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Pamela Richings stared round the pretty room. She picked up some magazines, they were in French and German as well as English. It was only her second day at the Chalet School and she thought she would be happy there. However she was unaware that nemesis was about to fall with a vengeance.

The door opened with a bang, followed by the rustle of starch and the dread figure of Matron. "Where is Pamela Richings?" she demanded.

"Here..." stuttered Pamela nervously. She had been warned about Matron, but she couldn't imagine what she had done this early in the term to incur Matron's wrath.

"Come with me," said Matron sternly, Pamela followed.


Matron led her through several covered passageways and to the room Pamela had left earlier. Matron pointed to the bed, "What do you call that?" she asked icily.

"My bed..." replied Pamela quietly.

"Don't try to be funny," snapped Matron. She slapped her hand onto the top of the bed, "Identify this object."

"It's a duvet," said Pamela even more quietly.

Matron glared at the offending article, "You will remove it and replace it with sheets."

"Yes Matron," said Pamela.

"And now... Identify this!" and Matron indicated a package on the dressing table.

"Teabags," said Pamela, her voice almost inaudible.


"ABOMINATION!" cried Matron, hurling the teabags through the open window.

"Urk..." squeaked Pamela.

"Finally," Matron wrenched open the top drawer of the dressing table, "What on earth are these?"


Several hours later, Miss Wilson, the co-Head of the Chalet School finally managed to stop her latest History Mistress from resigning on the spot and sent her to bed with her duvet and a nice cup of tea. She turned to Miss Annersley and said "Hilda, do you not think that Matron is becoming a little odd?"

Hilda sighed and rubbed her eyes, which even yet did not need glasses because she had ages ago discovered contact lenses, "I think you are right. She hauled Nancy Wilmot out of her maths lesson this morning to tidy her drawers, Lower VIb were thunderstruck."

"How old is she?" asked Nell, "Surely it is time she resigned?"

"Her records are... missing..." answered Hilda, "And the last time I mentioned retirement to her she sent me to bed with a large dose of castor oil."

"Oh," said Nell.

"Yes," said Hilda.

"We're screwed," said Nell.

"We are indeed," replied Hilda.

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