The Girls of St Catherine's Ch. 01

Thursday, 16 May

"Well thanks again for the opportunity headmaster, I'm really looking forward to it, see you on Sunday."

David put the 'phone down and grinned. Had that really just happened? He could hardly believe it; he'd only graduated from teacher college a couple of weeks ago and he'd already secured himself a job! He had been warned that jobs might be difficult to come by for someone without any real experience. He'd only applied to St Catherine's because it was fairly close to where he'd grown up.

He had known a little about it: that it was an exclusive, fee-paying, residential girls' school with a good reputation. He had only applied just in the hope of getting some interview experience; he hadn't really expected to get the job. In fact, he hadn't even expected to be called for interview and so he was astonished to receive the call.

"Mum!" he shouted up the stairs. "Great news! I've got that job!"

Sunday, 19 May

A few days later David found himself lugging his suitcase up the east staircase of St Catherine's manor house as he tried to keep up with the headmaster. The head was a distinguished, silver-haired man in a sombre, old-fashioned-looking black three-piece suit and a gaunt, craggy face. His slightly hooked nose and restless eyes gave him a hawkish appearance. He'd given David a brief tour of the school as he explained some of its history; apparently the manor house had originally been donated to the church by a local industrialist to be used as a kind of reform school for 'loose and fallen women', and had served this purpose right up until the second world war when it had been requisitioned by the government to be used as a convalescent home for injured soldiers. After the war, it had re-opened as a private boarding school for girls.

Despite his advanced years, the headmaster kept up a brisk pace along the labyrinthine corridors and David was relieved when he paused halfway up the old mahogany staircase by the large picture window.

It was the headmaster's favourite spot on the little tour that he liked to give anyone visiting the school for the first time. From here, there was a lovely view of the grounds, the gentle slope of the lawn leading down to the river and a stand of ancient oak trees partially hiding the gymnasium off to the right.

It was a warm, pleasant Sunday afternoon and there were girls scattered in small groups across the lawns enjoying the early summer weather. Some studying books in the cool shade of the trees, some sunbathing and others playing tennis on the clay courts, its rich red surface contrasting with the lime green grass. Even in the afternoon heat, all of the girls were all dressed immaculately in their distinctive olive green blazers and neat grey and green, tartan skirts. Some were wearing straw boaters to shield their heads from the fierce sun.

"In all, we own nearly two hundred acres of land here, we're very lucky. The nearest village, a little place called Eastbrook, is about two miles away," he explained, turning to David and sweeping his hand across the vista dramatically.

David couldn't picture how much land that was exactly but it sounded impressive.

"Gosh, two hundred acres," he said, as the headmaster waited expectantly. "That's huge."

"Indeed; as well as giving us plenty of room for expansion it helps with the sense of seclusion here. We try to provide these girls with an oasis of calm, away from the distractions of the modern world here. A place of peace and tranquillity where they can concentrate on their academic studies."

"Yes, there must be a lot of distractions for a teenager these days," David said agreeably, although he was only twenty-five himself.

"Yes, of course. Mobile phones, TV, the internet, social media, so many distractions for youngsters. That's why we tightly control the use of technology here. No TV, except in the common room in the evenings. No using laptops or mobile phones except at the weekends. And no internet except on the locked down PCs in the common room."

"But how on earth do you stop teenage girls using their mobiles?"

"They're kept locked away during the week by the head of their form, they hand them in on Sunday evening and can pick them back up on Saturday mornings."

"I see. I guess that must help with them concentrating on their work."

"Indeed, Mr Lean. There are too many girls these days that are certainly bright enough but don't apply themselves. Too easily distracted. No discipline at home either, you see. That's the trouble with girls these days. Do you know that old saying?" the headmaster continued, pausing only briefly before offering the answer. "It's better suffer the pain of discipline, than to suffer the pain of regret."

"So I guess you run quite tight ship here?" David said, following him up the stairs.

"Oh yes, discipline is fundamental to the way we do things here. We give the girls every opportunity to study productively here" the headmaster continued over his shoulder, "but it's not fair on the others if there are one or two troublemakers who spoil it for everyone else. Don't you agree?"

He remembered at interview that they'd spent some time on the subject of discipline. Actually, he didn't have particularly strong views on discipline but it was clear the headmaster did. In the pressure of the interview he'd felt compelled to say what he thought the headmaster wanted to hear.

"Yes, absolutely. You can't have one or two bad apples spoiling it for the girls who genuinely want to learn," David replied.

The headmaster turned and rewarded him with a thin smile.

"Exactly. And that's part of the reason we liked you so much David. To be honest we have more than our fair share of challenging girls here and we need someone who can maintain order in a classroom. Someone who's not afraid to break a few eggs in order to make an omelette if you see what I mean."

"I see," David said, nodding although he wasn't entirely sure he followed the metaphor.

"Anyway, don't worry about that now. This is your room," the head declared, abruptly stopping at a door that already had a small sign in the middle reading "Mr Lean (Mathematics)"

"This is great, thanks," David said, heaving his suitcase onto the bed and looking around.

"Now I've got to get on so I'll leave you to unpack but if you need anything my door is always open," the headmaster said as he swept out, "good luck tomorrow, Mr Lean"

David closed the door behind him and looked around. It was a large room with uninspiring beige wallpaper and ancient looking floorboards that creaked as he walked over to the window. There was a small framed piece of cross-stitch over the bed that read: "Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments".

"Wow, nice view," he murmured to himself, as he hooked the net curtains aside with his finger to expose an idyllic view of the grounds similar to the one he'd admired on the stairs earlier. There was an old wooden writing desk against the wall near the window, a large green sofa along the wall opposite and a large set of empty shelves near the door. The door next to it led to a small but surprisingly modern bathroom with gleaming white tiles and a chrome shower.

The head had explained that they didn't serve dinner on Sundays but luckily he'd had a large lunch. After he'd unpacked, David decided to stroll around the grounds. It was a perfect summer's evening outside on the lawns: the warm air filled with the sound of giggling girls, dandelion seeds and buzzing insects.

"Good evening Sir," a pair of girls chorused politely as he passed.

"Good evening girls," he replied.

"You must be the new maths teacher," one of them guessed.

"Yes, I'm Mr Lean, what are your names?"

"I'm Brianna," said the curvy redhead with the trendy, designer glasses.

"And I'm Emma," the other explained, blushing prettily. She was shorter than her friend with fair hair swept back in a neat ponytail.

"And you're both in Professor Carter's class?" They both nodded.

"Well I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning then," he said pleasantly, before walking on, following the gravel path towards the river.

When he got to the bank, he paused and watched the river roll languidly by for a while. On the opposite side of the river, a meadow crowded with cow parsley, ox-eye daisies and nettles sloped down towards him. Cows chewed the cud, their tails swishing lazily at flies. It was quieter down here away from the lawns, the quiet gurgle of the river disturbed only by some ducks squabbling noisily further down the bank.

He turned and looked back at the school. The original building was a large stone manor house but it was clear that over the years its complicated history had led to many extensions and changes to the old building. There was an obviously newer, red brick block with large sash windows on his the right that looked Edwardian. There were quite a few other buildings scattered around too, like the large grey, rectangular gymnasium off to the other side. Just downstream, he could see an old boat shed and some small cottages on the other side of the river linked by a quaint wooden bridge. He still couldn't quite believe he was here. What would his first day of teaching bring?

A little way down the bank, Tara's mother stopped to admire the view. She was wearing her favourite pearls and a stern expression as she turned and faced her daughter.

"What do you mean you might have to re-take your English?" she said frostily.

They'd had a late lunch at a little local restaurant that was run by one of her mother's oldest and dearest friends before returning to the school. Now they were strolling along the side of the river.

"Well as I say the other subjects are all going really well but I am having a little trouble with my English, that's all," Tara said apologetically.

"So what's the problem with your English? Is it the teacher? Are the other girls struggling?" her mother snapped.

"Well no, I mean, not really," Tara managed to say before her mother interrupted.

"Tara, your father and I spend a lot of money to keep you here. You're nineteen years old now and we can't keep finding different schools for you to re-take your A-levels indefinitely. We need you to get into a good university this September."

Tara nodded glumly. Over the years, she'd learned there was no point in trying to argue with her mother.

"So I suggest you talk to your English teacher and see if there's some way he can help. Perhaps he can give you some extra tuition. Maybe you can hint at some kind of 'present' at the end of term if he spares you some of his free time."

"Yes, mother," Tara murmured obediently, as they walked on.

If what the other girls told her about Mr Wicklow was true, she knew he'd be willing to help but he'd want something in return. Something more than a bottle of scotch at the end of term.

Monday, 20 May

The girls of the upper sixth were creatures of habit and always sat in the same seats in the mathematics classroom. Sadie, Emma and Brianna sat in the front row on the left. Portia, Tara and their friends always sat at the back. Sadie nudged Brianna in the ribs to get her attention.

"Hey, have you heard that joke about Professor Carter?" she said, making sure she was talking loudly enough for Portia to hear.

"No, what?" Brianna replied, as several girls turned towards Sadie.

"OK, you'll like this. What was Professor Clark doing when Portia was 'modelling' her new dress?" Sadie asked, her fingers describing imaginary quotation marks as she said 'modelling'.

"I don't know," Brianna replied, already smiling in anticipation of the punch line.

"He was having a stroke! Get it? Having a stroke," Sadie grinned as she crudely mimed rubbing an imaginary penis.

The girls around her erupted with raucous laughter then turned quickly as Portia leapt to her feet.

"He nearly died, you heartless cow! Take that back!" Portia shrieked angrily, striding over to Sadie's desk.

"Well if you were so worried about the poor old sod's health maybe you shouldn't have been stripping for him, slut!" Sadie replied, her chair legs squeaking against the polished wooden floor as she sprung out of her chair, squaring up to Portia.

"That's a bloody lie! I wasn't stripping! Anyway, everyone knows you're the biggest slut in the school," Portia said, furiously jabbing her finger into Sadie's shoulder.

"Say that again bitch, then you'll be bloody sorry!" Sadie replied menacingly, as she regained her balance and shoved Portia backwards.

David whistled happily as he strode along the long, well-polished hallways of the old manor house, the walls echoing with the noise of groups of excitable schoolgirls. He scanned the signs on the doors looking for classroom 9A with a barely suppressed feeling of excitement. His first day as a real teacher! Of course, he'd taught some classes as part of his training but this would be his first chance at the real thing.

He could hear classroom 9A from the end of the corridor, and a wave of noise washed over him when he opened the door. He'd expected them to stop when he entered, but the commotion carried on as if he wasn't there.

"Quiet! Girls! Please!" he shouted, but it made little difference.

Two girls near the front of the class were involved in a cat-fight, with much hair-pulling and shrieking and some language that was most unbecoming of young ladies. Most of the other girls were gathered around them, shouting encouragement as the girls slapped, shoved and pinched each other viciously. The blonde girl squealed loudly as her opponent grabbed a handful of her long, silky hair and tugged at it cruelly.

"Please! Quiet! Please girls!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Nothing at teacher training college had prepared him for this. Some of the girls at the front turned around, seeming to notice him for the first time, but the others just carried on, enjoying the cat-fight and cheering the girls on. Just as he was wondering whether he should wade in and break it up, the door opened. A tall, severe-looking teacher with a neatly-trimmed moustache and a face like thunder burst through the door.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?" he shouted, "STOP THAT AT ONCE!"

For the first time, the teenage warriors paused and their audience melted away, quickly finding their seats.

"Right!" he said pointing at the two girls. "Sadie and Portia, any more bad behaviour and you'll be in detention for the rest of the term. Now then all of you open your books and show your new teacher the respect he deserves."

"You must be the new maths teacher. Mr Lean is it?" he continued, smoothly turning to David and offering his hand.

David had been watching with a kind of stunned detachment and slowly reached out and took his hand.

"Yes, I'm David Lean," he said dumbly.

"Like the film director? Jolly good. Well I'm Mr Wicklow, I teach English. I'm just next door if you have any more trouble, OK?"

"Yes, well, um, thanks for your help."

"Not at all, first days are always a bit rough here. Chin up!" he said cheerily as he breezed out.

With the threat of Mr Wicklow returning the girls behaved themselves for the rest of the lesson but David was still relieved to hear the bell signalling the end of the lesson. As he left, he bumped into Mr Wicklow in the corridor.

"Thanks again for helping out earlier," he said.

"Not at all," replied Mr Wicklow. "I think you got the worst class to start with, they were especially feisty this morning. Listen I normally go to the pub after work on a Monday. The Fox and Hounds, do you know it?"

"Yes, I think so," David said, as he vaguely recalled the taxi passing a pub on the road leading up to the house.

"Excellent, well I'll see you at dinner and give you a lift up there, yes?"

"Well I had planned to do some work on my lesson plan," he said.

"Don't worry you'll have the rest of the evening to do that."

"Well, uh, I suppose so..."

"Super, see you later then."

Michael took a long, refreshing drink from his bottle of water and shaded his eyes from the fierce sun as he watched the girls running up and down the Astroturf pitch. He'd had a busy morning helping Mr Black, the head of maintenance, fix a broken gutter on the roof and now he was enjoying the feel of the sunshine and warm breeze on his face as he watched the hockey game during his lunch break. Mr Black had taken the afternoon off; apparently, he was servicing Mrs Pinner's boiler. He'd been over to her cottage quite a few times in the last few weeks and Michael was beginning to wonder if the boiler wasn't all he was 'servicing'.

In truth, Michael was less interested in the hockey than he was in the players. The girls were so gorgeously healthy, so fit and lean, so full of life, their glossy hair shining in the sunshine, their perky boobs bobbing jauntily beneath their thin t-shirts. He watched as Sadie sprinted past him down the side of the pitch, her blonde hair flowing behind her as she was pursued by the girl called Portia. There was a high-pitched shriek of pain as Portia lunged forward, swinging her stick clumsily and catching Sadie on the ankle. The blonde fell in a tangle of arms and legs right in front of him.

"You bitch Portia!" Sadie shrieked, "That bloody hurts!"

"You big baby! I hardly touched you, and anyway it was an accident," Portia snapped.

"Was not! You did that on purpose!" Sadie whined.

"OK, enough, enough! Girls please!" Miss Lambert, the PE teacher shouted, waving the other girls away as she ran over.

Michael watched as Sadie sat on the Astroturf rubbing her ankle. Her short, pleated skirt had ridden up, exposing her long, tan legs. She noticed him watching her as she got to her feet. She glared at him angrily as she tugged the olive green material down.

"I'll see those legs again soon enough and more besides," he thought, smiling to himself as he headed back towards the sports hall. Invariably, the girls were all from wealthy families and wouldn't give someone like him a second look. After all, he was only a trainee handyman from an ordinary working class family in the village. Whenever he'd tried to approach girls in the past, they'd treated him with disdain, as if he were beneath them. The thought of how he'd been treated had made him feel bitter, but before long he'd found a way of getting his own back. Michael wasn't supposed to go into the sports hall without permission but old Blacky had left him the keys and without him around to interfere he was able to go wherever he pleased. He'd found out about the ventilation system when he'd helped the contractors fit the new extractor fans. The changing rooms used to suffer from damp and the school had fitted the new system a couple of years ago.

Glancing around, Michael quickly slipped inside the hall and fetched the aluminium stepladder from the utility closet, placing it under the access panel in the roof. With a final look around, he climbed the ladder and pushed the panel aside. He pulled himself up into the roof space then pulled the ladder up after him and slid the panel back in place so that there was no sign he was up there. In the crawl space, there was a large, aluminium duct, easily wide enough for his slim frame. He opened another access panel and crawled along in the darkness towards where the light spilled in from the vent over the changing room. Now it was just a matter of waiting, listening to the distant sounds from outside as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Bloody hot out there today, I'm exhausted," Sadie exclaimed, sitting down heavily on one of the long wooden benches and undoing her laces.

"Roasting," Brianna agreed, sitting beside her.

"How's your ankle?"

"It's OK, just bruised," the blonde replied, tugging her long green socks off to reveal a painful-looking grey and purple splotch.