The Baldwinian

It’s been three years but all I have thought of since 1st December is Baldwins’. This particular post reduced me to tears and now I’m bawling like a baby, wanting to rewind all those years.

You were five when you entered Baldwin Girls’ High School. The day was a blur and even though you wore a green skirt, the others wore intimidating blue uniforms.

You quickly adapted as a newcomer to the world of reading and writing. Your head was bent over a notebook, clutching the page with two tiny fingers to achieve that perfect indent to your paragraph.

You were given a dark blue, majestic looking diary with the school emblem on the cover. It looked and felt important, and teachers used it to rat on you to your parents. Exam scores, bad behaviour, forgotten notebooks- they’d all be recorded in the diary along with tomorrow’s homework.

You had your first experience of true horror when an older girl told you about the ghost in the tree and the girl who died in the elevator by the bathroom many centuries ago. You were too scared to…

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