The School Nurse and a Lulu Moan (Mostly the Latter)

I had intended to feature some links to a couple of stories I have been sent, some comments and some links to some varied and interesting sites today. I also intended to do some work on an article in which I plan to tell more about my true life experiences that I alluded to in my last posting. As it is I have spent most of this weekend (other than the time spent earning a crust - or trying to) attempting to contact and get some sense out of the people through whom I presently publish my stuff - Lulu.com. You see they have recently redesigned their virtual shopfront / website. All well and good, you might say - surely an improvement? Well, yes and no - mostly no from my, admittedly selfish point of view. The site / shopfront now has a slicker appearance, but now it is not at all obvious that the books are also available as electronic downloads in addition to print copies.

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Now for one reason or another, the folk who read our sort of material would often prefer not to receive hard copy through the post (and I am one) - it can go astray, or worse, fall into the wrong hands, perhaps coming under the disapproving scrutiny of one's spouse or significant other.

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Secondly there is the vexed question of price: Due to Lulu's print costs, my books have go at £8.95 for a print copy if I am to earn anything from it at all. To be honest with you, it's actually more to do with my still making a little something when sold through Amazon et al - who take their own cut on top! Lulu.com charges posting and packing on top of that and there can be a delay in receiving the book, as it has to be printed and worm its way through a postal system that, in the UK at least, is becoming increasingly uncertain! The electronic download price, on the other hand, is a mere £3.75 - and few seem to begrudge that. Add to that the fact that the purchase then becomes available practically instantly - and I for one appreciate a little instant gratification - and you can imagine the proportion of my readers that prefer this route. The trouble now is that, to any new would-be reader, the fact that an electronic download is available is all but hidden (a bit of very small text, hidden away to one side of the top of the page) and the download price is not mentioned at all unless one clicks on the appropriate (and minuscule) link. Consequently my sales figures have all but fallen to zero, but for an occasional print copy and one or two sold through online book stores. Volume 2 is not even available in that manner at present as I am holding back with appropriating for it an ISBN registration until such a time as I am sure and certain that it is in its final form - I have been messing about, inserting various keywords and combinations of keywords into section headings in an attempt to make it more visible to search engines.

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In addition to all this, other than two, the vast majority of the kind and positive reviews that had been posted on Lulu.com for INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 (click to see what I mean)have disappeared - including some of the best and most erudite. Comments such as "...destined to become a classic of its genre" - which, as I am sure you can imagine, I treasured greatly -have just vanished forever!!!

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So what does all this imply? Well, I am presently searching around for other avenues through which to publish my scribblings, while trudging on with the shortly upcoming 'in-betweeny volume - prequel / sequel' thing (still needs a title) and also one or two parts for volume 3, as and when the ideas come - but as you might well imagine, my enthusiasm is becoming somewhat blunted. Meanwhile, in order to develop at least a little income between the extremely sparse desk research briefs I receive (I'm mostly unemployed) I am considering signing up to two more commercial affiliate schemes - bringing the total to three (and there it will stay - enough, already!). These I will want to be satisfied to be eminently suited to my readership and the subject matter presented on this site and - even more importantly - to offer good value and not be a rip-off. So... a little ad hoc survey:

If you have visited and purchased a subscription to the site I am presently affiliated to - Regulation School Knickers - from which the above images were taken (see sidebar banner or the banner at the foot of the page) - what did you think of their product? Any comments? Either post here as a comment or alternativly you are welcome to contact me direct at the following email adress (anonymously if you so require) toyntanen@googlemail.com .

Some Uniform Musings

Obviously I have carried out a fair amount of research for my books over the years (well I hope it's obvious!). Quite a lot I knew already, having studied a little psychology in my time but the descriptions of the uniforms you will have encountered if you have read my stuff - not the school uniforms, those ideas developed through the pages of Janus et al - came together through the serendipitous combination of some research I carried out in the mid 1990s for my present partner - a fashion journalist - who was putting together a book on women's workwear at the time (I kid you not! … it didn’t get finished though) and the ideas of my ex-wife as regards a young lady we had staying with us for a time, way back in the 1980s (of which more another time but suffice it to say that it involved at one point a friend of my wife's, who had worked for Marks & Spencer's years before, bringing round one of her old uniform dresses for the girl to work in around the house – see pic but imagine the addition of a plastic belt and it being worn over a corsellete and full slip by a generously-breasted slightly over-plump late-teen).

It has really been the advent of my blog, though, that has been the stimulus for my expanding my research - and what a goldmine there is out there these days. And it is a seam that I have added to myself in some small way, by, for example, scanning and making available through various sources - including some I have posted here in my PicasWeb albums (see sidebar) - the historic workwear and uniform catalogues, drawings and photographs that were generously sent me by various manufacturers, companies and shops, many of whom are now sadly defunct.

On a slightly different tack, like many of you (as I understand it, from the feedback I get) I find ideas about reluctant exposure somewhat exciting - and always have, harking back to the Janus days. And on the right girl, perhaps one coming from a sheltered and pampered background, the mini kilt, socks, perhaps form fitting white blouse worn over a quarter cup platform bra - that sort of thing - I could see working quite well. But where the problem lies, to my mind, is embodied in those comments one reads about the “young madams of today”. That is where that whole approach falls down, in my eyes at least.

Yes, there was a time when it was a thrill to read that a girl might have her hem shortened as a punishment, to read that she has “the shortest skirt in the school”, that sort of thing. But as time has worn on that approach to a lesser and lesser extent seems to hold water. And as my imagination has been expanding, straining to incorporate more and more disparate ideas that I have picked up over time, even that school girl aspect in itself has become somewhat stifling and something of a straitjacket, unless it should be some private little school vouchsafed and hidden from prying eyes behind high walls.

The everyday world of a contemporary girl, some busty late teenage six-former, attending a conventional school, travelling by public transport and surrounded by her peers, is far too limiting a stage. It is a world that I think one needs to start by removing her from in the first instance. Whether she be removed to some purpose-constructed institution or whether she be isolated in some manner within the home, perhaps restricted to a very limited circle of acquaintances, it is the isolation in itself - and the freedom from interference which that ensures - that gives full rein to the disciplinarian’s imagination.

As for the young lady’s uniform; as I think I said before, my inclination is to head in the opposite direction to most writers, to go back in time, dredging up the spirit-stifling styles of yesteryear - albeit with a little embellishment and imagination – and apply them to the young miss of today (or the fairly recent past). For example I can well imagine how certain types of restrictive foundation wear could be incorporated beneath a more conventional - for its period - school uniform. The idea of the carefully-tailored, form-fitting blouse enhanced by a severely reduced waist and unnaturally elevated bustline thrusting out into the front of the open-sided bib-like bodice of a pleated-skirted gymslip - that in all other respects is an embodiment of modesty and youthful innocence – is an exciting one indeed. In a nutshell I guess the idea could be distilled as: a ridiculously childish, modest (in its way) and highly restrictive mode of dress juxtaposed with an exaggerated maturity of figure.

Actually what led me to board this train of though today was coming across this delightful little gymslip, above right. Okay so bottle-green may not be that unusual in the greater scheme of things, but is so refreshing to see something outside of the usual navy blue and demonstrating that for the young lady undergoing scholarly discipline at home or detained in some small, discreet and secure private establishment, our pallet need not be so restricted – as I have said before. Click here to read. I couldn't resist seeing how it would look on the older teenager, perhaps worn over a bottle-green and white candy striped blouse and with a suitable school tie. Okay I'll agree that it's not that well executed (I'm still on a learning curve with this photo-shop thingy - and it's been done in a hurry, I'm a little short of time today) and the 'blouse' is actually the top half of a school summer dress, but you can get the idea - see on left. I would imagine the blouse to have long sleeves terminating in stiff buttoned cuffs - while retaining the puffed shoulders of that dress of course - and while the Peter Pan collar is suitably juvenile, I can equally well imagine that a stiff high-buttoning collar might be thought to have the greater disciplinary aspect.

This is an area that to my mind has always been sadly neglected in the literature. Dress discipline, to many writers of the spanking / discipline genre, usually comes down to blatant, exhibitionist exposure, featuring over-short skirts and the like, or of course the obligatory school uniform. But the exposure thing has become somewhat blunted in light of the permissive atmosphere of today's world. School uniforms, although making something of a comeback in recent years in schools are not particularly restrictive nor detailed or strict enough in their modern incarnation - and in any case unless the young Lady in question possesses a particularly overtly mature figure or in some other way is clearly not of an age commensurate with attending school or wearing a school uniform then I think that the element of humiliation has been largely lost.

It is not the concept of school uniform per se that is at fault here but rather the fault lies in its implementation. If the girl is now more suited for university or the workplace - i.e. she is no longer need be kept on at school for legal reasons - but it is nevertheless desired that her education should continue at home, or at least that standards of academic discipline should be maintained, then, although in theory a school-type uniform would be suitably apt, there is no need to bow to the liberal and permissive standards of the day. Freed of the restrictions of any particular institution, there is no longer need to visit the local school outfitters or local department store.

Not that I would condone a visit to any of the purveyors of so-called 'adult' school uniforms that one now comes across on the 'Web' either. This is where the writing of the contributor known as ‘Judith's aunt’ comes across as so interesting - there seems little of commercial origin in her Judith's wardrobe and the overall image she must present (one that sadly we can only imagine) owes much to the lifting of that limitation. For the latest comments as regards that particular young lady click here to read.

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There are plenty of dress and sewing patterns available from those bygone days, when standards were not so lackadaisical - see left - that may serve as a good template. Obviously styled for the young, with the services of a good dressmaker or seamstress (and everybody is looking for work these days) scaling up to adult sizing is a simple matter. The style on the right of the pair would make a particularly good starting point for a uniform for a young lady in her late teens or even early twenties and with a little imagination lavished on detail and embellishment a nice bespoke and well tailored little ensemble could soon be put together - one that would deter even the most rebellious teenager from wandering far outside of the confines of the home.

And that is something that I would recommend to Judith's aunt, the employment of a professional seamstress. That point about imagination, though, is crucial to the final outcome in my mind. For instance, once freed of the above-mentioned restrictions then why stick to the usual conventions at all. For example, does one have to restrict oneself to the usual pallet of navy-blue, bottle-green, slate-grey, maroon and the rest. An interesting result can be concocted by switching to soft pastels, powder pink and baby blues, but retaining the all-important school uniform styling in all other respects. Or perhaps, in place of a cardigan or blazer why not a cape - here I envisage something not unlike the district nurse’s cape of old - gabardine, fastening at the neck and open at the front and perhaps of waist length for indoor wear but always keeping ready a knee-length sibling for wear out of doors. Perhaps this latter variant, if buttoning down the front, might allow her to cover that hated uniform when outside - a privilege that must be earned and maintained by her total submission and obedience throughout the sojourn - but itself having features that make clear that it is indeed a part of a uniform of some sort. Perhaps it might sport a duplicate of the school badge that graces the gymslip she wears beneath and be edged with a ribbon trim that matches the striped ribbon bows she wears in her pigtailed hair. And on her head; at home the traditional straw boater or a bonnet in the school uniform colour, depending on taste, but outside and once dressed in her cape then perhaps a nice little pillbox hat of a colour to match the cape would be more suitable.

Then to go with that rigid discipline of dress we must have a similarly rigid discipline of behaviour. Perhaps marching drill as has been suggested by others, perhaps many hours spent nose pressed to the wall in the corner with hands-on head or sitting at a cramped desk writing lines and learning mindless childish nursery rhymes. Of course PE (physical education) sessions are a must; for which you cannot beat the traditional school leotard - it doesn't have to be black, it would be equally suitable in the overall school colour chosen for the rest of her uniform, perhaps bottle green or royal blue – or why not a pastel shade, if one has chosen to go in that direction, and why not augmented with a suitably embarrassing little tutu, come to that?

The cut and styling is another matter and here, using the traditional school leotard as a template, one can let one's imagination fly. For example, in one of his novels, Madame Vorge's Finishing School I think it was, Victor Bruno outlines an enticing sounding style; high-sided at the hips and narrowing down to little more than a fingers width or so at the rear seam, the latter pulled in tight so as to leave the buttocks free to bounce and be available for the urging of the instructor’s malacca cane or leather strap as required. Can you imagine the effect of a largish spherical wooden or plastic bead threaded on that cord-like back-seam so as to be position over her anus, as she bends and jumps in obedience to the instructor's whistle or barked command.

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But even if one opts for full coverage of the buttocks the fitting can be so arranged as to make that coverage embarrassingly close, both at the front and the rear, and of course the back of the thighs are still available for the attention of the cane crop or pony whip or whatever. Then we can begin to play with ideas as regards the fabric, and all sorts of possibilities take flight, such as the incorporation of a gusset panel formed from a soft, semi-transparent polythene in an otherwise unremarkable and traditional, if rather snugly fitting, black nylon or Lycra (by far the more preferable fabric) school leotard. From a personal choice I would prefer to retain a traditional look as far as the outside of the garment is concerned but that still leaves open the possibility of having the garment lined with some other material or fabric - the possibilities for the young lady’s torment are endless. Actually the cover of Janus 93 – featured elsewhere on this site - had a nice little ensemble pictured – click here to view.

Then to control her I would like to see employed someone of the stamp of the traditional Victorian governess but very much a woman of today, a domineering figure, perhaps possessing a knowledge of manipulative psychological skills and able to bring the young lady to tears with a few well chosen words and to heel with the kiss of leather across bared buttocks. Such a woman I definitely see as being always in uniform herself and of a design intended to bolster her authority in the eyes of her charge. Here I would suggest something based on the navy blue matron’s uniforms of the 1960s, tightly belted waist with an ornate silver clasp and a strap or tawse hanging from a belt clip at her side. “Discipline depends upon the authority to compel and to restrain. This authority may, at times, have to be enforced by corrective measures, but the surest way to command total compliance is to maintain a constant discipline that allows for no exceptions or excuses and that varies only to reward exceptionally good behaviour or to punish disobedience”. I'm not sure where that came from but it's apt nevertheless as is the observation that "even a plain-faced nurse in uniform has an advantage over a handsome unprofessional woman". How true!

As for all that attention to tailoring and styling and the retention of a professional seamstress - it's yet another move away from the conventional. The bib fronted gymslip I think is a must, even if it is realised in a soft powder blue or pastel pink but there is no need to stick with the traditional look of the box pleated or knife pleated skirt for example. There was a certain argument for the skirt being properly tailored in the way that a sophisticated adult's skirt might be, panelled and closely fitted around the hips and bottom and perhaps falling to an inch or so above the knees in the outdoor version. Similarly the bodice should be open-sided and well fitted, darted were necessary to accommodate the breasts. The idea is to present her feminine curves as evidence that she cannot flinch from; that she should be like her peers, that she sees in an out of the boutiques and fashion emporium, that she should be as free-spirited as they are, have boyfriends, go on to university, but instead she is controlled, docile, walking hand-in-hand with her mistress, head bowed and cheeks burning – the finished and perfected outcome of untold hours of repeated impositions, drills, the cane and the strap.

Hi, I'm Back from the IOW

So!...'Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends '... or so the great wise Emerson, Lake and Palmer once sung...'we're so glad you could attend, step inside, step inside' (or something like that – I'm working from memory here). As you may by now have realised; I am back trudging the rain-soggy sludge-gray streets and alleys of 'The Smoke (London), gone are the thatched roofs, chalk white and rainbow sanded cliffs and verdant downland of the Isle of Wight – of which more next time. As I write this I am sitting in a North London pub called 'The Occasional Half' in turn located in an area known locally as 'Greek City' due largely to Greek being by far the predominant tongue and as widely spoken as on Crete – the gorgeous Aegean Isle I was fortunate enough to have visited earlier in the year. I am knocking back a pint of Hobgoblin by Wychwood Brewery as I type, incidentally, in case you were wondering.

The latter sojourn got me to wondering as to the number of islands and islets that go to make up the British Isles and the natural isolation sometimes afforded, especially when one considers those scattered situated around the north and north-west of Scotland. I know the premise might be somewhat hard-worn and stereotyped but it is hard not to see the possibilities inherent in a privately-owned (which could equally infer ownership by the church, a charity or other institution), discrete and isolated island tucked away up there somewhere. I guess it's that Celtic / Catholic tradition and atmosphere such imagery seems to conjure but I for one can't help my thoughts turning to high-walled priories, nunneries, asylums and privately-funded and discrete reform schools - the latter, while an anachronism otherwise firmly routed in Victorian history elsewhere, somehow still extant here.

In my mind's eye I can see a gray-stone edifice, its sturdy walls semi-camouflaged against the rugged wind-carved bedrock, unstable, unassailable cliffs and sentinel mountains and escarpments of an island only reachable in the most clement of weathers. A charitable church-run retreat, perhaps, set up in a much earlier, less enlightened era to house young ladies deemed worthy of saving yet equally deemed in danger of drifting into 'moral peril'. Think 'runaways' perhaps fleeing a tumultuous home-life or an uncaring or even abusive background or perhaps some simply 'headstrong' yet privileged and seeking the excitement, glamor and bright-lights of the big city yet finding only grief and despair having been robbed of all she carried within the first week – once the apple of her father's eye, now cast adrift and obliged to sleep rough in shop doorways.

Maybe our heroine has set out to pave her own way in the way in the world only to fall foul of the economic vagaries of the time (all too plausible, there's a silver lining to every cloud – even in the present banking storm, perhaps more so!). Rendered jobless, her rent in arrears and her deposit she has paid on the modest single-roomed apartment therefore forfeit - and along with it the large majority of her savings – still she is to proud, or too stubborn to ask for help from 'Daddy'.

Yet, is she not one of the lucky ones? In one of the harshest winters in living memory her only surfeit to date has been but a single solitary night spent curled on cardboard in a Park Lane pedestrian subway. Tonight is different, things have taken a turn for the worse, not even that, the most basic of shelter, is available to her. Then trudging through the snow comes salvation in heavy woolen overcoats and sensible thick-soled boots. The Sisters of Mercy proffer hot soup, words of redemption, compassion and spiritual comfort – but, perhaps more importantly, they carry news, they make tell of an offer of warmth, sustenance and shelter for the physical self.

A few weeks of respite from this frigid hell and a promise of hospitality and all merely in return for a little work in and around the convent – no less than a bona fide miracle, surely? But then, in the icy stark light of day, the question hanging around her lips is just why her own clothing should have been deemed so unsuitable? Another, had she have given herself pause to reflect, should have been why her personal belongings, as meager as they be, had to be left behind, to be stored 'elsewhere' - and why there should have been such an urgency to their actions that no delay could be brooked to allow for her to pass on news of her passage to others of her acquaintance.

Later, given the likely brevity of her stay, the disproportionate effort expended in measuring her up and fitting her for the uniform they now insist she wear seems nonsensical to her, but finding herself at a disadvantage psychologically she can do little. Several full days taken up with fitting and re-fitting, alterations and re-sewing; seams are taken in, others are let out, pins are inserted and removed, hems are tacked, measured and then – with a nod of approval – stitched. Overly-careful attention is paid to pin-tucking, pleating of skirts and darting of bodices – and for why? A few weeks stay? Why should she be required to wear a uniform in the first place? And even if there were certain issues beyond her ken, perhaps of practicality, perhaps of tradition, why should such attention, not to mention expense, be lavished when surely something suitably analogous must be available commercially 'off-the-peg'. That concern of expense is not a trivial one, considering she has been told at her 'induction' that she will be expected to undertake sufficient work so as to recoup that cost even, before she might begin to make any inroad into her accommodation bills and any other outstanding debts the convent may have had to underwrite on her behalf.

But our wayward young lady is soon learn of other conditions; despite her plans, she won't be discharged from the care of the church authorities until such a time as she has repaid that dept in full, they intend to have their 'pound of flesh' – and therein lies the catch of course.

Then comes the workroom; standards are kept high in the workroom. This is a basic dressmaking 'sweatshop', yet not one situated in some downtrodden third-world state but rather one closer to home- and one legitimised by faith, ideology and well-entrenched institutionalised tradition to boot. Quality control is everything - it is what gives them the edge, commercially - much work is rejected, often more so than is accepted. And all that ruined work must be paid for, in one way or another – monetary fines are levied. Within six weeks she has come to owe more than twelve weeks in what she can earn through work, by way of debts, expenses and rejected work. But there is an alternative on offer for repeatedly rejected work – a few strokes of the work-room mistress's brine-soaked Malacca cane across naked drum-tight peach-skinned buttocks.

Then comes the transfer to that place - sited on an isolated isle off the rugged northern Scottish coastline, it is an establishment far more secure and one far more suited for one undergoing longer-term care; an interment, the once-flighty young thing comes to realise, likely to be measured in years rather than days, weeks and months.

Here, though she doesn't not know yet it, she will be joining a group of girls some of whom have already been in residence for some five years or so. Here, though she doesn't know it, she is to be worked to breaking point and beyond - urged ever onwards by the ever-present threat of cane -cut buttocks and the tanning of the traditional two-tongued leather Scottish tawes, martinet and strap. In the day dressed in the industrial working uniform of the place, the evening finds her dressed head to foot and from the skin outwards in the institution's childish school uniform, as befits the schoolroom educational environment that is pressed into use for the continuing and ongoing indoctrination of the inmates.

News, Excuses Some Links and More News

Hi folks! First a bit of news, then the excuses come flowing - then a little more news. First of all, I have just rearranged the blog list (in the sidebar on the right) so as to appear in alphabetical order. In so doing I have dropped the definite article (‘The’) from all but one blog title so as to make the list easier to search through if you looking for a particular title. I've also changed the settings so as to show a thumbnail of the blog content for each - I think it makes the page more interesting to view but what do you think?

In addition I've added several new links to blogs, of which the first leads straight to The Spanking Universe - and thence to who knows where. A new venture from Richard Windsor - who, I'm confident, is well known to all true spanking aficionados - this takes the form of a sort of hub, its tendril-like spokes radiating out and bringing together a plethora of blogs from the spanking / discipline community at large. As always just click on the title to visit or peruse the blog list in the right-hand sidebar - it is a great place to then explore further afield from, which was one of the aims I had in mind when I started this blog, thus the resource list etc. While I was at it I took the opportunity to add a link to his main site - The House of Richard Windsor - this I have listed under ‘Richard Windsor’ along with his other sites in the blog list. I'm not sure how I'd managed to omit this one for so long; but it is a fault that has now been rectified! Again just click on the title or the photo at the top left - which unashamedly I have to admit I nicked from his site, but I just loved it too much to keep my dirty little paws off it, although I will of course remove it should he object (still stays in my private collection though!).

Another couple you might like to try are School Discipline Stories and the blog of Stefanie von Platen-Wilhelms (as usual, just click on name or check out blog listing or on the pic at right - that I pinched from her site).

So once again it's been a good few days since my last update, but this time a least I have good excuse and it’s not just been up to my squandering my time down the pub. Not that pub time is necessarily squandered time - besides the writing I sometimes get done, there are the memories (at least sometimes there are memories - sometimes it's all just blank!). Someone left a comment a while ago regarding a certain chain of pubs and their local branch in Nottingham. And I left a comment in return about my time at Nottingham university at the Sutton Bonnington campus (where I studied food science and nutrition, but that's another story) and a happy memories I have of the time I spent in the early to mid-1990s hanging out in what was then a heavy-metal pub (or at least the upstairs part was) called ‘The Salutation’ - sited on Maid Marian Way, Nottingham, for those that know, although last time I visited it had been totally destroyed and turned into a characterless old-age pensioner Sunday roast retreat!

Anyway, I digress: I have been commissioned to carry out some desk research for a project involving futurology and trends in fashion and marketing. I have to earn a crust so many activities have had to be shoved onto the back burner for the time being, including my writing and answering e-mails, at least those requiring a detailed reply - I have a massive backlog built up and my apologies go out to all those I've yet to write to. However, I expect to have enough time this afternoon and early evening to complete the first part of this project and should I run over (unlikely as I have only a small amount left to complete for the time being) I have the first half of tomorrow that I can utilise if need be. So I've decided to award myself a half-day break and spend a few hours updating the blog and tackling as many spanking / discipline orientated outstanding e-mails replies as possible. I don't expect the second part of my professional brief - and the feedback from the first part - to arrive much before the end of next week so I'm off to the Isle of Wight for a week where I shall be staying in a caravan somewhere near Cowes and touring around, hopefully by bicycle weather permitting. I shall be taking the portable ‘net-book’ computer, of which I have spoken I previously, so I expect to get a fair bit of writing done in the evenings, and during the day I will be out photographing the sights. Assuming I can find WiFi Internet access I plan to update the blog on the go from time to time. I also hope to add another blog update later today at some point, as I doubt I will have time tomorrow and I definitely will not have time Saturday, when I shall be travelling, but for the rest of this morning I am going to have to prioritise getting through that huge logjam of e-mails - it is the polite thing to do; I don't like the idea that people writing in should feel ignored. Believe me, I appreciate every idea, criticism and comment - and it is no real chore, quite the opposite; I have glanced at the good few and there is some exciting and stimulating reading to be had. And of course there is no little frisson to be had in composing the replies and exercising the old diabolical imagination! But then it's knuckling down and back to earn a living for a few more hours. Incidentally, a couple of days back I added a second display to my desktop computer here at home, so I now have a couple of nice big screens side-by-side to spread my work across and it has completely revolutionised how I do things - I don't know why I didn't do this sooner!

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And the trussed-up bit of arty gorgeousness, above left? Just a bit of gratuitous bondage and just because I liked it - someone sent it to me ages back and I was waiting for an excuse to share it with you. But I feel a bit jaded, so what the hell!

Referring to Written Impositions, a Link

Anonymous has left a new comment on the post "Keeping Grown Women in School Uniform..." (see last entry) but as much as anything referring to the delicious subject of written impositions (see for example the entry I posted on this subject back in September - Click HERE to read). He writes: "I hope in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3 we will see the women kept terribly busy on mind-numbing tedious tasks such as copying out the entire Bible in their finest handwriting, or spending time doing lines and dictionary copying. The corner is god for a woman but she also needs to write for many hours a day. "

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Well, I can assure 'anonymous' that I have very many such tasks and impositions lined up for them. I have already said that I believe that in the context of the sort of institutionalised environment outlined in volumes 1 and 2 that such tasks as copying out a meaningful text such as the Bible would be deemed to embody too great an element of genuine educational value - ie they could well find interest and distraction in such a task. In such an environment some sort of dictation - to be taken down in their finest copperplate hand and the content of which they are obliged to learn verbatim despite it being nonsensical - is the order of the day. Although the term 'learning' is used here, the institution will of course have gone out of its way to ensure that there is no avenue through which anything might be gained of genuine educational benefit to the young ladies, or that might provide any relief from the tedium of the unit's strict disciplinary regime. It is for that reason that I endorse in the new book (the one that will fit between volumes two and three) the idea of their learning sets of deliberately incorrect and fabricated multiplication tables - they must concentrate fully on their task if they are to escape corporal punishment, thus they are denied the escape of daydream or fantasy in freeing them from the psychological impoverished environment of the 'schoolroom', yet benefit not one iota from the task. In the domestic setting to be outlined in volume 3, however, there is much scope for copying out suitably complex yet tedious texts, as suggested.

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All this has just reminded me; if such as above is your bag then you really must visit the 'Winterbrook Hall blog, that I have mentioned previously. There is the most fabulous piece of writing there - easily the best example of the use of written impositions, corporal punishment and schoolroom discipline I think I have ever read to date. Click HERE to visit / read. By the way; the image above right I have just been anonymously sent via email - origin unknown but it looks like another one of Thorn's to me, judging by the style.

Keeping Grown Women in School Uniform and the Search for a Suitable Governess Role Model

Those wonderful people at Aristasia - the folk behind that fine female disciplinary manual that I featured a while back - have made their television Documentary film, A Weekend at Miss Martindale's, available on Utube. Part 2 is particularly appropriate if good old fashioned classroom discipline is your thing - and I've kindly provided a link (just clic on the pic to the right-hand side above. Seeing an obviously quite mature woman treated as a naughty school child and meekly accepting it as if a matter of course got me to thinking yet again as to how appearances can influence behaviour, both directly and also indirectly - by affecting the way the individual is viewed and treated by others. For example 18-year-old Jessica here (right) is very much kept in school uniform by her guardian, full-time, seven days a week, 365 days a year. In many areas of the world she would be old enough to vote or even marry; but as seen here, in her school summer dress, or if you were to come across her in the winter months in her gymslip, starched white blouse, striped tie and blazer and with her hair tied up in pigtails, ask yourself this - would you be prepared to hand her any sort of responsibility? Would you treat her, as I'm sure she would prefer, as an adult or would you more likely be incline to have her stand in the corner with her hands on her head or sit her at a school desk and have her lovingly copy from the pages of some long-winded and tediously mind-numbing tome. Similarly, it would seem the most natural thing in the world to lecture this group on the left, but I know for a fact (because it's a scene from a new movie) that the young lady closest to us is 22 years of age. I recall once reading a magazine interview with one of the actresses that had played a schoolgirl in the film The prime of Miss Jean Brodie in which she told of how the various members of the movie company on the set and the canteen staff etc began to treat them differently when they were in the school uniforms they were required to wear and how they themselves had gradually subconsciously begun to fall into role as a result.

A similar argument can be put forward regarding the other side of the d/s relationship coin of course. A professional bearing and stern no-nonsense attitude is one thing and all well and good, but couple this with an appropriately authoritative manner of dress and a whole new dimension is opened up. This is one of the areas I've been researching on the Internet of late with regard to the events I have planned for INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3, when I eventually get round to writing it. My two young heroines, in the company of two other young women of similar age, are going to be under the care of a governess and a children's nurse or nanny for several months over the summer and although I have pretty much decided on the whole Victorian thing I've yet to decide exactly how these two women should appear. I've been hunting around for suitable images to use as a sort of role model so to speak. I came across this Gene Bilbrew drawing (right) which is one possible source of inspiration even if not in a Victorian mode.

But then again perhaps a governess should wear a uniform of some sort and certainly the nursery nurse must. Within the walls of a secure institution nothing could be more appropriate than a suitably authoritative and professional looking medical uniform (left) - perhaps that of the traditional ward sister or hospital matron; either would seem to endow the situation with a certain degree of legitimacy. One cannot overestimate the psychological effect and the impact produced. Can you imagine our Jessica, above, standing up to either of these two women?

.....

One can almost hear the words forming on their lips: “If you dare to disobey, expect punishment. From this moment on you are never to speak to me, unless I ask a question. Now, come hither young lady - drape yourself across my lap this instant, skirt up and knickers down! "

Me, Myself and I

Hi folks! Still on a learning curve with this but here I am in my natural working environment - outside the Tollgate pub (Wetherspoons) Turnpike Lane, North London. Bloody well couldn't connect via the pub's WI - FI network though. It turns out that it will only work with MS Explorer. Well, I am running Linux on the portable machine so bollocks to them, that's all I have got to say on the matter. I have been working on the new volume by the way, so I thought you might like a sneak preview of an early version of the foreword to it - intended to get the new reader up to speed as it were. I have to say though that this piece has changed quite drastically since its original conception. It is what I was working on yesterday when i took this pic but then the bloody batteries ran out in the computer before I could upload it via email or transfer it to a data stick and the charger / power supply thingy is at my mother's house so for the time being it is all in limbo. See you later - I'm off down the pub (probably in Enfield or Palmers Green, for you North London-ites).

Foreword to New Volume

St Mary's Hospital School - the motto: through obedience comes learning, through discipline comes obedience. It was humiliating enough that it should be proudly emblazoned on the front of the gymslip, let alone that it should be repeated on the breast pocket of the stiffly starched, high-collared blouse, the little open-fronted waist-length cape that fastened so tightly at the throat and that she wore on occasion over the top - and just about every other item of clothing to boot. As a statement of intent, that fine red and gold threaded embroidery spoke volumes. The crossed crook-handled canes, as a heraldic device, was of particularly questionable value; it practically openly stated to the world that here was a young lady kept subject to the kind of physical chastisement that most would have assumed had long been consigned to the history books. But then again, the uniform, in itself, was a thing of the past; an anachronistic throwback to long-obsolete values and the Victorian mentality of seen-but-not-heard, quite-as-a-mouse submissive femininity. Bad enough, then, that she was way past school age - worse still that the institution in question, was little more than the outcome of the gleam in the eye of a misguided, if not downright twisted, psychologist.
Uncomfortably perched on the narrow bench seat of the cramped Victorian-styled school desk, its plastic tackiness adding to her discomfiture, a furtive glance up and to her right and those dulled eyes would meet with the equally soulless gaze of the window, one of three identical lining the wall. But she daren't - and besides, there was no relief to be had from monotony there, only whitewashed frosted glass cowering behind a guard of similarly whitewashed steel bars. To the front, no more than a couple of meters or so away, hung the reason why she daren't.
A single glimpse of the supple rattan, its heavier bamboo cane sibling and its leather-strap cousin and her eyes fluttered quickly back to her schoolwork; already she was falling behind with the dictation. Tears welling in those pretty deep violet eyes the realisation was finally dawning that there no matter how hard she tried, there always seemed to be some obstruction to her terminating her tenure, some excuse, some reason they could cite to justify extending her residence.
She was learning the hard way that freedom could be as tenuous as a spidery signature scrawled on a crumpled document - and the longer they kept her there the more likely it would be that she would docilely sign on the dotted line