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As if I should know what she meant, the most talkative of my new companions, a girl my age called Tania, explained that the School Slag had left at the end of last term and her replacement was yet to be chosen.
She went on to say that Marion or Josephine were the front-runners, but that I was so pretty I better keep my head down.
Arriving to live-in there on the afternoon of the day before the first of the new term, I was surprised at how friendly and welcoming the girls who had been there already for some time were to me, as a newcomer, as we all stood around in the assembly hall waiting to be formally sorted into our year-groups classes and dormitories.
But I could not help hearing conversation around me in which the word "slag" (meaning, I supposed, a whore - a hooker) kept recurring.
Beyond their reach till their out-of-the-blue windfall from a lottery ticket given them as a gift by me, of all people: the first I had ever bought. Although I had but two years left to the school leaving age of eighteen, it was agreed even by me, that I should seek the best education money could buy a girl, and go to St Catherine's Academy for Girls.