The case of the Haunted Bathroom

On three days of the week we were allowed to bath in one of the ten bathrooms situated on the other side of the small bell tower.  The tall bell tower, where we were absolutely forbidden to venture, could be found in the nuns section of the convent.  Not that that deterred the more adventurous of those among us, who would sprint up the long flight of stairs, ring the bell and gallop down again at full tilt, to hopefully disappear into the playground.

On the other days we would line up in the washroom in complete silence to wash ourselves at the many basins or the two foot bathes.  Saturday afternoons were always fun times, when we were allowed to wash our hair and clean our brushes and combs.  It was also one of the times when we were allowed to talk, and do one another's hair.  A nice, lazy, comfortable feeling would pervade the washroom, while the light and trivial banter would play itself out backwards and forwards between the four large mirrors.  It was a time of cementing friendships, as well as a bit of rivalry as we jostled for position at the basins.  

One of my friends daringly coloured her hair red, and was rewarded for this impulsive action by being excluded from taking part in any further school excursions, until the colour either washed out, or grew out and was cut off.  

Always having had a rather bad memory, I invariably left my wet socks on the side of the basin, instead of hanging them on the iron railing at the back of my bed.  I could get away with it in Summer, but Winter was a different story.  It took forever for my body heat to dry out the socks on my feet.  On those particular days, I felt I was really doing some sort of "penance", not that I ever fully understood what that meant beyond a vague feeling that something difficult and painful had to be endured.

The first urban legend I ever heard at boarding school concerned number nine bathroom.  I was told that the last thing you ever wanted, was to be allocated number nine bathroom because there, doing her exercises, with her head under her left arm, was a headless nun.  Whenever number nine bathroom happened to be my lot for the term or the year as the case may be, I went through agonising times, trying to bath myself as quickly as possible before the headless nun appeared.  I thought that at any moment she would crawl out from under the free-standing bath, grinning at me from under her armpit and doing star jumps.  I would fling myself as far away from the bath as I possibly could and without drying myself, pull on my pajamas and flee from the offending bathroom as fast as my legs could carry me, my heart racing twenty to the dozen.

I never forgot the story of the headless nun who haunted the poor unsuspecting number nine bathroom, although as I grew older, it slowly had less and less of an affect on me until it became just that -  A crazy urban legend.

Pecking Order

Boarding school is one of the greatest levelers one could ever possibly hope to encounter. It is here that you discovered just where you stood in terms of pecking order.  I'm afraid to say, that I soon learned very quickly that I was pretty much at the bottom end of the ocean in terms of pecking order.  Yes, right down there with all the mud-sucking fish!  Not a nice place to be, or a great feeling to have, but that was the reality.  Still, I never gave up trying to elevate myself to a slightly higher level.

Whenever any games were played and teams were chosen, I soon learned what it felt like to reluctantly be picked last.  I continued to offer myself, but sadly I was overlooked again and again.

We used to play a particular game known as "Bok Bok", where you had to tuck your head into the behind of the person in front of you, until a sort of train was formed.  I could never quite get the hang of the game beyond knowing that the opposite side had to jump on your backs and try to collapse you.  One very large, fat girl repeatedly made it her mission to fall heavily on top of me at every turn.  Very disconcerting!

All disagreements were settled at the top field and I can vividly remember on many occasions saying "I'll get you after lunch at the top field."  One of the girls in my class in an effort to get out of any kind of confrontation said to me once, " Only cheap girls fight," to which I replied "So you think you're expensive?"  This ridicules reply got us falling about and laughing so much, that any fight we might of had, went right out the window. 

I did however challenge the best fighter in the school to a fight at the top field, but she made mincemeat of me and had me slinking away with my tail between my legs, a very bruised ego and a even more bruised arm to show for it.  We did however become very good friends at one stage, to the point where she would break her chocolate bar in half and offer it to me.

As I mentioned before,  boarding school sorts out the "women" from the "girls" so to speak.  There is nothing new under the sun and popular girls will always have everyone clambering to be in their circle, while those who are further down the food chain, suffer the ignominious
degradation of being asked to leave a group in order to placate someone supposedly more popular.  On reflection, I know that the problem lay with the other person and not with me, but at a young and tender age, it's difficult to look at life objectively, especially when one is so closely involved.