Mija’s Room

amigas A watercolor sketch of a huge stack of luggage and a small black dog,

Mija and Her Brave Furry Companion in the British Isles OR Five Suitcases, One Dog, and the Case for Simplicity

Posted on By Mija

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Preview — To be read in BBC Radio 4 style

A summer adventure across the British Isles with Mija and her faithful furry Sutti girl: castles and cottages, uniforms and ferries, triumphs, tribulations, and luggage of mythic proportions. Part travelogue, part comeSutti-to-Kings-Crossdy of errors, and wholly a tale of old friends, new discoveries, and the surprising case for simplicity.

Chapter 1 — Long Beach: Paperwork, Panic, and Packing

(in which bureaucracy meets AuDHD and luggage multiplies like Gremlins)

The days before July 4th were chaos. The house had to be left in order: weeds pulled, rocks shifted, spiders relocated from their Olympic training ground. Errands multiplied — medications, safe deposit box, vaccinations (for Sutti, not me). I was just about keeping up when United rang with the kind of breezy cheer reserved for delivering ruin: “You’re missing a Heathrow Certificate for your service dog. No papers, no entry. Cargo is an option?”

“No, cargo is not an option.”

My voice probably cracked. I’d been so careful about everything to do with Sutti, working on it months in advance, working off a series of lists, paid a veteranery service to make sure her certifications were correct.1Turns out those were for her health. Heathrow needed to document *mine.* This had not been mentioned prior. Sigh.] 

Numbly I stood and listened to the nice woman from United outline what documents needed to be obtained and emailed and what would be required to get them. That they usually took a month or so to process, but I could try and get them done faster if I followed her instructions. These included calling Heathrow. “I can’t” I whispered.

She didn’t hear me.

“Email them to me when you have them. Then call so I know they’re there.” 

I sat staring at the clock. It was late on July 3rd — the Friday before the biggest holiday weekend in the U.S.2Businesses that had opened all had mostly closed by 12PM. — and suddenly I understood the particular horror of being told doing something isn’t impossible, but almost is. Traveling with my dog in the cabin into the UK in 18 hours wasn’t closed off entirely — it could be done, there is a process, but only with Herculean effort, panic, and possibly a pact with Satan. That was, in too many way, worse than an outright “no.” 

Because I was already exhausted and anxious to the point of burnout. I spent most of the previous year feeling stressed and stretched beyond breaking. By the time the semester ended being told I had to resubmit a single form caused tears and a sense of overwhelming despair.

 

I am not cargo.

Soo, not at my best. But this is Sutti. I couldn’t go without her — she needed to be on the plane. And not as cargo.

So began twelve frantic hours of bureaucratic hopscotch: PDFs, rabies certificates, microchip scans, vet letters, panic disorder paperwork, and, I swear, fragments of the Magna Carta. And so many phone calls.3Real calls. Like where I dialed and talked to people. People I didn’t know and weren’t expecting my call. Who were really helpful. At one point I tracked down Sutti’s trainer on his 25th anniversary trip to Paris.4Okay, but I didn’t know that’s where he was. Or why. By dawn, miracle of miracles, Heathrow approved her. When the LHR certificate finally landed in my inbox, ready to forward triumphantly to United, the sense of accomplishment I felt was on par with getting my doctorate. My vet’s office later told me no one they knew had ever flown a dog into the UK in the cabin of a commercial airliner. I credit academic-deadline stamina, indignation, and loyalty to a small dog who is not cargo.5I was also extremely fortunate that my employer had had me document Sutti’s training, skill, and my need for it so I already had letters from my doctors testifying to my CPTSD, severe anxiety, and panic disorder. So I guess I should thank my university’s HR office. Someday. The Heathrow Animal Reception Centre, brisk, friendly, helpful, and sensible (July 4th being just another day to them), were also exacting. (I had to call after each batch to find out what they needed next. Finally they determined that my paperwork was valid, Sutti s a service dog, but since her school isn’t on the official ADI list, I could either prove her training in 47 different ways, none possible from outside the UK, or pay £447 so she could enter with me.

I gave them my credit card number. It was 5AM and I still needed to pack. Yeah, my packing never stood a chance. Executive function is, for me, a single-use tool, and mine was entirely eaten by the paperwork marathon while it was going on. Once that fire was out, nothing was left for choosing clothes. So I defaulted to the only possible strategy: bring everything.6It was pointed out to me, that there was another choice. Bring nothing and buy the things I needed. Sensible in retrospect and would have proved far cheaper in the end, but I’m not lying when I say it never crossed my mind. Surprised? In the end I had two giant 60-pound7To be fair to myself one contained a 20 pound bag of Sutti’s Very Special Food (sold in the UK it turns out) and all her toys and stuff. suitcases, a carry-on roller, and a backpack. The Luggage Hydra Gremlin was born. And had been fed after dark.

More after the jump

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  • 1
    Turns out those were for her health. Heathrow needed to document *mine.* This had not been mentioned prior. Sigh.]
  • 2
    Businesses that had opened all had mostly closed by 12PM.
  • 3
    Real calls. Like where I dialed and talked to people. People I didn’t know and weren’t expecting my call. Who were really helpful.
  • 4
    Okay, but I didn’t know that’s where he was. Or why.
  • 5
    I was also extremely fortunate that my employer had had me document Sutti’s training, skill, and my need for it so I already had letters from my doctors testifying to my CPTSD, severe anxiety, and panic disorder. So I guess I should thank my university’s HR office. Someday.
  • 6
    It was pointed out to me, that there was another choice. Bring nothing and buy the things I needed. Sensible in retrospect and would have proved far cheaper in the end, but I’m not lying when I say it never crossed my mind. Surprised?
  • 7
    To be fair to myself one contained a 20 pound bag of Sutti’s Very Special Food (sold in the UK it turns out) and all her toys and stuff.
discipline sketch of a folder and pen on top of a skirt and blazer

The Elwood Files – Inez of the Upper IV

Posted on By Mija

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How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”

Banner of "How to Read Inez of the Upper iV"The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Note: Comments are read and much appreciated. Much as I like reading them on Twitter and Bluesky, I love getting them here and promise to respond. Moreover your responses and ideas are included in the archives and may shift and change the story’s evolution.

Forward to the Elwood Files

It is one of the consolations of life in a girls’ boarding school that, although hairbrushes vanish before prayers only to reappear at bedtime, knee socks sag at inspections, and knicker elastic betrays its wearers at the worst possible moments, one may always rely upon the ingenuity of the pupils. The present dossier — christened in pencil The Elwood File — began with a folded scrap of green ink and a doodled key, and swelled, in due course, to the proportions of a minor parliamentary scandal. Or so it felt to Ronnie Elwood at any rate.

decorativeThe dramatis personae require only the briefest introduction. Veronica (Ronnie) Elwood (Upper V) is amiable and obliging, with a handwriting that proclaims every secret long before she intends it. Inez de Vries (Upper IV) is armed with both daring and design, seldom without a plan calculated to vex her elders. Keeping them under ceaseless watch is Georgina Fairfax, Senior Prefect, whose close supervision might well recommend her to the quietly vigilant MI5. Among the staff, Matron persists with her infallible spoonfuls of of cod-liver oil, Miss Kelley keeps a close eye on her house with rather sharper judgement than some expect, and the Headmaster, from his lofty perch, maintains that martyrs are not to be manufactured at any cost.

The scheme itself — to smuggle a page of prose through the mighty bulwark of school protocol, hidden inside another girl’s letter home — did not succeed. Prefects pounced, staff rummaged, and the mail-bag emerged none the wiser. And yet — here is the rub — Lady de Vries, many miles away, somehow contrived to receive the very intelligence intended for her, and with remarkable promptness.

How Lady de Vries came by her intelligence is not disclosed in these pages. That she had it — and was corresponding about her daughter with the Headmaster before the week was out – is beyond dispute. The archivist can only remark that Saint Clare’s leadership is already discovering how very little control remains within its grasp.

Having trouble with the handwriting? Try the simple font version.

Notes Found

[Folded small; tiny key inked at the top.]

 


Strictly Between Us — Dispose Wisely
Do you have space in your letter home for a stowaway?
Thought you might add something for me next time you send yours — nothing shocking, just something better not left in the St. Clare’s pigeonholes. I’d owe you a favour (real currency, not just toffee).
Your mum wouldn’t mind a stowaway page, would she?
P.S. Your hair looks like it’s plotting mutiny today. In the best way.


Margin (G. Fairfax): 11/6 — confiscated, folded tw

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Clarissa’s Letters Home or The Jelly Baby Files

Posted on By Mija

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How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”

The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Note: Comments are read and much appreciated. Much as I like reading them on Twitter and Bluesky, I love getting them here and promise to respond. Moreover, as this post indicates, your responses and ideas can be included in the archives, shifting and changing the focus.

 

Forward to: “Clarissa’s Letters Home”

Archivist Note: These letters, begun and co-authored by reader JustAnotherBoomer, were the private correspondence between a widowed father and his fourteen-year-old daughter.

Clarissa Elizabeth Charrington and her father, the Rt. Hon. Gerald T. Charrington, weren’t writing for teachers, headmasters, politicians, or biographers sifting through archives in search of origin stories. Clarissa, newly arrived at Saint Clare’s School for Girls in the Lower Fourth during the summer term of 1955, could never have imagined these early letters home would be treasured decades later—by a daughter who may have walked the same school corridors, or found by a granddaughter after a lifetime of stories. The letters themselves spoke to no one but sat quietly for years in a forgotten tuckbox, hidden behind a yellowed copy of Jane Eyre, a single petrified Jelly Baby, and a torn wrapper from an ancient toffee.

This first exchange between Clarissa and her father captures her earliest days at Saint Clare—tentative, observant, and already sharpening into something unmistakably her own. Clarissa’s letters home are notable not only for her frank admiration of one Inez de Vries—already firmly on the staff’s watch list—but also for the affection and respect she shows her father and his public life, and for introducing a private code between them: their “Jelly Baby Ledger.”

Clarissa left the ledger on her father’s desk the morning she departed for school—a small, deliberate gift in her careful handwriting. Its pages are marked with doodled sweets in the margins and a hand-drawn scale that ranges from “catastrophic” to “triumphant.” In her letters home, each Jelly Baby count is shorthand for how she is faring—socially, strategically, and in terms of her all-important tuck supply.

The paradox is part of the charm: Clarissa is still young enough to count her sweets in Jelly Babies, yet already capable of nuanced political metaphor and a subtle, sidelong interest in the de Vries family. Something is awakening here—not a rebellion exactly, but an alertness. She is watching Inez. She is watching the adults. And, increasingly, she is watching herself.

You may already be familiar with other records from this term—the official school reports praising Clarissa’s eloquence, the stern notes cautioning against questionable friendships, and the famously provocative essays. Yet these letters offer something different—personal, candid glimpses of Clarissa quietly shaping her conscience beneath covers and torchlight, with Inez’s daring casting long, flickering shadows across the page. In these early exchanges, we glimpse not only the schoolgirls they are—but hints of the women they will become.

The archive cannot answer every question. But the Jelly Baby count will shift, and the careful observer might notice that while Clarissa watches Inez, others have begun watching Clarissa.

Read on, gently, knowing these letters are not merely relics, but snapshots of a life becoming—quietly powerful, subtly courageous, and, well, interesting.

Having trouble with the handwriting? Try the simple font version.

 

This sort of stationery/letters attache case was a frequent and much coveted gift to boarding school girls. Many Old Girls used them their entire lives.

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Inez’s Diary, 19 June 1955

Posted on By Mija

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 How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”
The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers. 

Note: Comments are read and much appreciated. Much as I like them on Twitter and Bluesky, I love getting them here and promise to respond.

Forward to Inez’s Diary Entry 1

(Pinned inside the front cover, possibly written years later. Possibly not.)

The pages that follow were not meant to be shared. Not with teachers. Not with school authorities. Certainly not with Mummy (not that she would ever read another’s diary!). These are the extremely private thoughts of one Inez de Vries, age fourteen, penned under the covers at Saint Clare’s School for Girls, Summer Term 1955, using a torch that needed new batteries and her trusty, if leaky, fountain pen.

sketch of manuel typewriterThey were tucked away in a locked tuckbox, behind an embroidered handkerchief, a Latin vocab book, and three boiled sweets (two of them fuzzed). She cursed the book so no one could read them. Naturally, you may read them anyway –but on your own head be it.

You may already have seen other documents from this term — the official reports, the memos, the staff meeting minutes (oops! that’s tomorrow!), the infamous reflective essay. This document is not like those –i’s her diary, what she didn’t say, not even to her closest friend. Or perhaps especially not to her closest friend.

It’s tempting to say the diary reveals “the real Inez,” but that’s too easy. All of these posts are “real,” as Inez was “real” in all her forms: the strategist, the spark, the girl with too much cleverness and just enough conscience. Her diary doesn’t contradict the rest —-it deepens it. Complicates it. And, perhaps makes you feel ashamed for having read it.

Grown-up Inez, now an old woman of 84 –though she doesn’t look a day over 70– will likely laugh and claim it was all fiction, all drama, all performance, and perhaps it was. Still, if feminism taught me nothing else, it’s the truth that just because something’s constructed doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

— Archivist’s Note, redacted version. Not for circulation outside Form IV without permission.

Image of diary on bed with flashlight on top.

Private!!!!
This diary is for me only so you Get Out! 

To Whomever Disturbs This Book:

Death shall come on swift wings to him who touches the secrets of the daughter of de Vries.1Adapted from the tomb of King Tut. Look it up — they found the curse scratched in charcoal behind a statue. No, really.

 

Sunday, 19 June 1955 
(Under the covers. Torch getting dim. Note to self: Ask Mummy for batteries in next letter. Also: do Not leave this in pillowcase again, you idiot.)

Dear Diary,

I wasn’t going to go up there, truly. I’d survived the caning — medium cane, four sets of three, all very proper — and I wrote the “reflective” essay they asked for. It said what happened. It said more than what happened: it named names, explained motives, laid everything out. No one but me wanted that, but TOO BAD.

Miss Kelley said it didn’t take responsibility. But it did — it took as much as I should, as much as is mine. I’m not going to take ALL of it. I may have been the spark, but the fire came from Mr. Mean’s hot air and rage going TOO FAR. They all know it, tooo, whatever they say.
(Must stop calling him Mr. Mean. Even in here or will do it where he could hear about it. That’s the sort of thing some swot fink might tell him.)

It was amazing – Green was incandescent. Not only red, but that awful blotchy purple one sees on exploding thermometers. I rather thought he might burst. (No such luck.)

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  • 1
    Adapted from the tomb of King Tut. Look it up — they found the curse scratched in charcoal behind a statue. No, really.
fiction

Staff Meeting Transcript – Inez of the Upper IV

Posted on By Mija

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How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”
The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Forward: Staffroom Transcript: The Inez de Vries Meeting

If you’ve been following the events of the past week at Saint Clare’s, you already know that one essay—unwritten, then written in defiance—has ignited more than just the usual hallway gossip and that the cast of characters is growing.

It began with a missed geography assignment. It escalated with a detention essay that raised eyebrows, a “contract” punishment scheme, and a growing file of staff memos that read less like documentation and more like dramatic monologues.

Then Matron added her own notes—unsentimental, cod-liver-scented, and unbothered by anyone’s feelings.

Now, finally, the meeting. The transcript below was taken by the Headmaster’s secretary and marked confidential. It includes commentary, interruption, and at least one very pointed biscuit refusal.

If you have ever been in a meeting where nothing was resolved but too much was said— this may all sound rather familiar. Please feel free to add your thoughts on what you’re seeing between the lines, where you’re thinking this may go next. 

 

 

CONFIDENTIAL TRANSCRIPT

Staff Meeting Regarding: Inez de Vries, Upper 4th
Date: Thursday, 15  June 1955
Time: 4:00 p.m.
Location: Saint Clare’s Headmaster’s Library
Transcribed by: Miss Edith Simms, Secretary to the Headmaster
For: Headmaster Stephen Lewis’s Files Only

Present:
Mr. Stephen Lewis (Headmaster)
Mr. George Green (Geography)
Miss Anne Kelley (English and French; also assistant housemistress for Inez de Vries)
Mr. Bertram J. Johnson (Latin and Classics)
Miss Elaine Clark (Modern History)
Matron Patricia Rowntree (Head Matron, Infirmary)

 

Mr. Lewis:
Yes, well—thank you, everyone, for coming. I realise this may seem an elaborate convening for a single Fourth Form girl, but the situation appears to have developed… contours.

Before we begin—Mrs. Frobisher has sent up tea, and a tray of those ginger biscuits the kitchen’s trialling. I encourage fortification. As I was reminded repeatedly during the war, an army marches on its stomach—and I daresay this staff does as well.

Now then—George, I believe you were first to raise the matter?

Mr. Green:
Raise it? Headmaster, “it,” as you say, landed in my lap. de Vries failed to submit her geography essay. When questioned, she claimed—quite breezily—that it was in her dormitory. In fact, the essay did not exist. She absented herself from my lesson and ignored a summons from Matron when I sent for her return.

Eventually, I found her in Miss Clark’s classroom, participating in that class as if nothing had occurred.

Miss Kelley: (evenly):
You sent the girl to the dormitory. How then do you find it surprising she left your lesson?

Mr. Green (stiffly):
I think the reasonable expectation was that she would retrieve the paper and return promptly.

Mr. Johnson (mildly):
Did you say that? How was the girl to know?

Mr. Green (teeth clenched):
It was clearly implied. That she failed to intuit my implication is, I think, rather the point.

Having finally located the girl, I confronted her—an hour later—and she admitted the paper had never even been written so her leaving my classroom was entirely a ruse, as I had suspected from the start. 

de Vries’s attitude was evasive, her responses were unsatisfactory. Insolent, even, given the circumstances. I promptly administered six strokes of the tawse to her hands. This was, I might add, was a mild punishment, entirely within school guidelines and should not have been unexpected. That she chose to turn the matter into an epic for her detention essay is another issue entirely, but also indicative of her poor character and relevant to this discussion.

Miss Kelley:
Was a record of that punishment entered in her file?

Mr. Green (after a beat):
Not yet. I’ve been—preoccupied.

(more…)
discipline

Notations from Matron’s Logbook: Inez of the Upper 4th

Posted on By Mija

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File: Extracted from the Archives of Saint Clare’s School for Girls
Document: Notations from Matron’s Logbook, 12 June 1955

How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”

The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. These pieces will be posted gradually, over the next two weeks, allowing the narrative to take shape not through a single telling, but through fragments. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font to honor the green-ink originals. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Use the comments to build the story together: ask questions, float theories, invent what’s missing. What do you. think lies between the lines? The archive is incomplete—but the story lives in the spaces between.

Introduction to Notations from Matron’s Logbook

Based on yesterday’s staff memos, if you’re wondering how the adults at Saint Clare’s have been coping with the ripple effects of Inez de Vries’s behavior—well, Matron does not “cope” when it comes to school girls. Matron examines, documents, and judges.

For those unfamiliar with the role: the school Matron isn’t quite a nurse, not quite a governess, and certainly not one to cross. She oversees the infirmary, enforces standards of health, hygiene, and attitude. At Saint Clare’s she doles out cod-liver oil, brisk dismissals, and the occasional perfectly legal bottom-smacking. Given with her broad hand and firm affection, of course.

This log entry, made the Sunday after Inez’s transgressions and disciplinary theatrics, gives us a glimpse into the clinical eye (and moral clarity) of one Patricia Rowntree, Matron of Saint Clare’s since before the Armistice. She has no time for teenaged drama or malingering.

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fiction

The Staffroom Files Part 1: Inez of the Upper Fourth

Posted on By Mija

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File: Extracted from the Archives of Saint Clare’s School for Girls
Document: The Staffroom Files – Part 1

How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”

The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. These pieces will be posted gradually, over the next two weeks, allowing the narrative to take shape not through a single telling, but through fragments. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font to honor the green-ink originals. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Use the comments to build the story together: ask questions, float theories, invent what’s missing. What do you. think lies between the lines? The archive is incomplete—but the story lives in the spaces between.

Forward to The Staffroom Files, Part I

Or, what happens after Inez hands in her detention essay.

If you’ve already met the cast, you’ll know that Saint Clare’s staff take themselves—though not always each other—very seriously. And once Inez submitted her now-famous detention essay, the real choreography began: memos circulated, tea went undrunk, and several people wrote things they probably assumed would never be read aloud.

What follows is a glimpse into the official (and not-so-official) correspondence sparked by one 14-year-old girl, an unwritten essay, and the instinctive belief that rules are meant to be rewritten mid-term.

Saint Clare’s runs on tradition. And files don’t forget. (more…)

fiction

The Real Motto of Saint Clare’s School for Girls

Posted on By Mija

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How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”

The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. These pieces will be posted gradually, over the next two weeks, allowing the narrative to take shape not through a single telling, but through fragments. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font to honor the green-ink originals. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Use the comments to build the story together: ask questions, float theories, invent what’s missing. What do you. think lies between the lines? The archive is incomplete—but the story lives in the spaces between.

The True Motto of Saint Clare’s School:

What Every Girl Learns

Publicly, it is this:

Ad Astra — to the stars.

Embroidered in silver and gold upon the blazer’s crest, shining bright against the red.
Printed in gilt on the Speech Day programme.
Spoken with pride at the opening of each term.
It is what your father believes.

It is the promise tucked into your trunk beside the lavender sachets,
the phrase that makes your little sister sigh and your younger cousins lean in with envy.
It is the promise every girl carries onto her train from Paddington or Waverley.
all the way to the warm-yellow stone of the school walls—
soft from a distance, but cold and grey-veined when touched.
Beautiful, solid, and old.

But quietly—almost tenderly—another version is taught.

Not at once, and never aloud.
It is stitched inside the breast pocket of your blazer,
pale threads just over your heart.

(more…)

writing

Inez of the Upper IV – Cast of Characters

Posted on By Mija

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Introducing our actors…
A necessary act of discretion before the drama resumes.If you’ve made it through Inez de Vries’s infamous detention essay, you already know Saint Clare’s isn’t just any girls’ school—and Inez is not just any girl. Before we move into the staffroom files tomorrow (starting with a crisply worded concern from Mr. Green—whose tone might benefit from a small glass of sherry and a nap), I thought it worth pausing to formally introduce the cast.

I’ve always loved these sorts of pages—the dramatis personae tucked at the start of vintage novels, the ones that told you, with great precision and a glint of menace, that “Colonel Arbuthnot has a revolver, a past, and a scheduled appearance on page 243.” Agatha Christie did it especially well, and so did school stories of the mid-century: characters arranged like chess pieces before the game begins (or after it’s already started and someone’s flipped the board).

Saint Clare’s is no different. Everyone wears the same uniform—but no two girls wear it the same way. And the staff? Well. Let’s just say the prefects aren’t the only ones taking notes.

Here, then, is your guide to the players: the faculty, the form mistresses, the prefects, and the girls—sharp, slippery, loyal, watchful. You may already suspect their alliances. Tomorrow, you’ll see them in motion.

Welcome to the cast. Curtain’s up soon.

(more…)

Start HERE: Inez’s Detention Essay

Posted on By Mija

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File: Extracted from the Archives of Saint Clare’s School for Girls
Document: Inez’s Detention Essay

How to Read “Inez of the Upper IV”

The story of Inez de Vries unfolds through a series of documents—some official, pulled from the prim and unforgiving files of Saint Clare’s School for Girls; others are more intimate, drawn from the journals, letters, and scribbled notes of the girls themselves. These pieces will be posted gradually, over the next two weeks, allowing the narrative to take shape not through a single telling, but through fragments. Some will appear typed and orderly; others will retain the texture of handwriting, rendered in a cursive-style font to honor the green-ink originals. Readers are invited to step into the role of archivist, assembling the story from these traces, and imagining the lives that fill the gaps between pages—the tensions, the alliances, the secrets too dangerous to write down. Not everything will be explained. But Inez is watching. And she remembers.

Use the comments to build the story together: ask questions, float theories, invent what’s missing. What do you. think lies between the lines? The archive is incomplete—but the story lives in the spaces between.

Forward to “Inez’s Detention Essay”

This document was born while I sat in detention.

Not real detention—there were no actual stern administrators (though Miss Kelley, in her crisp blouse and sharper glare, came awfully close), no crusty erasers hurled across the room (though I did get pinged by a crumpled-up wad of paper, thrown from who knows where). This was serious fun: a school detention roleplay at the June Texas All State Spanking Party (TASSP) weekend. There I was, part of a group of grown-ups—some with responsible day jobs, others traveling with at least one ergonomic pillow—who had voluntarily submitted to strict Saturday school in a hotel ballroom. For fun. Because we’re all perfectly normal.

We were given serious parameters: no phones, no electronics, absolutely no nonsense. There were choices, made weeks before you arrived. You could do a math worksheet, copy lines, bring in your own work to do, or write an essay. I picked the essay, because of course I did—if you’re going to cosplay penance, you may as well bleed ink. And oh, did I. Green ink. Lined paper. Straight-backed posture. No snacks. No headphones.

No mercy.

Now, let’s talk uniforms. My roommate (she can identify herself if she wants to) and I came dressed to impress (or at least to suppress). Matching plaid skirts, white button-downs, penny loafers—the works. I forgot my cream knee socks, but I did bring two green pairs, so we matched anyway—our ties flawlessly mismatched, their difference, we decided, denoting our different years. And here’s the thing: that matching moment? It hit me where I live. Hard.

Because for me, school uniform fantasy isn’t just about strictness or hemline drama or any sort of discipline fetish between a top and bottom– though all of those are real and very much there for me. My school uniform fantasies are also about uniformity. Belonging. Being a girl with other girls, seeing yourself reflected in someone else. That’s key for me, a strange, ritual comfort of seeing myself echoed in the person next to me. It’s the comfort I remember most from my years in an all-girls school. We didn’t just wear the uniform; we dissolved into it. Became part of the ritual that each of us participated in and tried to resist with personal rebellions. For someone like Inez, that enforced sameness is both a cage and a cradle. Something she resents. And maybe, secretly, needs.

This was my first time doing a formal, structured group role-play like this—and oddly, the restrictions became creative fuel. With each scratch of green ink, Inez’s own Saturday misery took shape: her frustration, her sharp tongue, her dread of a Sunday filled with more of the same. Her sense of the injustice of corporal punishments received and promised, and her own self-importance. She’s not just whining. She’s watching—the system, herself, the clock. And she’s planning.

So here it is: Inez’s Detention Essay, the first and central document in Inez of the Upper IV, written in silence during a detention role-play in June 2025, at TASSP in Dallas, Texas. I was surrounded by uniformed peers, in a space where play met penance. Inez de Vries showed up fast, furious, and fully in character—pen ready, knickers righteous, and temper barely held in check. The green ink is a nod to the fountain pen ink I used to write the original. I think Inez is special.

May her voice strike a chord. Preferably one slightly out of tune.

 

A  version of Inez’s essay in a non-cursive font for anyone struggling with reading Inez’s handwriting. 

Detention Essay

Submitted by Inez de Vries

Saturday, 10 June, 1955

In response to the prompt requiring me to explain the events leading to my detention, I offer the following account. Let me say from the outset: the situation is largely one of my own making—an unfortunate sequence of poor decisions on my part. Still, I must also note that Mr. Green’s reaction to my admittedly regrettable choices was wildly disproportionate. In what follows, I will outline the situation clearly, owning my role in it while also pointing out the unnecessary escalation that turned a simple misunderstanding into a school-wide spectacle.

It began yesterday morning during Geography. Mr. Green arrived and, without any sort of warning, began collecting our essays. This was a surprise to me, as I had mistakenly noted the due date as next Friday, the 16th of June, rather than the 10th. As a result, I was quite without an essay to submit.

When Mr. Green reached my desk and noticed my conspicuous lack of essay, he inquired sharply where my work was. In a moment of panic—yes, I panicked—without thinking of the possible consequences I told him I’d left the paper on the desk in my dormitory. I asked if I might bring it to him on Monday, assuming that a weekend’s delay would be of little to no consequence. After all, it’s not likely he will grade them all in two days! I believed, wrongly, that he might be understanding.

Instead, he ordered me to go fetch it at once.

At this, several girls tittered most unkindly, and were not reprimanded by Mr. Green who only stared fixedly at me. Mortified, and not knowing how to extricate myself, I left the classroom as instructed. However, since there was no essay to fetch, I did not return. I did hear Matron call my name at one point, but as I was in the lavatory I did not respond. Upon returning to the main building, I went straight to my next class—Modern History with Miss Clark—where I was expected to be.

It did not occur to me that anyone was actively searching for me. I wasn’t hiding; I was precisely where I ought to have been, in my scheduled class attending to my lessons.

That is, until Mr. Green interrupted Miss Clark’s lesson not even a quarter hour before the lunch bell, asked for me by name, and ordered me into the hallway. There, in front of several startled girls and an entirely uninterested broom cupboard, he demanded to know why I hadn’t returned to his classroom. When I admitted, trembling slightly, that the essay did not yet exist, he looked far too triumphant for a man of his age, telling me he suspected as much.

He then assigned me Saturday supervised gation and informed me that my completed essay was still due Monday—but  I would now receive a failing mark. I pointed out (with, I thought, great logic) that if I was going to fail anyway, there seemed little reason to bother writing the paper at all. He replied that were I to turn it in I might yet scrape my way up to the bottom position in the form, and that was reason enough.

I protested again, politely but firmly, suggesting that if I was going to both be punished and do the work, I ought to be allowed the possibility of receiving credit. Instead of engaging in a reasoned discussion, Mr. Green turned scarlet, seized me rather brusquely by the arm, and dragged me back to his classroom. There, opening his desk drawer, he commanded me to hold out my hands and proceeded to deliver six strokes of the tawse—three on each palm!

This was deeply shocking. Does the school know its Geography Master keeps a personal leather strap in his desk and employs it to beat his students?

Yes, I am aware that Saint Clare’s employs corporal punishment, but I had understood it to be reserved for severe offences. I struggle to see how a late essay merits what can only be described as a public flogging. My hands, I must add, are rather delicate—and my mother, were she to learn of this, would most certainly object, especially given her wish I practice my violin daily. I was not able to even hold the instrument or its bow yesterday and likely will not be able to for at least a week.

Struggling with my still stinging palms, I yet again politely voiced my concern about his refusal to give me credit for work he was still requiring I do. Mr. Green responded curtly that any further comment from me would earn twice that number of strokes on my bottom, then and there. He then dismissed me.

Later, as I prepared for the Saturday gation I was presented with what he referred to as a “contract”—a document offering a return of one tenth credit on my essay for every six cane strokes administered. Even my limited mathematical prowess reveals the cruelty of this arrangement: thirty strokes would be required to regain full credit. Thirty!

No girl should or even could possibly endure such a thing—not without medical attention and, quite frankly, a barrister. I can only assume that such a punishment would necessitate a full weekend spent in the infirmary, lying face-down, unable to sit or sleep or do anything other than whimper and plot revenge.

I found myself wondering whether Matron keeps a specific ledger for girls caned beyond reason and where in the infirmary it might be kept. Were I were required to endure such a caning I fear I would have warranted my own page. Though I acknowledge that I ought to have kept better track of the deadline and certainly ought not to have lied, my actions were born not of malice but of a moment’s fear. I eventually admitted my error. I have resolved, going forward to double-check dates and tell the truth, even when it’s awkward. That said, I do believe Mr. Green should likewise reflect on the excessive nature of his response and the transactional nature of his assigned corporal punishment.

When Miss Kelley reviewed my essay, she said it was persuasive except for my “utter failure to take responsibility.” I found this rather unfair—as I clearly do accept responsibility. I asked her to read it again. She declined, and simply told me to rewrite it, making my regret more “apparent.”

Miss Kelley, although seemingly kind and intelligent, is—like so many others here—part of the grand machinery of unthinkingly severe discipline. She ordered me to report to Mr. Johnson to fulfill the terms of Mr. Green’s ghastly “contract,” in addition to my original punishment AND this detention and essay. Recall, the term of this contract, as noted, would amount to more than thirty cane strokes.

Reporting for punishment, I feared for my life.

Thankfully, Mr. Johnson—who, in addition to possessing disarmingly beautiful brown eyes, also possesses a rare and precious quality among St. Clare staff: common sense—listened patiently. He reminded me that I had been punished previously for a similar incident last autumn, but even so he believed that thirty strokes was beyond excessive. After hearing my side and giving me a chance to reflect on how I might improve my forward planning, he ruled that twelve strokes would suffice.

I agreed.

These were delivered in sets of three, over my regulation white school knickers. The cane was (fortunately) not the thickest, though the strokes landed close together and stung dreadfully. Even now, hours later, they throb most uncomfortably.

When Mr. Johnson dismissed me, I voiced my concern that this punishment might not meet the terms of the so-called contract. Mr. Johnson assured me he would speak to both Mr. Green and Miss Kelley and explain his decision with which he expected they’d agree.

I returned to Miss Kelley just as detention was being dismissed. She looked at my punishment form, handed it back without comment, and instructed me to deliver it—along with this essay—to the Headmaster’s office on Monday morning.

And so I shall.

In conclusion: I regret my mistakes, and I promise to plan more carefully in future. As Mr. Johnson wisely noted, preparation is the best prevention. I also hope that this incident encourages some reflection—not just from students like myself, but from our teachers  and housemistresses as well—on the role of compassion in discipline. After all, one does not become obedient by being beaten, but by being believed in.

With great respect and most heartfelt and deep regret for my actions, I remain,

Inez de Vries

Inez So Far
Post TitleDate Posted
Teaser – “Inez of the Upper Fourth” – a Saint Clare Summer Saga21 July 2025
Saint Clare School Justifications or A Few Explanations for the Inconsistencies That Are Absolutely Not My Fault)22 July 2025
Waiting for Inez – It’s your own time you’re wasting…23 July 2025
Start HERE: Inez’s Detention Essay24 July 2025
Inez of the Upper IV – Cast of Characters25 July 2025
The Real Motto of Saint Clare’s School for Girls27 July 2025
The Staffroom Files Part 1: Inez of the Upper Fourth29 July 2025
Notations from Matron’s Logbook: Inez of the Upper 4th30 July 2025
Staff Meeting Transcript – Inez of the Upper IV2 August 2025
Inez’s Diary, 19 June 19553 August 2025
Clarissa’s Letters Home or The Jelly Baby Files11 August 2025
The Elwood Files – Inez of the Upper IV17 August 2025

Your turn.

What do you see between the lines?

Use the comments to ask questions, imagine what’s missing, and connect the dots. Inez might be listening.

A  version of Inez’s essay in a non-cursive font for anyone struggling with reading her handwriting.