Forbidden Lessons Read Free

Economics you could smuggle yourself some more provisions," Charlotte said. Only lower set girls did Home Economics: those that weren’t considered bright enough for Latin, extra Maths and a second modern language.  
    "Perhaps I can bribe one of them to make me flapjacks. A homework swap maybe," Laura said.
    "You can eat apple pie can’t you?" asked Charlotte.
    "The apple, not the gluggy custard and crust," Laura said.
    "Well here, have my apple part at least then," Charlotte offered generously. "You’ll need your strength for Games this afternoon."

    * * *

    It was a beautiful afternoon to be out on the hockey pitch. Clear and a comfortable temperature, it was also nice to escape the classroom. Maths had been absolutely horrendous and they were all sure they were going to fail Physics.
    Laura felt herself sinking back into the timetable, the routine. She couldn’t fight against it, none of them could. School was all consuming and all absorbing. Every hour of their day was arranged and decided for them save some precious, cherished free time on Saturday evenings and Sunday after chapel.  
    Miss Partridge was the head Games mistress though other teachers took part in supervising sports as well. This term she had something different to announce.
    "Those of you who don’t make the squad this year will only play hockey two afternoons a week. The third afternoon will be cross country, in rotation depending on your group."
    There was a groan at this from some girls, and Margery’s face blanched. She hated hockey enough as it was, but the prospect of cross country running overwhelmed her with terror. "I’ll be ok," Laura whispered. "We’ll get through it. We’ll find short cuts."
    "Laura Cardew, no chattering or you’ll get a demerit," ordered Miss Partridge.  
    Laura felt too anxious for Margery to care, but she obeyed. I’ll have to make sure I don’t make the squad, she thought. Absolutely no way could they leave poor Margery to suffer cross country by herself. There was no question that Charlotte wouldn’t make the squad for their age group as well as the actual team selected for matches, so that left Laura having to sacrifice for their friend. It was a bit of a shame as truth be told she didn’t mind hockey, but at least cross country would only be for one afternoon a week. It might even be interesting if the route took them out of the school grounds, she thought, trying to find a silver lining.

    * * *

    That night they sat down dutifully with their diaries, after the two hours of homework were finished. Supper was at six then it was back to the house for homework from seven to nine, then bed by nine-thirty for Lower School girls. Sixth formers enjoyed marginally more freedom - an extra hour of leisure before their bedtime - but they had so much more homework that they tended to use it all for study anyway.
    If you were quick getting ready for bed, you had up to thirty minutes before lights out. This had now been decreed Diary Time.
    "Dear Diary…" Laura began, then stopped. "How are we supposed to do this?" she asked. "Like Samuel Pepys, or like Anne Frank, as though we were writing to someone?"
    "I’m writing mine as though I was the sports correspondent for the BBC," Charlotte said.
    "You can do it however you like," Margery told her. "I’m writing mine as a simple, historic account."
    "I have no idea what I’m going to write on non-sports days, as every day and week is basically the same here. I can hardly keep writing 'Double Maths was awful, Liver and Onions again for Supper’," Charlotte said.
    Laura decided that "Dear Diary" would be adequate.

    "Dear Diary. The world changed today. I’m not sure if it was coming back to school and starting another year. Everything seemed the same yesterday, like it would be the same as it was last year, and the same for ever more. And now I’m not sure of anything at all."

    All she could think of, as she closed the journal and lay in bed, was a pair of