A Study of Sixth-form Girls
Title: A Study of Sixth-form Girls
Series: Enid Blyton's Malory Towers
Rating: G
Summary: A short piece about the pleasure derived from having a room of one's own.
Sally loves the little study that she and Darrell share. She loves the four walls, and the ceiling and the floor that belong to them and nobody else. She loves the porcelain dog and carriage clock that make it feel like a real home. She loves the phrase 'Darrell and Sally’s'. She loves the two armchairs - only two - where she and Darrell sip tea and laugh about the day. She loves the desk where Darrell leans over her books, lips fluttering silent conjugations as she tackles her French prep. She loves the window where she can look out to sea and feel Darrell’s warmth against her as she too admires the view.
Alicia loves the little study that she and Betty share. She loves the door that shuts out Miss Potts and Miss Oakes and Mam’zelle Dupont. She loves the worn brown velvet armchair that Sam surprised her with one half-term - big enough for two if Betty sits across her lap. She loves the ashtray hidden in the lowest desk drawer, and the window that catches the evening sea breeze. She loves to gossip without guarding her tongue or considering hurt feelings. She loves the desk that isn’t used for studying. She loves that after years of eating, sleeping and waiting in segregation, she can play with Betty whenever she likes.
Irene loves the little study that she and Belinda share. She loves the sketches that adorn their walls - girls scowling, laughing, riding horses. She loves the toy piano that Belinda produced two terms ago - and how she really can use it to compose when the music rooms are locked. She loves humming out loud, not under her breath. She loves the swish-swish-swish of Belinda’s pencil across the page when she sketches in earnest, not just another caricature. She loves that Belinda once mistook boot polish for anchovette to spread on toast. She loves the picture of strong, slender fingers at a piano hanging on the opposite wall.
Bill loves the little study that she and Clarissa share. She loves the slightly sweet scent of horse and straw lingering in the air. She loves the sampler of Thunder that Clarissa embroidered in secret for her birthday. She loves not only talking about horses. She loves wearing her breeches for as long as she likes - and the absence of prissy, polished girls who stare in wonder about it. She loves the fireplace that casts tiny glimmers of light across rosy cheeks and auburn hair. She loves that manners require knocking before opening a sixth-form study door.
Mary-Lou loves the little study that she and Daphne share. She loves the pink china tea set that she lays out every afternoon. She loves the quiet that allows her to be heard without straining. She loves the trunk of clothes, scarves and shoes that lives under the desk - and how she feels when Daphne dresses her like a living doll. She loves the portable wireless that Daphne tunes to Woman’s Hour. She loves running from earwigs and moths and spiders - even at her age - without the chorus of jeers. She loves no longer hating herself for choosing golden curls over black.
END
Series: Enid Blyton's Malory Towers
Rating: G
Summary: A short piece about the pleasure derived from having a room of one's own.
Sally loves the little study that she and Darrell share. She loves the four walls, and the ceiling and the floor that belong to them and nobody else. She loves the porcelain dog and carriage clock that make it feel like a real home. She loves the phrase 'Darrell and Sally’s'. She loves the two armchairs - only two - where she and Darrell sip tea and laugh about the day. She loves the desk where Darrell leans over her books, lips fluttering silent conjugations as she tackles her French prep. She loves the window where she can look out to sea and feel Darrell’s warmth against her as she too admires the view.
Alicia loves the little study that she and Betty share. She loves the door that shuts out Miss Potts and Miss Oakes and Mam’zelle Dupont. She loves the worn brown velvet armchair that Sam surprised her with one half-term - big enough for two if Betty sits across her lap. She loves the ashtray hidden in the lowest desk drawer, and the window that catches the evening sea breeze. She loves to gossip without guarding her tongue or considering hurt feelings. She loves the desk that isn’t used for studying. She loves that after years of eating, sleeping and waiting in segregation, she can play with Betty whenever she likes.
Irene loves the little study that she and Belinda share. She loves the sketches that adorn their walls - girls scowling, laughing, riding horses. She loves the toy piano that Belinda produced two terms ago - and how she really can use it to compose when the music rooms are locked. She loves humming out loud, not under her breath. She loves the swish-swish-swish of Belinda’s pencil across the page when she sketches in earnest, not just another caricature. She loves that Belinda once mistook boot polish for anchovette to spread on toast. She loves the picture of strong, slender fingers at a piano hanging on the opposite wall.
Bill loves the little study that she and Clarissa share. She loves the slightly sweet scent of horse and straw lingering in the air. She loves the sampler of Thunder that Clarissa embroidered in secret for her birthday. She loves not only talking about horses. She loves wearing her breeches for as long as she likes - and the absence of prissy, polished girls who stare in wonder about it. She loves the fireplace that casts tiny glimmers of light across rosy cheeks and auburn hair. She loves that manners require knocking before opening a sixth-form study door.
Mary-Lou loves the little study that she and Daphne share. She loves the pink china tea set that she lays out every afternoon. She loves the quiet that allows her to be heard without straining. She loves the trunk of clothes, scarves and shoes that lives under the desk - and how she feels when Daphne dresses her like a living doll. She loves the portable wireless that Daphne tunes to Woman’s Hour. She loves running from earwigs and moths and spiders - even at her age - without the chorus of jeers. She loves no longer hating herself for choosing golden curls over black.
END