The Adventures of Fiona McCormack
A Story by Jenny O’Brien
The next morning, Sister Teresa went to the sick room at eight o’clock, to wake the girls up. She needn’t have bothered. They were all wide-awake. “Did you sleep well?” she enquired. None of the girls had slept very well, which didn’t come as much of a surprise to her. The Mother Superior had left strict instructions, that none of the girls were to leave the sick room before nine o’clock, when they were to walk the few yards, across the hall to her office. She felt that the impact of the girl’s punishment on the rest of the school would be all the greater if they hadn’t been forewarned! Only the four guilty schoolgirls, Sister Teresa and herself, knew about the impending drama and she intended to keep it that way, at least for the time being.
“Would you like me to get you any breakfast?” Sister Teresa asked. The girls all shook their heads. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked kindly. “Can you get us some clean uniforms?” asked Fiona, “We are a bit worried about the uniform inspection”. “I’ll go and get them,” said Sister Teresa, “and you four better have a quick shower. When I get back, I’ll help you get ready. I promise that by the time I’ve finished, not even the Reverend Mother will be able to find fault with you!” That seemed to cheer the girls up a bit. They had been a bit concerned about the inspection and it was nice to know that Sister Teresa was still on their side. As the four schoolgirls stripped and ran off to the bathroom, Sister Teresa called after them, “make sure that you all use the toilet. You won’t get another chance for quite a while!”
When she returned, laden down with the uniforms, the girls were drying themselves. Sister Teresa handed each of the girls their navy blue knickers and white knee socks and laid out the rest of the uniform on one of the beds. “I’ll be two seconds”, she said, before rushing out of the door, returning a few moments later with an iron, an ironing board and a shoe polishing kit. Handing the kit to the girls, she said, “You polish and I’ll iron”. The four girls immediately got to work on their shoes as Sister Teresa carefully started to iron the white school blouses. She was obviously quite an expert, liberally spraying starch from a can as she worked. By the time that she had finished the blouses, the four were already wearing their well-polished shoes, as well as their socks and knickers. Sister Teresa handed them the blouses and helped them with the buttons on the collars and cuffs. “Ow! It’s all tight and scratchy!” complained Pippa, as she tugged at the heavily starched collar. “Trust Me,” replied Sister Teresa, “It looks much better than it feels!” as she proceeded to tightly knot each of the girl’s ties. Then she turned her attention to ironing the girl’s gymslips, helping each girl into them and buttoning them up, as she finished each one. “Don’t sit down”, she warned, “or you will crease up the skirts”. Sister Teresa then brushed each girl’s hair and neatly plaited Fiona’s, Rebecca’s and Hannah’s into pigtails, tying each with a bow, with ribbon that matched the ties. Pippa’s short bob needed less attention. Finally, she topped each schoolgirl off, with a hated straw boater, carefully adjusting the angle of each and tying the tapes, with a bow under the chin.
Sister Teresa sat back on a bed to admire her work. “How do we look?” asked Hannah. “You look like a credit to the school,” said Sister Teresa truthfully. “I wish I had a camera with me. No one would believe this. You look like you have just walked out of the school outfitters catalogue!” It really was hard to believe, looking at these four prim and innocent looking schoolgirls, that they were just about to be severely punished for the most wicked act that anyone at Saint Mary’s could remember. Sister Teresa looked at her watch. “Ten minutes to nine”, she announced, “not long to wait now!”
She immediately wished that she hadn’t said it, but it was too late. The four girls instantly became more agitated, as they became aware of the fast approaching deadline. “Please Sister, I’m scared”, said Rebecca, as she fought back the tears, “It won’t hurt very much, will it?” Sister Teresa struggled to find something comforting to say. She knew that the punishment was going to hurt the girls a lot and probably for a long time afterwards. It didn’t seem fair to raise Rebecca’s hopes, only for them to be dashed, a few minutes later. “I’m afraid that it will hurt, Rebecca”, she said honestly, “What you girls did was very bad, so it’s only right that it hurts. But in my experience, if you’re brave and you accept it as what you deserve, the pain doesn’t seem quite so bad. Within a week or so, the bruises will disappear and you will be as good as new and I promise you, it won’t seem so bad when you look back at it”. She glanced at her watch again, which still showed over five minutes to go. Rather than letting the girls continue to dwell on their approaching fate, she decided that it would be better to go now. “Follow me girls”, she said, as she led them out of the sick room and across the hall to the office. After lining them up, outside the door, she made a few last minute adjustments, straightening ties, making sure that socks were pulled up and level and removing the odd loose hair from the girl’s gymslips. Finally satisfied, she knocked on the office door.
As the girls trooped in, their paths were blocked by a long gymnasium bench, lying across the office, about ten feet in front of the desk. “Up on the bench, girls”, ordered the Reverend Mother, who was seated behind the desk, checking her watch. “You’re early”, she said flatly, giving no clue to whether this was acceptable, as the four girls stepped up onto the bench. “Now, hands on heads! And I want them to stay there until I tell you otherwise. Is that clear?” The girls all murmured agreement and quickly raised their hands, clasping them at the back of their heads, below their straw boaters. The Mother Superior then got up out of her chair and walked around the desk. “Now let me take a look at you. Shall we see if you are at least capable of following instructions?” With that, she started her inspection. She was certainly thorough, passing in front and behind the girls, dabbing imaginary marks on their shoes with her handkerchief, measuring the heights of hemlines and socks, and lifting up skirts to inspect their knickers. Fiona shuddered, as she felt the nuns bony and calloused fingers, tug at the knicker elastic between her legs, letting it snap painfully back when she was satisfied. Eventually, she returned to her seat. “Not bad”, she said, “Not bad at all. Now that you have shown yourselves capable of dressing correctly, I expect to see this standard maintained!” “Now”, said the Mother Superior, “to the main business of the morning. I want you to listen very carefully to my instructions, as I have no intention of repeating them.”
“I intend to call each girl in alphabetical order. When your name is called, you will approach the desk, lean over it and grip the other side. If any of you wish, you may ask Sister Teresa to assist you by holding onto your wrists, it is your choice. I will then pin up your skirt and administer six strokes of the ruler, which you will count after each stroke. I don’t expect you to say “Reverend Mother” after each stroke, but I do expect you to count. Any failure to do so will result in the stroke being repeated. Crying out or sobbing is acceptable, but excessive screaming or cursing will be punished with further strokes. I expect you to behave like young ladies during your punishment, not like undisciplined brats! When that part of your punishment is over, you will return to your positions on the bench, with your hands on your head. Rubbing is strictly forbidden and any attempt to do so will result in the entire six strokes being repeated. When all four of you have received six strokes, we shall repeat the process, only this time, when you reach the desk, you will take down your knickers to a point, just above your knees. You will not pull up your knickers, when your punishment is completed, but will return to your position as you are. After the all punishments are completed, Sister Teresa will take you into the hall, where chairs have been placed in the corners. You will stand on the chairs, facing the wall, with your hands on your heads and your punished bottoms exposed. You will stay in that position until I instruct you otherwise. I do not intend to waste my breath; lecturing you, either before or afterwards, you all know why you are here! Is that clear? Do you have any questions?”
Fiona’s head was spinning. This was far more formal and officious than she had expected. She had one burning question, but somehow she couldn’t summon up the courage to ask it. Was the alphabetical order based on first names, in which case she would be first, or on surnames, which would make her last in line? She really had no idea which would be better, but not knowing was a torture in itself. Meanwhile Rebecca, who had again started sobbing gently, was having similar thoughts. She too, could be first or last, but she had no idea which it was to be! The Mother Superior took up position to the left of the desk and laid the yardstick down next to her. “Cartwright”, she announced solemnly, “you shall be first!”