of the rules, content in this to follow the lead of the Headmaster who was only interested in taking knickers down and was just as happy to take down a nylon pair, thank you very much. Furthermore Matron didn’t mind as long as your name tag was in your pants. So that in fact quite a few girls, the older ones especially, frequently wore nylon knickers. But they were normally careful not to do so if there was any chance that Mr Fowley would get to see them: and this was where Peggy had slipped up.
It wasn’t the end of the world though. She would get a caning that evening; and after the caning, for a pretty girl like Peggy, Mr Fowley’s unctuous voice telling her that ‘if girls break the rules etc. etc.’ while his nasty hand fondled her bum and, as if he had no control over it, just happened to slip in between her legs. And then she would probably be made to go without knickers for the rest of the week; and she wouldn’t get the knickers back of course (Mr Fowley by now had quite a collection) so she would be short a pair. But it would be no trouble to get her Mum to send a replacement pair, and the chances were that Miss Peggy Canforth would continue wearing them... only perhaps a bit more circumspectly, in future.
The Head, though, was not bothered about nylon knickers: in fact he definitely liked the feel of taut nylon on a girl’s bottom.... And there was also that sensuous slippery feel when he was slipping them down off a youthful behind.... Yes, in general he was tolerant of anything, blue or white, of regulation pattern (and indeed there had been one girl, now no longer at St Angela’s, who had a couple of pairs of white silk ones and he had found these quite acceptable, in fact particularly stimulating to take down) But beyond that one had to draw the line: otherwise one could rapidly get into a state of anarchy in the knicker department.
In particular one had to be alert at the beginning of term when, straight from home and away from the discipline of St Angela’s, girls could be wearing almost anything under their skirts. Because once a girl had brought a pair of non-uniform knickers to school she was sure to continue wearing them, if only to impress her friends. Wisely, therefore, he made a point of informal knicker checks when girls arrived, wandering around lifting skirts (though not of course in view of any parents who might be present). This practice had definitely borne fruit the previous year when he had discovered that Angela Whipley, while apparently quite properly dressed in school uniform, was in fact wearing French knickers of a particularly saucy pink shade.
These knickers, as it happened, had been given to Angela as a Christmas present by her boyfriend and in a rush at the last moment when getting ready for school she had been unable to find any regulation pants, and it was either the French knickers or nothing. And on a train journey — probably in a crowded standing-room-only situation — nothing, i.e. no knickers, could possibly invite just a little too much interest.
Well, such garments really were beyond the pale and the Head was quite shocked, as he told Angela when he’d got her in the privacy of his study shortly after. Apart from their provocative shade, didn’t she realise that such knickers with their deliberate looseness were an open invitation to any strange man, indeed any street hooligan, to... well, insert his hand....?
As he spoke the Head had pulled Angela face-down across his lap, rather in a spanking position, and then pushed her skirt up to again reveal the offending knickers. It wasn’t a spanking that he had in mind though, but rather a demonstration of what he had just been saying. Angela squirmed sharply (‘Ooooh sir!’) as the Head’s hand went straight in between her legs and in her knickers.
She was, as it happened, well aware of their possibilities without any demonstration from the Head. Her boyfriend may indeed have bought the knickers for this very purpose: certainly he had taken advantage of their potential in this regard, with, it must be said, Angela’s co-operation. Not only that but coming to school on the train that very morning the gentleman pushed up against her in the crowded corridor had been apparently all set to take similar advantage. He had got his hand up her skirt, as gentlemen in crowded corridors frequently will, and discovering the loose knickers had started sliding two fingers up inside, causing Angela’s heart to beat excitedly. Would he actually....? But at the crucial moment, fortunately or unfortunately, they had arrived at her station. She then had quite a struggle getting out as he didn’t seem to want to let her go — which was also exciting, but not as exciting as what she believed had been about to happen.
So yes, Angela certainly knew about French knickers: but it was evident that the Head was intent on making quite sure as his fingers.... ‘Ooh sir!’ Well there was no station to come along and interrupt proceedings now and her heart started beating madly again as those fingers exhibited an undoubted mastery of female anatomy. They parted the womanly lips and the index digit knowingly found Angela’s vagina entrance and pushed stiffly in...
‘Oh! Ooooh!’ To think that the Head.... ‘Oooooh!’
Well, what did they say, ‘If you’ve no choice just lie back (or in this case lie face down over your Head’s lap) and enjoy it..... Angela certainly had no choice and her eyes glazed as the finger started a rhythmic in and out motion, a motion to which her hips began an automatic response. It was just what her boyfriend had done but, well, one would have to say the Head’s was a more expert, a more practiced, version. She was quite amazed that Mr Payne would do this, certainly it was amazing that he could do it quite so.... ‘Oooh!’, fantastically. And certainly he shouldn’t be doing it, but.... Angela, flushed and hot, hips thrusting rhythmically, gave a squeal as she realised she was coming.
Having unequivocally made his point the Head removed his hand and helped the now-shaking Angela to her feet: ‘You see what I mean, Miss?’ he asked.
The flushed girl, adjusting her clothes could only mumble ‘Y...yes Sir.’ He confiscated the knickers of course, making her take them off there and then; but seeing she was still a bit shaky he didn’t punish her immediately, telling her to return after supper for her caning. And it was not a severe one, more in the category of what he would term a ‘touching up’.
The knickers went in the bottom drawer of the Head’s desk and were duly forgotten — but not by Angela. They had after all been a present from her boyfriend, and at the end of term she rather cheekily went to the Head requesting their return. ‘Please sir. I....I’ll do anything sir, if you’ll let me have them back.’ And as if to emphasise this point she moved in close to him as he stood by his window, so close that a pair of firm, obviously unbrassiered, breasts rubbed against his arm.
The Head looked sternly quizzical. Whatever could she mean? Was she actually suggesting.... could it be.... sexual intercourse? That was a most serious matter, morally quite indefensible: more to the point if one were to be found out one would be quite simply finished. High-mindedly he dismissed the thought, the temptation, from his mind. He did run his hand over those breasts though, and really they were very good.... the nipples especially, erect and prominent for such a young thing. As he told her, she was a very well-developed girl. ‘Thank you sir. It must be our gym classes, sir. You could undo my blouse, sir, if you wanted.... to see better...’ Mr Payne had to refuse this as he had an appointment due; but he gave a word of fatherly advice: ‘I shouldn’t let that boyfriend play with them too much. It will only make both of you rather frustrated.’ ‘Oh no Sir. I won’t Sir.’ And in a somewhat relaxed mood (not only Angela’s breasts but it was also the end of term) he did return the knickers.
Outside his study Angela gave a quick look up and down the corridor, then slipped her school pants off and replaced them with the French knickers. Ready for her boyfriend — or for any interesting gentleman on the train home.
Naturally pink French knickers were not discovered on every first day of term, but this example does perhaps indicate the scope of what a Head had to deal with. For if he didn’t keep on his toes there would be no standards whatsoever, with girls claiming that just anything could be worn.
Knickers were one thing, but another aspect which might also cause confusion to the casual visitor to the school was the matter of knee socks and nylons. Were there rules governing the wearing of these and if so, what were they? For at any instant both could be seen, and worn in both Upper and Lower Forms.
To understand this subject one has to go back to St Angela’s beginnings. The excellent uniform designed by Rev. Farrould was admired by all his fellow Governors: but there was then a sharp division of opinion. Mr Grimsley was very keen on white knee socks. It was, he said, not only attractive but also most health-promoting for a girl to have the whole of her thighs bare under her skirt: and he started running his hand up and down the bare thighs of the girl modelling the outfit with knee socks.
But Col. Mayne, possibly as a result of watching too many St Trinians films, was equally strongly in favour of nylons. Dark nylons with a white suspender belt were the thing, said Col. Mayne, enthusiastically slipping his own hand up the skirt of the girl wearing nylons. (It should perhaps be said that these hands were going up skirts only after the departure of the solitary female Governor, Mrs Wilder, who left saying that she would be happy with either alternative.) The Rev. Farrould said that he also would be happy with either. He liked both, and indeed was looking enviously at the liberties which Col. Mayne and Mr Grimsley were taking with the two girls; liberties which he, Rev. Farrould, would only dare take in private (and even then with a rather guilty look on his face).
Well it was a quandary, a stalemate, with neither Governor willing to shift his ground. And so a typical English compromise was agreed on, Both forms of dress could be regarded as official uniform and it would be left to the Head to specify one or other for any particular activity or function, if he so wished.
The Head in fact had no strong preference: he liked both knee socks and nylons in the same way that he liked both cotton and nylon knickers. But feeling that he should add something to these weighty deliberations he suggested that for visits to church on Sunday mornings nylons would be most appropriate for Upper Forms and knee socks for Lower. This proposal met with general approval.
Of course when Mr Grimsley was paying a visit to the school any girls invited to have tea or coffee with him in the Head’s study would naturally be wearing knee socks; and likewise for Col. Mayne’s visits the girls would be wearing nylons. And similarly if a girl was going to Col. Mayne’s house for tea on Sunday afternoon; or if Mr Grimsley was taking a couple of girls out in his car (for whatever it was he liked to do on such trips, the Head did not bother to speculate). All this was simply being diplomatic and keeping one’s Governors happy. But otherwise girls could make their own choice.
So — knee socks and nylons, blue and white knickers, cotton and nylon ones (and of course none at all when a girl had had hers confiscated for some reason or other) — they could all be found. And to Col. Mayne, Chairman of Governors, this in its way epitomised all that was best in the English tradition. Not on the one hand, the strict regimentation one might expect to find in some continental countries nor, on the other, the anything-goes freedom of dress one was led to believe was tolerated in an American school. In fact it was a very English regime, he thought, and it just went to show that there were some things we could still do better than those foreigners. And one needed to remember it, what with all these people nowadays who could only see what is wrong with the country. Yes, we might have lost the Empire but we would soldier on.
Such positive thoughts were especially likely to come to Col. Mayne on those already mentioned Sunday afternoons in term time. It was then indeed that the pulse quickened, that he could look at life with renewed vigour, for always on Sundays, unless something extremely pressing came up, he had sent over to him a pretty pupil from the school. To have tea while Mrs Mayne was conveniently out, with her Sunday School class for tiny tots.
Yes indeed, and to take a closer look at this why not observe that first Sunday following half-term.
Events follow their routine course which is how it should be for an ex-Army man. Yes, the Colonel is in his normal Sunday afternoon good spirits as he walks in the spacious grounds of Mayne Hall with the chosen visitor for the day, Christine Hunt of 7B. And as they approach the flight of stone steps leading up to the conservatory, where tea is routinely taken, he stands aside to allow the young lady to go first: a gesture owing much to ingrained politeness, but also conveniently enabling him to admire the pupil’s enticing rear aspect. He gazes with pleasure: the shining blonde head, the St Angela’s blazer, the swinging skirt covering who-knows-what delights, while below, as an appetizer, the knees, the flexing calves, the slim ankles, all in the sheen of sheer nylons, the seams, he notes, most admirably straight.
And under that swinging skirt — the shapely round bottom, and drum tight knickers? Well, Col. Mayne like the Head is easy to please in the knickers department. They can be of any of the commonly found St Angela’s types, the only sure thing is that very shortly, after Miss Hunt has had her tea and cakes, they will be coming down.
For Christine, like all Sunday afternoon visitors to Mayne Hall, has a sealed envelope addressed to the Colonel in the pocket of her blazer. He will open it while they have tea but of course it will contain no surprises for he knows pretty well what the contents will be. In the Head’s precise script it will say that Miss Hunt has either done something or other (been late for Assembly or a meal, run across forbidden grass, etc.) or not done something or other (her prep, dressed neatly, etc.) and will then continue: ‘Miss Hunt has not yet received punishment for this offence and if you feel so inclined you might like to administer a suitable correction.’
Needless to say the Colonel always did... happy to do his duty in this regard and always in the privacy of his conservatory after tea. Well, it was his favourite place, the heady humid atmosphere surrounding his exotic plants reminding him powerfully of those grand old days of the Empire, of India: and of course it is here that he keeps his canes and his strap... carefully concealed of course from the eyes of his wife who really could not be expected to understand these matters.
Yes, the conservatory is a marvellous place to deal with a girl after she’s had her tea and then been appraised of the letter’s contents; a little ‘tut-tutting’, a sad shake of the head, and then two hands up under her skirt to the waistband of her knickers... drawing them down to her nylon tops... and then position her over the arm of his easy chair... skirt raised above those splendidly taut nylons... and then... ah... the plump pale flesh... twin spheres, firm, resilient... and there... (hmm, Miss Hunt was evidently quite a grown-up lady)... her curling brown bush and in it, peeping out, that special something which most girls so hated to show...
But to the matter in hand... the selection of a cane... or perhaps maybe the strap for this particular pupil? To give her bottom the attention that all young ladies bottoms should get, and which at St Angela’s they unquestionably did get...
Yes, there was no doubt it was a fine school, embodying the very best British traditions, and it was a pleasure, indeed a privilege, to be associated with it.