Clovelly-Kepplestone was a private boarding school for girls in Eastbourne, Sussex. It flourished from 1908 until 1934 and was familiarly known to staff and pupils as "Clo-Kepp". There is a very comprehensive piece on it at Wikipedia. The annual school magazine of which we have the 1930 issue has a frontis of the charismatic Miss Frances Browne the 'principal' of the school. The magazine is of a high order full of news of old girls and poetry, essays and humour from past and present Clo-Keppians.
The following P. G. Wodehouse parody is a good example. The brief was to write a piece with the context of rain outside, a man and wife inside and an unexpected visit by a friend. The 3 subjects were Wodehouse, Edgar Wallace and John Buchan. The Buchan comes soon but the Wallace only on demand.The authors are given as Phyllis Inglis (née Kay) C-K and O.G.C.
P. G. Wodehouse.
" Listen old thing ! " said I to the wife, " clean the ears and cluster round old top. Something whispers to me that rain is descending upon the Smith housetop."
We Smiths are like that, always jumping to the obvious conclusion–and mind you, it's useful and all that if you know what I mean. No dilly-dallying with the dashed fact.
" Yes, dear," said the skirted half.
" Dashed nuisance, what? "
" Nuisance ? "
" Yes–pitta-pat, pitta-pat, you know."
" Well, what I mean is this drip-drip-drip business gets into a fellow's nervous subconscious after a bit, if you apprehend the footling idea."
" Oh, shut up ! "
" Eh? "
" Shut up ! "
" Shut up ? "
" Yes, shut up."
" Right-ho ! "
We Smiths are like that–always ready to fall in with any little notion touring about the wife's brain. Give and take, if you follow me ; fifty-fifty,–in fact, dash it all, live and let live, what !
At this point the thingumyjig opened and what's-'is-name blew in on Greeves' announcement of the priceless ass's name.
" Hello ! " I said.
" Hello ! old mollusc ! Just back from the East."
" What-ho ! "
" Thought I'd look you up."
" Posh idea. Strew yourself upon yonder couch," said I, passing him the Gold Flake.
" Been here and there? " said he, lighting up the Gold Flake.
" Hither and thither," said I passing him America's shame, and shoving the jolly old syphon across.
" Doing this and that ? "
" Oh yes, and one thing and another."
And so on, niph-naphing about the parotid past, till upon the witching-hour of midnight the old fruit raised the carcase into the perpendicular and oozed away.
" Bed, what-ho ! " said I, making a dash for the Vi-Spring–" the Smith mind is overwrought. Rest is essential." And pouring myself into my pyjamas, I dozed off.