“The question of how I might be educated loomed larger and larger, prompted partly by our regular visits to the Loreto Convents. These institutions are scattered across India. There is a Loreto School for Girls in every city, some towns and all the major hill stations. At that time they offered a most exclusive and very expensive education to the daughters of the British Raj and the aristocracy and civil servants of India.”

Oh, how my mind was already leaping to conclusions as I turned the pages of Felicity Kendal’s autobiography. But before we reached any disciplinary matters, there was the important question of uniforms. The young lady travelled the country with her parents, as they put on plays to entertain the local populace, and it was therefore decreed that:

Wherever we stayed anywhere for more than a few weeks, I would go to the local Loreto… There was, however the question of school uniforms. Each school had a completely different outfit to adapt to the wildly varying climates and conditions….

We set off for the shops in Bangalore’s Victoria Crescent and retuned an hour later with a big silver trunk… Into this wonderful shiny box, I lovingly packed my new uniforms: the red and white woollies for Simla; the grey and blue pleated skirt for Naini Tal and the navy gymslips for Darjeeling, with tie, blazer, woolly gloves and beret. A horrid khaki cotton dress for Karachi was joined by a sweet gingham job for Bangalore; Bombay was smart beige and yellow; and so on. I padlocked my treasure and hid the key in my luggage, feeling very grown up and the proud possessor of so many important things.

Felicity Kendal Gymslips. Oh my…

Where was I? Oh yes. Discipline. For it appears that she was a rather naughty girl:

I would lead my gang out into the hot dusty playground at break and we would chant ‘BSBG’, which stood for ‘Banging “B” Side Girls’. ‘B’ side girls were taken from poor families who couldn’t pay school fees. They had their own classrooms and a different uniform. The teachers and facilities were the same, and some of the bright girls joined the ‘A’ classes, but they were identifiably different by their dress. Three or more of my gang would like arms and, chatting away, accidentally on purpose ‘bang’ into a ‘B’ side girl.

Eventually, this regrettable behaviour was noticed by the staff, and my prefect badge removed. As well as undergoing the shame of losing my status, I had to stand in front of the entire class to have my hand hit several times with a wooden ruler. My teacher was, quite rightly, livid, and the force of her third stroke broke the ruler in two. The pain was dreadful, but nothing compared with the public humiliation.

As I said early: oh, my…

-------

Now you can buy a book of the best entries from "The Spanking Writers".