(Author Note: This is Part 3 of a 3 Part Story. The parts can 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 Ugly

Ian Bird shivered as he stood in line. The nine-year-old was dressed in warm pajamas, so it was not the cold that made him shiver. It was gut-wrenching fear that made the boy shiver, fear of what would happen to his bottom when he got to the front of the queue and it was his turn. Darrell Thomason, the Dorm Prefect for 'B Dorm' in Congreve House, was getting his nightly pre-bedtime work out, spanking the bottoms of several boys in his dorm for trangressions both real and imagined, but mostly imagined.

Clive Winston was pushed off of Thomason's lap, the 8-year-old sobbing as he rubbed his bottom on the way back to his bed. Desmond Piper was next to climb aboard his prefect's lap, the 9-year-old trying to hold back tears that would not be long in coming once Thomason's strong right hand went to work on the seat of his pajamas. Ian shivered some more, since he was now next in line.

Darrell Thomason was a 12-year-old dorm prefect in Congreve House, one of the junior houses at St. Edmund's Home for Boys. He was also a bully who delighted in tormenting the younger boys in his dorm. Ian and the other youngsters in B Dorm had taken to counting the days until Thomason's 13th birthday - just over two months away, after which he would be quickly transferred to one of the senior houses, where he would be one of the youngest boys. If there was any justice in this world, Thomason would spend every night in his senior house over the lap of some 17-year-old or 18-year old dorm prefect who would spank him until he was bawling his eyes out.

In the meanwhile Ian was left facing an immediate spanking at the hands of his bullying dorm prefect. Desmond Piper was sobbing and writhing over Thomason's lap, yelping as the bully's hand kept up the spanking rhythm on the seat of the young boy's pajamas. As Piper began kicking, Ian felt sorry for his friend and would have wished that Desmond's spanking would stop soon, except that would mean that Ian's own spanking would start. And Ian was willing to wait forever for that to happen, even if it meant a bad time for his friend Desmond.

Unfortunately forever came far too soon that night, and the squalling Piper was pushed off of the prefectorial lap. Then it was Ian's turn to climb aboard for his own personal dose of undeserved pain. Things had gotten so bad up in B Dorm that Thomason didn't even bother to tell you what you were being spanked for. You were just ordered to get in line, and then you got your spanking in turn.

As the spanks began raining down on his pajama seat, Ian was shocked by the strength in Thomason's right hand. The bully had been spanking boys for more than five minutes already, and there seemed no reduction in force from the spanks he was delivering to Ian's seat, even compared to nights when Ian had been first in line. Ian figured that when you got as much excercise spanking as Thomason did, you really built up the muscles in your arm, wrist and hand. Although he tried to be brave, it didn't take long before the building sting in his bottom forced Ian to sob and yelp as he writhed across the prefect's lap. The spanks and pain seemed to last forever, but eventually Ian was pushed off the bully's lap and staggered back to his bed, rubbing his stinging bottom through the seat of his pajamas.

Devin Amoss was next to climb aboard Thomason's lap for his spanking, and the 10-year-old was soon sobbing and writhing his way through the experience. Fully half the boys in B Dormitory went to bed with sore bottoms that night.

Talk about gut-wrenching! Ian leaned over the toilet bowl, ready to vomit. Nothing came out, though the boy seriously felt like he was going to be sick. He also desperately needed to pee. Finally he gave up on vomiting and unzipped his trousers. At least Ian was able to take care of one of his problems, sighing in relief as he emptied his bladder. He still felt sick, though it became apparent he wasn't actually going to puke. Time to report for Housemaster's Parade. He shuddered in fear as he left the restroom.

Five boys were already waiting in line outside Mr. Pringle's study by the time Ian arrived for Housemaster's Parade. He took his place at the end of the line, behind 11-year-old Leonard Hill. The other five boys all had very apprehensive looks on their faces, but none of them looked quite as bad as Ian felt. A couple minutes later Andy Simpson, a 12-year-old from another dorm, got in line behind him. A glance at Andy showed that the older boy wasn't any happier to be there in line than the rest of them. A minute later 11-year old Alex Coetzer joined the queue.

The fear that permeated the eight boys in line was best demonstrated when the door to the study opened and two of the boys practically jumped out of their skins in fright. Devin Amoss, the 10-year-old who was first in line jumped, as did Lenny Hill, who was in line right in front of Ian. Mr. Pringle strode out of his study and turned to address the eight boys lined up outside his office. First he paused to enjoy the sight of the eight frightened, squirming little boys he was about to thrash with his cane. The man looked like a cat that had been presented with eight mice to play with.

"I won't waste my time or breath trying to reason with you little brutes," said Mr. Pringle, smirking smuggly as he glared at each boy in turn. "There is only one thing that the likes of you understand. A good thrashing with a thin rattan cane will hopefully get your attention. If not, you can keep coming back here every week until you decide to behave like civilized people."

Mr. Pringle savored the power he had over his charges for another 10 or 15 seconds, watching them squirm as they awaited their fate. Finally he said, "Amoss, get in there!"

Devin Amoss gulped in fear and then walked most unwillingly into Mr. Pringle's study, followed by the gloating housemaster. The study door closed. The remaining seven boys in line: Kevin Roberts - age 12, Vincent Fourie - age 12, Donald Mitchell - age 8, Leonard Hill - age 11, Ian Bird - age 9, Andy Simpson - age 12, and Alex Coetzer - age 11, all moved up a space. The boys resumed their nervous waiting, unable to avoid listening for the sounds of the first beating to emerge from the study.

Civilized people? Ian wondered if Mr. Pringle's definition of that group included Darrell Thomason, the B Dorm Prefect. It probably did, since Thomason was also one of Pringle's toadies. The two bullies probably got on quite well.

Devin Amoss' bottom did not get on well with the cane. The 10-year-old began yelping at the first stroke of the rattan on his bottom and was howling the place down by the time the fourth and final stroke hit home. A couple minutes later the door opened and Amoss staggered out of the study, clutching his burning bottom, completely ignoring the tears and snot running down his face.

Mr. Pringle stood in the study doorway, watching his first victim limp away, clearly reveling in the pain he had caused, and was causing, the small boy. Then he turned to view the rest of that evening's victims. "Roberts! Get in there!"

Kevin Roberts, a 12-year-old from B Dorm, nervously entered the study. Mr. Pringle followed him in, closing the door behind him. The remaining six boys moved up a spot. Each time Ian moved closer to the study door and his own meeting with the awful cane, his stomach seemed to churn harder. He dearly hoped he could get through this mess without puking all over the place.

Roberts got six strokes of the cane, and was yelping lustily by the end of the treatment. Vince Fourie flinched with nearly every stroke, clearly dreading the fact that his turn was next. Ian didn't feel much better, despite the fact that he still had three boys in line in front of him. Soon the study door was open and Roberts was limping away, carefully rubbing the seat of his trousers, tears in his eyes. Pringle turned to enjoy the view of the six doomed boys who stood there nervously waiting their turns. Finally he said, "Fourie! Get in there!"

Vince Fourie, a high-strung 12-year-old from C Dorm, proceeded into the study followed by the leering Pringle. Fourie committed one of the worst offenses in the books, at least in Pringle's eyes - he tried to beg his way out his hiding. The boy was rewarded with the very worst that Pringle could manage as the housemaster of one of the junior houses. Six of the best with the cane, applied to the naked backside of the pleading... yelping... and then screaming boy. Fourie had committed the further sin of resisting the order to lower his trousers and underpants. It sounded like Pringle nearly had to strip the boy himself for his punishment, and the furious master laid the cane on with a vengeance.

By the time the openly crying Fourie staggered out of the study, his hands clamped to his trouser seat, trying to massage his scorching rear end, Ian felt on the verge of actually vomiting again. But the horrific sounds that had just emanated from the study appear to have totally crushed the spirit of 8-year-old Don Mitchell, who was next in line to feel the bite of Pringle's cane.

When the order, "Mitchell, get in there!" was issued, Mitchell slowly responded, looking more like a robot than a human being. Ian felt sorry for the little guy. Apparently Mitchell had just arrived at St. Edmund's a few weeks ago, transferred from some orphanage. This was almost certainly his first visit to Housemaster's Parade. What a way to be introduced to Pringle's tender mercies.

Ian realized that only Lenny Hill stood between him and his own appointment in the study with Mr. Pringle and that horrible thin, whippy cane. His stomach churned, and he hoped that he didn't puke on his housemaster when the time came... although that might almost be worth the fearful beating he would probably get in response. As it was, a tear and snot covered face, like Amoss and Fourie had displayed on exiting the study, was probably the best he could hope for.

Mitchell got three strokes of the cane, and was yelping by the final stroke. Clearly the cane had brought the lad back from his robotic state. Lenny Hill flinched with every stroke, clearly dreading the fact that his turn was next. Ian didn't feel much better. Soon the door was open and Mitchell was slowly shuffling away, alternatively rubbing the seat of his trousers and wiping the tears from his eyes. Pringle turned to enjoy the view of the four doomed boys who stood there nervously waiting their turns. Finally he said, "Hill! Get in there!"

As Hill disappeared into the study followed by Pringle, who closed the door, Ian stepped forward to stand near the door. He was now next in line. As he stood waiting to hear yet another caning his stomach continued to churn. Ian wondered how old Mr. Pringle was, and how long it would be until he retired. Ian had at least three more years in Congreve House before he moved to one of the senior houses at St. Edmund's. He didn't think he'd be able to get through three more years of this kind of treatment. Between almost nightly spankings at the hands of the bully Thomason and regular - nearly monthly - visits to Housemaster's Parade... it was a painful way to live. His major hope was that Thomason's replacement would be less of a bully, or perhaps not a bully at all. It was always good to hope.

Then Hill's caning began. It seemed like the caning sounded even louder standing next to the door. Ian supposed that more sound got out through the door than through the wall. Ian couldn't help flinching a bit as the caning progressed and Hill began yelling. The poor kid got six strokes and was really howling by the time it finished. This did absolutely nothing to help settle Ian's stomach, which continued to churn. He had felt too sick to really eat much of anything at lunch, so perhaps with an empty stomach he wouldn't vomit after all.

Then the study door was opened again and Lenny Hill stumbled out into the hallway, desperately clutching the seat of his trousers. The lad was crying openly and his face was a mask of pain. Pringle watched him slowly move away for a time, then turned to face his remaining victims. Ian couldn't meet the man's eyes, looking at the ground near his feet instead. Pringle said, "Bird! Fly in there!"

Ian knew that was supposed to be a joke. With his surname, it's not like he hadn't heard it before - or most of the other bird jokes in the world. But Ian Bird was not in the mood for laughing at that point in time, not that it seemed to bother his housemaster. Ian walked shakily into the study and was followed closely by Pringle, who closed the door behind him.

Pringle crossed the study and leaned over his deck, checking the entries in his punishment book. "Bird, B Dormitory, Out of Bounds."

Ian looked up at the man who was looking back over his shoulder at the boy. "Yes, sir."

"Very well, Bird," said Mr. Pringle, "Over the back of the chair." He picked up the long, thin rattan cane from his desk and swished it experimentally while Ian turned and moved into position.

Ian's stomach was still churning as he approached the back of the low wooden chair and bent over it, grasping the front edge of the seat since he was too short to reach the rungs. At least he was getting it over his short trousers. Thank heaven for small favors.

Pringle wasted no time and Ian soon felt the aiming taps of the cane on the seat of his trousers followed by the first real stroke. Wow! The first cane stroke was always a shock. It felt like his bottom had been sliced in two with a knife. He was too shocked to do anything but gasp loudly. The second and third strokes set him to yelping loudly as the pain swiftly built to intolerable levels.

He was actually stunned when the caning stopped after three strokes and Mr. Pringle said, "That will do, Bird. Get up."

Ian painfully stood up and rubbed some tears from his upper cheeks. But his hands were more desperately needed down below, to try and ease the throbbing ache in his backside. He rubbed his trouser seat gently as Pringle led him over to the study door and dismissed him.

He knew that Pringle was watching him as he walked slowly away from the study door. Ian hated giving Pringle the satisfaction of seeing him rub his bottom, but he really couldn't help himself... it simply hurt too much not to rub. He heard Pringle say, "Simpson! Get in there!"

As he walked away rubbing Ian wondered if he would be able to eat anything at dinner that night. Probably not much, since he still had a bedtime spanking to look forward to. The prefect bully Thomason took special delight in spanking boys who had been caned at Housemaster's Parade. It was gonna be a sore night for three of B Dorm's residents: Devin Amoss, Kevin Roberts, and Ian himself as Thomason lit up their cane stripes with his strong right hand on their pajama seats. This thought forced a few more tears from Ian's eyes as he slowly walked away.

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.