Having grown up in Ashford,
where one school on the far side of town had adopted the policy of ‘educational petticoating’ several years ago,
I knew that some schools were less desirable than others,
especially for boys.
Educational Petticoating schools
or ‘mixed’ girl’s schools
are becoming increasingly popular these days,
with seemingly every large town or city having at least one,
so when my mother booted up Google Maps to show my sister and me the location of our new house and our new school in the new town we’d be moving to,
I asked
“It’s not one of those schools where the boys wear the same uniform as the girls is it?”
“No.” my mother replied.
“The boys and girls have separate uniforms.”
“Phew!” I replied.
“Told you!” I cockily said to my sister who, only a few days previously had claimed that our new school is a ‘mixed’ girl’s school.
I was ninety-five percent certain that she was only trying to wind me up because she knows how much I’d hate it.
“Told me what?” Julia smugly asked.
“That it’s not a mixed girl’s school.” I retorted.
“Actually Matthew, it is a mixed girl’s school.” my mother stated.
“What?!” I blurted as she clicked on the school and followed a shortcut to its website.
“But you just said…”
I stammered as she clicked through to the uniforms page and…
it was immediately apparent that the boys and girls do have separate uniforms.
I began to whine and asked my mother why she’d enrolled me at a mixed girl’s school.
“Because by and large they offer a much better education,” Mum replied.
“And like it or not, it’s a widely held belief that the best way to guide a boy through adolescence is with petticoat discipline.”
“What’s that?” I whined, not really wanting to know the answer.
My sister, seemingly loving my squirming asked if I meant ‘adolescence’ or ‘petticoat discipline’.
“I know what adolescent means,” I stated.
Julia started to explain what petticoat discipline is, but Mum took over.
“It’s nothing to worry about, although it will feel strange at first,” she said.
“And it’ll only be for school.” she added.
“You won’t be petticoated all the time.” she insisted.
That didn’t make it sound any better.
I returned my gaze to the web page and read the additional information; white socks, black shoes with heels, make-up!
“Your skirt’s loads nicer than mine.” my sister moaned.
“No it isn’t!” I retorted.
“Oh it is!” Julia insisted.
“Mine looks like Burberry!” she claimed.
“I hate Burberry!!”
“I won’t have to wear make-up too will I?”
I asked, gulping and almost swallowing my jaw in the process.
“You will when you start year ten.”
Mum replied, tapping on the screen and the words that started this.
“It is optional in year eight.” my sister noted.
“Well in that case I’ll opt-out.” I stated.
“What’s the winter uniform?” Julia asked,
noticing that the heading does clearly state
‘summer’ uniform.
Mum scrolled down a bit.
“Oh god… that’s worse than the skirt!”
“I think it’s nice,” Mum replied.
The winter uniform is a pinafore dress worn with a long-sleeved shirt;
blue plaid for the boys and brown plaid for the girls.
Unlike the skirts which appear to me mid-thigh length, the pinafores look like they’re closer to knee length.
“They look nice and warm,” Mum added.
“Long pants would be warmer,” I murmured.
The very thought of having to dress as a girl for school sent shivers down my spine.
“I’ll freeze to death in winter,” I claimed.
“You’ll have warm woolly tights in winter Matty,” Mum told me.
“I’m not wearing tights!” I insisted.
The next page showed the PE kit and that didn’t look much better than the uniform.
“Gym knickers!” I blurted.
The PE kit consisted of a bottle green skirt,
a burgundy polo short, bottle green gym knickers,
burgundy knee socks and black plimsolls.
The girl’s PE kit is reversed having a burgundy skirt and a bottle green top.
“Oh we don’t have to wear a swimming costume too do we?!”
I whined as Mum scrolled down to the swimwear section.
The boys wear a green swimsuit and the girls wear a burgundy one.
“You never know, you might like it once you’ve got used to it.” Mum said as she turned to me.
Her face held a discomforting smile.
“I doubt it.” I groaned.
“I wish the girls could wear the same as the boys.” Julia said.
“I hate Burberry!”
“It’s not really Burberry.” Mum said.
“It’s near enough.” Julia insisted.
“Why couldn’t you send me to a normal school?” I asked.
“Because ‘normal’ schools are way down in the league tables.” Mum replied.
I sighed and slumped into my shoulders. “I don’t want to move now.” I moaned.
Our mother works from home as a consultant and decided to sell our house in Kent and move north to Derbyshire.
With the huge difference in house prices,
the move north meant that Mum would be mortgage-free and would also have a good lump sum in the bank.
We’d been to the Peak District on holiday
so the prospect of living close to its southern edge and the legendary Alton Towers theme park was met positively by both myself and my sister
That was
until today that is.
Later that evening, Julia and I had a private whine about our new school’s uniform.
“Yours is OK.” my sister claimed.
“Apart from the tank top thing…
but you don’t have to wear that.”
“None of it’s OK!” I retorted.
“I don’t want to wear any of it!”
“Well neither do I.” Julia replied.
“But at least yours isn’t Burberry!”
“It’s still a girl’s uniform though… and a girl’s school.” I reminded her.
I felt a lump growing in my throat.
“It’s a mixed girl’s school.” Julia stated.
“You won’t be the only boy and all the others will be dressed as girls too.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
I frowned, before practically begging my sister not to tell anyone.
The last thing I want is to spend my last few weeks with everyone knowing the truth about my new school.
Julia agreed to keep quiet, and to the best of my knowledge, she kept her word.
A month and a half later and we were pretty much packed and ready to move.
All the excitement of a new town,
a new house and a new school had waned the moment I realised that I’d be going to one of these ‘mixed’ girl’s schools.
I felt I’d had a lucky escape when I left junior school a year ago as the following year it had adopted this newfangled ‘educational petticoating’ thing,
meaning all boys had to wear the girl’s uniform.
Thankfully I lived in the catchment area of a normal high school where the boys could be boys,
unlike the Academy on the other side of Ashford.
But I’ve already said my goodbyes from that school and we’re about to say goodbye to Ashford.
Tomorrow evening we’ll be in a new house in a new town, and next term I’ll be in my new school.