Miss Strappe teaches Class 1-B a lesson

“But, miss,” protested Charlotte. “You can’t actually prove I’ve done anything wrong.”

“As a matter of fact, I can. I saw you drinking a glass of wine with the Director yesterday evening, after the concert.”

“That doesn’t prove I conspired with him to trick you into singing comic songs naked on stage at La Scala, before an audience of thousands!”

“No. It proves you’re indulging in ****, which is against school rules.”

“So you’re punishing the entire class?”

“They have to learn somehow. No more backtalk. You’re on in five minutes.”

The curtains drew open. The audience, which was somehow even bigger than yesterday, leaned forward expectantly.

An entire class of British schoolgirls, around twenty in all, stood on the stage at La Scala, arranged on a sort of tiered staircase so every last one of them would be visible from even the most distant seat. They did not look happy to be there. They wore black shoes, white socks, hair ribbons and absolutely nothing else.

“Greetings, everyone,” said Miss Strapp, who was standing off to one side. Since she was an experienced teacher, she was able to make her voice carry to the very back of the enormous concert hall. “I am a teacher at St. Hilaria’s Finishing School For Respectable Young Ladies (18+), and this is Class 1-B of the same establishment. Recently, Class 1-B has decided that it’s funny to embarrass people on purpose.”

There were boos, and cries of “Shame!”. Miss Strapp allowed herself a wintry smile. “Quite. So, since they think it’s so terribly funny to embarrass people, I have decided it might also be funny for me to embarrass them. As such, I have volunteered them for a repeat of last night’s performance. Girls, are you embarrassed?”

There was a loud chorus of “Yes, Miss Strapp.”

“How embarrassed?”

“Very, very embarrassed, Miss Strapp.”

“Very good. You will note that I have issued free tickets to a large number of extremely handsome young men, all from the lower classes, who would not normally be able to attend a high-art performance such as this. As you see, they occupy the first three rows. I have also arranged for every major world newspaper to cover this production, which as an experimental work by an important opera director is of course the cultural event of the year. You may begin.”

The orchestra struck up a jaunty tune. The girls opened their mouths.

“We’re pretty English roses, we’re lovely when we dance…”