Her final year

I wonder how this middle term of the school year is going for young ladies around the country?

A critical time for girls in the sixth form, of course with A Levels looming. I’m imagining the sort of conversation that must be taking place in various housemaster’s offices, perhaps following mock exams.

He reads the paperwork solemnly frowning. He lays it down on the table, and peers over his glasses at the girl standing in front of his desk. “Not good enough, really, is it?”

Embarrassed: “No, sir. I think I let myself down a bit, sir.”

“A bit…?”

“A lot, sir.”

“Two A*s and an A needed next term. An A, a B and a C on your mocks. You’re right: that’s a lot.”

“I don’t know what happened sir. I just… it wasn’t a good week.”

“Well I know what happened. You didn’t work hard enough. And if you don’t appreciate or acknowledge that, then the most helpful thing I can do for you is to give you a sharp lesson in the need for a more diligent approach. I don’t want you to fail in the summer, after all. Now, you fell five grades short of your target. Five strokes of the cane seems appropriate, don’t you think…?”