Chapter 14: How To Be A Gardener

Course 8 / Day 6: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: Time for Fifty to start getting involved in some outdoor activities and help with preparations for the garden party.

Jenny's Recollections

I am waking up early and feeling refreshed these days.

I guess the (very) regular hours with nothing in the way of normal household or occupational responsibilities must be good for me, and but today it's rather before the usual time (as far as I can tell) when the shutter goes up and Jo is outside my cell. She opens the bars and comes in.

"O.K, Fifty; just get yourself ready and you can go to breakfast."

"Er, Mistress, you have caught me before I have — you know — been to the loo. Could you, err, give me a moment?"

"Of course, off you go." She goes on standing there with her arms folded.

"But, erm, I'd rather be alone..." I still haven't got used to the complete lack of privacy that the slaves are expected to endure.

"Mmmm, you probably would," Jo is sympathetic but firm, "but life is different for you now. Off you go and squat."

Her use of the word "squat" seems to carry a very odd sexual charge. I find it odd how some words have the way of turning a switch in my brain. For a second, I'm pulled between the sexiness of what she is telling me to do and the embarrassment of actually going whilst another adult watches.

"Er, do you have to? I mean, I don't even go in front of Joe at home. I don't think I'm really at my best."

"Fifty, slaves get to do as they are told and they also have to learn to think rather less about themselves. It seems to me that's a lesson you need to take on board. If it makes you feel any better, look up there." Jo points to the ceiling at the inconspicuous black ball and its little red light. "When you are in your cell, we need to watch over you. That's a security camera; we have watched you 'go' ever since you have been here." I know she's right of course, I'd suspected that it was something of the kind. "Now, I haven't all day. Use the toilet and let's get on."

For some reason, using the toilet when there is someone else actually there is still very awkward. I've got used to the likelihood of having a monitored camera in my cell and I don't think about it anymore, but this is different. With a sigh I do as I am told and the only saving grace is that the squatting toilet makes the mechanics of everything somehow more effective. I can't look anywhere, but straight ahead at the floor while I'm doing it, but I'm sure that Jo is studying my every move closely. There is no toilet paper in my cell and I have to wash my bum with water from a hose placed just by the toilet pan (or should it be "dish"?) - all watched by Jo.

The hose tap is elbow operated and the water comes out at a pre-set temperature. It's on the cool side of warm and there is no adjustment for it. To the side is a bottle of liquid soap with a pump-top which, once again, can be elbow operated. This has occurred to me before, but the whole arrangement in my cell has a sort of "animal husbandry" feel to it, even to the way my mattress has a wipe-clean surface and the floor of the cell slopes ever so gently towards the toilet dish, so that everything can be hosed down. — That last, being one of the personal house keeping duties I have to do every day. When I try to stand back and think psychologically, all these small things (plus the metal bowls we eat from) add up to deliver a powerful, unmistakable message; "You are not like us, you are less. You are animal. You are a utility."

"At last, Fifty! Now shave your crotch and scalp and clean your teeth and face, please." I do as she says, but she hasn't forgotten my earlier lack of enthusiasm for following orders. "Right, to help you be rather more obedient, you can have 10 demerits! We will obviously have to do this again regularly until you lose some of your inhibitions."

"Thank you, Mistress," seems the safest reply, although I'm not looking forward to that.

"You're welcome, Fifty!" Jo responds, cheerily, ignoring my reticence.

After breakfast, the girls and I are taken out to the garden. One of the support staff — 'the Keepers', as I call them — tells us that it's time we helped with the gardening. So, we are given hoes and all troop off to work on the flower beds, of which there are several very large ones.

It's my first really good look at the Inward Bound "Spa" from the outside in daylight.

The building is quite large, but extends much further back than the frontage suggests.

The garden looks rather "municipal": all flower beds and banks of small conifers and rhododendrons. The main drive winds away and is very soon lost behind the trees. I glance round, but there are no other buildings in sight. Because of the shrubbery there's no view of any nearby houses, or come to that hills or even a boundary wall. It's just as well, as both Sue and I are completely in the nip! Fortunately, it's a warm rather humid day and as my colleagues start to sweat, I'm left feeling really OK.

I wonder about the house and what it might have been. It's obviously an old house, perhaps from the turn of the last century, so it must have been bought or rented by Inward Bound. Our own accommodation isn't something many landlords would want done to their property by a tenant, so I'm guessing that tends to rule out a rented or leased property. Buying a place like this in good condition in south east England would need serious money. and I get the impression that Inward Bound is a relatively young organisation, so I imagine that they bought it in a fairly run down state and have been busy upgrading ever since.

So, an old house? Hmmm, the kitchen area is a bit industrial for that. School? Not enough "class rooms" from what I have seen. A convalescent home or sanatorium or perhaps an asylum? A hospital would explain the large kitchens and the large gardens. Shielding the house from the surroundings would be appropriate for an asylum or sanatorium. I know a lot of sanatoria closed in when antibiotics became effective against TB in the 1950's, but that's too long ago for the way the place is fitted out, unless Inward Bound have done a lot of work. On the other hand, mental health reforms in recent years led to smaller inpatient asylums being sold off, and that would fit. So that's it. I bet this was an old asylum. Ironic. It's a sort of asylum again ... That would be rich! You don't have to be mad to apply to come here, but it helps!

My suppositions are cut short by the arrival of lunch. It's a more lavish affair than usual for us slaves; sports energy drinks, sandwiches and fruit. Well, we are doing a pretty physical session today.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the Keeper in charge of us calls us together for a short break. Sue is sent in to deal with some domestic tasks, but then he tells the rest of us that the last job for the day is to mow the lawn...

One of his colleagues appears with a large collection of straps which he passes out to us. We all don what looks like a climber's body harness — it's one of the few things that I have worn since I have been here! Once we have them on, the Keeper comes around and checks the straps, tightening those that seem loose. Then, he and his colleague fasten our wrists to the harness behind out backs and fits each of us with a rubber bit gag.

We are formed into a team of four, two by two, Carrie and Anna, Judy and me. We're led off to be harnessed to a mower. "OK girls," the Keeper says, "you're going to pull this. Lets say it's your contribution to reducing carbon emissions. You can help to save the planet!"

The mower has a small seat on top and the keeper climbs up onto it.

I've fantasised about pony play sometimes, but it was always with the idea of me being some fine animal being paraded with a feather head dress. This isn't anything like glamorous and if you're looking for pony play, this is hardly what you would call "play". The Keeper has a small flogger and the two girls closest to the mower are dangerously in range.

"OK girls, here is how this goes," the Keeper begins. "I will shout, 'Pull', 'Stop', 'Left',

'Right' or 'Straight On', and that's JUST what you will ALL do TOGETHER. You will pull as a team and watch out for each other. Anyone who doesn't pull their weight gets whipped. Anyone who wrong foots their neighbour gets whipped. Any questions? No? Good. Then PULL!"

Questions are difficult to express when you are gagged, but the ground rules seem pretty straight forward and off we go.

Actually, the grass is reasonably short anyway and the mower glides quite easily over the lawn — but there is a lot of lawn and, inevitably, our legs start to tire. The Keeper threatens a severe whipping for the first one to slow down. The encouraging flicks of his whip are coming more frequently.