CHAPTER 4
SATURDAY JUNE 2ND
DARE PROPOSED BY JESSICA CONNOR
PERFORMED BY RACHEL de CHARTERIS
On Saturday the students returned after half term. The teachers were turned out plus the prefects. Rebecca was impersonating a virgin; dressed in crisply ironed white blouse, tightly knotted striped tie, blazer and near regulation grey skirt. Unusually she also wore black tights and knickers.
For two reasons. Most of the men who brought their little princesses back to school were pigs and would attempt to touch up the more nubile prefects. The caning had painfully bruised Rebecca's glutes and the blood had moved slowly downwards under the force of gravity. Her skin was a rather sickly yellow as far down as the back of her knees.
The ensemble was topped off by a perfectly placed straw boater. The ipad clutched tightly against her chest added to the illusion.
Rebecca was supervising the new prefects. After Whitsun half term the upper sixth girls just did a couple of weeks revision followed by their A-levels and had no official duties. The next year's prefects had the half term to settle in to their new roles. Their ability to dress as harlots was fully formed. Rebecca had to ask more than one to squeal a bit more quietly as a burly hand slipped under her skirt.
"Only give him thirty seconds." Headmistress commanded, standing just behind Rebecca. "They can pay like anyone else if they want more. Rebecca here knows the rates."
Several girls sniggered. Rebecca blushed but stared down several ugly bastards.
As lunch approached three quarters of the girls were accounted for. Rebecca looked at the late list and noted that she had seen quite a few pass by with her own eyes. She smiled at the lack of organisation. Tradition was important. Rebecca singled out a nervous looking ginger prefect with large glasses.
"Lydia, isn't it?" for some reason reacquiring her Glasgow accent. "The little shits should be sitting down for lunch. I would go in and tick off the ones who you girls missed. I'm done and I'm off for a run."
Lydia gulped. "OK, Bex. What about the ones who really are missing?"
"Don't worry, hen. We always lose a few. Just print off a list and give it to the bursar. It's her problem."
Rebecca grabbed a sandwich and hurried to her room. Her crotch was far too hot. She stripped and put on a long, bright yellow racer back vest and trainers. The vest was long enough to leave dog walkers speculating what might be underneath. Rebecca had no need of bras.
It was a kilometre to the river which was strictly out of bounds. There was a faint path through some woods that had been created by generations of young feet and was periodically enlarged using one of the school's petrol-powered brush cutters. The path led to a sandstone platform which was the only safe way in for a long way up and down stream. The river was as black as ink and ran fast and deep. It had rained overnight and the river was in full spate. Rebecca could just hear the roar as it exited the gorge upstream.
Rebecca removed her shoes and tied her vest to a branch overhanging the water. Once in the river it was impossible to see the exit point unless it was marked. If missed, the next chance to get out was at Little Dykebush in the Wylde golf club. There a meander formed a small reed bed by the 12th green. Rebeca prided herself on her river craft and only got washed up on the golf course as a consequence of a dare. In all only a dozen or so girls got to the golf course in a week; more at a weekend. It was a house rule never to swim alone. A rule which Rebecca frequently broke. Nobody would punish her. Swimsuits were forbidden.
Once at the golf course it was necessary to get back to school before they acted upon the inevitable complaint from the golf club secretary. This entailed wading through some mud and a knackering, naked, barefoot run through the golf course, up their gravel drive and along two roads. Then the school wall had to be scaled, followed by a drain pipe to one of the shower rooms, where the girls could claim to be a bit icky due to their period. If caught by the Trunchpoll, punishment was instant; six of the best on the bare bum or the soles of bleeding feet. Punishment was no deterrent at all.
The sight of up to six wet water nymphs emerging from the river caused many a bogey on the twelfth. Apart from the odd unfortunate heart attack, a matronly foursome occasionally attempted a citizen's arrest which was rarely repeated. If they ever played again. The younger players and the surprisingly large number of LGBTQ members generally dropped everything and applauded. Frequent offers of towels or a lift somewhere were met with most unladylike language. Any attempt to touch one of the girls severely affected a player's handicap.
The Feast of St Trinian varied but was most commonly a Saturday or Sunday in March. The eponymous patron saint of mayhem might have stopped in Little Dykebush in the Wylde sometime between 1069 and 1521. St Trinian's Hole was thought to lie somewhere under the first tee at the golf club and every year a pilgrimage was made. It was called the Mass Trespass.
This was a rite of passage for the lower fourth who had to organise and execute a race from the bathing stone to the golf course and back to the school. The competitors were called fillies and came from the lower sixth. Participation was voluntary and required a fair degree of fitness, reckless bravery and indifference to pain. Each filly had a number placed in two locations between neck and knee; usually breast and buttock. Each younger girl was given two numbers and was responsible for getting those two fillies back to school. Preferably alive.
Usually at least thirty older girls took part and set out downstream silently in groups of five, every ten seconds. A lot of the senior members of the golf club liked to tee off early.
The younger girls would make their way, dressed entirely in black to the club under the cover of darkness and lay down a decent amount of artificial fog.
Timing was everything and ideally the first golf party would be a little way down the first fairway and the second ready to tee off when a herd of pale, wet mares would emerge from the mist, teeth drawn back and breath like engine smoke. The only sound would be their heavy breathing. Most golfers froze or collapsed. This was not helped when the silent mares transformed into screaming banshees.
The scream was the cue for the commandoes of the lower fourth to deploy their diversions which were invariably loud, bright and smelly. Within five minutes the girls would have vanished leaving chaos and bewildered adults and some overfed guard dogs. The roads back to the school would have been closed and any police foolish enough to turn up persuaded to stay in their cars.
Every so often there was a new broom at the golf club or Police HQ who was determined to stamp out this malarkey. "They are just little girls," was said frequently. Extra officers and/ or security guards were drafted in at great expense. No security firm within six neighbouring counties would go within five kilometres of St Trinian's and any who might, would only supply unmarried staff or illegals. These were known as golden years and it was a great privilege to have attended a Golden Trespass. The lower fourth intelligence system was legendary and they would know what was occurring weeks in advance and up their game accordingly. Reputations were made on one side and lost on the other. Happy school memories to last a lifetime and flashbacks to last as long.
Rebecca slid into the icy cold water and was immediately grabbed by the current. This was of no concern and she was soon powering upstream. The biggest risk, especially when the water was high was flotsam; mainly branches and dead animals. They were often nearly submerged and it was safest to swim water polo style with the head out of the water, even though this was not that efficient. A large rock marked the end of the gorge and there Rebecca turned around. Swimming further on into the gorge was delightful but even Rebecca was not reckless enough to do so alone.
Swimming back took no time at all. Rebecca had to outpace the current both to manoeuvre and avoid being hit from behind. She saw her vest and grabbing the branch swung effortlessly out of the water. She gave her short mane a shake, dried her feet on the bottom of the vest (she hated running in wet shoes), put the vest on and set off back to the school at a clip. The vest clung to her strong wet body obscenely and shocked a few walkers.
Emily was lying on Rebecca's bed only wearing come to bed eyes. Her pert buttocks were raised and glowing in sunbeams coming through the window.
