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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.
Introduction
The Secret Letters exchange began when Clarissa Charrington slipped a note into the post for her aunt Gladys, with Beano clippings and a sly message from Inez de Vries tucked inside. Gladys, amused and willing, forwarded the enclosure under her own respectable cover. In this way, the girls’ words travelled by official post — yet hidden in plain sight, a letter within a letter.
Placed between the correspondence between Lady de Vries and the Headmaster and the memoranda of The Elwood Files, this packet shows another face of Saint Clare’s: the smuggled confidences, the dodges, the clever workarounds that made school life both dangerous and delightful.
It also helps explain one puzzle of the summer term: how Lady de Vries came to know of her daughter’s punishment almost at once, when other attempts at posting letters — Ronnie’s, most notably — were intercepted and handed over to staff. For Gwen, the way was cleared by her niece-by-marriage, and the Headmaster and faculty were left wondering how she learned so quickly.
Those who remember school will recognise it straightaway — the thrill of knowing your secret was out, the conspiratorial tone (“if you’re not too greedy”), the Beano page folded in like a wink, the sense that one joke could topple into disaster if an adult opened the wrong envelope.
Having trouble with the handwriting? Try the plain text version.
Clarissa Elizabeth Charrington
Saint Clare’s School for Girls
13 June 1955
Dearest Glad,
Thanks awfully for your last — and for the gossip about Cousin Margaret’s fête. I can just see her trying to look queenly with jam on her gloves and nose. How long was it before someone told her? Or maybe no one dared!
Everything’s much the same here — prep, bells, and the usual scramble for hot water (honestly you’d think we were fighting for it like rations). I’m sending you two Beano clippings that gave us a proper giggle in the dorm. Minnie the Minx in the second one is the spit of a certain Upper IV girl — you’d know the sort, can make a Latin lesson feel like the build-up to a jailbreak.
IdV has the staff muttering and the rest of us craning our necks to see what happens next. That’s why I tucked in the second clipping — if you like it you might pass it along to someone who’d appreciate the likeness (you know who). Just keep it under your hat — not everyone here has the right sense of humour, and I’d be in the soup if it got round.
Buckets & buckets of love,
Clarissa
13 June 1955
Dear Miss G. D.,
Clarissa says you’ll remember my mother — Gwendoline Randolph, now de Vries (though years older than you). I am rather counting on that.
Would you be a brick and let her know I am quite well and conducting myself with all the dignity Saint Clare’s permits. I imagine you’ll know how to reach her without causing a scene. Please also pass on the enclosed clipping, and don’t mention this note to anyone else.
Yours with every good intention,
IdV
P.S. I trust you still have your old knack for getting letters where they ought to go. C insists you’re brilliant at it — I hope she hasn’t oversold you.
My dearest Mama,
You will have heard some account of my recent “antics” by now, so I may as well set the record straight before it grows any more theatrical. The geography essay — late, I admit — was delayed while I hunted for better sources. Mr. Green disagreed, and in his wrath prescribed six with the tawse, Saturday detention, and thirty cane strokes for good measure. Mr. Johnson, with greater sense, reduced the tally to twelve.
Matron examined me as if I were about to expire, then prescribed cod-liver oil and an early bed. I rather think she enjoyed the show more than she let on.
The staff are divided — some waiting for me to stumble, others plainly amused. The girls say it was “a show worth tickets,” which I cannot argue with.
If you can contrive a reply without stirring the usual fuss, please do. And should anyone ask, you may safely report that you’ve advised me to “channel my energy.” It sounds respectable enough.
Ever your impenitent,
Inez
14 June 1955
Dear Lady de Vries,
Please forgive the liberty of this note. We have not met, though my elder sister, Margaret Charrington (née Williams), was a contemporary of yours at Saint Clare’s — Lower VI, 1932 — and spoke often of you. I was several years below, but remember your name quite clearly from Speech Day and the prefect boards.
I write now because my niece, Clarissa Charrington, newly arrived at St. C’s in the Lower IV this term, has pressed upon me a page of writing which she insists ought to reach you. The hand is distinctive enough that I take her word for its authorship, and I enclose it accordingly.
Clarissa also reports that your daughter has been much in the thoughts — and on the tongues — of the Upper IV. She is said to be sharp, entirely undaunted, and able to command attention without so much as lifting her voice. Such qualities, as you will recall, were much admired (and sometimes whispered about with awe) in the corridors of Saint Clare’s in our day.
I trust this enclosure finds you safely, and without inconvenience. How or whether you reply is, of course, wholly your affair — though I imagine you have never lacked the knack of making your intentions known.
Yours sincerely,
Gladys Louise Williams
14 June 1955
My clever C.,
Your “special delivery” arrived quite safely, and the cuttings are already off to another Old Girl who’ll appreciate them even more than I. No brass bands, no raised eyebrows, and certainly no one the wiser. I can’t promise what might come back, but the way is clear if anything does.
As for your letter — it’s propped on my mantelpiece and makes me grin every time I pass. How smashing to have hijinks with you, even at a distance. You’ve a knack for sending just the thing to brighten a dull day — simply top-hole, darling. I’ve missed you daily, niece-y-sis. With your father practically living at White’s, the house is dull, dull, dull. Remember how I always complained of never enough time to read? Now there’s far too much.
I’m glad you’ve found such an interesting friend — but do keep your wits about you — the Upper 4th can be a slippery slope, and I’d hate to see you fall afoul. I’m enclosing ginger biscuits for you and the gang (if you’re not too greedy to share — crikey, I can just see you hoarding them under the blankets).
Know that I’m marking off the calendar until you’re back for the hols. I’ll ask your father whether it’s to be him or me who picks you up. Jolly fun to see the old school again — especially knowing I can leave when I like.
Love & bunnies,
Auntie Glad
Lady G. Honor de Vries
18 June 1955
My dear Miss Williams (though I cannot help but think of you still as dear Magpie’s little Gladys Louise),
Your note reached me yesterday, together with the enclosure. I recognised the hand at once — though the phrasing struck me as a shade too polished to be wholly innocent. You and I, having once endured Saint Clare’s ourselves, know how the most ordinary scrap of paper can carry volumes of meaning.
It touched me more than I can say that you troubled to forward it and reminded me why I remember your sister so fondly. The staff, as ever, are intent upon rules and appearances, but an Old Girl can often see rather more beneath the surface. My daughter is, as you have heard, spirited and undaunted; she has perhaps inherited more than her share of my own schoolgirl ways. (Your sister would have said I was never considered the meekest of Gwens.)
I hope Clarissa has not suffered too much from these excitements. She shows, even in her smallest phrases, a merry wit, and I dare say her loyalty will serve her at least as well as Latin conjugations ever could. Please let her know that her little missive arrived safely and that her “IdV” is neither forgotten nor dismissed.
As for you, Gladys — how extraordinary to receive a letter from one who was a child when last I saw her. Your elder sister was a great girl lost too young. I see in your lines her same sparkle, though perhaps with a freer hand than Magpie would have approved. Mischief has its place, but it can so easily be mistaken for defiance — or made to look like it — when passed through less sympathetic eyes. I would not like to see either you or Clarissa come to grief over what was meant in play or as support of a fight that is not yours.
With many thanks for your kindness in carrying messages, and with every good wish until we meet in person,
Yours sincerely,
Gwennie