When I was in the sixth form at school, we had a girl named Marilyn join us. She was a pretty large girl, the daughter of a local scrap dealer who had made a fortune and had sent his girl to a better school ‘to get ‘er educated, like,’ or so he said. It was rumoured he could hardly read or write but he could sure make money and he wanted his girl to have what he never had.
I got on well with her and we became quite good friends. Unlike some of the girls, I was no snob and appreciated her, even though she was undoubtedly a bit on the rough side. I visited her at her house and found it to be palatial, but reflected her folks working class tastes. But there was no doubting about their love for their daughter. By the size of her dad, I wouldn’t fancy the chances of anyone who messed with him, and there was no doubt who Marilyn took after!
Now, although we were the girls school, we did share sports facilities with the local boys school, and this involved us in the winter when we played hockey, walking past the boys who were preparing to play rugby. By coincidence, they happened to be sixth formers that year and in those days the sight of girls in short hockey skirts walking by them invited a smack on the bottom by a youthful male hand.
Having a cute bum myself, I had already had it smacked a few times as we ran the admiring gauntlet on the way to the hockey field. This being the 1960s, it was nothing remarkable, and I never reacted lest it encouraged them. Besides, in those days, there were worse things than an admiring smack on the bum, as long as it wasn’t hard.
This particular day, however, I was walking and talking with Marilyn. A spotty youth passed us and as he did he slapped my behind quite hard, so I went, “Ow!” and clutched my bum.
Unfortunately, he then tried the same trick with my friend with the words, “What ho, fatty!” at which Marilyn, moving with amazing speed for a girl her size, whirled round and planted a perfect right hook on the lad’s jaw.
Down went the boy like a toppled tree where he lay spitting blood. I was quite worried for his welfare, but not so Marilyn who towered over him and said, “Did you say something, squirt?”
Something told me it wasn’t the first time she’d used her fists like this. Thankfully the boy was soon on his feet and suffered no real damage apart from a thick lip and a greatly reduced ego.
No doubt today the incident may have produced claims and counter claims, but then it was just part of school life. One up for the girls on that occasion. We did notice after that the smacking of our bottoms went into sharp decline when Marilyn was around and we girls looked upon her as a champ.