(Author Note: This is Part 1 of a 3 Part Story. The parts may be read in any order.)

The Setting: The St. Edmund's Home for Boys had been established by the Anglican Church to care for British boys from the South African colonies, many of who were the sons of British soldiers who had given their lives in overseas campaigns during World War I and World War II. By 1966 South Africa had become an independent republic no longer subject to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. This change did not prevent St. Edmund's from continuing its tradition of caring for boys of European descent who were in need of food, clothing, shelter... and discipline.

The Good

Oh, wonderful! As Trevor Wright approached Mr. Calvert's study, he saw four boys already waiting in line. It was clearly gonna be a busy Housemaster's Parade this week in Traynor House. One of the few things Trevor found even less pleasant than bending over for a caning was having to wait for his dose of the cane. Of course having to listen to the boys in line in front of him get it didn't add much to the waiting process... except for some fear and tension. But at least the waiting on Housemaster's Parade finally signalled the beginning of the end of the process.

For 13-year-old Trevor Wright, his path to this particular Housemaster's Parade began in his dorm two nights before. He had been caught by Robyn Barnes, his Dorm Prefect, in possession of cigarettes and matches. The stupid bit was that it had not been part of any formal inspection. Robyn had simply stopped by Trevor's desk for a quick chat during prep and asked to borrow a protractor. When Trevor opened his desk drawer to retrive the requested item, the ciggies and matches were sitting there plain as day.

Robyn knew that Trevor didn't smoke, and suspected (correctly) that he was holding the items for someone else. Trevor was holding them for a friend from another dorm who suspected that his possesions would be inspected that week. Robyn demanded to know who the cigarettes belonged to. Being unwilling to snitch on his friend, Trevor was eventually forced to claim ownership of the forbidden items, which of course meant an automatic referral to Housemaster's Parade for a caning from Mr. Calvert. So he had been waiting nearly 48 hours for this caning, which is a long time to wait for a hiding.

As Trevor stood in line outside Mr. Calvert's study, Edwin Groenewald, a 14-year-old from his dorm, got in line behind him. So much for any chance of privacy while he was getting his caning. Trevor silently cursed himself for not doing a better job - or any job really - of hiding the stupid cigarettes while he was holding them for his friend. He had been trying to think of a good hiding place but wasn't really in a hurry... then Barnsie spotted the contraband by accident and now, quite ironically, he was in for a really good hiding.

Trevor had been living at St. Edmund's for more than two years, since the age of eleven. When he turned thirteen he moved from his junior house, Durrant, to Traynor House, one of three senior houses at St. Edmund's. He had been caned once before by Mr. Calvert, but it was only four strokes, and over the trousers. In fact over the trousers was the only way Trevor had ever been caned in his life. This housemaster was well known as a fanatic for stamping out smoking among the boys of his house, and customarily gave canings for smoking on the bare. Normally Trevor relished the opportunity for new experiences, but being caned on the bare was one new experience that he would have happily forgone.

The six teenaged boys on Housemaster's Parade at Traynor House made quite a picture. They ranged in age from 13 - Trevor and another of the youngest boys in the house, Glen Rider - all the way up to Jamie Coutsides, who was 16. All six were exhibiting their nervousness in one way or another: there was restless fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot as they stood in line, sweating and/or breathlessness even though they had not recently exerted themselves physically. And despite their best efforts to hide it, most of them (including Trevor) had fear in their eyes.

Right on the appointed hour the door to the housemaster's study opened and Mr. Calvert stepped out into the hallway and turned to face the lineup of boys waiting along the wall. Alright, you lot. You all know why you're here. As each boy emerges from my office after I'm done with him, you will hear me call out Next!. When you hear that, the next boy in line will enter my office and close the door behind him. The rest of you move up a space. Clear?

All six boys nodded their understanding and said "Yes, sir."

Mr. Calvert said, "Very well then. Dodd, let's get this show on the road." George Dodd, a 14-year-old from another dorm, stepped into the office followed by Mr. Calvert, who closed the door behind him.

The remaining boys in line: Glen Rider - age 13, Jamie Coutsides - age 16, Alan Keogh - age 15, Trevor Wright - age 13, and Edwin Groenewald - age 14, all moved up a space. The five boys resumed their nervous routines as they stood in place, listening carefully.

The sounds of muted voices - a man and a boy - could be heard through the wall and closed door for a minute or two. Then there was a pause, followed by the unique and umistakable sound of a rattan cane connecting sharply with a soft target. This sound was repeated three times. Glen Rider, the youngster who was next in line, flinched at each stroke. Trevor didn't hear any evidence of sounds of distress from the boy who was actually being caned.

A minute or two later the door opened and George Dodd emerged. He was clearly in distress, although there was no evidence that he had shed any tears. The call of "Next!" could be heard from inside the study, and Glen Rider stepped through the door, closing it behind him. As the remaining four boys moved up a space they looked at Dodd, who was slowly limping away from the study, reaching back periodically to rub his aching backside through his trousers.

Glen Rider also received four strokes of the cane and the final two produced yelps that were audible out in the hall. Young Rider wiped a few tears from his eyes as he emerged from the office and limped away. Jamie Coutsides entered the study next and the three remaining boys moved the line forward.

Coutsides was one of the more renown smokers in the house and got caught at it a lot. This apparently irritated Mr. Calvert and Coutsides was the recipient of a full dozen strokes that sounded well laid on. They obviously made an impression on Coutsides since his agonized yelps were clearly audible out in the hall by the final two strokes.

When the strapping 16-year-old emerged from the study Trevor was stunned. Tears were running freely down Jamie's face, which was a mask of pain. As Alan Keogh entered the study, Coutsides slowly moved away, rubbing his aching bottom with no hint of self-consciousness.

Trevor stepped forward to stand next to the study door, with Edwin Groenewold moving up a space behind him. As he watched the thoroughly chastened Coutsides move slowly away, he gulped in fear. Did Calvert aways give twelve strokes on the bare for smoking? He was certain he couldn't deal with that many no matter how much time he had to get used to the idea, not that there was much time anyway - he was next in line!

Standing next to the study door, Trevor was able to hear a bit more of what was being said inside the study. It sounded like Keogh was up for smoking too, and it sounded like he was being told to drop his trousers and underpants. The sounds of rattan cutting through the air and connecting sharply with a boy's bottom were clearer, as were the sounds of the grunts, groans, yelps and eventual howls from Alan Keogh as his bottom absorbed ten real stingers from Mr. Calvert's cane.

Trevor shuddered when he realized that Edwin Groenewold, the boy in line behind him, would be standing here momentarily and would get to hear most of what was said and done during Trevor's punishment. He glanced back at Edwin, who shrugged his shoulders slightly, a sick look of apprehension on his face. Trevor suddenly wondered if his own face looked the same. He sure as hell felt scared sick at that point.

Then the study door opened again, and a very tearful Keogh shuffled out the door, rubbing his bottom gently as he moved. "Next!" called Calvert from inside the study. Trevor stepped through the doorway once Keogh was clear of it and closed the door behind him.

Mr. Calvert was leaning over the front of his desk making notes in a book... presumably the punishment book that each housemaster was required to keep. He finshed writing, straightened up and turned. "Ah, Wright."

Calvert picked up a three-quarters full red pack of Dunhill Filter cigarettes. "Do you recognize these, Wright?"

"Yes, sir. Barnes confiscated them from me."

"You bought these?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think you're lying to me, Wright."

How did he know? Was Trevor being that obvious? "Why, sir?"

"Because these are very expensive cigarettes, boy. I couldn't afford to smoke these, I doubt any member of staff here could. Your father is dead and I know your mother isn't sending you any money. So now you're asking me to believe that you somehow found a fistful of rand for premium cigarettes?"

Trevor felt the walls closing in on him... this was going even worse than he expected. "Yes, sir,"

"Well, I think you stole them. What do you think of that?"

"Oh no, sir! I would never steal anything!"

"But you would break the house rules on smoking?"

Trevor desperately wanted to deny doing this too, but he had trapped himself into protecting his friend. "I just wanted to try them... see what it was like."

"I see, and what did you think of them?"

"I didn't care for it sir, I'll never smoke again."

"Well that's something at least, and I believe you when you say you'll never smoke again. Largely because I don't believe you smoked any of them to begin with. Barnes told me that he thinks you were holding these for someone else, and I agree with him. Tell me who it was."

Trevor gulped. "I wasn't holding them for anyone."

"Then how and where did you get such expensive cigarettes?"

Trevor thought long and hard, trying to see a way out of this mess, but he couldn't see any escape routes. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't say."

"You mean you won't say," said Mr. Calvert, "because you are protecting another boy."

Trevor couldn't think of anything further to say, so he remained silent.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Wright. I had high hopes that you could become a valuable team player in this house. Now all this dumb insolence from you... just to protect someone whose bad habits have gotten you in very deep trouble."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Yes, I'm certain you are," said Mr. Calvert. "And I daresay you will be a good deal sorrier in a few minutes unless you change your attitude. Let me explain your two options here. If you confess to receiving this contraband as a gift from another boy and give me his name, you will only get six of the best - trousers and pants down. If you don't do that I will be forced to assume that you stole them, either from a local shop or from another boy, and then I would have to cane you for stealing as well. So which is going to be?"

Trevor felt trapped, but oddly enough it was easy to choose. "I'm sorry, sir. But I can't tell you the name of the person who gave me the cigarettes."

"Stupid schoolboy ethics," said Mr. Calvert, shaking his head sadly. "Do you really think the boy you're protecting would take an extra bad caning to protect your guilty backside if the positions were reversed?"

"I can't say for sure, sir," said Trevor. "But I certainly hope he would."

Mr. Calvert actually chuckled as he shook his head. "You have pluck, Wright, I'll give you that. But you're very lucky that it's 1966, and that I'm not a heartless man. Twenty years ago, or maybe even ten years ago, the masters here would have simply beaten you steadily until you gave up the name of the other boy."

Trevor eventually gulped in fear under the master's steady gaze and finally said, "Yes, sir."

"Very well, Wright," said Mr. Calvert, "let's get this over with. Approach the chair."

Trevor moved to stand next to the right arm of a stuffed chair. A towel had been strategically placed over the arm of the chair to protect it. "Trousers and underpants down, boy."

Trevor unfastened his trousers and dropped them, along with his underpants. He bent over the arm of the chair and rested his body on the seat of the chair, leaving his bottom in perfect position over the arm of the chair to be targeted by the cane. As Mr. Calvert cut the air with cane experimentally, Trevor was in a real quandry. He was desperate to ask how many strokes he was going to get, but was also terrified to ask, since the answer might be more than he could bear.

As the first light 'aiming taps' hit his bare bottom, Trevor grasped the other arm of the chair and held on for dear life. The first 'real' stroke of the cane was a unmistakeable wake up call. He had anticipated that the pain would be somewhat worse than getting the cane over his trousers... but wow!

It quickly became apparent that Mr. Calvert was giving him a real run for his money - the pain of each new cane stroke built on top of the previous ones in a crescendo of agony. Trevor began to yelp after the fifth stroke, then he began howling and kicking after the seventh. How many was he gonna get? He couldn't take much more of this!

Trevor turned to look at Mr. Calvert. Through the tears he saw the man winding up to deliver the eighth stroke. The rattan exploded into his twitching buttocks and he howled and kicked again!

The cane returned to the light tapping on his aching backside. "So, Wright," said Mr. Calvert, "are you going to accept any more cigarettes or other contraband from other boys?"

"No, sir!" Trevor managed to croak out between sobs and pants. "I'll mind my own business from now on."

"That's a healthy attitude," said Mr. Calvert. "Just one more stroke to drive home the lesson."

"Oh, please no, sir!" said Trevor, begging. "I've learned my lesson already!" But it was too late, the tapping stopped and a second later the biggest explosion of pain the boy had ever experienced jolted through his nervous system. He screamed and sobbed, his legs thrashing involuntarily behind him.

Mr. Calvert gave him some time to absorb the last cane stroke, then said, "That will do, Wright, get up and get dressed."

Trevor painfully levered himself up off the chair and involuntarily reached back to gently rub his throbbing backside. He traced the parallel ridges across his bottom - they felt astonishingly large and were quite tender, particularly where the diagonal ridges intersected them. He was stunned that there was no blood on his fingers when he looked at them, because it sure felt like his bottom had been cut to ribbons. He struggled with his underpants and trousers, which had become entangled with his shoes as he kicked. Eventually he disentangled his clothes and slowly eased his underpants back over his swollen posterior. He finally pulled up his trousers, still being quite careful.

By the time Trevor finished restoring his clothing to their normal positions Mr. Calvert had finished filling out the punishment book. He said, "I only gave you nine strokes this time, Wright, even though you probably deserved the full dozen. If I ever see you in here again because of contraband or smoking, I will give you the full dozen, pants down. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may go, Wright."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Trevor limped to the study door and opened it. As he stepped through the doorway he noticed Edwin Groenewald standing there, a near panicked look on his face. "Next" came the call from inside the study. Trevor nodded at the older boy and limped away. As he slowly moved down the hall rubbing his throbbing bottom he heard the study door close behind him. The final Traynor House boy in this week's Housemaster's Parade was facing the music.

To be continued with: Housemaster's Parade - The Bad

The author welcomes comments from readers. You can contact Bobby Watson by e-mail at: mrbwatson (at) gmail.com
Please be patient - Bobby doesn't always check his e-mail every day.