Posts tagged ‘Jane Fairweather’

November 6th, 2017

The Sisters

A normally quiet girl has her moment of fame

By Jane Fairweather

The whistle went and the eleven players of the First Hockey Eleven of the Winifred Long School for girls gave a collective shriek of joy that they had at long last beaten St Agatha’s, who were by far the best of the teams in the unofficial league that all the local girls schools played in. Then, by some wild instinct, ten of the eleven hurled themselves upon the slight, shy figure of Josh Stephenson, whose brilliant run down the wing from half way just two minutes before, had won a match during which Winifred Long had been penned remorselessly in their own half.
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October 14th, 2017

Her Former Slave

A lady in ancient Rome takes risks at a turbulent time.

By Jane Fairweather

Normally a member of a Roman senatorial family with the cognomen Rufus would have arrived at the Roman town house of his old friends, Titus and Lavinia Vesprilis, in a litter with some smartly turned out slaves in attendance and his excellent major domo, the freed man Quintus to see that everything was as it should be. Today, however, Valerius Rufus was wearing decidedly plebeian clothes and the hood of his cloak covered his head. An intelligent looking grey haired slave had let him in by the garden entrance and taken him straight to Lavinia in this small room, but the man seemed to know what was going on.
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September 20th, 2017

Second Interview

Surprising facts emerge in a job interview

By Jane Fairweather

“Can I talk to you again, Miss Masefield?” Mr Cox, the ginger haired, rather young headmaster of this private school was saying almost awkwardly.

“Does that mean we won’t be required anymore, Headmaster?” Miss Grey, the decidedly plump, almost white-haired woman who was also applying to be the secretary to the headmaster at this small private school was asking with something approaching indignation.

Miss Johnson, the third candidate for the post, who was about forty and wearing an obviously very tight girdle under her staid blue skirt suit stayed silent, looking extremely confident.

“I am not sure as yet if you will be required again, or not, Miss Grey. You and Miss Johnson can certainly both wait, if of course you want to. It is not impossible it might be to your advantage to do so,” Mr Cox replied very formally. “But there are a few more questions I want to ask Miss Masefield before I make up my mind about which of you is to get this job. You are all good candidates and at present I need more information, especially from Miss Masefield.”
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August 23rd, 2017

Anti Climax

A girl risks a lot to meet her boyfriend, all in vain.

By Jane Fairweather

“I am going now, as soon as I’ve got some clothes on.” Came Jackie Williams-Jones very quiet Welsh voice through the semi darkness of the four bed dormitory without a prefect that was the relative freedom offered by Holt Hall school to its lower sixth formers. “And I am arranging my bed so it looks as if l am in it. I only hope that Charles has managed to get out.”

“For goodness sake don’t wait about if he is not there. There is no point. You could really be for it if you get caught and we could easily be dragged into it for aiding and abetting you. Anyway the whole thing is very silly,” Louise snapped. “You could get expelled and so could Charles; and even if you don’t you could get the cane. In fact we all could. You really ought not to go.”
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July 25th, 2017

Innocence

When guilt is in doubt, the headmistress has to decide.

By Jane Fairweather

Miss Renton was in mid-sentence explaining a rather subtle point about quadratic equations when the door of the small room on the purpose built Sixth Form corridor suddenly opened and the grey-haired School Secretary  entered.

“Miss Johns sends her compliments, Miss Renton, and she is sorry to disturb your lesson, but she wishes to see Emily Halliday immediately.” The School Secretary was obviously repeating a message learned more or less by heart a fair number of years before.

“You’d better get off with you, Emily.” Miss Renton observed smiling amiably at one of her better mathematicians. “You’d better not keep the Head waiting. I expect it will be something to your advantage. I hope you won’t mind if we don’t wait for you; the Head is apt to go on rather on these occasions.”
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June 5th, 2017

Phyllis Remembers

A 1950s period piece set in a girls private school

By Jane Fairweather

They were onto their third martini at Susan’s splendid house on the edge of Wharfedale, which was the well-earned result of her clothing business, and the four women were all of them getting rather silly and talking about their school days.

“Oh tell us that story again, Phyl.” Susan suddenly demanded of her lover.

Anthea sardonically grinned at Elsie, who she knew liked this ritual less than the rest of them.

“Which story?” Phyllis asked innocently, as she always did.

“The story of our last day at school, which you always tell better than any of us you silly cow.” Susan said with love in her eyes, which had survived a good many ups and downs.
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April 24th, 2017

A Well Deserved Punishment

Once, student teachers were a common feature in schools, as in this period piece.

By Jane Fairweather

“Bend over, Miss Johnson, right over, if you please.”

Feeling rather ridiculous and ashamed at having to be caned at the advanced age of nineteen, Eleanor bent at the waist. She could feel her long black hair flop down the side of her left cheek as she did it and her white cotton drawers, which were quite loose on her, tightened slightly. She rather self-consciously clasped her hands together, resisting the very real temptation to put them across her buttocks. There was a slight pause. Why was Mr Jack not getting on with her punishment, which she was all too aware was very well deserved? She had behaved, she knew, in a very unladylike and sluttish way and she had not really needed the angry lecture from Mr Jack to tell her that.
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March 29th, 2017

Events on Mothering Sunday

A row with her mother gets a girl into trouble.

By Jane Fairweather

In eighteen year old Elspeth Jackson’s somewhat prejudiced opinion, Mothering Sunday was a thoroughly annoying day. Long custom had decreed that the young maids at her parents’ house were allowed to go off for the day to their Mother church, where they had first worshipped and usually call on their Mothers and give them flowers or some other small present.

And her own Mama and Papa, of course, just had to let the older women servants go off as well, so there was no cook or assistant cook or maids, or any of the useful persons that did all those things that were normally done for her as a matter of course. This annoyed her particularly because at her best friend Genevieve Smyth’s parents’ house the older servants were excluded from the treat, so life went on much as normal, except the Smyth’s cook had to exert herself more than usual on Mothering Sunday, which must annoy her, Elspeth thought petulantly.
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March 1st, 2017

Summoned for Discipline – a new Jane Fairweather ebook

Jane Fairweather’s Summoned for Discipline has just been published by Stormy Nights Publications. This is Jane’s third book of stories from Stormy Nights, the others being Sixth Form Discipline and Visits to the Headmistress. Blushing Books also publish An English Spanking Anthology.

The stories in Summoned for Discipline range over an ambitiously wide range of themes, from America thirty years after the Civil War to the rather dismal England of the 1950’s by way of several stories set against the background of the First World War, to an American school on the eve of Pearl Harbour. In the process a wide range of characters and situations are explored; but invariably an older girl, who might expect herself to be too old for corporal punishment suddenly finds herself summoned to face a good hiding because it is the only solution available, whether the implement of chastisement is the paddle, the cane or the slipper.
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February 2nd, 2017

Seditious Literature (1895)

A period piece depicting attitudes of the Victorian Era

By Jane Fairweather

It all began quietly enough over breakfast.

Papa suddenly remarked (between ingesting a rather large piece of bacon): “Has anybody except me noticed this horrific style for young women? There was a piece about it in the Times yesterday.”

“Papa, you know I don’t read the Times!” Georgina, the daughter of the household, replied just a touch ironically.

“Well you should!” Her father snapped. “Then you would have something to talk about with young men at Assemblies and Balls. There has not been the slightest sign of you becoming engaged and the costs are getting very tedious. And I am weary of seeing you reading old books about King Arthur and Greek heroes! If you are going to read such things, I wish you’d choose a solid modern poet like Tennyson. There might be at any rate one young man who might prick up his ears if you started to talk about Tennyson, not that there will be that many of them. It’s not that I want you to marry a huntin’ and fishin’ type, you know, but you need to find someone, my girl, for the sake of your own future and I wish you’d get on with it. And quite frankly the boys won’t have read the old books and you will bore them stiff!”
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