Imreadonly has written a number of stories that, taken together, 
might be termed his "Reformatory Tales."  




           THE ADVANTAGES OF REFORMATORY HEARINGS

                             by

                         Imreadonly



Part 1

It is widely acknowledged that, in the more routine cases of 
female delinquency, there is little need for a formal hearing, 
and a routine review by a clerk is more than adequate.  When 
a young woman in her early twenties or thirties is caught 
shoplifting or publicly drunk or a threat to a prominent man 
with whom she is having an affair, conventional wisdom agrees 
that it is best to confine her to the reformatory without the 
tedious rigmarole of a public trial.

However, in many cases a routine review by a judge, or better, 
an experienced Board specially trained to handle such cases, can, 
if conducted with alacrity, provide an efficient mechanism for 
establishing a young woman's legal delinquency with a minimum 
of fuss. 

Under English common law, young women aged 18 to 45 accused of 
delinquency can be detained at the local reformatory by a 
constable, judge, or at the request of a family member until 
such time as a formal hearing can be held.  In English 
reformatories, young women accused of delinquency, and any woman 
seeking release from such an institution, are required to prepare 
a formal "Plea for Clemency" which can be reviewed on "Mercy 
Night." 

Proper preparation is vital.  After their work on the farm or mill 
is done, and their schoolwork complete, the young women are 
encouraged to forgo their sleeping privileges to prepare their 
cases.  The girls are allowed to toil late into the night in the 
institution's chilly, candlelit library, furiously reading dusty 
old law books as they search desperately for a case or precedent 
that might offer them some hope of respite. 

This task is no easy penance, for usually their research in the 
specially selected tomes involves reading countless cases of young 
women confined to strict reformatory discipline for the most 
trivial offenses. 

Consider Paulette Artois, a lovely French girl who visited England 
to collect a large inheritance.  Her uncle, however, spoke with his 
close friend, Lord Beltone, who agreed that it would be best to 
confine Paulette to the reformatory so that her wise uncle could 
manage her fortune for her.  Indeed, he promised Lord Beltone that, 
once Paulette were confined, he would treat her massive estate as 
if it were his own and reward his friend Beltone handsomely.

Paulette's only hope is Mercy Night.  Each night she toils 
desperately in the library, attempting to prove that her 
confinement and the whipping of her bottom on Justice Night 
(that will doubtlessly accompany the formal declaration of 
her delinquency) is both cruel and unusual.

Cruel, perhaps, but certainly not unusual.  Paulette's research 
reveals countless cases of young women confined to reformatory 
discipline in circumstances identical to her own.  Oh, how 
Paulette's bottom cheeks clench in nervous anticipation as she 
reads about their fearsome punishments on Justice Night.  Even 
by the dim candlelight, you can see her pretty cheeks flush pink 
with humiliation as she imagines herself straddling the punishment 
horse, with her legs spread wide, in front of her despised uncle 
and his piggy friends. 

Still, Paulette labors on.  She has been told that her fate rests 
entirely in her own hands, and that her release is a simple matter 
of presenting her case to the reformatory's Board in a respectful, 
thoughtful, and original way.  Is there some arcane rule of law 
that she can invoke, that the other girls who have stood in her 
shoes have missed?  A forgotten case she might cite?  In the 
massive medieval library, there is always another book to check, 
and another story to read.

The girls have no access to computers or any automated tools, and 
their supplies are limited to a yellow legal pad and a pencil.  If 
any word on a page is misspelled or if their handwriting is less 
than perfect, the matron orders the page rewritten.  If a paragraph 
is deleted, the young woman must write the lengthy plea over from 
the point where the change was made.

The girls never complain, for they know a carefully worded and 
considered petition is their only hope of avoiding the rigors of 
Justice Night.  Indeed, working in the library is a treasured 
privilege, as the girls know that it is the only venue they will 
ever have for proclaiming their innocence.  As they are reminded 
repeatedly, if the Board of Governors rules against them, it will 
be entirely their fault.

Their situation, dire as it is, is not entirely hopeless.  Each 
year several girls are paroled and bid their excited farewells to 
their fellow inmates.  Unbeknownst to the girls, the terms of such 
parole always involve a stricter form of bondage, such as private 
service as one of a Governor's domestic, or perhaps a special 
"overseas release" that ends with the blushing girl being paraded 
naked on the auction block.

The girls know none of this, of course, and eagerly seek "release." 
They carefully prepare legal arguments that are often lengthy, 
subtle, and complex.  The matter at hand is grave, at least from 
the perspective of the young women facing the prospect of 
indefinite confinement, bent and bared, under the command of the 
rod.  However, the large number of cases to be reviewed, and the 
Board of Governors' eagerness to dispense with them so they can 
adjourn to their private room at the pub, guarantees the speedy 
dispensation of justice.

On Mercy Night itself, the young women, in uniform, are forced to 
wait outside in the hallway as their cases are reviewed.  The cases 
are processed briskly, often in less than a minute.  There is no 
need for defense attorneys or the noisy clashing of legal 
broadswords.  What better friend could the girl have then the 
reformatory Governors, who have dedicated their careers to the 
correction of troubled women?

Depending on the amount of time they have spent in detention, the 
young women may have spent a few days or many months preparing 
lengthy and carefully researched protests of innocence.  Although 
the women are told that the length and quality of their petition 
is of great importance, in truth the wise and learned Board members 
give every girl's plea only the consideration it's due.

The young women are all over 18; indeed, there are numerous cases 
where mothers and daughters have actually found themselves confined 
to the same institution.  Regardless of their chronological years 
each of the girls attends Mercy Night dressed in a crisp 
reformatory school uniform.

The matrons caution the girls that their uniforms must be perfect, 
and warn them to avoid any contraband makeup or jewelry that might 
make them appear to be something other than their uniform implies. 

Paulette, the French heiress facing English justice, has taken the 
matron's advice to heart.  With her hair in pigtails, and wearing 
her regulation white knee socks, blazer, and school tie, she looks 
less like a 26-year-old woman than a pretty teenager, nervously 
waiting outside the Headmaster's office.  Perhaps in some sense, 
she is.

Paulette and the other girls, trying very hard to look innocent, 
literally toe the line outside of the reformatory's Board Room as 
the Governors file past them.  Then the massive doors are closed, 
and the girls wait nervously for justice to be done.

This initial glance at the Board, and a brief sighting of the 
smiling, laughing Governors walking past them on the way to 
the pub at the conclusion of the evening's work, is the only 
glimpse the girls will have of the men who will decide their 
fate.

However, the Board of Governors will see far more.  For convenience 
sake, several cameras are hidden in the hallway where the girls 
await justice.  As the image of the nervous young woman waiting in 
the hall is flashed on the huge video screen for the Board of 
Governors' consideration, the girl's carefully worded plea is 
reduced to a brief sentence or two.

		******************************

Part 2

"Helen Thurmond, 37, a judge visiting from America," the clerk 
stated flatly.  "She works in their juvenile justice system."

"37, eh?" Judge Hardcase sniffed, eying the monitor suspiciously.  
"She doesn't look like a judge."

"Yes," Lord Snowton agreed.  "She looks like just another 
delinquent to me.

Indeed, she did not look like a judge, for Helen Thurmond was not 
wearing a black robe or her normal carefully tailored business 
suit.  Instead, she was wearing the standard issued reformatory 
uniform: blazer with the school logo on the pocket, tie, and a 
very short skirt which even now she was trying to tug on to make 
longer. 

Helen Thurmond was tall and lanky.  Although on the bench she 
dressed to look older, the school uniform she was wearing now 
had quite the opposite effect.  Helen's long slender legs made 
her short uniform skirt seem even shorter, and her blazer was 
a bit too short for her arms, as if she were suffering from an 
adolescent growth spurt.  Without makeup and jewelry, and with 
her hair in a ponytail, the 37-year-old judge looked every inch 
the awkward schoolgirl. 

"We've verified her age, my lord, and her identity," the clerk 
explained.  "She's committed no crime.  Spotless record."

"Why in blazes is she here, then?" Lord Snowton retorted.  "She 
must have done something."

"Judge Thurmond took a year's sabbatical from the bench and decided 
to visit England to study our system for handling delinquents.  
Apparently she spotted a constable guarding a group of young women 
waiting for transport to the Reformatory, and she took it upon 
herself to question him."

"Did she now?" Lord Snowton snorted.  "And what did our nosey 
American cousin uncover?"

"Well, my Lord, she seemed quite surprised to learn that all of the 
delinquents were over 18.  She questioned the constable quite a bit 
about it, and I guess he became annoyed.  He suggested that if she 
really wanted to understand how 'the bloody system worked,' she 
should ride to the reformatory with the girls, and watch them get 
processed.  Much to his surprise, she thought it was a wonderful 
idea."

"Did she now?" Lord Snowton chuckled.  "What happened next?"

When the driver came, the constable started talking to him about 
the match on Saturday, and apparently he forgot to mention that 
Judge Thurmond was a special case.  The next thing she knew she 
was cuffed and shackled in the back of the transport van."

"Sound like a bit of a muddle," Judge Waddle said, casually tapping 
the ash off the end of his cigar.  "All part of having a system, I 
suppose.  What happened when she arrived here?"

"Her name wasn't on the sheet, sir," the clerk noted, slightly 
abashed. "She explained who she was, but the matron decided to 
process her in anyway, until her identity could be verified."

There was some laughter and knowing smiles as each of the assembled 
board members envisioned the blushing Judge Thurmond surrendering 
her clothes, placing her feet in the stirrups for the "contraband 
check," washing herself in the large communal shower with the 
burning carbolic soap, bending over and spreading her legs for 
her delousing, and standing naked for her "posture photos." 

"One has to expect the occasional bungle," Judge Waddle said, 
dismissing the mistake as he would any other minor trifle. 

There was a brief pause as several of the Board members opened Miss 
Thurmond's case folder.  The Governors, wise and experienced in 
such matters, quickly turned past her carefully worded explanation 
of the mistake, past the documents verifying her identity, and past 
the initial booking shot that showed her in her elegant charcoal 
suit and pearls, her reformatory inmate number under her chin. 

Instead the men turned to the four posture photos -- one front, 
one back, and two side -- where the blushing victim of mistaken 
identity stood naked as a newborn babe in front of a backdrop 
that revealed her height, in bare feet, of course, to be 175 
centimeters (5'9").

"A tall girl!" Judge Bean noted. 

"And a natural blonde," Justice Chase observed.

"Modest too.  Her face is pinker than her nipples."

"She has nice long legs," Justice Tawney noted.  "I could use a 
tall blonde for my pony girl stables."

"She ran track in college and won several sprinting medals," the 
clerk replied, having anticipated the judge's interest.  "I 
checked her out on the web.  She placed in a marathon last year."

Justice Tawney smiled appreciatively as he allowed his eyes to 
slowly survey the blushing judge's naked form. She had long legs, 
and they looked strong.  She was good at sprints and would also 
have the endurance to run up and down the muddy hills that dotted 
the reformatory grounds without getting winded.

The blonde amazon liked to run, did she?  Well, she'd run her heart 
out, harnessed to his pony cart.  The bit in her mouth would muffle 
any protests.  And the whip would ensure an exemplary performance.

"She certainly has a tight, spankable bum," Judge Waddle enthused.  
"Has she been whipped yet?"

"No, sir," the clerk said.  "She arrived on Saturday.  We were 
going to release her, but she asked to be bound over for Mercy 
Night, so she could have the full experience of being processed 
through the system.  Plus she wished to make sure that her record 
was entirely expunged."

"I see.  And did the Headmaster explain to her that we would be 
duty-bound to review her record in its entirety, and that we would 
be free to adjudicate the matter as we saw fit?"

"Yes, sir, it was explained.  "She was surprised at first, but then 
she said it would be quite exciting.  She told the Headmaster she 
that she wished to 'submit herself fully to the Governors' mercy, 
and beg for their pardon, just like any other girl.'  Said it'd be 
a thrill...and a capital story when she got back to the States."

There was some amused laughter at this from the Board, but not from 
the clerk, who had witnessed the entire encounter. 

The clerk had gone to the Headmaster's office that afternoon to 
retrieve the "guest list" for Mercy Night and had breathlessly 
watched the entire exchange.  The discussion between the Judge 
Thurmond and the Headmaster had bristled with a perversely erotic 
tension, and even now the memory of the conversation burned fresh 
in his mind.

Apparently, the provisions for Helen's release had already been 
made, for, when the clerk saw her, she was once again wearing 
her elegant charcoal suit and pearls. 

Initially, the Headmaster seemed unimpressed by Helen's plea to 
remain at the reformatory, so she could "experience Mercy Night 
and beg for pardon."  The Headmaster reminded her tartly that she 
would not be permitted to speak and warned her that, "you will be 
expected to toe the line in your full school uniform, with the 
other delinquents, and wait quietly while the Governors decide 
your fate."

"I am speaking to you today as a colleague," he continued.  "The 
reformatory receives a commission for every girl confined...and 
for each punishment carried out.  On Mercy Night I will be 
required to do my duty and mix you in with drunkards, hooligans, 
and vandals.  I will do nothing that might draw special attention 
to your case or aid your cause.  As the Headmaster of this 
institution, it is my job to grease the wheels of justice so that 
every girl may be declared delinquent with as little fuss as 
possible." 

"That's your job," Judge Thurmond said.  "I expect no special 
treatment.  All I ask is that I be treated fairly, like all 
the other girls."

The Headmaster knew that being "treated fairly" and being "treated 
like the other girls," were mutually exclusive.  Dutifully, he 
tried to explain as much.  "It is presumed that girls are placed 
in the reformatory because they belong here, and the Governors are 
predisposed to respond to pleas for release not with mercy, but 
with the strap and the birch.  Your bottom will be very much on the 
line, for, when the Governors declare a young woman delinquent, the 
decision is final, and she loses all right to appeal.  Frankly, it 
baffles me as to why you would assume such a risk."

Judge Helen Thurmond's voice, normally strong and resolute, 
quivered slightly as she tried to explain.  "In court, I've 
presided over countless trials of adolescents charged with 
petty offenses.  I've often wondered what it might be like 
to be in their shoes.  This is my golden opportunity to 
experience justice not as a lofty magistrate, but as a 
common delinquent."

"As a judge, I understand the inherent risk involved in any legal 
proceeding.  Of course my case is special, because I am a judge, 
and because no charges have been filed.  Although the risk of error 
is minuscule, since there are no facts in dispute, I realize the 
danger of a legal blunder can never be entirely eliminated.  It is 
precisely that risk that will make the experience real -- and that 
makes the prospect of standing in the dock before a tribunal 
empowered to sentence me to your reformatory so thrilling."

Helen Thurmond swallowed hard before continuing.  "On Mercy Night 
I will stand in the shadow of the cane...and cast lots with the 
other delinquents...and face justice with them.  Don't you see?  
It will be so dreadfully exciting."

She placed the release pass that would allow her to exit through 
the front gate on the Headmaster's desk.  He nodded, then dipped 
his pen into an inkwell that was, like many things at the 
reformatory, a relic of a bygone age.  With great solemnity he 
added Helen's name to the bottom of the lengthy list for Mercy 
Night.

"Very well," he said.  "You wish to know what it is like to stand 
before the reformatory Governors as an accused delinquent, and so 
you shall. I shall place your file toward the bottom of the stack 
and make no special mention of it.  You view your case as special, 
but on Mercy Night it will be blended in smoothly with the rest, 
and your file will simply be one of many requiring the rapid 
dispensation of justice.  As with any delinquent, it will be 
incumbent upon you to prepare your written Plea for Clemency.  I 
advise you make it precisely enough to separate yourself from the 
cacophony of similar pleas that will doubtlessly exhaust the 
Governors' patience long before your peculiar quandary claims 
their attention."

Judge Thurmond brightened immediately and explained that she had 
been editor of the law review at Stanford.  "I'm an excellent 
writer, the best in my class, and the leading judge in my state, 
if I may be frank.  With my legal background and writing skills, 
I am certain that my plea will quickly rise to the top of the 
stack, no matter where it is placed."

		******************************

Part 3

Helen Thurmond had had the hubris to state confidently that, "with 
my legal background and writing skills, I am certain that my plea 
will quickly rise to the top of the stack...."

That proved to be an ironic comment.  For now, on Mercy night, no 
one on the Board was reading her carefully prepared text.  Justice 
Tawney seemed spellbound by her posture photos.  Justice Hardcase 
and Lord Snowton were considering her image on the screen. 

The live feed showed her in the hallway, nervously shifting her 
weight from foot to foot and chewing on her nails as she anxiously 
awaited the judgment of her betters.  It was clear that, however 
'thrilling' Mercy Night might have seemed when she was standing in 
the relative safety of the Headmaster's office, the dire reality of 
being forced to stand by helplessly while the Governors discussed 
her 'delinquency' had reduced the self-confident jurist to the 
level of a nervous sixth-former.

The Governors, all seasoned veterans in such matters, chuckled 
softly as they read the nervous schoolgirl's thoughts.  "Oh, 
dear, I hope I've done the right thing.  There are so many girls, 
and so little time to review all these cases.  They MUST release 
me, don't they?  I haven't done anything wrong.  I'm not like the 
others....  surely they'll see!  Oh, I wish I had a lawyer...some 
way to defend myself."

Justice Hardcase smiled; he knew Helen's type well.  Lurid tales of 
reformatory discipline had drawn her here like a moth to a flame.  
But now that the iron door had clanged shut behind her, and she 
found herself behind the barred window, the grim reality of her 
predicament was finally settling in.

Helen Thurmond wanted to know what it felt like to be a naughty 
adolescent standing before the blind Goddess of Justice.  Now she 
knew.  Her palms were sweaty, and her heart was racing.  Having 
been forced to toe the line for nearly forty minutes, she was a 
bundle of nervous energy, chewing her lip, tugging on her skirt, 
pulling up her socks, and straightening her tie in case the 
Governors suddenly emerged from their lair.

The Headmaster had done his part and kept his promise to do 
everything in his power to see that she was incarcerated.  An 
hour before the hearing, he had dispatched his wicked crone of 
a secretary to inform the surprised Helen that 'per the regular 
routine' she had already been scheduled to ride a punishment 
horse on Justice Night.

The secretary cheerfully explained that Helen would be in the first 
group, since she had never been whipped before, and the Headmaster 
knew that her struggles would provide a capital entertainment.  She 
would ride Punishment Horse #3, between a natural brunette and a 
natural redhead, to provide the audience with a rainbow of feminine 
colors.  Number 3 was the largest horse, and the secretary gushed 
that it was "perfect for punishing a great big girl like you, 
your long limbs and nice round bottom.  I'm putting together a list 
of invitees; it will be hard to choose among them, since, as a 
judge, there are many people who don't like you.  Is there anyone 
you would like to invite?"

Helen, flustered, assured her that there was not, and that such 
preparations were unnecessary, since she was entirely innocent.  
The secretary simply smiled, and following the Headmaster's 
directive, left Helen to stew in her own juices.

The secretary's cruel mission had achieved its objective.  On the 
monitor, the distraught Helen now projected the consummate image 
of a guilty and angst-ridden schoolgirl, frantic to escape the 
cane. 

The Governors knew her type.  An incorrigible delinquent, from the 
look of her -- why else would she constantly be straightening her 
tie and trying so hard to project an image of innocence? 

Helen's racing mind was a jumble of thoughts.  She sincerely 
repented her decision to stand with the other girls on Mercy 
Night, for, innocent or not, she was now feeling precisely the 
panic any girl would feel in her situation.  Helen wondered if 
the cane hurt as much as they said, and who might be invited 
to witness her shameful punishment.

She forced herself to dismiss such negative thoughts, and instead 
she hoped that the Governors were still in a lenient mood by the 
time they reviewed her case.  But soon (and this was most unusual 
for Helen) she began to have troubling doubts about the plea she 
had written.

Had she made it clear enough in the opening paragraph that she was 
entirely innocent, and that no charges had ever been filed against 
her?  Was the second paragraph, which cited her numerous awards and 
judicial credentials, succinct enough to impress?  Should she have 
begun her second paragraph that way, or merely stressed again that 
she should be released because no charges had been filed?

In truth, the charges did not matter.  Her carefully worded and 
brilliantly written plea was irrelevant to the point of absurdity.  
How could they even consider such a document when the evidence of 
her guilt was on the monitor in front of them?  Pictures speak 
louder than words, and the image of the gangly, fidgeting teenager 
in the hallway combined with the pictures of her tight, spankable 
bottom, told the august tribunal everything they needed to know.

Helen Thurmond was plainly just another naughty delinquent in need 
of a good thrashing.  Fortunately, the Board knew precisely how to 
deal with girls of her ilk.

Helen was not legally a delinquent, of course...at least not yet.  
That would require a formal charge, and the filing of a very 
special form....

"So she demanded that we expunge her record, did she?" Judge Tawney 
asked rhetorically, searching for a legal straw to grasp.  "Rather 
cheeky of her, don't you think?"

"I agree!" Lord Snowton said.  "One might almost say contemptuous."

Lord Snowton turned to the clerk and asked, "Is there anything else 
we should know about this case, lad?"

The clerk felt a sudden rush of power.  The Board of Governors was 
turning to HIM for guidance.  The question, though vaguely worded, 
had a very precise meaning.  The Board needed to know if there were 
some reason they SHOULDN'T incarcerate Helen Thurmond....  Did she 
have a powerful, politically important relative who might object?  
Might her absence create an unwanted inquiry, or her presence here 
trigger some sort of scandal? 

The busy Board members scarcely had time to consider such matters, 
but the clerk had made a detailed study of every case file, which 
meant that Helen's fate now rested squarely in his 19-year-old 
hands.  Remembering the exciting exchange in the Headmaster's 
office, the responsibility thrilled him to the core.

As part of his due diligence, the clerk had made a discreet inquiry 
into Helen's background.  She had no family and was something of a 
loner.  She was on a year's leave of absence from the bench.  The 
senior judge in her circuit (who was, fortunately enough, a Rhodes 
Scholar, an old classmate of Lord Snowtown, and an occasional guest 
on Justice Night) would understand if his youngest, prettiest, and 
most outspoken judge were incommunicado for the next several 
months...or indefinitely.

Helen was an American citizen, but, in this context, that made 
little difference.  A discreet word from one of the judges 
would ensure that the Foreign Office told the State Department 
that Helen had terrorist ties, which made her a palpable security 
risk.  Her case would instantly become classified and her eventual 
overseas sale would become a necessary and unquestionable act of 
preserving the security of the free world.

The clerk's research had merely been a precaution, of course, since 
he had assumed that Helen would be one of those exceptional cases 
of genuine release.  After all, she had committed no crime and was 
there merely by accident.  She was not a delinquent.  Quite the 
opposite: she was a respected judge.

Assuming that she would be released, the clerk had even taken it 
upon himself to fill in her release form.  It was sitting in front 
of him now, with her name at the top. 

She would surely be released.  How could she not?  Even after the 
Headmaster had explained to her how her mere presence in the 
reformatory would create the presumption of delinquency and how 
clemency petitions such as hers nearly always ended with the girl 
strapped down over the punishment horse, still the confident and 
self-assured Judge Thurmond was not deterred.  Soon she was talking 
of the law review, and her grades, and her brilliant legal work, 
and all the awards she had won for her writing.

Her confidence was not misplaced.  Indeed, if Justice Tawney were 
not in need of a blonde pony girl, or if Helen had not been so 
tall, or if her bottom had been less deliciously tight, or if she 
had won her medals for bowling instead of track, of if she been 
able to maintain her composure in the hallway, the judges most 
likely would not have turned to the clerk, and Helen's release 
form would already be signed. 

The clerk looked down at the release document sitting in front of 
him.  All he had to do was pass it to Judge Hardcase for his 
signature, and nothing more would be said.  Judge Thurmond would 
be free to go.

The clerk looked up at the gawky, tremulous schoolgirl, trying to 
tug her short skirt longer as she stared up anxiously at the 
ticking clock on the wall.  It was difficult to imagine her in 
charge of a courtroom -- or in charge of much of anything.  But 
it was very easy for the clerk to envision her on Justice Night, 
in her tight white knickers and half t-shirt, being led down the 
center aisle of the Grand Hall to meet her fate.

The clerk imagined the look of distress on her pretty face as she 
spotted her punishment horse for the first time, and her fearful 
countenance as she was ordered to stand in front of the massive 
beast as the straps were adjusted to account for her unusual 
height....

Her awkwardness as she straddled her mount for the first time....

Her gasp as the straps were buckled tightly around her wrists, and 
the slack was pulled taut.  Helen's long, slender fingers would 
almost be able to touch the ancient buckles that held her in place. 
Almost....

Helen's muffled cry as the ancient gag was inserted into her 
pretty mouth, and she tasted the dried spit of the countless 
petty criminals who had proceeded her.

The fearful blush on Helen's face as her regulation knickers were 
slid down and off.  As her ankles were buckled into place, she 
would be forced to listen to the front row's indecent appraisal 
of her most intimate charms.

And finally, the look of terror on her face as she felt the 
Headmaster lightly tap-tap-tap the instrument of her correction 
against her cringing bare bottom....

It was easy for the clerk to envision these things.  Indeed, as he 
stared at the lovely but nervous girl on the monitor, those were 
precisely the images that flashed through his mind.  How different 
Helen seemed than the confident and inquisitive judge who had 
peppered the annoyed constable with questions at the courthouse.  
Yes, Helen's only crime, perhaps, was being a tad too curious....

The clerk looked down at Helen's release form.  If he passed it to 
Judge Hardcase, Helen would go free, free to tour England and then 
return to the states.  Free to resume her place on the bench, and 
free to brag to her friends about how she had stood tall on Mercy 
Night and bravely stared the entire British reformatory system down.

The clerk picked up Helen's release form...and set it aside.  
Turning to Judge Hardcase, he explained.  "Well, sir, the constable 
at the courthouse told me she was quite the nosey parker, asking if 
the girls got it on the bare and such.  She asked if he knew which 
ones would be birched and which would be caned.  The poor girls 
were sitting right there on the bench listening, and you could tell 
they didn't fancy having a posh American inquiring about their 
whippings that way.  The constable said that if she were his 
daughter, he'd have the knickers off her, and he'd answer her 
questions with her over his knee."

The clerk, wanting to be ready, took a pre-numbered form from the 
large stack in front of him and wrote HELEN THURMOND in large block 
letters in the space provided. 

On the monitor, Helen looked worried, anxious, and tense.  But, if 
she had seen the form the clerk was so casually completing, her 
nervousness would have quickly turned to terror.  The form was the 
dreaded CERTIFICATE OF DELINQUENCY, the brief but powerful 
sentencing form used to strip young women of their legal rights 
and confine them to the reformatory system. 

The clerk looked up at the lovely blonde girl on the screen, 
nervously adjusting her tie.  From the anxious look on her 
worried brow, it was clear that Helen was getting more of a 
"thrill" than she had bargained for.  But it was too late now....

The clerk's member stiffened as he held the form, excited to know 
that he was holding the paper that would strip the proud judge of 
everything and sentence her to reformatory justice.

He poised the very tip of his writing instrument over the form and 
waited for the axe to fall....

Judge Hardcase looked to Lord Snowton, Judge Tawney, and the other 
Board members, who silently nodded their approval.

"Contempt of Court!" he thundered.  "Let's give her six months of 
strict reformatory discipline, with a dozen strokes of the cane on 
Justice Night.  That should answer all the little snoop's 
schoolgirl questions about a proper English punishment."

"Here, here!" Judge Tawney said, as the other Governors nodded 
sagely.

"Should we review her written plea?" Lord Campell asked.  "The 
matron who supervised her said she prepared a truly exemplary 
proof of innocence."

"Did she now?" Lord Snowton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
"Perhaps we should have a contest, where all the criminals in the 
penitentiary draw pretty pictures, and the best artists are set 
free."

The Board members, relieved to have their solemn duties eased by 
Lord Snowton's mordant wit, laughed heartily.

"You'll have to excuse Lord Campell," Judge Waddle said, still 
chuckling.  "This is his first Mercy Night, and he's green to 
our ways.  What he doesn't understand is that there isn't one 
of these little hooligans who wouldn't perjure herself a thousand 
times to save her bottom from precisely the sort of caning this 
naughty minx is destined to receive.  Soiling these proceedings 
with lies about her innocence, when she has already been found 
guilty, would only compound her crime, and increase her sentence."  

"And so it shall!" Judge Tawney said.  "Let's add another five 
years to her sentence for perjury, and a dozen flicks with the 
pony whip.  After all, an exemplary plea deserves an exemplary 
sentence.  I shall take personal charge of her case...and of her 
subsequent exercise program.  On Justice Night I shall lay the 
stripes on myself."

Cynics might charge that Helen's lengthy sentence was simply Judge 
Tawney's way of locking a promising filly into his stable; 
certainly his choice of the pony whip and his eagerness to admonish 
Helen personally suggested he was already viewing her not as a 
judicial colleague, but as a rebellious pony with a rump in need of 
the whip.

No matter.  No objection was made, and it took mere seconds for the 
grinning clerk to complete Helen's form.  He handed the form to 
Judge Hardcase, and the matter was settled.  Helen Thurmond was no 
longer a respected judge.  From this moment on, she was simply 
another reformatory delinquent. 

By the time Judge Hardcase had scribbled his name in the signature 
block, he was already "considering" the next case.  Her name was 
Paulette, and she was a French beauty who had inherited a large 
fortune.  Fortunately, Lord Snowton was familiar with her case, 
and informed the Board that the Paulette's kindly Uncle had 
already suggested a just and proper sentence....

The copies of Helen's carefully prepared petition were passed to 
the front of the room where Lord Tawney, feeling a chill in the 
air, tossed them into the roaring fire.

Helen Thurmond's form was taken to the courthouse the next day, and 
embossed with the Queen's seal.  And so her delinquency became a 
matter of settled law.  Helen Thurmond, delinquent, was stripped 
of her right to counsel, her right to appeal, and her right to do 
anything, save run her fastest, and turn Judge Tawney a tidy profit 
when she won her races.

The half-completed form ordering her release would soon find its 
way to the incinerator, along with the other useless debris from 
the Governors' night of moral service to the nation.

Many question the necessity of judicial review in such cases, 
particularly when the guilt is readily apparent and the verdict 
seemingly assured.  But as Helen Thurmond learned, in law nothing 
is ever certain, and only a full review of the facts conducted by 
an impartial panel can ensure true justice.

A cursory review of the facts would have certainly resulted in her 
immediate release.  But, by forcing herself to pass through the 
fire of Mercy Night, she wisely ensured that her case would be 
considered in its entirety.

The reformatory Governors, upon seeing the photographs of Helen's 
tight, athletic bottom -- and viewing her in her school uniform 
-- realized what must be done.  Charges were found, and the 
necessary forms were signed and sealed. 

Thanks to their wisdom, Helen would no longer sit on a bench and 
look down on naughty delinquents.  Instead, she would straddle a 
bench beside them. 

And so, as this tale shows, a properly conducted hearing by a 
trained Board, far from impeding justice, can actually promote 
it.  Let us be grateful that the reformatory has a Board of 
Governors willing to adjudicate such cases, witness the 
delinquents' punishments, and, when necessary, take the rod 
of correction into their own capable hands.



Edited by C. Lakewood