Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon
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they are letting themselves in for? I mean the last school outing was hardly a raging success, was it.”
“Winchester Cathedral lost its right to be taken seriously once it became subject matter for that ghastly pop song,” sniffs Miss Bondage. “Anyway, most of the alms boxes were returned. I accept that it was unfortunate about the candlesticks being melted down but—girls will be girls.”
“That’s not what the magistrate said. He said it was the greatest single act of religious desecration since Henry the Eighth sacked the monasteries.”
“Fiddle faddle! Why do you always have to dwell in the past, Murdstone? Once we get these girls enthused, unchannelled violence will become as outmoded at St Rodence as your reactionary ideas. I can see them now, splicing the belaying pins and shivering their timbers.”
“My timbers are shivering already,” says Miss Murdstone. “You can take the girls on that boat if you like. I’d rather take a spin round the Pacific with a Kamikaze pilot.”
“Have no fear, Murdstone,” scoffs Miss B. “I had no intention of calling upon your fast dwindling reserves of energy. This project needs young blood.” She looks round the room and both Penny and I nearly lock shoulders in the doorway.
“Come back, gels!” booms Miss Bondage. “Your country needs you.”
“I’m frightfully sorry,” says Penny. “But I only have to look at a sailor to start feeling seasick. My mother once had a very distressing experience with an assistant purser on the way back from India. It was a choppy night in the Bay of Biscay and—”
“I’m not interested in that!” snaps Miss Bondage.
“Oh I am!” says Miss Honeycomb—putting down her petit point. “I like a bit of romance. I always think there’s too much violence and suffering in the world.”
“There’s going to be a little more if everybody doesn’t pull themselves together!” snarls Miss Bondage. “With the authority vested in me by Miss Grimshaw, I am telling you, Green and Dixon, that you have been seconded to the St Rodence Wrens!”
Of course, Miss Bondage is getting a bit carried away as usual, and when we depart for Southmouth dock we are still in civilian clothes. The trip is intended to give everyone an idea of life afloat with the tempting prospect of a naval section being set up when we come ashore. Knotty’s predictions about the popularity of the visit are more than borne out but it does not seem to be the martial aspects of the trip that are pulling them in. The girls sitting three to a seat and coquettishly trying to tip the Securicor men’s helmets over their eyes are wearing enough make-up to keep the Folies Bergères going for a year. As for the smell of perfume, it would be enough to kill the pong in a burning tyre factory. These girls are dressed to kill all right but it is our jolly jack tars they are aiming at.
“They’re always at their most dangerous when there are men about,” murmurs Penny. “And you know what sailors are like. This could be the greatest naval disaster since the sinking of the Titanic.” I don’t feel inclined to disagree with her but at least we have Miss Bondage with us. Responsibility for whatever happens will not be totally ours.
“Wave goodbye to Miss Grimshaw, girls,” says Penny loyally as the coach pulls away. Miss Grimshaw has not come down to the quad but is waving to us from the window of her room. It is unfortunate that the bottle of cold tea slips from her fingers and shatters in the courtyard below.
“Gosh! I hope none of the girls can lip read,” says Penny. “Miss Grimshaw must have been in the services, too. The Pioneer Corps, I should imagine.”
“Most of the girls can’t read books let alone lips,” I say. “Judy, leave that man’s truncheon alone, this instant!”
With Miss Bondage and the four armed Securicor men present, order is maintained until we get to the docks and I am almost looking forward to the visit by the time H.M.S. Trueheart hoves in sight. I have always had a soft spot for the Senior Service—and Players Naval Cut for that matter. It must have something to do with the names. Nelson, Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher, Byng—and Frank Sinatra in On The Town. What girl has not responded to those great names of the sea? I remember how I cried when my first starfish began to curl at the edges.
“Look, girls! Sea gulls!” I say, seeking to awake in them the feelings of excitement that twist and turn through my own eager body.
“I think they saw us first,” says Fiona Fladger, indicating Roxane.
“Use your handkerchief! Don’t pick at it!” I tell her. Oh dear, filthy birds!
“Crumbs! He’s a bit of all right.” Hermione Spragg is referring to a clean-cut young man with a couple of gold rings on the sleeve of his naval uniform. He is striding towards us purposefully—poor fool.
“Lieutenant Bland,” he says in a very upper class accent. “At your service, ladies.” He is talking to Penny and myself but we are quickly brushed aside by Miss Bondage.
“I am in command here,” booms Big B. “Kindly address your remarks to me, young man.”
“Captain Truscott is delighted to welcome you aboard, Ma’am. Please follow me.” Lieutenant Bland’s smile does not lose a watt of its intensity. I hear a desiring sigh and there is an ugly rush for the gangway.
“Back girls! Back! Remember who you are. The flower of English womenhood in bud.” Miss Bondage is no slouch when it comes to treating the lash with cold cream.
“Some of the sailors look awfully young, don’t they?” I say to Penny.
“It’s probably the healthy outdoor life,” says Penny, trying to raise her voice above the wolf whistles—some of the sailors are whistling too.
“Funny you should come today,” says Lieutenant Bland, “We’ve got the Bogsdown Sea Cadets here as well.” Bogsdown is the famous boy’s public school on the other side of the downs and I realise that what I thought were sailors with acne are really schoolboys. A faint feeling of alarm begins to creep over me.
“I didn’t know we were actually putting to sea,” says Miss Bondage.
“What!?” Lieutenant Bland looks about him and then rushes to the rail. The ship is quite clearly drifting away from the quay. As we watch, the gangplank drops into the water and sinks in a stream of bubbles.
At the sharp end, a hawser snakes out like a boa constrictor abandoning the ship and follows the gangplank into the water. Roxane and Eliza are staring intently at something on the other side of the harbour.
Everybody starts running all over the place and there is a loud crunch which I later learn is a small fishing smack—the crew escape with superficial injuries. Quite where your superficial is, I never find out. These medical terms are a dead loss outside University Challenge.
“Steady, girls!” shouts Miss Bondage. “No panic! Come out of that lifeboat, Fiona.”
“Spoil sport,” sniffs Fiona as she scrambles out with three boys. “I thought it was supposed to be women and children first?”
“Where are the children?” asks Penny.
“Give me time.” Fiona tosses a shoulder and disappears round a corner with one of the boys.
“That gel will come to a sticky end,” observes Miss Bondage.
“Or vice versa,” murmurs Penny.
“I’d like you to meet Sub-Lieutenant Brown,” says Lieutenant Bland, introducing a small eager-looking man.
“You work on submarines, do you?” I say.
Sub-Lieutenant Brown looks worried. “No. I’m under Lieutenant Bland.”
“Below decks?”
“I’m talking about rank. Lieutenant Bland has two rings, I only have one. Lieutenant Bland is senior to me.”
“Life