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  Chapter 1

  Arrivals

  It was a late March day when I entered the Old Rectory for the first time, cold and dark with wind gusts penetrating the lining of my overcoat. How fortunate I was no longer in prep school knickers, I remember thinking. My newly acquired long trousers (in anticipation of going up to big school in the Autumn) were a welcome protection.

  The house was approached through an iron gateway framed by tall trees, which also lined a high wall surrounding the grounds - so far as I could tell - and there was a longish walk of about three cricket pitches along a curved drive. The house was neither visible from the road nor from the gate and when it came into view it was big, dark, imposing and unwelcoming, even then.

  I trudged to the door, the gravel path crunching underfoot and rang the bell. There was no light at all visible from window or door and when none came for some time, I was about to ring again, when suddenly the door opened and a pale face peered out from the gloom.

  “Yes?”

  The voice, as was the face, was of totally indeterminate age and gender, alto in pitch, and while I pondered this unexpected and strange phenomenon, so delaying my response whose form of address was for the moment uncertain, “it” (for that is all I could ascribe at this point) spoke again.

  “What do you want young man? Are you here for tutelage and trainin'?”

  By now I had collected my wits, and having determined that neither “sir”, “miss” nor “madam” would be guaranteed to be correct decided not to use any of them.

  “I am Henry Perceval and am sent here by my papa and mama to lodge here until the Autumn when I go up to my public school.”

  At this full, and I should say to my knowledge at that time, entirely accurate, exposition “it” disappeared from view and the door, which had only been kept ajar on its chain, closed once again.

  When it did not reopen to afford me entrance I began to wonder if I had come to the wrong address so sought in my capacious coat pockets, full of other schoolboy impedimenta, for the letter from my parents to confirm this somewhat important point, although how in the dark of a late winter evening I would be able to read it I could not work out.

  While I worked through this knotty problem I did not hear him come up behind me, and was startled as a result when a voice said “Boys and tradesmen round the back - side.” It was a gruff lived in voice and in the gloom it emerged from a half bent elderly artisan- like figure.

  I must have jumped visibly.

  “Scared you did I? You'll soon have reason enough to be scared, and scarred too I'll be bound when the master and mistress catch'old on ya. Boys and tradesmen round the back -side!”

  So saying he shuffled off and in some haste I gathered up my portmanteau and followed him demanding, “Is this the Old Rectory and are your master and Mistress Dame Hilda Catchpole and Doctor Arthur Landsdowne?”

  “Aye”

  He just kept walking swinging his right arm and in a hunched position until at the rear of the building he opened a wooden door and beckoned me in.

  “Now then young fella. You've to be fetched from 'ere so don't budge. Master and Mistress is h'engaged just at present says 'er 'ighness so you've to feed yourself down 'ere. There's cold meat and pickles, bread and milk so eat hearty. Think on't whatever else may 'appen they always feeds the boys well do Master and Mistress. Fine healthy pair of lungs is always needed and well used. Aye they'll see to that you wait you'll see.”

  As this opaque monologue disappeared shuffling down a dark corridor I surveyed the room. It was a scullery kitchen with an oak table and fine Aga cooker. The room was warm and welcoming unlike the harsh exterior and on the table there was indeed a goodly range of cold meats and other fayre, on which I supped satisfactorily. Compared to St Dominic's this was schoolboy heaven. This early conclusion on the merits of my temporary lodgings proved to be one of the few accurate and entirely agreeable ones I was to make.

  After about half an hour I heard a soft sound and the door which I had assumed led to another passageway, softly creaked open. A pale, handsome face, streaked with tears, looked in. It was another boy, about my own age, I would have guessed, but a bit taller. He put his fingers to his lips indicating silence on my part and silently and slowly crept in softly closing the door behind him.

  I observed him closely as he did so. With jet black straight hair, he was dressed in prep school clothes, unremarkable to any degree, long grey woollen stockings with red striped tops, although I noticed his grey shorts were of a kind I had not seen before with buttons down the side. These I also noticed were only half done up and his shirt was half untucked too.

  I motioned him silently to sit and join me but he shook his head and half turning grasped his bottom with both hands rubbing vigorously, he half mouthed half spoke the words “Can't sit - hurts so!”

  From this I readily deduced he had recently suffered an experience not unfamiliar to most schoolboys, a sharp castigation at the hands of a pedagogue or parent, I naturally assumed the latter, and that he was the son of the household. I could sympathise but at St D's blubbing after a swishing was not considered good form, however well laid on so tried not to embarrass him further by looking on.

  As I continued my meal the boy edged closer to the back door and just as I was about to ask him what he was doing the door which he came in by swung open and a tall figure clothed in black came in.

  “So you rogue, hiding in the scullery are you, well that won't do sir, not at all. I may have finished with you but Dame Hilda has not. You will return to the study at once to complete your thoroughly deserved chastisement!”

  His face fallen and his plot to escape clearly foiled the boy left in the direction of the tall figure's outstretched arm, which I could clearly see now brandished a cane. So this clearly was the cause of his soreness, with more to come by the sound of it. I was glad I was not the son of this household and subject to such terrors!

  Normally I am a polite and courteous chap but this dramatic tableau had me more in the role of the passive spectator that as an active participant so I forgot to rise from my chair in recognition of either the Master of the House or at least one in some considerable authority.

  This he had espied. “Master Perceval, as I assume you are he, is it not the custom at St Dominics to rise when a master or other gentlemen enters the room where boys are seated?”

  Like a scalded cat leaping up “Oh yes sir, of course sir, I just.... sort of... well forgot. I apologise sir.”

  “There'll be plenty of time for reparation later. Have you the letter from your parents they gave you? ”

  “Indeed sir. I have it here.” I handed him the envelope from my father which he had instructed I should give to the two people into whose care I had been lodged for the coming five months or so.

  “Excellent. Thank you. Now if you would come with me I shall get Perkins to show you your room. Your trunk is arriving some weeks later so I assume so you have only those few things you have in that bag have you not?” Not waiting for confirmation, “Well that shall be resolved forthwith - we have plenty of boy's things to suit you more or less, and others if rather less than more as they say ha! ha!” As he said this he glanced down at my legs and sniffed in a displeased tone.

  This meant nothing to me and I followed him up the servants' stairs to the hallway where two staircases led up to the landing. A maid waited , and curtsying to the gentleman, who I took now to be Doctor Landsdowne, although he had not introduced himself, bid me follow her up the left hand stairs.

  On the landing she said “Now you mind what I say as I shall say it just the once and shall box your ears or worse if you cause me trouble - I've a good 'airbrush for them that plays me up. These stairs is for young gentlemen such as yourself and them stairs is not - not unless you's told off to go up or down 'em then you'll wish as you adn't. Up 'ere rooms to the left is for boys and rooms to the right is not- same rules apply if you don't want your backside skinned - not that you'll miss that for all your trying. Your room is at the far end opposite the schoolroom.

  The schoolroom?

  The upper floor split into two corridors one to each side with what appeared to be a half a dozen rooms on each wing.

  My room was Spartan and all the more disappointing for being so like school. An iron bedstead, chest of drawers, cupboard, side table, chair, writing table and washstand completed the inventory, except it was duplicated in full - this was a twin room and clearly occupied.

  “Mistress says not to unpack. I'm to do that. You've to go along now to her parlour where she will interview you. That's first on the right other end. Knock and wait. If she don't answer you must wait and face the wall opposite. Now run along and you'd better take that sulky face off or she'll give you reason to sulk more than she's got already.

  I'd had begun to dawn, still uncommonly slowly, that this was no holiday or home from home but possibly a school from school - or worse? Surely not?

  I walked nervously along the forbidden corridor, mindful of the maid's words about getting my backside skinned and thinking back to my, as yet unnamed, new friend.

  As I approached the door an unmistakable sound penetrated the wood. Someone was being swished! I could here the sound of a cane or something like it landing and a high pitched squeal as it did so.

  Somewhat louder a deep voice again male or female I could not deduce.

  “You are a naughty, dirty, little boy and you know you deserve every stroke. You will go without supper and go straight to bed now. See to it that you wear them tonight or I shall beat you even harder tomorrow. Now pull up your trousers.”

  A silence ensued, for some moments. Then the door opened and light spilled into the corridor along with the boy I had met earlier. A few more tears had been added to the earlier tracks.

  He passed straight by clutching his shorts and weeping quietly, not caring to risk more by casual discourse with a stranger.

  I was beginning to feel quite unnerved. Was there anyone in this house who did not beat this poor fellow and come to that any body else who happened to be a boy?

  I knocked on the door but no reply or summons came. Did anyone here bother to answer doors properly? Then remembering the instruction turned about to face the wall. Just like a kid waiting to be swished by old Foxy at St D's! I had been a whole two terms without that dubious pleasure and had hoped to be spared further attention on my derriere until Big School, when I knew that was an unlikely scenario, as I was bound to fag for some monster of a sixth former.

  But even at St D's Foxy didn't make you take your bags down. That was just too “rancid” for words (yes school slang can be strange).

  As these random musings went through my head I felt the door open and light silhouette me against the wall.

  “You are not standing correctly. When you are waiting you will stand with your feet together and your legs straight. If you are waiting to be punished, or have just been punished you will put you hands on your head. If not you will put your hands behind you where they can be seen. Now come in”

  The voice was soft, cool and again could have been that of a young man or a young woman.

  I entered a lavishly furnished room.

  Dame Hilda, for she it was, wore a long full black dress and had her hair pinned up beneath a pill box cap. Her blouse, also black was loose except at the wrists, where it was gathered in. Her face was unadorned by face powder so far as I could tell and again had an indeterminate look. The appearance was feminine but the tone was not.

  “You are Master Henry Perceval and you are in my charge and the charge of the Doctor from now until you go to your public school in the Autumn. Your parents, concerned that their departure for China and the lengthy period you will be between schools will be bad for your character and development, have charged us with ensuring the opposite. While you are here you will be schooled, instructed, corrected, disciplined and chastised according to our system.”

  “Whilst in our charge you will be well cared for. You will not want for good healthy food and exercise, nor for companionship as there are and will be other boys of various ages here at various times. Once you have settled in and learnt our rules I am sure you will find we are not unkind in other ways.”

  At this she smiled a warm, friendly smile and sat down elegantly in an upright arm chair. She beckoned me forward.

  “Now Master Henry - oh yes - none of that strict surname only nonsense with me - the doctor uses surnames in class - but to me you are Henry - Master Henry when we are being formal - let me look at you.”

  She pulled me close and began to inspect me carefully, making notes as she did. She looked at my hands, both sides, my hair, my face - behind my ears, teeth and gums, and inspected my clothes. She requested that I remove my jacket and laid it to one side. She undid the shirtcuffs and rolled them back inspecting them, then buttoning them up again. Then she turned her attention to my collar - the usual starched Eton variety when out of prep school uniform - and then my shoes.

  All this while I was not spoken to or invited to sit.

  As I stood there in the waiting position, bum freezer jacket back on, I watched her making copious notes, occasionally tut-tutting and shaking her head.

  Then she looked up.

  “Most unsatisfactory. Even on a cursory inspection and allowing for the grime and dirt of railway travel. We have much to do. But nil desperandum. I shall inspect you more fully tomorrow when you have had a chance to bath and change into a fresh set of cloths and present yourself properly. Before that however be clear about some things. I expect scrupulous attention to cleanliness from all boys in all matters. I expect clean shirts to be worn as with everything else every day. Don't concern yourself they will be provided. I expect shoes to be gleaming. I do not expect those ugly appendages. Who said you could wear them?

  “Wear what Miss?”

  “Madam not miss - those bags - long trousers boy what else did you think? Did you not wear shorts at St Dominic's?”

  “No... madam... that is yes we did bur nobody said I could, I just did as I thought in the Autumn ...”

  “You thought you could graduate to long trousers? Well not yet and not here. Remove them at once!”

  Stunned. “Remove... what now? Here?”

  “Here! Now! At once! Your hesitation has already earned you a smacked bottom and if you delay any further it will be a caned one with your knickers down too. take them off at once!”

  I complied with alacrity and quickly stepped out of my new but briefly gained symbols of manhood, holding them before me.

  She snatched them from me and flung them to one corner of the room.

  “Are there any more in your things?”

  “One more pair, madam.”

  “They will be removed too. No boy wears long trousers in this house and all wear short trousers, if permitted any at all. Have you any short trousers with you?”

  “Yes madam, in my trunk but it won's arrive for some weeks.”

  “Well we'll need to give you some. I have some special ones for boys who believe they are too old for shorts. Perkins will also have removed any other items forbidden to you and replaced them with acceptable ones. ”

  She glanced at the clock. “It is nearly your bed time and I need to teach you a lesson about obedience and about shyness. There is no adult in this house with whom you will come into contact whom you will not obey even if that includes being told to take down your trousers and your knickers. The servants will not usually give you such instructions but there are times when they assist us in punishing our young gentlemen and when they are ensuring you are well fed , or your rooms and things are kept tidy we permit them a limited discretion. So if you get up to high jinks in the scullery or the bedrooms you'll feel cook's wooden spoons on the back of your legs or Perkins' bathbrush across your bare bottom are not to be despised. So be warned.”

  “Come here and turn around. “She motioned me to a large soft pouffe. “Put your hands on your head and keep them there”

  I then felt her hands grip the waistband of my underpants and swiftly felt them pulled down to my knees.

  “Kneel on the pouffe Master Henry. Go forward with you hands on the floor and stick your bottom right up in the air. Keep your legs together and remain still.” I could feel my shirt being rolled up my back and tucked under my jacket and now felt terribly exposed - which of course I was and could only guess what was about to be inflicted on my bare behind.

  Just them the door opened. I was facing the door but in my position could not look up easily and in any case had been enjoined to stay still.The person was clearly a man judging by the trousers (i.e not a boy - a relief)

  “Busy my dear? Who's this? The new boy - Perceval - I've a few things to talk to him about too, but you first then I'll give him a few licks. I've no wish to interrupt. What are you going to give him? Ah yes the Tappette. Splendid. Do carry on my dear, don't mind me.”

  Needless to say this conversation of rather monologue was not one I could hear with total equanimity. There I was naked from the waist down kneeling on a pouffe, bare bottom sticking right out waiting to be whacked by a strange lady using a “tapette” whatever that was, while an equally strange gentleman looked on in indifference and promising more when she had finished.

  I heard the jangle of keys and the rattle of wooden things in a cupboard - canes and suchlike, I soon discovered, could be found in locked cabinets and cupboards in any room in the house were boys were permitted or summoned to - including the bathrooms. Then I felt something hard and large placed against my bottom and then rush of air and

  “Splat!!!” - “Ow!” firmly on my left cheek.

  “Say “One thank you Dame Hilda” - I'll start again until you've had six properly received and acknowledged Henry”

  “Splaaatt!!!” - “EEEEow!! One - th-thank y-you Dame Hilda” That one landed on the right.

  “Good boy ”

  “Splaaaattt!!” - AhAH Ow Two Thank you Dame Hilda.” Across both cheeks - this lady knew how to whack- and each one seemed harder than the previous one.

  “Excellent”

  “Splaatt!” - “Three Thank you Dame Hilda” That one seemed lighter - or was I numb already?

  “Splaatt!” - “OW -OW- ouch Four Thank you Dame Hilda”

  “Splaat!” - “OOh Five Th-th-th-ank you Dame Hilda” I'm afraid I began to sniffle slightly - it was really six you know by now.

  “SSSpplaaaattt!!” “EEEk Ow ooh Six Thank you Dame Hilda Aw Ow Oh!”

  “What a noisy boy you are. Don't you like Dame Hilda's little tapette on the bare bottom?” To answer seemed superfluous and I any case I was snuffling back some tears at the time. “Finished my dear? Lets have a look. Stay still boy. “I could feel fingers testing the resilience of my backside and the impact of the paddle - for that's what it had been - a broad bladed flat wooden paddle. “Doesn't look the sort of bottom to bruise easily does it? Get the cane much at St D's boy?”

  “S-sir n-not lately s-s-sir”

  “Soon put that right. With playful slap on my sore behind, he said “Up you get and go and stand in the hall outside, hands on your head.”

  “He knows, Arthur I've told him. Master Henry, you will stand in the corridor facing the wall as you are now so any one can see you've been a disobedient boy. Stand still a moment.” She turned me so my back was to her and then I could feel my shirt being pulled up again and this time it stayed up.

  “Hands on your head” she said in a sing song voice. Now out you go.” Thus I shuffled my way out - for my underpants were now round my ankles - bare from waist to the top of my knee length stockings behind and little better in front, where my shirt was just long enough to protect what dignity I had left from exposure, where I was made to stand in the draughty hall facing the wall dreading my next appointment with pain.

  “I shall cane you in half an hour boy, then you can get off to bed.”

  Given all that has happened since then, the many spankings, paddling, canings, birchings, whippings and other humiliations and punishments that these two inflicted on my poor bottom- and hands on occasion, and those of my friends and companions in terror and grief, in their establishment this first introduction to their skills in boy chastisement was comparatively moderate. I would not say light - for many things did I receive that were light and intended to be such as a warning. At the time my surprise and subjugation were almost complete even at this point so that when the time for my caning at the hands of Dr Landsdowne was reached I was almost longing for it as a release.

  In that time one or two persons had passed in the corridor, who and for what purpose I could not see or tell. None stopped to look which somehow made it worse, as if this was a quite usual sight.

  Dr Landsdowne was less garrulous and did not take time to spin my beating out. As I stood before him, my hands now at my side but my pants still round my ankles he spoke.

  “When we first encountered each other in the scullery, not auspicious or well planned circumstances, you did not, did you sir, show me that respect which you ought?”

  “No Doctor Landsdowne”

  “Sir” will be quite sufficient”

  “No sir.”

  “And you appear to accept therefore that it is my right and duty to correct you.”

  “Yes sir.” This was a fair cop - Foxy had swished me for just the same thing in my first term at St D's - not bare though and not in front of his dame - but...

  “Normally I would not cane you a first time without your trousers on but since you are already in such a state you can regard that as a logical consequence of the misbehaviour that led to that condition. I have no time to waste while proper shorts are found.”

  “You will receive six strokes, and need not count them. Bend over grasping your ankles with your legs together. Do not attempt to get up while you are being punished or I shall be obliged to start again.”

  Oh really! As if I didn't know that - a chap had been caned before even if not on the bare!

  I seemed to spend an age bent over waiting to suffer while the cupboard was opened and an appropriate instrument chosen.

  The first I knew I was for it was when I got it! Six quickly delivered strokes all on the centre of my backside - so swift I could hardly take breath between them!

  “OWWWWWWW! Ah!” That had been excruciating - but mercifully quick - my bottom felt like it had been branded with a red hot iron - as I was able to inspect later the Doctor's aim was uncanny and all six had landed within an inch all across the centre. I could sit but not lie on my back in bed in comfort.

  “A trifle quick I think Arthur - not my style at all - a boy should feel each stroke before getting the next one - at least ten seconds between.”

  “Each to his own my dear. In any case it is time this boy was in bed, it is half past eight. Perceval pull up your underpants and return to your dormitory to get ready for bed. The other boy in your room, Forrest, will tell you the routine and the rules. I will come along at 9 pm precisely to ensure you are in bed.”

  The other boy proved to be Eddie Forrest, and was indeed the same boy I had met earlier in such strained circumstances and which, had I been a more vindicative boy, I might have held responsible for my caned bottom. But that was not my way and on entering was about to say something suitably jolly - I didn't want him thinking I was a blubber - when I saw laid out on my bed - shorts - not unexpected I knew that - of the side button variety - knickers - tiny white things not proper trunks - and a night shirt - shorter version!

  “Who's done this? Where are my things?”

  “Perkins - she did the same to me when I came here. Its no use getting in a great funk about it old chap. I saw you in you big school longs. Here you're lucky to wear even those knickers you are in now. If you're too naughty they make you wear girls knickers ugh! ”

  “Utterly rancid!” The shock was, well dashed shocking. “Perceval” I offered my hand “Eddie Forrest - here they use Christian names too so you feel like a real young'un at the bottom of the school - especially her. She loves that!”

  “But shake a leg its nearly lights out and we can talk after when the “patrol” has finished. You'll need the bathroom next door and wash everything and I mean everything. As its your first day tomorrow she'll come down especially hard literally.”

  Eddie seemed alright despite my earlier low opinion of blubbing - I soon learnt that I was no better - and I did my best as he suggested to wash everywhere although cold water is not the most charming of bedtime palliatives - I missed the powerful hot jets of the school boilers.

  I put away the clothes laid out for me by the maid - I would inspect them more closely tomorrow - the shorts made me worried, as did some long white stockings and one or two other suspiciously girlie things. What's this I asked?” showing Eddie a flimsy white thing. “Tunic - that's for Greek dancing and posture - that's all we wear.”

  “Utterly rancid!!!!”

  The feel of a shorty nightshirt was little better. As Eddie explained “Its so they can whack our bare bums as easily as they like.”

  I was beginning to feel decidedly despondent at the prospect of a regularly walloped bare behind. We compared wounds and discovered we had been given exactly the same treatment except in reverse. After I had encountered him in the scullery Dame Hilda had “tapped” him too.

  “Oh they don't always do it bare - more often not - especially in class. But cave - I'll tell you more later. ”

  I took this as a sign to complete my preparations and followed his example as he leapt out of bed and knelt in a prayerful attitude at the end of his bed, bare polished floor boards passively punishing our knees. In a short while the door opened and both of them entered.

  They waited and I took Eddie's cue in reciting a well known children's prayer I could just about recall. ( St D's was good for the budding agnostic in all of us pagan boys.)

  “Charming - how delightful!”, Dame Hilda in her sweet mood.

  “Indeed - now an inspection particularly of our new boy,”

  We were then both subjected to a close inspection of our hands, necks, knees and all other exposed parts to ensure we were clean. we also had to have our bottoms inspected to see how severe our beatings had been. I half expected even worse but Eddie later explained that really intimate inspections were reserved for repeated failures at cleanliness. He had been given the all over inspection once and then been scrubbed naked in a tin bath with a scrubbing brush and carbolic soap - by the maid! - and slapped raw when he squealed and wriggled. I resolved I would rather be flogged raw than subject to that indignity and by a maid - ugh rancid!!!

  Despite our best efforts neither of us were pronounced satisfactory and were given a good scolding with threats of worse if the relevant item/appendage were not found to be total perfection next morning.

  They then placed a pair of large thick woollen mittens on Eddies hands, tying them round his wrists. He gave me a knowing resigned look over his shoulder as this was completed.

  “Keep them on this time.” They then left together

  “Phew - that's wonderful - I've never been that good before - I usually get a spanking before they let me get into bed on an inspection. ”

  “Maybe they think we've both had enough for one night?”

  “Maybe, maybe not but for now cave and quiet - my bum's sore enough without another caning - we'll talk later - shh.”

  I could hardly contain my enthusiasm to find out more from my new friend about conditions in the Old rectory- and to enquire why they made him wear woollen mittens - if it was that cold why would he not wear them of his own accord.

  After a while as I was just dozing off, sleeping on my side or tum because of the stripes Eddie piped up.

  “All safe Percy ”

  “Its Henry actually”

  “They'll be downstairs now.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I heard the door to the parlour close - if you are very quiet and listen carefully you can hear it. If they come up here again the floorboards creak.”

  “Eddie - can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course old chap”

  “Why do they make you wear gloves in bed, and tie them onto your hands?”

  Eddie responded with a series of strange, disagreeable and personal questions that I declined to answer - I did not want to admit I did not understand them.

  “If you don't understand my questions you won't understand the answer. Ask me in a year's time when you are my age.”

  Eddie was a year older it turned out and was a late entrant for big school having been overseas for many years and needed cramming for common entrance. He had been here two months already and gave me all the details.

  He was the only boarding pupil until I came along. There were two day boys, both kids of ten or so who came Monday to Friday for lessons. They did their prep at home but were treated exactly the same during the day. The lessons were real enough and as result much time was not taken up with punishments. If a boy deserved more than a short caning or strapping - as often on the hand as on the bottom, that was reserved for break time.

  At weekends there were no lessons except for some other boys mostly older who arrived on a Friday and stayed through to Sunday. Eddie was kept away from these and only saw them at a distance. They clearly did lessons in the school room and wore shorts just like us and they clearly got whacked too - pretty hard from what Eddie could hear down the corridor. Usually the maid took Eddie for a long walk on a Saturday and of course to church on Sunday. Sundays were beating holidays for Eddie - any such punishments were held over until Monday.

  I asked Eddie if he was whacked every day and as hard as today.

  He said not. Today had been worse than most. Most days he managed to get by with a slapping or spanking or hand tawsing.

  “Spanking - that's for kids!”

  “Not here - its not that - its having your bags and knicks taken down when they do it, and standing in the corner afterwards - that's what I hate.”

  We both agreed that was absolutely rancid!

  We talked ourselves to sleep and I concluded that with my new found friend things were not so bad after all and hoped the new day would bring better things.

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  Chapter 2

  The Regime Reveald

  We were awakened to a hand bell ringing in the corridor. It was half past six and I followed Eddie's example again. The maid whose hand had rung the bell hovered in the background while we said our prayers and then went to perform our ablutions.

  Back in the dormitory she had laid out our clothes for the day. I was aghast at mine - a white shirt - with a soft collar and puffy sleeves and velvet tie - black velvet side button shorts, those flimsy

  pants - silk I later discovered - and long white stockings with patent leather sandal type shoes. Eddie was more conventionally dressed in school grey - full lined shorts - long grey woollen stockings with red tops, decent lace up shoes and grey shirt and tie - although he had the pants too!

  Eddie could see my distress. “It's no good protesting - I had to wear those for a month - its standard until they think you've earned these. For so long as you wear those they'll treat you like a kid - you're officially eight years old - I was and bedtime is at 8 o'clock. You will be treated as the youngest boy in the school but you'll never get beyond thirteen and these.

  “Master Henry - Dame Hilda will see you as soon as you are dressed. report to her in her parlour upstairs” Perkins' sharp tones interrupted so I rushed to don the unfamiliar garments with all due speed and to meet with Madam.

  As before I had to wait facing the wall and the swish of skirts told me she had arrived.

  “Come in.” She gestured to the centre of the room where a chair had been placed and she sat with me in front of her.

  I was then inspected even more thoroughly than the night before, but worse, much worse as she left nothing untouched and inspected. My ears, neck, hands, wrists and knees were pronounced acceptable as were my shoes and stockings.

  She tutted over the buttoning of my shorts - the unfamiliar buttons - more like clasps had resisted my clumsy efforts. My shorts had to come down she said and now I could see their purpose as she suddenly pulled me over her knee and as swiftly unclasped the side hauling them down to my ankles in one swift well practised action.

  I waited the expected smacks and sighed inwardly as the silky drawers were as swiftly pulled down to my knees, but not so - at least not yet. I then felt my bottom cheeks gently pulled apart as her inspection became infinitely more personal. I must have wriggled and resisted for she slapped the back of my thigh sharply.

  “Master Henry - you will remain still while I inspect you properly to see if you have done as a good boy should. There then followed a series of totally rancid questions about my regularity which I answered honestly if diffidently. These too were pronounced satisfactory and I was then turned over sat on her knee and inspected to the front with similar questions to those which Eddie had posed re his mittens. I must have been blushing terribly by now which plainly amused her.

  “Don't be coy or shy - you are obviously a clean and wholesome boy and apart from the buttons of your shorts, you have tried hard so I will not smack you very hard for that little fault.”

  Unexpectedly strong arms turned me over again and I was now once again ripe for her ministrations which comprised twenty or so moderate slaps even so of increasing sharpness, on my bare bottom cheeks.

  At its conclusion I was not particularly sore but was deeply embarrassed and humiliated and felt very small and amazingly tearful.

  “Now go back to your dormitory and tidy it up properly. Normally I will not inspect you as I have today, and you will be subject to the usual 7:30 inspection by myself or Perkins. However if at any time I decide to look at your state of tidiness and cleanliness I shall expect perfection and if disappointed will not be lenient. If I find you cannot wear these clothes tidily and cleanly I shall put you in little girls' clothes not a little boy's. When you have shown you can behave like an older boy you will be allowed to dress like one.” This made me feel no better.

  The formal inspection gave me three debit marks for tidiness in the room - Eddie was clean - which were registered for later attention.

  Breakfast proved an uneventful but otherwise pleasant affair. the cook supervised us - we were not considered fit to join the adults for meals, but neither of us said much. I was still deeply affected by my swift conversion to a junior little sprog and Eddie was obviously mulling over something.

  Back in the dorm Eddie told me it would be out of bounds until teatime and so I should make sure I had PT and other changes of clothes with me. These had been laid out by the maid and I stuffed them into my holdall.

  “Where do we change into these?”

  “There's a changing room and shower in the Annex where we do PT and dance and that rot.”

  School began at half past eight when the day boys were due to arrive. One of them, Algernon Briggs, aged nine and a half he snootily told me, in his school greys, I took an instant dislike to, which proved mutual and mutually painful as I shall later relate. The other boy had still not arrived at quarter to nine when we assembled in the school room.

  At nine prompt the Doctor, the Dame and the maid appeared and another person a man in his late twenties. A prayer was said and a hymn sung, unaccompanied and then the Doctor made an announcement.

  “You will all appreciate that punctuality is, along with cleanliness, a sublime virtue which we seek to inculcate here at the Rectory Academy. It is with regret that I have to announce that one of our boys - Master Alfred Bowes has arrived this morning nearly twenty five minutes late for school. I have ascertained by telephone that there is no reasonable grounds for excusing this behaviour and appropriate chastisement has been requested by his parent. We shall therefore be having a public flogging of the boy concerned who has been isolated from your company until after luncheon.”

  We also have new boy - Master Henry Perceval. Perceval you will sit hear at the front where an eye can be kept on you.

  School went quietly thereafter that morning. I was given books, paper and writing materials and performed diligently the fairly babyish tasks assigned. I did get scolded and then rulered on my hand for blotting my copybook with a warning of much worse if a repetition occurred. Eddie was tawsed for a similar offence just before.

  The procedure was very formal.

  “Forrest come out to the front. Face the class and hold out your right hand. This is a disgraceful piece of work. Any repetition and I shall beat you.” At that a tawse held low in his hand was laid carefully across the victim's palm, raised and then brought down with a “Snap!”

  The excruciating pain showed as Eddie's face screwed up.

  “Left Hand” “Snap”!

  “Right Hand” “Snap!”

  And so on until three had been delivered on each hand.

  The ruler which I received was no light weight - a ferrule in fact but I bore it well and was glad of no worse.

  Piggsy Briggsy was so good he received only praise so reinforcing the instant enmity between us.

  Until mid-morning we had copy-writing, latin and mathematics all taken by the Doctor and all serious in intent and content. After a break of bread and milk dance was announced and we had to change into the tunics we had been given. This was a short white cotton affair with a draw string at the waist and a single shoulder band leaving the right breast exposed. As I donned mine I retained my knickers but noticed the others did not.

  “No knickers even?”

  “Not if you don't want to do it completely bare - she did that to me first time when I kept them on.”Once again Eddie's advice was both timely and kindly.

  “And we go barefoot too” Piggsy decided not to be outdone in sharing the awfulness of this ordeal.

  The tunic only came down to the top of my bare thigh at the side and as I could see from the others while it was cunningly draped to the front offering some covering lower down - though not much once one lifted a leg made any other moderate action- this was more than made up at the rear where it only just covered the tops of our bottoms. The evidence of last night's caning was still there on Eddie and of course on my bare cheeks and Piggsy made no effort to hide his amusement nor his lack of equivalent marks.

  “Oh dear did the naughty boys get their bottoms' whipped last night. And did Dame Hilda give the new boy his first botty inspection too - was he all nice and clean or did she smack him for that too?”

  I made a grab for him to inflict personal chastisement of my own but he was too slippery and wriggled free and out to the music room where we were to assemble for the lesson.

  “Come on” said Eddie “He'll only make us look late. We'll get him later.”

  The music room carpet had been rolled back to allow us to prance on the polished bare boards - no soft carpets for us. The young man who had been at assembly was there too, making it all the more embarrassing for us to be witnessed in this unmanly farrago.

  Although little boys we clearly were as the first exercise soon revealed for all to see.

  Dame Hilda line us up in a row and instructed us in each move which the young man sometimes accompanied seated at the piano behind us.

  “First some loosening up exercises, to make you supple. I want you to stand up on you tip toes and reach up as high as you can above you forming you arms into a graceful arch like so.” This she demonstrated.

  “Now up - right up Edward stretch. Now down. And again. I said right up you are not trying Edward.” There was a “thwip” and in a flash something leapt out from her right hand and coiled itself round eddie's right leg, curling right inside.

  Eddie squealed, and reached up alright.

  Some ten of these done the next was awful.

  “I want you now to stand on one leg with your right foot flat on the ground and your left bent back right behind you an straight out, leaning forward to keep your balance - arms outstretched - fingers pointing -so. See how long you can hold that and be graceful.”

  As I performed this I knew that this exposed me completely to the curious gaze of the pianoplayer and could feel his eyes boring into me. I went red with shame at the situation and eventually lost my balance completely ending up on the floor with my legs in the air - even worse. I leapt to my feet but Dame Hilda intervened.

  “Dear, dear not trying, problems with our right leg have we?” Then the lash struck again and it curled once, twice, thrice round my calf leaving thin red stripes all over - it felt for all like the jellyfish sting I had at the seaside some years before, although not as bad afterwards. I yelped as girlishly as Eddie had done perviously. This costume and situation was clearly affecting us.

  Gradually we were put through exercises so as to be able to string them together for a dance. Even Piggsy Briggsy got lashed a couple of times for slacking and by the time we were ready to try it, our arms legs and bottoms were smarting. One thing that martinet did do, however, was make us forget our state of dress, or lack of it and exposure.

  For the dance we wore flower garlands in our hair and on the whole Dame Hilda seemed satisfied.

  “Now there are four of you, when Master Alfred is considered fit to rejoin the class, we shall do the Dance of the Four Seasons. Now run along and shower and don't be late for luncheon.”

  The showers were unsupervised, though cold - to my slight surprise - as no other opportunities to moderate and govern our behaviour in intimate circumstances seemed to be missed, so we were able to make some mischief and be noisy and wanton for a short while, and give Piggsy a good wet towelling.

  Lunch was a supervised meal, not in the scullery, there being no room for four boys round Cook's table. It was taken in one of the upstairs rooms, with a dumb waiter down to the kitchen. Dame Hilda supervised, she being the guardian of good manners and deportment, and we knew we would be under her watchful eye throughout. It passed without incident - I would not want the reader to think life at the Old Rectory was a continual round of boy beating and whipping, nor that we boys were incapable of responding to the strictures of discipline.

  But then life for small boys at Prep schools in those days, and at Big School, was hardly free from the constant threat and use of cane, strap and birch and many there were empowered and willing to make free use of them, including on a boy's bare bottom - though not much at St D's, as it happened.

  We were about to witness, for me for the first time one of those classic occasions, the public birching of a boy. When we reassembled at 2 pm, Doctor Lansdowne announced the punishment that had been decreed for Alfred Bowes. He was to be publicly flogged and we were the chief witnesses.

  We were told off in single file to another room where the piano player, the maid and the cook were present already.

  Then at 2:15 precisely Dame Hilda entered preceding the boy who was the centre of attention. At first glance he was dressed as I was, not in greys - I subsequently discovered he had not come to school in that junior apparel - certainly not in the shorts which as soon as he passed by were revealed to have no seat to them at all!

  From just below the waist band to half way up the thigh he was bare - and to the side and the seam of his shorts. Evidence of past and recent castigation could be seen, though not as severe as that we were about to witness being administered. One was later to discover these punishment shorts were a “shame” option for any of us who it was felt needed to be constantly reminded of their situation leading up to a public whipping and for some hours following so the results could be plainly on view.

  Alfred carried two rods - “Governess” style as Dame Hilda like to call them - bound with ribbon.

  The small procession halted.

  Dame Hilda nodded to the Doctor who puffed himself up to his full height and became a formidable figure in his full fig of gown and mortar board.

  “Bowes, come and stand before me. Do you know why you are here?”

  “Yes sir”

  “Then tell me so all these others may know.”

  “Sir I have been late for school today, for the third time this last fortnight and when asked for a reason lied about the cause.”

  “A regular record of wickedness surpassed only by the evil of a cowardly lie devised to avoid just and severe chastisement. You know what you must do.”

  Alfred knelt, lowered his head and proffered the two rods in front of him. “Sir, I earnestly beg your forgiveness for my repeated offenses and my wicked lie, which I repent, and ask for you to punish me severely in front of these witnesses as you deem fit. ”

  This little collect was delivered in a thin piping and halting voice with many hesitations and clear evidence that Alfred - a boy of about eleven years, was already on the verge of tears, or indeed had already shed them earlier.

  “I will, Stand up and unbutton your trousers. Captain.. would you be so good. My dear...?”

  These inquiries resulted in Dame Hilda approaching Alfred from behind swiftly lowering Alfred's shorts to his knees and then rebuttoning them while at the same time the young man addressed as “Captain” stood with his back to Alfred, squatted on his haunches with his hands behind him and over his shoulders.

  Dame Hilda said “Proceed. “and with one well practised movement Alfred's hands were grasped firmly and pulled forward while the captain raised himself up in a stooping position. Thus was Alfred horsed for his punishment - in manner that bigger boys could not be.

  Thus suspended he could not wriggle or writhe to avoid the rod and only fruitlessly kick his legs a little bit.

  The Doctor handed one of the rods to Dame Hilda and brandished the other swishing it expertly.

  “I hope you have constructed this birchrod diligently Master Bowes. I expect it to survive two dozen strokes in good order. Should I require the second one to complete your punishment I will continue until it also is not longer fit for use.”

  There was a prolonged pause and the silence was electric.

  The Doctor took up a stance, measuring the rod's length against the centre of poor Alfred's bottom, raised to an ideal height for this purpose. The rod came back and then down, lightly it seemed, almost bouncing as it struck for the first time.

  “One” Dame Hilda's firm contralto intoned.

  There was a pause of several seconds and I could see what looked like nettle rash on Alfred's skin.

  “Two” The second was much as the first and so far not a sound or whimper from the boy.

  It was still some while before I was able fully to understand the nature of the experience, and that is for another part of my tale, but suffice to say that the technique employed by the Doctor, and the Dame emphasised less the pain and more the humiliations associated with the event - a good caning hurt much more!

  After six strokes had been delivered there was a pause. The whole of the backside now seemed aflame with tiny weals although still no sound had been emitted - Alfred must be braver than first sight indicated.

  The Doctor fiddled with the rod removing a few errant twigs and recommenced. It was immediately clear a change had occurred as the tips of the rod bit into the upper right thigh slightly lapping round - I could see clearly as I was stood to the right side. Three were delivered thus in quick succession and a muffled and anguished “Ah!” emerged.

  The Doctor strode over to the opposite side and delivered an identical unholy backhand trinity to the left lower cheek producing a similar outcry.

  “Do not think to evoke sympathy or mercy with your cries boy - I will have real tears ere I finish.”

  Whereupon he unleashed a mighty blow allowing the birch to rest at the end of the curve of the stroke against the trembling bottom of our compatriot. Returning to the left hand side he repeated this and then came tears.

  “P-p-please sir don't whip me any more p-p-pleeese! Oh! Oh!”

  These entreaties only encouraged the doctor to renew with greater vigour and two swift and curving strokes flayed the boys right flank .

  Alfred shrieked and then sobbed uncontrollably.

  The Doctor's aim now shifted to the lower bottom where we all know it is most unpleasant. Squeals and shrieks resulted although during the pause between each stroke they seemed to subside easily so that I began to suspect that the fear of the pain had overtaken its reality in the mind of the boy being flogged.

  Twenty strokes had now been delivered but the birch was in a sorry state - more so than Alfred's bottom to whom victory in this round might have been awarded but for his noisy pleas. The Doctor abandoned his station remarking, “As I suspected this rod is of inferior construction and will not complete its task to my satisfaction. Captain, I suspect some relief may be desirable, lest you strain your back overmuch. This second rod will take a deal more than twenty but before resuming we should perhaps suspend operations for five minutes. Let him down.”

  The boy was unceremoniously released and he dropped to the floor with a squeak, his hands immediately clutching this afflicted rear.

  “Leave your bottom alone boy - I have not finished with it yet. Go at once into that corner and place you hands on your head.”

  The Doctor, the Dame and the Captain now conferred in low tones while the Cook and Maid whispered light-heartedly and deliberately in our hearing behind us three mute boys.

  “Like raw beefsteak his rump will be soon - little devil - he's been at my biscuits before now. I do like to see them well whipped - it curbs their appetites something wholesome.”

  This the Cook speaking. “No fear of that not happening. I'll wager there's not one of them won't be flogged like this in the next week - the Master and Mistress are in real choler for it. Flogging the boys diverts 'em and keeps 'em off our necks too. I'll see to it even if the boys don't of their own accord.”

  “I'll wager we'll see blood drawn - You won't want blood on these walls.”

  “No they never, or seldom does that - there's an art to it. Early on they did once and decided to give the boy's bottom a beating holiday until he healed - two weeks - the boy was impossible, but they won't flog a cut backside and that's an end to it.”

  This intelligence was not entirely accurate as later events proved but I digress.

  The procedure was clearly about to be resumed. This time with a difference.

  “Bowes come here” This was the Dame again.

  The boy encumbered with his lowered shorts shuffled over awkwardly his hands still on his head penitently. Dame Hilda bent down and expertly released the buttons on his trousers lowered them to his angles and instructed him to step out.

  “You'll not want these for a while. Captain, as we agreed.”

  The Captain approached the boy again and as before horsed him , but this time once suspended he told the boy to clasp his hands round his chest and supported his thighs with his arms - just like our piggyback fights.

  This spread his bottom cheeks wide and tight, unlike the previous position and exposed his tender inner legs if the rod should be “whipped in” at all, not to mention his unmentionables, also exposed to view.

  But the Doctor was not so cruel as to deliberately take advantage and was a skilled practitioner at his art.

  The new rod was a bushier affair and the doctors' purpose in this new position was to tighten the muscles of the target bottom to ensure a firm contact with the rod thus ensuring it did have a limited but effective life.

  No counting was required this time and on the first stroke the boy resumed his wailing which ere long declined to whimpering as the energy was sapped from him by each stroke.

  These got harder and swifter as the Doctor sought to reach a crescendo of castigation and chastisement. Twigs flew in all directions and the boy's bottom flamed anew and brighter as weal sat on weal (and squeal upon squeal).

  I lost count but at least thirty was the score, when the Doctor looking slightly dishevelled and his spectacles and Mortar Board askew - almost comical had the circumstances been otherwise - and the rod was reduced to a few core twigs.

  Alfred's sobbing continued and as he was let down his hands covered his face not his bottom.

  Another silence ensued and as Alfred recovered his composure he turned to the Doctor, knelt and addressing the remnants of the rod said:

  “I thank you most humbly sir, for the whipping you have given me and beg you not to withhold the rod should I deserve it again.”

  He then kissed the rod!

  “You are forgiven and my rejoin your classmates. You may stand up and adjust your dress.”

  The Dame added “As a reminder to you and your classmates you will continue to wear the punishment shorts until teatime.Boys return to your class when we have vacated this room.”

  Subdued, intrigued, strangely fascinated and almost curious to know whether I could withstand such punishment more calmly, I returned with the others. Alfred joined us shortly. He would not speak nor could he look at us and we respected his silence - we were not monsters whatever Cook thought.

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  Chapter 5

  ‘Sunday Blessed Sunday’ and the Revenge of the Jacobites

  I found Eddie in the Dorm where had been apparently since 6 o'clock, having had tea - I had been given none and the sherry had made me giddy. Having guessed something pretty major had been afoot with me as a significant participant he had listened at keyholes and generally asked sufficient questions to be able to draw the right conclusions.

  He had, as a result, secured some cheese, bread and apple from the scullery while Perkins had been upstairs ministering to me in advance of my birching.

  He was impressed by the sight of my backside, which had a warm not altogether unpleasant glow to it.The marks and weals were still plainly in view, although once he had satisfied his immediate curiosity I stripped off the bare bottom shorts and other clothes and put on my bathrobe. He could look more closely latter when we were in bed. I was relieved to hear we would be allowed to bath ourselves since Perkins was behind time with preparing dinner due to my activities - it was an ill wind but I was not prepared to undergo such an ordeal regularly for such a limited benefit!

  Despite the solemnity and awesome spectacle of the flogging I did not need to sleep overmuch on my stomach, though did avoid sleeping on my right side because, where the tips of the birch had whipped round, I was sore.

  I slept fully and needed rousing the following day - the customary bell was not rung on Sundays. Church was a natural item on the programme - but not unusually so for us, at home and school we were used to that - and our uniform for church was sailor suits again - this time white throughout including buckled shoes, with straw hats. We did feel chumps when we saw other boys of our own age and younger dressed in proper Sunday suits ties and shirts and were relieved not to see either of the day boys or anyone else who might know us. Again no sign of the Dame even though the Doctor was with us and Perkins, we speculated that she might be a Catholic or non-conformist.

  The Doctor was fully pompous and pious and completely serious throughout - if it was possible to him to be more serious than usual. Eddie told me the custom was not to go to evensong but to hold a small prayer service in the Rectory . After that, if Eddie had committed some offence that day, he was informed of the nature of the penance he would have to undergo the following day - straight after breakfast - I had been warned.

  For all that the afternoon was ours and while we might be forbidden overt games and pastimes, we had each other for company - which we had inadvertently missed the previous day.

  Naturally I gave Eddie a full account of the proceedings in as much detail as I could recall and he could elicit by diligent questioning. (That process of “debriefing” - a singularly apposite term in one sense, has helped me recall, in such detail many years on, the events of that afternoon). His “And then what happened?”'s and “And what happened next?”'s had me reliving the experience fully and raised a host of questions in my mind.

  Who were these young men and why had the doctor permitted them to witness my punishment? Where had the Dame been all day? What had they meant by my being one of them now?

  Eddie could shed little light on any of these except to affirm that at weekends, save on Sunday evening, he had never seen the Dame. It was an intriguing mystery or rather set of mysteries and we resolved to solve them if at all possible. But not before we had our revenge on Perkins.

  My map had been wrapped up in my left stocking top and when taken off I had ensured it stayed wrapped up in it. Was it in the clothes basket? We looked. Yes! Perkins clearly had not planned to do any washing at the weekend in the absence of the housekeeper! With the oral intelligence I was able to provide plus my map we were able to plan more effectively. We had also to choose our time as suspicion would be bound to fall on us and if caught or even semi-suspected my experience of today seemed likely to be repeated on us both - or worse.

  Our original plan was to employ the following Saturday but my experience made that too risky and enterprise. It was not the punishment so much as the deprivation of an afternoon in such awful conditions and the frustration of the plot if caught that made us rethink. What choices were there? The only other times we were not supervised were odd occasions when granted permission to go to the lavatory - brief and no less risky - and - at night! That was the only choice.

  It would have to be in the small hours when the house would be asleep and we would have to take the risk of waking Perkins and being caught in the act. The problem was what to wear. Our nightshirts were a little impractical because they were loose and flapped and would catch at door handles or other things. There was also the problem of darkness to contend with. Readers will have to remember that small boyhand size battery driven torches had not been invented then - even had we been permitted such articles with all their potential for mischief. It had to be done on a moonlit night or in the early dawn - not much use until May or June as presently we were roused at half past six, and Perkins would have to be about before dawn at the moment.

  We formed a tentative plan but decided not to implement it until a later more favourable weekend. We also decided we needed a secret name for our gang - admittedly one of only two members - inspired by my reading and based on our knowledge of French History we called ourselves Jacobites - a bit like Jacobins - you see.

  We then turned to that other object of our ire Priggsy Briggsy whose sneering attitude at our little boy treatment and whose own relative freedom from punishments needed avenging. Alfred Bowes was still too cowed after his public flogging to be an active participant. Such a response had not been brought out in me - while mine had been public it had also been before a respectful, supporting and admiring audience - aspects I could still not fathom - so it almost encouraged me in a perverse way!

  We had to find a way to land Piggsy in enough hot water to make him the centre of the Dame's attentions as we had been. We decided he had to be “framed” as people say nowadays - not a term of art we used then. We had just the thing......

  To our great pleasure we survived until Monday with no penalties carried forward and the school day commenced as usual. Monday was a gym day not a dance day (I will describe those lessons later) so it was not such a good day for depositing Piggsy in front of the Dame - it was she we wanted to have come down upon him rather than the Doctor. Nonetheless our plans would not lie fallow and we were too excited at the prospect to pass up the earliest opportunity and gym day did at least offer the chance of the shower and changing room to do the necessary.

  We needed more than one wheeze to ensure success. As gym preceded lunch the best chance was when we changed for Gym. We made sure we were late - ensuring a slippering from the PT instructor (more later) and were able to insert a couple of Eddie's creature collection into his shorts pocket wrapped in his pocket handkerchief. At the same time we placed a small dab of some boot polish on the inside oh his collar and cuffs.Piggsy wore small round spectacles for reading so after the shower would probably not have them on nor discover the plot. Finally we put some itching powder in his long grey stockings near the tops, not much just enough. We did not want to overegg the pudding - or the paddling?

  So seemingly scrubbed and clean we sat down for lunch under the Dame's careful scrutiny. We did our best, Eddie and I, to be model boys, and hoped to avoid laughing unduly at the results when they emerged lest we give the plot quite away.

  At first nothing seemed to happen. The Piggsy started to fidget -his hand kept going down to his leg, to scratch we guessed. I bit my cheek to withhold the laughter and was about to erupt when the Dame at last spoke.

  “Master Algernon what are you doing - step down from the table and come here. I will not have fidgeting at the table. And look at you - your stockings are not properly pulled up at all - disgraceful! Turn around, hands on your head - stand still.”

  She pulled down each sock to expose the calf and then slapped both legs hard six times on each.

  Briggsy yelped as we knew the coward would.

  “Now let me see you pull them up properly.”

  This would have spread the powder even further so Piggsy would find it difficult to sustain this situation, but better still...

  “Just stop there - what - show me your hands - and your cuffs...”

  In putting his hands on his head his cuffs would have ridden up exposing...black smudges! As he took them off his head her eagle eye swooped.

  “What have you been doing? Show me the other hand! Disgraceful! I can see you need a thorough inspection, which I shall perform immediately luncheon is finished. Go and stand in the corner and go without your lunch. Boys, we will finish the meal ,without this urchin amongst us. ”

  We felt free to grin then but I wondered whether we would be allowed to witness this inspection. Indirectly we did.

  We were dismissed when the table had been cleared by us and the crocks sent below. Piggsy stayed put and the Dame went out. We lingered in the classroom listening out. By now we had taken Alfred into our confidence so he was as eager as we to know more of the outcome.

  “Cave - she's coming back!”

  Eddie was keeping watch through the gap in the doorway where it hinged.

  “She's got a rubber apron and a tin bath and she's gone into the shower room - he's going to get scrubbed!” This was riches indeed and more than we had dreamed of in our plotting.

  Sure enough after some time she emerged and returned to the lunch room when we could hear her loudly admonishing Piggsy as she inspected him further.

  “And your collar and neck! You are an appalling filthy tyke - and just after showering - I can see we shall have to supervise your showers to ensure you wash thoroughly. I must have a word with Mr Poole (our ex Navy PT instructor). Get into the shower room at once - you can be scrubbed - and I shall do it personally - and then a jolly hard and long spanking on your bare bottom!”

  Priggsy wailed his protest and was hauled resisting to the shower room. We could imagine the scene as, amidst slaps and smacks, presumably to his face and legs, we could hear him being stripped for the tub scrubbing. All of us, save Briggsy, had experienced it at least once - in my case on Saturday from Perkins. Our only safety from hysterical laughter was to stuff out handkerchiefs in our mouths.

  In fact hearing without seeing was a good deal more entertaining, but we each wanted some visual evidence so in turns ambled along to the bathroom which was diagonally opposite the shower room and which would offer some sort of surreptitious view. Eddie went first - we related the scene we each had spied through the bathroom door keyhole to each other subsequently.

  Eddie saw Piggsy stood up stark naked in the tin bath facing the Dame when she was scrubbing him in front, in a certain place. He was squealing - we could hear that - “Oh not there madam - please not there ow! OOoh! Ou-ch!” A half a dozen slaps to the front of is legs ensued.

  I went next and witnessed his rear being attended to. She made him bend over with his legs apart and rubbed the brush lathered with carbolic right between his legs and into his bottom cheeks.

  More squeals and protests - more slaps to the backs of his legs this time. Capital quite capital! Alfred's turn.

  We waited a little lest there be undue suspicion at such coincident urgent need on our part.

  In may ways Alfred saw the best part, for when he got there the scrubbing was over and the spanking had begun. He was tucked under her arm right off the ground, being spanked hard - he was still naked - his bare bottom facing out towards the door - a posture Eddie and I, as real 12-13 year olds, were too large for the Dame to accommodate but which Piggsy, a slight ten year old, suited to a treat.

  By now he was certainly in floods of tears. Apparently his hand tried to prevent further blows raining on his unprotected backside as we could hear.

  “Oh you would, would you - get that away - put it away - if you do not I shall get the cane!”

  So the slaps continued and continued. Alfred returned with this intelligence and we waited - our giggles and laughter by now suppressed by the awesome majesty of the Dame in full stride!

  Eventually it subsided, save Piggsy's tears.

  “You have forfeited the right to wear these clothes and I've a mind to put you in little girls knickers - to teach you what clean really means.” More wails from Piggsy.

  “Yes that is exactly what we shall do, and you will dress like Perceval and Forrest -oh yes. I've a good mind to ask your Mama to put you here for a month as a boarder - at my expense - oh yes! Then you'll learn. I've been far too lenient with you - well that's to stop. I shall close inspect you every morning and require you to arrive a half hour early until then, so I can do so. I shall write your Mama this very day.”

  Oh no! Not that - how absolutely RAN - CID! No prank was worth that! (Fortunately his Mama regarded him too much as the apple of her eye to be willing to be bereft of his company for quite so long - more of this later.)

  The next phase of our prank had been forgotten but the fuse had been lit and Piggsy's bottom was already aflame with the initial explosions. His greys were to be taken away but not before his pockets were also checked. Out came the pocket handkerchief and with it Eddie's little pals! Poor Priggsy - out for a duck in both innings and then knocked for six!

  “I am speechless..” (She most certainly was not) “... with the iniquity of your conduct and the sheer indecency of your personal habits and unsanitary behaviour. I cannot let this pass. When I have dressed you properly you will go and stand outside my parlour until I come. You will not rejoin your class today, you are not fit. Before you are sent home this evening I shall birch you, over my knee. You will spend the rest of your time facing the corner in my room with your trousers right down.”

  This appeared to signal the demarche of Priggsy. Having shared our plot with Alfred and his having played a part in its unfolding we made him an honorary Jacobite, but explained he would have to carry out some suitably challenging feat before we could consider him a full member.

  Now to Perkins...........................

  CPO Jack Poole

  But that was still some time away. Before I return to the narrative I should describe the regular PT sessions which were a part of our routine. The PTI was a retired Naval petty officer - next to the Doctor the oldest man with whom we had to deal. An upright man who would never speak when he could bellow and would never walk when he could run and whose favourite expressions were “Double up boy” and “Keep still” reflecting one might surmise many years on a fondness for the extremes of life!

  We exercised in the room adjacent to the music room which had been set aside for this purpose. We wore only a pair of loose white cotton shorts for this purpose. If we ran round the grounds or played football outside we wore singlets and plimsolls as well.

  Gym consisted of repetitive exercises, arm swinging. press ups, squat thrusts, running on the spot, sit-ups all the usual forms of boy torture devised by PT masters the world over.

  He was so fierce in his manner that he rarely had to whacked. When he did he used a large shiny slipper or a small thin rattan cane, always over shorts and usually either touching toes or over a piece of equipment - which had to be absolutely right - legs straight tips of fingers touching toes, feet together at an angle of fortyfive degrees and all that! He would give 2,4 or 6, no more, and always very, very, hard. He was a short barrel chested man with strong hairy tattooed arms, clean shaven, bullet headed and impeccable in his dress. His only defect was a nervous tick which revealed itself when walking any distance which was a sudden shrug of both shoulders as if to ensure his jacket was properly on - even if he wasn't wearing one. Oh yes CPO Jack Poole was a character and a find indeed for the Old Rectory

  The first day, it must have been the Wednesday, when I reported he looked me over.

  “Name?”

  “Master Henry...”

  “Last Name boy - none of that namby-pamby nanny's boy talk here!”

  “Perceval sir!”

  “Very good - Per-ce-val. Age?”

  “Twelve and a half sir”

  “Stand up straight and keep still boy, legs apart hands behind your back, head up shoulders back, don't slouch, eyes to the front, answer me clearly and simply and don't mumble!”

  “Can you swim?”

  “Uh not exactly sir”

  “No - we'll take you to the pool at the Grange one Saturday and then you will. What sports do you play?”

  “Cricket sir”

  “Anything else?”

  “Footer sir, a little.”

  “Very good” All this he was noting in a small shiny black leather bound book.

  “Boys! Atten-tion! Perceval stand fast - the rest to do 3 rounds standard warm up drill - Peeeeeeeeeeep!”

  As he blew his whistle the other three leapt into life and began a bewildering and dazzling display of various exercises designed to warm up the muscles before the real work began. I assumed “stand fast” meant I was not to do anything which was correct.

  “Perceval”

  “Yes sir”

  “I can't hear you. Perceval!”

  I shouted as loud as a thin chested pre-pubescent treble voiced boy can manage “Yes sir!”

  “When I give the command double over to that door and stand at ease outside. I'll measure you directly. But first watch carefully.”

  “Peeeeeeeeep!”

  Instantly the other three stopped exactly what they were doing and froze.

  “Pip! Pip!” The leapt to their feet at attention.

  “Peeeep! Pip!”

  They snapped to the “at ease” position.

  “Forrest - display ten number ones.”

  Eddie then performed ten toe-touches.

  “Bowes - ten number twos!”

  Alfred did ten press ups.

  “Briggs - ten number threes!”

  Piggsy did ten squat thrusts.

  “Perceval let me see you do each of those now

  I did ten toe touches. Then I sat on the floor turned over and performed ten increasingly slow press ups struggling with the last one. Then I did the squat thrusts - fairly vigorously as my legs were reasonably strong.

  I was aware he was watching me. When I had finished I stood up and remembered to stand at ease.

  “Pathetic! Lot of work my boy, lot of work but you'll get there. Now double over to the office - go!”

  The office was at the far end so I ran over.”

  “Not good enough - I said double not amble. Back here come on double!!”.

  I ran back to the spot.

  “Touch your toes! Legs straight - just the tips of your fingers in touch with the tips of your toes - fingers straight - KEEP STILL - DON'T FLAP ABOUT LIKE A WOMAN IN A HAT SHOP!!!”

  The “WHHHaaaaCK!!!!” His plimsoll made a mighty contact with my right cheek. It was impossible to keep still and I lurched forward, one foot just in front of the other.

  I instantly returned to the position.

  “I said keep still! Two extra for moving!”

  “WHaaaaaaCK!!” I struggled manfully against the awful pain as the shiny heavy bruising and stinging slipper assaulted my left cheek. I managed to stay still this time by leaning slightly back and into the blow - hardly softening it - almost inviting it. I bit my lip and screwed up my face.

  “WHaaaaaaCKKK!!!”

  The third landed on the right but this time managed to catch me in the overhang and stung like fury.

  “Ah-ouch!!”

  “WhhhhaaaaaaacKKK!” Same t'other side.

  “O-Ooh-ah-uh-ouch!”

  “Punishment completed. Attention.”

  “Perceval! To my office DOUBLE!!” I ran like the wind as if a pack of savage dogs were at my heels threatening to bite the seat out of my trousers!

  This seemed to satisfy him. I waited while he set the three others to pulling out a small gym horse and doing leaps along it and across it, and even doing head over heels along it. Once he was satisfied they were occupied he came over - which was when I saw the shrug for the first time.

  He unlocked his “office” with keys that he kept on a long chain secured to his belt - he wore long sharply creased black trousers held with a shiny black leather belt.

  “Come!” He barked once he was in his den.”

  “he flicked his fingers to a spot on the floor in front of a table at one end of the room, on which there was a folding meter rule, a tape measure, a thin rattan cane, and various other measurement instruments. He placed the slipper, his note book and pencil precisely on the table and went over to the wall.

  “Strip boy!”

  I was getting used to this by now.

  “Stand here. I stood as he indicated my back to the wall as he measured my height against a measure on the wall. He noted the result precisely. I then had to step forward and stand on a set of scales, while he took my weight again precisely, sliding the weights along the bar until it balanced exactly. I stepped down. He then measured the length of my forearms, upper arms, thighs, leg below the knee, their circumference at various points and tested the muscles. He asked me to flex each limb, making notes as he did all this. He told me gain to touch my toes, this time with my legs apart. He then put his hand between my legs - put his hand under - well you know what! and asked me to cough - I had not idea then what all this meant.

  “Pennies not dropped yet.” He muttered “As I suspected - a little underdeveloped for his age.”

  He then concluded this examination and told me to put my shorts back on. I should say that so far as I know these examinations were the only occasions that Jack Poole ever made us take our shorts down other than for exercise. At any other times when he made us strip it was because it was in order to achieve some purpose - often he wanted to see completely clearly how we moved and how our muscles and bodies behaved under the stress of exercise and clothes got in the way.

  His wrist and arm were quite strong enough and our cotton shorts thin enough so as to make a bare bottom slippering or caning unnecessary.

  Once this was completed I doubled back to the rest of them still exercising over the horse and I did my best to join in. Piggsy tried to get me in hot water by tripping me up a couple of times. I fell on the coconut matting and grazed my knee.

  “Peeeeeep!” We froze

  “BRIGGS!!! - Forrest, Perceval and Bowes stand fast. BRIGGS!! - my office at the double! ”

  Piggsy had gone white and ran like a scalded cat. His bare feet padding the boards. He almost slid to a halt in front of Jack Poole.

  “You've been warned before Briggs about dangerous sky-larks. What happened last time?”

  “S-six with the slipper sir!”

  “Sentence is six cuts with the cane, to be delivered at the end of the lesson. Double back to your mates.”

  For the remainder of the lesson - which typically lasted an hour we played football bit sat on our backsides shuffling along the floor, resting on our hands. We took turns to man a single goal. I cannot recall the score - but Eddie was almost certainly the winner as he was the eldest, the biggest and the strongest. He also had long legs with well formed thighs - ideal for this game.

  Piggsy and Alfred were still small boys really, though the former was on the plump side - very rounded backside.

  “Peeeeep!” “Peeep! Pip!”

  Up we leapt.

  “Briggs prepare for punishment. Over the horse.”

  Piggsy clearly knew this drill, and doubled to the horse, leapt on it and astride and then lowered himself onto it - his head at the lower end, for the horse was at an inclined angle now. His plump bottom was tightly pressing up into his thin cotton shorts, well up in the air and his feet were off the ground.

  “Pip! Pip! Pip!” At this Alfred and Eddie scurried over to the horse and formed a line facing Piggsy's backside and about six paces behind. I managed to follow more or less quickly. We were still at ease.

  Jack then returned to his room to fetch his cane. I tired to imagine what it must be like to be caned having spent a bum-numbing quarter of an hour on the hard wooden floor playing footer - not too bad I guessed.

  When Jack returned he “pee-eeeped” us to attention. He then took up a position about four paces behind the prostrate boy and took up a stance. He swished the cane, pulled it back horizontally behind him, took three long fast strides and struck!

  The blow sounded like a pistol shot in that echoing room and piggsy squealed.

  Jack waited, the cane resting where it had landed just in his lower bum. He stepped back slowly, stood still - long enough to count to ten and repeated the stroke almost exactly above the previous one. Piggsy squealed again.

  The next time Jack stepped back three paces and one to the left. This time the cane landed with the tip just over his crack so it must have cut into it a little.

  Piggsy was making every effort to lie still despite his noise and this time did hot so much squeal as wail. The fourth cut landed on the higher part of the boy's backside and the fifth just below that - more noise ensued even louder - though no tears as such. Five cuts had been delivered and it must have taken at least two minutes to get this far. Number six was due - where would Jack land it? The answer was back in the crease where Piggsy would sit down on the hard school desk seat. If it was possible this produced the loudest yell from the afflicted boy.

  “Six cuts delivered, punishment complete. Lesson ended - at the double to the showers “Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!”

  We all dashed, even Piggsy, and showered noisily. We inspected Piggsy's marks but they were surprisingly unimpressive. Thin red weals about six inches long but which faded by the weekend. It was a thin cane, after all, designed to sting and with cotton shorts it protected the integrity of the skin in a way a bare bottom caning would not have - even so we had expected more - Piggsy said it stung so but we were not too impressed.

  So that was Jack Poole of which more later. I never quite worked out quite where he fitted into the Old Rectory. He never shoed up to my knowledge elsewhere and I never saw him in the company of the Doctor,of the Dame. It was my belief he had little or no knowledge of events inside the house and that he came and went just before and just after PT and games and even used the Tradesman's (and boys') entrance. What he would have made of the regime I could not say nor what he made of the frequently observed marks of canes, birches and straps he must have encountered on our backsides when we did strip for exercise or swimming. It never held him back from whacking us if he decided it was needful that I could see. Nor anyone else at the Old Rectory for that matter................

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  Chapter 6

  Special Tuition - Solitary Sacrifice

  After the high jinks of Piggsy's comeuppance almost anything would seem rather dull by comparison. So far as we could tell neither Piggsy nor the Dame suspected anything - which, while it spoilt the fun a little, did not give Piggsy the opportunity to peach on us - which he would certainly have done. In any event there were three of us now in the garb of the junior boy and Alfred, the youngest, was in greys.

  My activities at the weekend were commented on by the Dame that evening when I reported after Prep.

  “The Doctor was of course absolutely right to flog you severely on Saturday for such outrageous behaviour. You may be assured I will do exactly the same if I should catch you lying to me or getting up to things. I have decided to keep you as an 8 year old for a further complete week, at least until the end of next week.”

  After such an eventful first week you might suppose life was a continued round of tricks, japes, gaffs and consequent whackings and beatings but not so. Some solid unextraordinary work was done by us and the previous week had rather exhausted everybody I think. Certainly Eddie and I managed to reach the weekend with bottoms that were neither sore nor exceedingly marked by the efforts of our master and mistress. The Doctor had by now determined on the additional Latin it was felt I needed, which was put into effect the third week of my time there.

  This was to take the form of some personal tutorials, but the problem was when. There was nobody to stand in for the Doctor for the bulk of the lessons as the Dame did not teach academically. She was in any case not seen much during the day when lessons were proceeding. The solution proved to be my friend the Captain. It transpired he was at least capable of supervising the other three boys for one lesson every day,when the others did additional written work.

  My latin classes were taken with the Doctor in the Library. Initially this took the form of memorising and then declining by rote latin nouns and verbs. I had to stand for these recitations and he would sit in a chair behind a desk facing me, his hands behind his ears, the better to hear me with, in a comic fashion which I could hardly forbear from laughing at the first time. When I made a mistake he would kick the desk, which was unnerving and did little for my concentration. I would have to correct the stream of regurgitated memorised or rather imperfectly memorised, stuff until I got it right or, he became impatient.

  When that happened out would come either a ferrule or a cane, the former to be brought down in my outstretched hand, the latter on my backside. seldom would one of these viva voce examinations pass without one or the other or both being used several times.

  “You have not learnt your work boy - hold out your hand!”

  I would not have to move an inch as I had to stand directly to one side of his desk so my outstretched hand could be within reach of his ferrule. If I was to be caned on my bottom I would be told to go and stand in front of the desk and then bend over it. He would then stand, select a cane from a basket near his desk, walk slowly round and thus deliver the requisite punishment, between three and six, over shorts.

  After these corrections we would each resume our positions as if nothing had happened.

  Once we had moved on from declining nouns and verbs I had to the usual translations and read the translation out aloud from the original latin text. This was given the same treatment except that minor errors or matters where there was a choice of English word, were only corrected orally. I was left in no doubt however that if he considered I had made insufficient effort more severe punishment would ensue. This was the second occasion that I received a birching from the Doctor.

  It must have been four or five weeks after my arrival - I cannot recall exactly when. By then I had been adjudged fit to wear schoolboy grey - proper shorts - at least in colour although still with those side- buttons - proper stockings, shoes, tie shirt. Eddie as I recall was also restored to his proper age. the consequence was we went to bed later and so as a result perhaps allowed ourselves more recreation and time spent on fun and games - to the neglect of more serious matters. Either way I do recall my construing very badly.

  I had already had the ferrule three times across each palm and the cane - six - on the seat of my shorts - and he was plainly himself a little short on patience. When I mad three simple errors in one sentence he stopped me.

  “This is too bad - too bad - Perceval you have made no effort at all - it is as if you have never read the passage. I refuse to waste my time further. You will do it again tomorrow. Meanwhile I shall waste some of yours. Go and stand outside my study and wait. At 4 pm precisely I shall flog you.”

  It was only a quarter to three as it was so I had a whole fifteen minutes to wait. As the short corridor where I had stood once before, was not a common thoroughfare I did not expect to see any other people about - or more accurately did not expect them to see me, as I would be facing the wall.

  Unfortunately two of the upstairs chambermaids was dusting in the hall and had a good snigger at my expense as I entered the hall turned and took up the standard position. One was a relatively new servant, but the other would have been accustomed to such sights and so commented freely on me to the other.

  “There's another one of them boys set to 'ave 'is bum whipped.”

  “Ow d'you know that then?”

  “It's 'ow them stands see. If the've just got an appointment they just stands like this with their 'ands b'ind them, still facing the wall, but this one 'as 'is 'ands on 'is 'ead. That means he's for a walloping - dose of the cane or the birch I shouldn't wonder - and wiv 'is trousers down most like.”

  “Ain't that awful cruel - they seems such nice boys?”

  “That's none of your concerns - don't you go feeling sorry for them - they can be little scamps - deserves all they get and more. That's what Polly Perkins says anyhow, and she should know.”

  “Do they really make 'em take their trousers down?”

  “Course they do - that's what they're used to at all them posh schools. Sometimes you see them stood in the hall wiv 'em down already or just after, then you can see the marks or their red backsides.”

  “'nuff to put you off your work!”

  “As it clearly has already!”

  “Lummy, the Dame!” hissed one of these guttersnipes.

  “Kindly keep your attention on your work unless you want me to apply similar treatment to idle servants, Smith!”

  “Yes mum. “And off they went like smacked mongrel dogs but rather less noble in my view- a dog at least has a certain capacity for love and loyalty.

  I prayed that Dame Hilda would ignore me and that she would go away. Indeed I thought she had. I thus relaxed slightly allowing my legs to bend ,shifting my weight from one leg to the other to avoid stiffness in the joints.

  The hall clock struck the quarter hour, when I sensed a presence behind me.

  “I have been watching you Master Henry, very closely.”

  “Oh! You made me jump madam!”

  “Indeed I'll make you jump right enough - you are an incurable fidget - can you not stand still, as you have been told time and time again no doubt? ”

  I knew enough neither to affirm, nor deny, this accusation but stood stock still as upright and proper as I could manage.

  “Come out into the Hall.”

  I turned and followed her into the main hall area, my hands still on my head. When she halted, so did I.

  “Turn around and place your legs apart.”

  I then felt my right trouser leg hem being lifted right up - the sorts were quite loose - and then “Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! “Her hand peppered the back of my leg like a maxim gun.I grimaced screwed up my face did every thing but move my leg or let out a cry, only to exhale at the end The other leg and the same treatment and the same result - why did I not cry pride I suppose and a peculiar and perverse notion that I deserved it.

  “Now go back and stand there properly! ”

  The noise of my legs being slapped echoed in the hall and up the stairs to the landing and I could hear giggles and whispers, knowing that those two harpies had witnessed the whole thing!

  The pain soon subsided, but neither the shame nor the pain persisted so much as the profound feeling I had merited it, and brought it upon myself entirely.

  Now I stood as still as possible making only the minutest of movements, literally aching for the Doctor to arrive and end this - I would rather have had the flogging over with for all its sharp rebuke of my bare bottom than this tiring and tedious standing.

  Doors opened and shut, footsteps came and went, women's heels on shiny polished floors clacking and cackling and ringing, ringing in the empty hall punctuating the air with their interrogations and taunts. They seemed to say,

  “Who are you boy!”

  “What are you boy?”

  “Why are you here boy?”

  “We know you boy!”

  “We see you boy! ”

  “Hear me boy! ”

  “Bad, bad boy!”

  “You'll be beaten boy!”

  “Bad boy!”

  “Beaten boy!”

  “Lonely boy!”

  “Only boy!”

  There is no comfort in such grim solitude save self pity and the remorse of tears. Only a much later and lone conversation with the cold stars of the deep desert marking the passing of lost, dead, dear friends in 1941, would ever be as deep and as bitter as the tears I shed as a young boy facing the walls of the Rectory in those distant days. Then I was a man, now I was but a boy - yet the scars of our youth reopen often to enlighten our elder days. In the continuum of our life, the thread from childhood to boyhood may be long but it is thin and unbreakable. We are our memories or we are nothing, and while the richness of our past may haunt our present, let us for a moment lose it and we are bereft, set sail on an empty ocean without counsel and without compass course and victuals. So it is with the boyhood I had and shared.

  “Ah but I was so much older then I'm younger than that now.”

  Time passed, oh much, so much more, slowly. So did my limbs ache and my mind beg for the release though it would only place me in another much more ignominious and sharply painful one than this vigil.

  How can I recall the moment when the clock struck for I was numb inside, feeling submerged within my deepest recess, tears and sighs long since gone and spent? I had been broken - not by blows and pain and stripes but by scorn and ignorance, by isolation and deprivation amidst humankind - by the knowledge that the only physical and human attention I was to receive would be that of the birch, the only caress and comfort that of the Lady Queen of rods and me as her penitent but impatient willing sacrifice. Now there were no young men to witness, no manly hands to shake mine, no words of comfort in my ear, no firm hands on my shoulders and back to reassure and calm, no sharing of my ordeal - just lonely vigil and painful denouement.

  No - the clock came as a blessing and a release and I exhaled and hoped to live again amongst my fellows.

  So came the Doctor and the swish of his gown and so came the birch and the swish of the rod. Into his study I went and out again to the flogging room and the block upon which I had knelt before.

  “Take down your trousers.” I knew this meant knickers too and did not wait for the instruction to bare my bottom.

  Cold hard unremitting words with no witness now to tell either of my courage or my frailty. Did I not retell them now, none save God could, for the Doctor went to his redeemer many years since.

  “Go down.”

  Once again I knelt on the step, knowing now where to place my hands. I felt my shirt lifted, high, right up to the middle of my back.

  Now I felt droplets of water as the rod was swished experimentally by the Doctor, then it fell, without warning or forecast of the length of whipping I was to endure - for good reason - the Doctor had none in mind save the duration of the rod.

  The familiar sensation came as the tips began to cut my outer thigh at once, but without remorse. No subtle variations of pace and place moved him now, only one aim to elicit cries, tears, entreaties and howls from me. Sharp and needle like were the points and stripes - high were my yelps and yipes. Not once did he vary the area attacked - my left buttock went largely unpunished while the right was flayed and flayed. I kept my elbow and shirt sleeve tucked in to my body to catch the extremes but the rod found its way through to the tender parts lapping round my thigh at the top and at the bottom.

  I lost all count and he kept no even rhythm, sometimes slow and hard and others rapid. Some bounced on my bottom's crown and landed on the small of my back stinging the unpunished soft skin there, others stopped against my bottom, hard and brittle, every bud and tip felt as it rested where it had landed - a hard rebuke and eloquent reminder. Others slashed and cut grazing my skin.

  I must have had a dozen or so before I cried out at each and sobbed between them. As each spasm of sorrow subsided a new onslaught would begin and through my tears and terror I could hear his heavy breathing and exertion too and clatter as pieces of wig flew off and hit the walls.

  So the endless kiss of the Goddess reduced me further to a snotty tear streaked boy of no consequence, my being totally caught up with the assault upon my bottom by the rod - nothing else existed for me but the swish and slash and the sharp burning agony and my tears.

  Then it was gone and the rod lay beside me discarded and destroyed, spent, its force dispersed and power discharged into me. I could feel the multiple ridges and weals as my fingers softly explored my right bottom cheeks and thigh and side. Some dampness where grazes threatened but did no actually draw blood stung furiously.

  So was he gone too and I was left, alone again, to recover my emotions, my senses, my dignity, my self control and my trousers.

  That night I could only sleep on my left side and the sting and hurt needed many days to heal, I am not sure that the mental scars - honourable wounds perhaps - ever have , entirely - this sacrifice would be known only to me and him. I had not felt the Goddess murmuring in either my ears or as warmly in my other deep places and parts - there had been no transcendant joy or passion - no manly embrace - no friendly handshake - just cold solitude and impersonal penitence. This had been a lesson in more than one sense - about more than classical translation. It had been rape by proxy with the rod as corespondent.

  There is no love without pain and pain without love has neither purpose nor meaning - that would be real sadism.

  Never did its like happen again and never was it referred to by the Doctor. Some years later another, close to me did, to my surprise, when he said to me, “I've no need, or desire to break you - the Doctor already has, that day in his study when he flogged you, for your latin. Then, you began to understand and now you really do, although you do not still realise it. From that day you were part of us and one with us when She took your offering and did not even acknowledge it. That is a real sacrifice.”

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  Chapter 7

  Easter - Piggsy's Redemption and the Captain's Intervention

  Easter was late that year and coincident with that period was a short break for most schools. Not so for us. Indeed affairs became even busier with the promised addition of a new boy as a boarder and of Piggsy Briggs for one week, his Mama having gone to relatives in the country, and she having been persuaded at last to avail herself of Dame Hilda's previous offer to induct Piggsy to the charms of life as a boarder at the Old Rectory.

  “This evening we welcome Master Briggs to us for one week.”

  Eddie and I must have looked at each other in a transparent fashion.

  “I will have no bullying or other cruel behaviour. If a boy needs correction he knows where to come.”

  With that enigmatic remark she left Piggsy with us the Monday before Easter in the evening as he settled into our dorm where another two beds had been installed.

  “So now you're one of us Piggsy.”

  “Yes cold showers, and cold bare scrubbings and spankings at bedtime!”

  I must confess he did not look overly delighted to be among us! It had also been made clear that as a new boarding boy he was back to the 8 year old status and he was not happy, knowing from us full well what that meant.

  So at half pas seven while Eddie and I still enjoyed some time in the library he was in Perkins'tender hands being bathed and scrubbed an no doubt making an intimate acquaintance with her terrible temper and bath brush.

  When we repaired to bed he was there redfaced, streaky cheeked with old tears. Our hostility was not unremitting and we were not complete monsters and we were curious. So we behaved in a sympathetic fashion to hear what had transpired. Much as we had suspected Piggsy had been no more respondent than we to the bath time manner of the maid but had been thoroughly abusive to her too. She had got him over her knee alright but then grabbed his heels, upended him and pulled him back so his bottom rested on her lap his legs either side and behind her, rather like a wheelbarrow. Naked and helpless she then brought the bathbrush down on his plump, damp readily presented cheeks like a timpani player in an orchestra forte and fortissimo. His responses must have been of a matching character.

  By the time we caught up with him he had recovered slightly, but we insisted on seeing the effects. Sure enough, clear red blotches marked the edges of the bathbrush and he was obviously tender still. He ,like us, had joined the ranks of the Perkins haters and now had a more perfect understanding of what lay at the root of our hostility to her. But we were not yet ready to enter him into the ranks of the Jacobites and of our conspiracy to revenge ourselves upon our tormenter.

  Before we would do that we needed to be clear where his loyalties really lay and whether his week or so's residence at the Old Rectory would permanently amend his character as far as we were concerned.

  Having reviewed our plans we had resolved there was still some gaps in our knowledge, some critical ones, for example I had omitted to note which way the doors in her quarters opened, and what sort of door handles they had - were they handles or knobs?

  The only solution was to put a boy in - to amend an old intelligence term. The easter weekend was the key - Perkins was going away - this Piggsy had overheard when in the scullery having his early tea before bed. Thus once inside our spy could spend all the time required. You may wonder why we simply did not set our traps then. The answer was they depended on the intended victim already being inside. We had no plans formulated that would operate on a returning Perkins, so that also needed intelligence. If we were successful a second entry would be effected and appropriate actions carried out.

  Piggsy would have a role - as a lookout and a diversion - although we would not tell him exactly what our purpose was. We was led to believe a raid on the pantry was our plan. To make this credible we had of course actually to do this too!

  We also resolved that if caught the dawn following would have to, be a beating holiday so any punishment would be postponed.

  So the eve of Good friday dawned and we made a special effort to get to bed and to sleep on time, with minimal interference. We tried our best to be good, clean and spotless during the day, with modest success - though the trick was not to be so good as to arouse suspicion. So we each had a few “beatings off” to redeem. By now I had graduated to the cane and as it happened had to take 6 bare, so that seemed to do the trick.

  “On the eve of our redeemer's sacrifice for your sins, I hope you think on this Master Harry. Take down your shorts and underpants and bend over. ”

  There then followed six slow searing strokes carving a five bar gate in my backside which Eddie and Piggsy admired later. I was first however and they were still outside waiting for their turn. Trousers still imprisoning my ankles I shuffled over to the bureau to sign the punishment record for the previous day.

  “This weekend there are two beating holidays Master Henry but have a care - if you should transgress tomorrow of all days I will not wait until Monday and three week weals will be your lot unless it is very minor indeed. Have a care. Now pull your trousers up and off you go.”

  The same was said to Eddie, so we knew what to expect - in a general sense. The risks and the consequences needed careful thought. Still smarting both of us from a caning we were very cautious and decided to postpone the first sortie until the early hours of Saturday morning then the consequences would not be made worse by our transgression taking place on a holy day.

  Friday was long boring and miserable. We went to church twice, in dark suits - black shorts, black stockings, jackets and ties. the hard pews did nothing to take our minds of the previous days' round of whackings and canings. Back at the Rectory the Doctor insisted on bible study and readings - meals were frugal and semi fasts and we were altogether miserable. We would almost have welcomed a few whackings to enliven things.

  Perkins' absence meant we could bath and put ourselves to bed unsupervised save for the golden half hour preceded by inspection and our prayers - especially devout we had to be.

  In those days boys had neither wristwatches nor pocket watches and there was no clock in the dorm. Elsewhere in the house there were ticking striking clocks a plenty and there was one on the upper landing we could hear when it struck the hour. Could we be awake in good enough time to do what we wanted and needed?

  It was still dark when I stirred and wondered what time it was. The only way was to go out into the corridor and look at the clock. A risky enterprise in itself, but excusable on grounds of biological need. It stood at half past four - still a long time till dawn but once awake we should proceed. I prodded Eddie and Piggsy to wake them and told them the time. We then put our plan into action.

  Some time before we had considered the question of dress for this operation. Large white floppy nightshirts were no use and we had our dressing gowns, and could have worn those over the nightshirts but for reasons I shall explain decided not. Slippers would be noisy so we discarded them and would go barefoot. Piggsy's role was to hover at then end of the corridor outside the bathroom and if anyone came out to enter it noisily and ostentatiously to use it.

  In case anyone should enter the dorm while we were out of it we had to put something in our beds to make them appear to the casual observer that they were occupied. One of the blankets and pillows each was used to make a shape in the bed. To make it more convincing we wanted one arm to appear to be outside the covers so needed our nightshirts so as to stuff them over the blanket and pillow, using a towel to for the arm inside. For a rough shaped head - seen from behind in the dark, we used a bust of Socrates and one of Plato borrowed from the schoolroom. We had realised that these would not stand close scrutiny of course but might fool a casual glance.

  Had we taken our dressing gowns which hung on hooks by the door we would have been inviting suspicion so they had to remain. All we could prowl about in therefore were our tiny silken knickers, unless we could get to the changing room and our PT shorts or our dance tunics.

  It was cold in the early pre dawn and we could not afford to wait long as we moved cat-like along the hall to the stairs. Our plan meant entering Perkins' quarters first, then raiding the pantry as we calculated the risk would increase the longer we were abroad and that a pantry raid would be more explicable and thus forgivable - though not free from firm chastisement - than interfering with the Maid's quarters. All we had with us was a scrap of paper and a stub of pencil - no really incriminating items.

  All was quiet as we edged along. Through one door we could hear snores. A floorboard creaked! We froze, waited - no reaction and softly made our way to the door, opened it slowly - I already knew it did not squeak. Then we were inside! We talked in whispers as we swiftly noted the things we needed to know and confirmed that we know had all we wanted. So back down and our second plan - intended to put piggsy off the scent - and as it happens fill some hungry stomachs.

  We had just pushed the door at the bottom of her stairs open and peaked out when I saw a figure down the hall. I pulled back and motioned silence to Eddie. I was unsure who it was, so we listened out.

  At that point Piggsy did his stuff. We could hear the noise as he clumped along the corridor to the bathroom and the clatter and rush of the chain as he telegraphed a warning to us and his presence.

  We then heard voices one low and murmuring, the other higher and piping but through the crack in the door found them indistinct.

  What was going on? I had to look. What I saw was two figures one smaller in a white nightshirt in front of the other tall and looming. They were heading downstairs.

  It was now or never and as soon as I reckoned they had gone down and left the hall area I motioned to Eddie for us to make a tip toe dash for the dorm. The pantry raid was cancelled and Piggsy's diversion was clearly turning into something else as far as he was concerned.

  Once back we removed the tell-tale bolsters and put on our night shirts making everything normal and lay there wondering what was going on.

  Eventually as dawn was weakly peeking in the window - we had no curtains you understand - he returned alone and looking distinctly the worse for wear. Naturally we wanted to know what had happened.

  “It was a man - I don't think I've seen him before - he said he was the Dame's brother staying here over Easter, but I'm sure he came out of her room.”

  “Anyway I did as we arranged and so he came up to me and wanted to know why I was not asleep.I explained why but he said I was being much to noisy and inconsiderate and I needed a jolly good thrashing.”

  “So he told me to go downstairs and he followed me. He took me to the Library and then he took me over his knee, lifted up my night shirt and spanked me till I cried. He then made me stand in the corner until I stopped, then told me to go back to bed.”

  Piggsy could not say how many smacks he had received but the evidence on his red backside made it clear enough it had been a great many. The mystery of this unknown brother to,the dame intrigued us. But before then we had to explain to Piggsy how we had managed to return uncaught but with nothing to show for our efforts and his pains. There was no choice but to tell him - he had paid the price for helping us so we felt he should know. He was not terribly happy at missing a feast or on having been kept in the dark but we soon won him round by praising his pluck and courage in exposing himself as he had done and guaranteeing his full participation in all future plans.

  Unfortunately for Piggsy the incident of the night before was not over. After breakfast Dame Hilda swept into the scullery and made an announcement.

  “Master Briggs - I have been informed of your inconsiderate and noisy behaviour of last night and of the punishment that was inflicted. I do not consider it to have been sufficient. You will stand outside my parlour now, with your trousers down. I shall come and cane your bare bottom directly.”

  Poor old Piggsy - he had not merited this - but the game had to go on and he took it as well as he could. The Dame was a tartar though and gave him nine strokes which made him blub a good deal afterwards.

  “I-i-its a-al-all right for yo-you ch-chaps.Its not your bottom that's hurting. Oh she was terrible - each one was so hard and she cut me right in here.” He indicated the soft lower fold of the underbum. “It was her waxy whippy cane too. But I didn't tell anything. ”

  Another contribution to his discomfort was the news that he was to accompany the housekeeper on a shopping expedition that day but that we were not - and had the day more or less to ourselves.

  Spring weather made the grounds more of an attraction than previously and Eddie and I took a football from the PT room and went off to the lower end of the extensive garden to the rear for a bit of a kick-about. we made a goal from our jackets and took turns firing shots at each other in goal. The bottom of the garden slipped away from the house and in the hollow we were out of slight from most of the house which was a good 100 yards away. We had a great time in the open air, dribbling the ball past each other, leaping to catch balls in the air, sliding to save certain goals and generally getting covered in muddy grass stains at the knees, elbows, on our shoes and the seats of our shorts until Eddie in goal connected famously with the ball when in goal, the tip of his shoe sending it soaring up the slope and out of sight. then there was a Crash and a tinkle!

  “Oh Gawd Eddie what have you done?”

  “Never mind what have I done - they won't care - it'll be what have we done.”

  “But its all you fault! And now we'll both get good hidings for it - you're a chump!”

  “It could've been either of us - so stop getting windy - its my backside they'll skin - especially if you tell 'em!”

  “They'll skin both of us if you don't own up! ”

  “Well I'm not telling them it was me and you'd better not either!”

  “I'm not getting whacked because of you.”

  “So you'll peach will you - little sneak!”

  “I'm not a sneak!” I pushed him. he pushed back and before you knew it we were all over each other rolling on the floor making fatuous attempted to injure each other without success but managing to get ourselves even more muddy in the process.

  Eventually Eddie, being older and stronger prevailed and sat astride my chest pinning me down, threatening to do unspeakable things to me unless I promised not to peach and giving me one or two sample tweaks in a boy's tender vulnerable places by way of demonstration. Since that had never been my intention it was a simple promise to make and after a further warning tweak he let me up.

  Our scrap and quarrel over as easily as it had begun we now had to readdress our minds to our problem.

  We hardly dared look, so like Indian scouts crept up the convex slope to peer over the edge to inspect the awesome damage we expected to find. It was difficult to see. As we had fatefully surmised the ball must have gone towards the gardener's greenhouse, which was a large on set to the side of the grounds at the back, behind the old carriage shed - now used as a garage.

  “What should we do?” asked Eddie.

  “We can't just leave it can we?” I asked.

  “Its bound to be discovered fat head and they'll know who did it.”

  “We could say it came from outside - that rough boys kicked it over.”

  “They'll recognise the football.”

  We stared at each other fully realising the potential storm of Damish and Doctorish wrath that would descend on our heads and ultimately our backsides before the day was over.

  “We'll just have to own up - maybe it won't be so bad if we do?”

  So we stood up and prepared to reclaim our ball and enter the house with the most solemn demeanour we could muster to take our punishment as manfully as we could.

  We found the door to the greenhouse unlocked so went in search. It was an extensive one with half a dozen rows and about twenty yards long so it took us a few moments to find the ball and assess the damage.

  It was plain enough. A great hole had been made in one of the sloping roof panes and shattered glass lay with the our leather instrument of destruction amongst the tomato plants.

  We retrieved our ball and looked for something to sweep up the glass - we found a yard broom and a tin pail and began to make some effort when a voice spoke.

  “Tamperin' with the evidence eh?”

  It was the Captain. We at once and at the same time but not in unison attempted to explain that we were tidying it up and had been about to own up and we were sorry and it was an accident.... and so forth.

  “Now one at a time and quietly. Harry Perceval - you tell me exactly what happened?”

  “Well sir we were playing football down in the hollow when suddenly the ball got kicked a long way and we heard this crash and....then we ... had a... disagreement..”

  “Wait “got kicked” - who by - who kicked the ball that broke the glass?”

  “I did sir ” we both chimed - this time in unison.

  He smiled a thin smile.

  “And why did you not report this immediately?”

  “We wanted to clear it up a bit first - we were going to honestly sir we were!”

  “It is perhaps less important whether I believe you that certain others in the household, however even this commendable honesty is unlikely to spare you both a thrashing - and look at you - one look at you and the dame will spank you till your backsides glow in the dark. Judging by your condition it must have been a dashed strong “disagreement”. And you'll have your pocket money docked to pay for it.”

  “Oh sir that's not fair - a whacking well that's to be expected and we'll take that as it comes - but pocket money too!”

  Eddie chimed in “Won't you out in a word sir - you'll tell them we weren't going to lie about it won't you sir?”

  “Yes - please sir!”

  We were getting quite distressed more at the unexpected nature of this crisis than at any of the specific terrors that might be unleashed.

  “Well I might be able to do something..... hm....” He smiled that smile again - wicked but slightly teasing and jolly too.

  “Now see here, I'm... well sort of... ‘On Duty’.. as it were. Dame and Doc otherwise... engaged... you might say....busy....not wanting to be bothered... that sort of thing..”

  We waited hanging on every word - was this hope?

  “So-o I could decide to deal with this myself. I punish you - fair and square - end of story.”

  This seemed a reasonable offer - but..”What do you mean sir - I mean how would you punish us?”

  “Oh - good whacking of course - lively lads like you can't expect to be let of completely - dashed careless - need their backsides warming - no mistake, but circumstances...”

  “We'll take your punishment sir, whatever it is.” Eddie leapt in.

  Now we'll see what manner of man this “Captain” is I thought.

  “Capital, stout boys, like to say that, dashed manly. Now then first we'll finish here, get all this cleaned up. Now be careful don't cut yourself”

  So under his guidance the incriminating evidence, other than the gaping jagged hole in the roof, was disposed of.

  “Good. I'll sort that out, now give me that football. I'll return that.”he glanced at his pocket watch - half past two - plenty of time before tea. So both of you to the gym changing room and get into your PT togs and out of those.

  We dashed off relieved while he disappeared for a while. In the changing where there was another shower were kept PT sports and dance clothes. We assumed his idea was to whack us and then give us a chance to shower and clean up our togs before the Dame or anyone else spotted them.

  We were partly right. He reappeared in the changing room. He was in sporting togs too and as we had hoped had some clothes and boot brushes, polish and rags to help us clean up our clothes.

  “First things first. You young fellows get your gear licked into proper condition.” His military connection began to emerge.” Give your shoes a good cleanin' first and I'll take a look at 'em. But before than a bit of encouragement. Up!”

  We stood up. “Into the gym jump to it!”

  We stood there in the “at ease” position that Jack Poole required - clad in our usual single pair of white PT shorts.

  The captain had a large gym slipper in his hand, which we well recognised - Jack's!

  “First boy step forward three paces. Left turn, Touch your toes.”

  Then “Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!”

  Six swift stinging strokes lambasted me and I grimaced as the thin cotton shorts contoured my backside tightly.

  Then it was Eddie's turn and I could see as I watched that this “Captain” was an experienced boy-whacker. he knew how to wield Jack's slipper and delivered accurate stinging slaps rather that thuddy ones, with a sharp twist of the wrist and up to connect with the fleshiest parts of a boy's bum.

  “That's to encourage you in your work - now go to it with a will.

  We put in a real effort on our shoes. he made us sit on the hard floor - “More efficient posture” with our legs crossed to do this - which by the way also reinforced his encouragement.

  Of course boot polish and boys do not mix - or rather they do overmuch and we soon had as much polish on our hands and wrists - and my knees and thighs - as on the shoes, which he nonetheless pronounced satisfactory.

  Our clothes would nee more attention. He instructed us in sponging the mud off the worsted shorts and long grey stockings and off our grey jerseys and in hanging them to dry, before the could be properly brushed.

  “They'll need a good hour to hang and dry before you can wear them, so before then I think some correction and some instruction is in order. Back into the gym.”

  He said that judging by our condition the fight had been a rough and tumble and not much sport. Had we been taught any wrestling?

  We had not so we got out a coconut mat and he demonstrated a few techniques, cross buttock throws, half and full nelsons, how to unbalance your opponent and so on.

  “Now you try it together. The loser of a round is the one whose shoulders are pinned to the mat for a count of three or who is thrown off the mat. Best of three - loser gets the worst of your whackings for getting yourselves so filthy.”

  Eddie clearly had an advantage in height and weight and soon had me off the mat for one round to him. The next round I hit on the tactic of getting right down on the mat face down so he could not pin my shoulders easily of throw me off. On my knees I tried to either catch his legs or pull him down. This almost worked and I got him down and tried to pin him put somehow he wriggled free and got behind me and tried to lift me so he could carry me off the mat. I resisted very well until frustrated he put is hand right between my legs, grabbed me there tight, squeezing hard. At this I squealed and lost my footing and was out on the floor

  Eddie was looking pleased with himself. But the Captain was not.

  “Don't think I don't know a foul hold when I see one - that's ungentlemanly - that round's disallowed. Come here Forrest.”

  Eddie scowled and sloped up to him.

  “Stand up straight when I'm talking to you. You should know better than to grab a chap in his private parts like that - s'gainst all the rules of all sports is that. You'll take an extra thrashing for it - go and fetch the cane from the office.”

  Ruefully Eddie went to fetch the stick.

  The Captain tested it. “Well it will do I suppose. Go overt the horse. Perceval come with us so you can witness.”

  Eddie made ready to go over it but the Captain stopped him.

  “Take 'em off first.”

  Shrugging in an uncharacteristically surly fashion Eddie took them down. He was now naked save for mud streaks between knee and upper thigh.

  “Now go over, but keep your legs together and stretch you arms out. Perceval go down the other end and hold his arms tight. Pull so his feet are off the ground. That's it now hold it.” He came over and stood next to where Eddie's head rested on the soft leather of the vaulting horse.

  “You're a surly ill mannered tyke who needs a good whipping to teach him manners and that's what you're going to get.”

  At that the Captain strode back cane in his right hand, with the left rolling up the long sleeve of his sports shirt. he swished the cane and then took up a stance some five or six stride from Eddie's bare, and, I could see now, quivering, bum. The Captain stood like a duellist side on to his target, then took a few long rapid half running strides and “Whhhh- Craaaaaack!”

  “Aaaaaaah!”

  Eddie yelled as the cane propelled by the Captain's run sliced into his bottom right on the crown and with a mighty whoosh and crack. I could feel him tensing then easing as the pain surged though the weal that must have raised and then subsided slowly.

  The captain waited close to the backside that was his target waiting for some sign, then turned on his heel strode back, took up his stance and repeated the run. “Woooosh! CraaaaaaacK!!

  “Eeeeeeeoooow Oh Aw Ow!”

  I could not see where this landed exactly but it must have been lower and the cane at the end of the stroke still rested hard against his tortured behind.

  Number three was delivered in like manner and Eddie shouted even louder. This time I could quite clearly see the imprint of the cane where it had landed on Eddie's right upper rump. Deep red parallel lines appeared where the cane's last six inches had done their devilish work.

  Number four was cleanly in the crease and Eddie howled and yipped and kicked his legs to ease the pain. The Captain waited until the boy's legs and bottom became still and delivered five, which was a square cut and then six which was almost identical. At each Eddie yelped but with less gusto than before - he was running out of lungpower.

  “Now then Laddie what have you got to say for yourself? ”

  Eddie hesitated then mumbled “Sorry sir”

  “Come on you can do better then that, Perceval let him down.”

  I let Eddie'd wrists slip out of my grasp and he stood down hands to his afflicted rear.

  “No rubbing yet - I'll say when you can do that. Hands behind your back - stand up straight. Now what have you,to say to me?”

  This was so much more direct that the ritualised apologies and remorse of a Dame or Doc birching and demanded a sincere relevant response. I could tell Eddie was thinking hard what to say to this tyro of a boy beater who would clearly thrash his well whipped bottom again if he was unsatisfied with the answer.

  “Sir I'm sorry for fighting dirty sir, and for being rude to you and being sulky.” He paused, them “You were right to beat me hard and I deserved it, thank you sir. “And Eddie held out his hand to the Captain.”

  “Well said Edward - you're a good lad really - but you do need bringing up short sometimes - that's cleared up now. “And he shook the offered hand.

  Eddie recovered his shorts.

  “Now you young'un. You're not free from all this. You were just as covered in mud as this chap . I reckon he's had his punishment for that but you haven't. What's it to be eh?”

  Was he actually inviting me to name my punishment. This was unheard of and perplexing as I did nit really how to respond. I did not want a repeat of Eddie's and sensed that was too much but did not want to show myself up.

  Here goes I thought “Six strokes of the cane sir - that..uh.. seems..fair?”

  “But not like that eh laddie - no I thought not. But still you're no coward either and I'll not disappoint you. Over here!”

  “Edward, you're a strong lad - can you take Perceval here on your back - piggy back style. Up you go laddie. ”

  So I was horsed by Eddie - not for a birching but for a caning. Eddie tucked my bare legs under his arms and stooped forward as far as he could without toppling over. I clasped my hands together and closed my eyes.

  “Whip!” The cane slashed down on to my upraised seat - not hard but whippy and very stingy.

  “Whip!” This time it came in low in the crease and I “Yip!” ed

  “Whip!” Right across the centre! “Whip!” lower down and to the left!

  “Whip!” Another in the crease “Oww!” and finally “Whip!” back on the crown.

  Through out this eddie kept a form grip on me and I squeezed tight with my knees against this ribs as each stroke cut home. My backside was so tight ion this position that each stroke was a needle sharp cut and at the end my bottom throbbed because of the tightness of my skin in that position. I too felt obliged to rub and was told off for doing so.

  Now lads its half past three and you need to clean up so into the showers and really scrub. I'll want to see you have before I let you go and of course we have a certain matter of a window to consider.

  Dash it - we had forgotten that with all the terror of his thrashing us with the cane. He would be bound to do worse for the window - whatever could that be?

  In the shower we inspected each other's stripes closely. They were thin and fierce and would take several days to fade unlike the Dames which had usually gone by the next day. We scrubbed and scrubbed to get the incriminating mud off our knees and to scour off the sweat from wrestling. Just as we were finishing the Captain returned. “Forrest you carry on, Perceval - over here.” So dripping wet I stepped onto the tiled floor.

  “This is for the window. Touch your toes. Bare, wet and dripping my fingers sought my toes and water dripped from my hair down onto them. I could see he was standing to my left side, one foot in front the other behind. I then felt something cold and sleek laid against my left bare cheek.

  “Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!”

  Something hard, shiny stingy and horrible smacked and smacked me and it was all I could do to stay in position. Then the other side.

  “Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!” “Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!”

  “Ow Ah OOh! OOOOh!”

  And again.

  “Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!”

  On top of the cane marks and all wet these final whacks were nasty and left me feeling quite raw and sore all over. Dismissed I ran to my bench and towel and rubbed away the sore as well as the wet as hard as I could. Salt tears mixed with the water from the shower.

  I could hear Eddie receiving the same treatment wit a similar effect.

  We dressed in silence.

  But before we could go for tea he had us stand before him to inspect us.

  “Yes, yes much better , altogether - smart lads. Good boys really - they just need the cane now and again to keep them good. you're both good lads - no hard feelings - I' ll be saying nothing to anyone about this afternoon - episode closed word of a gentleman.” He offered his hand again and we shook it gladly. For all that he had whacked us and caned us good and hard and brought a few tears he'd treated us as boys of our proper ages and didn't preach or act all pi. He was a good sort even if he was a hard boy beater and we liked him.

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  Chapter 8

  The Jacobite Rebellion and Three Week Weals

  The new boarder, Peter Frost, joined us after Easter, when Piggsy returned back to his mama. The third bed and other furniture in the dorm remained therefore. Unfortunately Piggsy was unable to enjoy the benefit of our plots against Perkins as we postponed them further. We promised faithfully to relay to him fully the results of our labours, and his pains, when they materialised.

  The time had come to put them into effect. The dawn came up before Perkins was likely to rise in good enough time. Our confidence and determination were aroused and too much time had passed.

  So in the early hours of the second Saturday following Easter the operation began.

  Peter Frost who was ten, had been with us long enough already to have experienced Perkins' bath and bed time ministrations and her bathbrush. He was, therefore, fully willing to act as our decoy and lookout despite having been told of what had happened to Piggsy when he had last performed this function. Peter proved a brave and loyal Jacobite!

  So we found ourselves upstairs in Perkins' room with all our materials ready to lay our traps. The whole plan centred on trapping her in her bathroom in conditions she would find unendurable. Into the catch in the door frame we poured a sticky glue that we knew from tests would not quickly dry and which by our calculations would be just right by dawn. We removed the spring from the door handle so it would not move - this was why we needed light!

  The terror factor was a combination of our delightful rubber spider and some genuine examples of Eddie's local fauna, which were placed in the bath and sink, calculated to prompt Perkins to vacate the bathroom with all speed.

  The second trick was the contents of the several fireworks - gunpowder - which we placed in a small muslin bag, secured with string hanging just where the jets of the geyser, when lit for hot water would explode it. This we anticipated would not happen in the morning but later in the evening when she took a bath or even later than that. She would assume there had been a gas explosion and the evidence would literally be up in smoke - with, we calculated no actual damage.

  The final touch was the most dangerous. In case Perkins did not close the door behind her on entering the bathroom and to ensure she could not get out easily, one of us had to lie in wait at the bottom of her stairs, where she could not see them, and secure the outside handle of the door - which opened inwards to the banister with a chain of rubber bands. Sufficient pressure would snap them but it would hold for a while.

  As usual we had flipped a coin and I lost.

  So in the chill morning light I crouched at the bottom of the stairs clad only in my tiny knickers waiting after the dawn for Perkins' appearance. It seemed and indeed was an age.

  Then I heard stirring, small thumps and bumps, and then I heard a door open and tensed, expectant and ready. The creak of floorboards and the swish of women's garments suggested she was approaching the bathroom. I heard that door open and made ready my chain of rubberbands. The door closed. I took a great risk and padded swiftly barefoot up the stairs crouching low. I could hear no noise from inside the bathroom which was strange but I could not hesitate and slipped one loop over the handle and immediately looped it round the banister rail of the small landing outside her bathroom.

  My final task done I prepared to evacuate the scene, but hesitated unsure of the situation. Why were there no shrieks and screams, why no frantic turnings of door handles and banging on doors. Was Perkins totally impervious to our tricks. I could not forbear but to look - through the keyhole. There, on the floor she lay. “Oh Gawd!” I muttered under my breath - “We've killed her. What shall I do? ”

  My next actions were proof of a basic goodheartedness I suppose but extreme naivety and foolishness, especially where ladies are concerned. I unslipped the rubber bands and tried to turn the door handle. Foiled! Our tricks had worked only too well! I struggle and struggled with it but to no avail. I had to get the penknife with which we had unscrewed and then rescrewed the handle. I bolted downstairs and with no though for stealth and safety pounded along the corridor to the Dorm. There I found Eddie and Peter unsleeping anxious for news.

  Responding to their inquiring looks I said “She's had a fit and I can't open the door - she'll die - I must get the door open. Where's the penknife?”

  While ,Eddie retrieved it from its hiding place I related what had taken place. We agreed that Peter would stay where he was and play no further part ,in these matters since they had gone so awry, but he was game to provide a diversion if needed.

  Eddie and raced back with the instrument ready to rescue the imprisoned maid. Along the corridor and up the stairs we raced and reached the door.

  “Quick get the blade out and get the handle off! ”

  I bent down to look through the door to see how our victim was.

  I could not see her!

  “She's gone Eddie!”

  “What - how can she have gone?”

  I tried the door handle.

  It was still stuck fast.

  “I don't understand?” Eddie said.

  “But I do very well.”

  The voice was that of doom, death, discovery and the Dame!

  “Oh Gawd!”

  “Stay exactly where you are both of you. Do not move from the spot. Captain please proceed.”

  So he was here too!

  That's right lads, the games up, time for your medicine.”

  Defeated, in the very moment of our triumph, and no shrieking tearful screaming Perkins to compensate.

  “Follow me.”

  Quite defeated we followed the Captain meekly to whatever doom was in store.

  When we reached the landing he separated us. eddie was taken into the room where we took lunch and looked in. I was, once again place in the earlier bare room where I had lain in leathern fetters waiting to be birched.

  I could hear the dawn chorus outside the window heralding still a new day. How many times since have I been able to listen to “E lucevan le stelle” without having deep personal sympathy with Carravadossi as he waits for dawn and the firing squad. My execution was going to be as inexorable if not as final, and probably more prolonged and painful.

  How long I waited before anyone came I cannot be sure. I must have been at least an hour and a half.

  This time I did not make the mistake of laying on the dusty floor and getting filthy, so lay on the table.

  The key in the lock turned and in swept the Dame - La Belle Dame sans merci” indeed! With her were two downstairs maids - her acolytes. With minimal words I was restrained once again - though not as before. The table was pulled out and a chair place at one end and I was required to kneel on it. My ankles and legs were secured by buckles and straps and my hand stretched out in front of me and likewise secured. A rope stretched from them to the far end of the table where it was tied under the table. I was bent and kneeling as if for a beating and expected it then. I had assumed a birch would be my likely punishment and readied myself.

  But no. That would have been too easy, too simple and too merciful.

  First I was harangued. The catalogue of tricks and plots was laid out before me by the Dame - save the gunpowder! She knew or had guessed it all.

  “You have behaved like a thief in the night - a criminal - and shall be treated like one - with the utmost severity. When I am ready to deal with you, you will wish you had never set foot in Perkins' rooms and will not sit down comfortably for weeks!”

  At this she departed, her maids in train, leaving me trussed like a chicken, my backside to the door, still barely covered by skimpy knickers, though I had no doubt they would be taken down when the time came. I assumed that the next time the door opened it would be to receive my sentence.

  You might think that with all the range and host of punishments that had been inflicted on our mischievous and errant boys' bottoms we were immune from further suffering - what more could they do? In fact as we became hardened, so too did their punishments - they simply increased the weight and severity and number of strokes.

  So it was I lay there.

  The wonder of it was I did not grow unbearably stiff and cramped, but the way the bonds were attached allowed circulation to flow freely. My knees even were comforted by a cushion that had been placed beneath them. Dame Hilda's approach was ever to punish our hands and bottoms and dignities but little else - more specifically she did not want other discomforts to distract from the main one - the pain and suffering of our bottoms under the rod and the attendant humilation of being stripped before stangers to recieve it.

  Periodically I tensed my legs and hands and other muscles and wiggled my toes. I shifted my knees slightly and clenched and unclenched my bottom cheeks to ease stiffness. The wearsome wait was endless it seemed. I would have taken any punishment however severe when it came.

  And so it came.

  The key turned again in the lock and I could feel the presence behind me.

  “Release him.”

  Two maids unbuckled the straps round my knees and ankles and release me from the table - though my hands were still bound.

  I found it difficult to stand easily so I was half carried and half dragged from my place of confinement by these servants. Along the corridor to the stairs. Down stairs we went - to the flogging room! I, who had already had two such visitations expected to see the block and birch made ready, but not so. Ready prepared in the room were two trestles, with blankets on top and straps on them, one at either end of the room. Lying on the table in the room were two long tapered canes each bound at one end with leather handles. Their tips were rounded and pointed, but not thin. They were fearsome looking instruments.

  Under the Dame's instructions I was placed across the trestle and my head forced down. One servant grabbed my still bound wrists and the other buckled leather straps round my ankles to which my hands were then secured. My ankles were then clasped together and my legs also buckled and strapped together, just below the knee. I could neither move nor see much. To either side of my feet I could see the feet of the others in the room of which there seemed to be at least six - many of whom seemed to be ladies. Then Dame Hila spoke.

  “Draw down his knickers to his knees.”

  Slowly I could feel them being pulled down, exposing my bottom fully to the cane and the gaze of the audience.

  People left the room and silence ensued. Why didn't they get on with it?. Here I was stripped and trussed and ready.

  Then they returned and I could see a pair of bare legs like mine being bundled in. It was Eddie. So we were to be thrashed together! I could not see him as his trestle was at the other end of the room but I could hear the creaks and rustles and clink of buckles as he too was bound into position. Then came the instruction to lower his knickers. There was a prolonged pause then the Dame spoke, her contralto edged in a harsh metallic masculine tone.

  “These two youths have been sentenced to be whipped and in a judicial manner for their offence is that of a criminal - to steal into a lady's apartments for nefarious purposes. I have summoned all of you - the servants of the household to witness the just and due punishment of these two offenders. Their victim Miss Perkins is still sedated from her ordeal but you will be able to relate to her in full detail what has occurred. Let nobody think the servants of this household can be toyed with by mere boys.”

  This last word she spat out with venom.

  “You will each receive eighteen strokes and you will count them - if you can. Failing that Jones kindly keep a tally for me.”

  Another prolonged pause ensued - a silence you could not penetrate.

  Then came a rustle and.....

  “Whoooooosh! Thwaaaaaaaack! ”

  A ferocious stabbing searing stroke lit up my backside!

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” “O-o-o-o-one, m-m-m-m-ad-a-a-am! AH! Ah!” Ah! Ow!”

  The throbbing then began. Unlike any other cane stroke I could not identify where it had landed and it hurt and hurt so. I tensed and strained at the bonds, trying to shift my backside to shield it from this terror, somehow to hide, but I could hartdly move at all. I gripped my ankles, palms sweating profusely.

  “Whoooooosh! Thwaaaaaaaack! ”

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” “O-o-o-o-one, th-thank you m-m-m-m- ad-a-a-am! AH! Ow!”

  Eddie's first stroke was no less effective than mine had been.

  I expected the next to follow immediately, but no - there was an agonizing wait of fifteen- twenty seconds?

  Then “Whoooooosh! Thwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! ”

  Even harder, if that were possible.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Owoowowowowowowo! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ah uhuhuhuh T-t-t-t-two th-th-th-thank you ma-m-madam.”

  “Tears already? Dont' think to soften my heart or my arm you wicked vile boy. Nor you sir!”

  “Whoooooosh! Thwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! ”

  Eddie's second stroke had the same effect as I could hear his cries, but all I could think on, was my poor, afflicted bottom which throbbed and throbbed across its whole width, but especially my right cheek, which was hurting like hell!

  “Whoooooosh! Thwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! ”

  Number three seemed to land on or across the others and I bawled.

  “Ow Oh Oh Oh Oh pleeeeeeese, I'm Sorry Pleeeese no!” and sobbed as more throbbing pain peaked.

  “I'm waiting - boy!”

  “Th-th-three th-thank you M-m-m-madam.”

  The next ten minutes passed bitterly, slowly and cruelly as Eddie and I yelled and cried and shouted till our boy soprano voices grew hoarse. Tears flowed throughout and at each slowly delivered stroke our bottoms flared up again with the sheer pain and agony of this judicial style whipping. I can hardly recall the pattern of events in that ten minutes as each stroke merged with the other. Neither of us could keep count after five strokes and Jones the gardener then kept count for Dame Hilda.

  Eighteen strokes at the best of times is an ordeal but at the hands of an expert with the long cane to hurt and penetrate as she did but without breaking the skin is an art. No cut was off target. When we were able to examine our wound subsequently we found purple and blue and red - weals pencil thick and six inches long which hurt to touch - they covered every area - both cheeks - including the crease - absolute agony were those - but none had drawn blood.

  When Eddie had received the last cut all was silence save the sound of two boys crying. I felt only relief and pain. Without a word people left that room. When we had recovered our breath it seemed as if we were alone.

  “Eddie?”

  “Harry?”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  I could feel a really strong burning sensation now, in my backside, not that warm afterglow of a spanking but a total presence - as if I could not feel any other part of my body. Other strange feelings also arose - like those when I had been birched that first time.

  Then the door opened and in came two women.

  “You take that one and I'll take this one.”

  “She really whipped their backsides proper this time - just look at this one! Weals everywhere!”

  “Well never you mind - just do as you were told and put it on.”

  “Don't see why she's being kind - they deserves to feel it after.”

  “Oh they do - this ointment just stops bruises - it don't stop the stinging - in fact it makes it sting.”

  At this I yelped as something cold was dabbed on my bottom.

  “Just you keep still Master 'arry while I puts this on your bum.”

  So Eddie and endured further painful treatment while these two servants anointed our backsides with this ointment which did indeed sting.

  My knickers were pulled back up and we were given our clothes to put on - school greys - no little boys deed and punishment this requiring reversion to eight years of age.

  For the rest of the day we were to be banished to the schoolroom and would have to do extra schoolwork we were told.

  In the dorm we compared marks and commiserated as we readied ourselves for a painful day sitting on a hard schooldesk. Even through our lined shorts the pain was ever present.

  Breakfast we took as normal although we kept getting knowing looks and winks from every servant we encountered and teasing pats on our behinds. We were pretty glum.

  At nine o'clock the Captain reappeared. I could not recall if he had been present at our public whipping.

  “No - been on other errands chaps - worse luck - must've been quite a do! She give you “three week weals” like she said ? - Lets see'em”

  We turned, dropped our shorts and knickers and showed him, hands on our knees.

  “Oh my eye - them's three week weals alright! Real corkers. Sleep on your tums tonight, and tomorrow too I'll wager.”

  He had a good eyeful inspecting the Dame's handiwork.

  The he playfully smacked my bottom and said. “You'll have to get out of those shorts - its these for today my poor lads - bare bums for all to see her work.”

  We complained and exclaimed as we donned these shorts with no backsides in them - these were grey ones too - not black side buttoned velvet - but with no knickers the whole of the backside was open to view and punishment and anyone who didn't already know would see our marks.

  Still there was no arguing with it and don them we did and repaired to the schoolroom - to find it already occupied - four others were already there - none of them had we seen before - at least I did not immediately think so - they were all in school grey shorts, stockings etc and sat at desks, but they were all big boys - sixteen or older.

  They looked up as the Captain escorted us in and spoke to them.

  “Today you are joined by these two regular boys - treat then as you would any other of your number. Watson, Richardson, you will move your desks to the back. You two get two stools and desks out of the storage cupboard.”

  The two other boys fetched two hard wooden stools about two feet high and two desks to match them. These were placed at the front of the room and repalced the more usual one piece bench-desks we usually sat at.

  “Your perches for the day, lads.”

  It was only when we sat on them that the other four realised how we were dressed and what were revealing -a buzz went round the room. It was plain that all four could see everything we had to display from where they sat, and to be able to write on the desks at all we had to bend slightly forward which only revealed more welt covered bottom to the curious and fascinated gaze of our new classmates.

  Shortly the Doctor entered and we began a normal schoolday - or that was the appearance........

  With our backs to them we could not immediately gauge the nature and metal of our new classmates. The Doctor began his day with a roll-call and they answered not in piping treble voices but in older broken voices - those of young men. Still centred on our sore and afflicted backsides we did not ponder much on this but endeavoured to work diligently and without earning further punishment.

  This contrasted with our fellows who soon incurred his wrath.

  “Watson this preparation of your is totally inadequate. Stand up and decline the irregular nouns you were set.”

  In a halting tone the one called Watson made a feeble effort at his latin nouns - the Doctor banging his desk with his foot repeatedly, until he ceased exasperated.

  “Come out here boy and bend over. It seems only a thrashing will encourage you to think. ”

  At this the “boy” Watson came out and before our eyes received six well delivered stingers with the cane, touching his toes, across the seat of his well filled shorts.

  “Six, thank you sir.”

  As he got up from his punishment position I recognised him!. He had been present many weeks before when the Doctor had flogged me!

  Similar treatment was meted out to each of the others in turn as they failed to satisfy the Doctor, two of whom I also recognised from that occasion. The fourth I did not recognise though there was something very familiar about him, which I just could not place - his voice - his manner.....

  These canings proved to be only a prelude to a fusillade of hand and backside canings and tawsings throughout the morning, each far harder that we were accustomed to receiving. The doctor would raise his cane high or far back and deliver it more like a tennis player following through a stroke on the unfortunate hand of bottom thus presented. A Tawse would whistle down fiercely. Often at the beginning these strapping young men would return to their seats grinning, but by the end of the half morning one or two appeared red eyed as they stood up after a caning.

  Unlike Eddie and I none had to take their shorts down for the cane or strap and I began to feel hard done by.

  There was a break at about half past eleven and the Doctor swept out. At this point we could get to know these young men better.

  They crowded round wanting to know all about the manner and circumstances of our thrashings and inspected our backsides with all the interest of connoisseurs of art.

  One of them - Tony Richardson - turned to the one I had not recognised and said “The old Dame really knows her stuff eh Hildebrand!” He winked and laughed and the one referred to as Hildebrand replied “She's not lost her touch I can assure you!” At this the all broke out in loud laughter, but the joke was lost on Eddie and I.

  “Why are you here like this?” I asked.

  “Yes, you are not really lower schoolboys are you?” Eddie added.

  “Not schoolboys at all now - but still in need of tuition and training lads. You see we were all once like you - pupils at this private academy - and we return regularly for reminders of what we learnt. ”

  We had to be content with this incomplete explanation as the break was soon over and lessons resumed - much as before.

  Neither Eddie nor I were punished afresh that morning - not just because we were good at our lessons.

  “In view of earlier events Forrest and Perceval I shall take a lenient view of these comparatively minor shortcomings this morning, but at the end of the day's lesson I shall consider whether along with these some final reckoning is not due.”

  We did not lunch with the others but in our own lunch room. Peter did not join us so we could not share the day's doings with him yet.

  “Its all a bit rum Eddie.” I said, these older chaps being whacked like us young 'uns. They're old enough to be prefects.”

  “Older I reckon, and there's something odd about that Hildebrand chap but I can't place it.”

  The afternoon was not like our normal schooldays. There was no PT or Greek dance, for which we were grateful - I did not relish prancing about in our tunics practically naked in front of these chaps - for all that my backside was permanently on view to them - but they had all, save one, seen it before, that night in the Doctor's study and in the flogging room.

  By the time four 'clock drew nigh Eddie and I had both accumulated some penalty marks for our work which the Doctor decided should be beaten off as per usual. This system seemed to apply to the others and we were all told off to line up in the corridor outside. There we were, six of us facing the wall hands on our head and in turn the Doctor summoned each of us back into the schoolroom.

  The door would open and a name would be called. “Richardson”

  The boy called entered. The door shut. Then in due time we heard the sound we were well used to, of a cane or other implement descending on a backside. The door opened and out shuffled Richardson his shorts and knickers round his ankles and back to the wall he went. Soon all four of them were in a like condition to us with bare bottoms exposed.

  I could not help noticing that not a single servant was seen throughout these proceedings - when we were dealt with they were always about - peering and leering at us.

  Then came our turn.

  “Forrest and Perceval”

  Together we entered and stood before the Doctor, who sat on his dais at his desk peering over his spectacles at us.

  “I know that you have both begun the day with a severe flogging at the hands of Dame Hilda, so I have been merciful today. However I cannot completely overlook some inadequacies in your work today. Your handwriting Perceval is execrable as usual and your spelling Forrest likewise.”

  We looked at our feet - more stripes to add to those our bare backsides already sported.

  “Turn to the right and hold out your right hands.”

  Ah - so that was it!

  He took up one of his lighter this canes, measure the distance and..

  “Twhip!” A painful cut right on my palm.

  I flinched an blinked back tears already.

  Eddie received his and then I another...

  “Thwip” Two red lines marked my hand.

  And so on till we had three each.

  “Now turn and face the other way and hold out your left hands.”

  Thus the process was repeated for our left hands.

  We though that must be it but then...

  “Now turn and face away from me. Bend over grabbing your ankles.”

  Ow! The marks on my hands burned as I grasped the rough wool of my grey stockings. With my bare bottom well stuck out I felt particularly vulnerable - worse than when I had ny shorts taken down.

  There was a long pause then.....

  “Whack! Whack!”

  Two stokes of a paddle landed - one on each side of my bottom, making my stripes seem to flare up anew, throbbing with pain.

  While I adjusted myself to this Eddie received his.

  We each had six, all delivered squarely, and were a little breathless and flushed when we stood up.

  “Return to your seats.”

  The unwelcome discomfort of the hard wooden stools on our sore bottoms was balanced by relief it was over and pleasure at not having to stand outside again.

  Eddie and I glanced at each other puzzled and curious.

  Then the Doctor opened the door and summoned one of the others.

  In he shuffled. It was Hildebrand. he stood in front of the Doctor and from behind we could see a smooth well rounded bottom well reddened and striped.

  “You have performed most unsatisfactorily today and deserve to be flogged. Pull up your trousers and go and prepare. You will report to my study at 6 o'clock precisely.”

  Mumbling some response the unfortunate Hildebrand pulled up his knickers and flannel shorts over his well whipped buttocks and left head hanging down.

  Then came Richardson.

  “Your conduct still leaves much to be desired. You will receive 12 strokes of the cane with your trousers down. Bend over.”

  We were seated behind him and ether was sufficient room for the Doctor to stand between us and his victim while he delivered his punishment.

  The boy bent right over, grabbing his ankles, his backside tightly drawn and muscular - also smooth and hairless - like Hildebrand's - I had not yet appreciated that beyond a certain age boys and became hirsute in places other than their chins and upper lips so saw nothing special in the hairless aspect of the young men we shared that day with - they were hairless everywhere below the waist - that was plain to see - as was another strange manifestation in their private parts which I did not understand but which Eddie later explained - and demonstrated.

  We then witnessed twelve fierce strokes descending on the unprotected bottom of this young man. He took it well but at then end there was a distinct quaver to his voice - even a hint of a tear and at the end the manifestation of which I spoke had disappeared in the boy concerned - and had appeared - I could feel on me. I flushed and tried to hide my face.

  “Makes you feel all goosey doesn't it watching after you've had it yourself” said Eddie afterwards.

  We witnessed three such canings with very similar aspects and effects which I must say I had found very exciting and stimulating.

  We were not to be allowed to witness Hildebrand's flogging, it seemed, and when the last of the three had received his bare bottom caning we were dismissed to our dorm by the Doctor.

  There we shed the hated seatless shorts and put our normal ones back on and spent the time reliving the day's events. Eddie then tried to explain the thing that had puzzled me and I must say I was not much enlightened afterwards, for all that the physical demonstration he gave seemed to have a similar effect on me - and a pleasurable one.

  Now of course I understand completely but then I was an innocent boy on the eve of puberty still ignorant of the sensual aspects of life and totally unaware of the impact that regular and frequent castigation could have on an impressionable untutored libido. Looking back, our new schoolchums of that day clearly were not so ignorant and Eddie and I must have furnished considerable encouragement to them as we sat at the front our bare well whipped backsides on display.

  At about five o'clock there came a knock on the door. Unusual because nobody ever respected our privacy before at the Old Rectory.

  It was two, of them - Watson and Richardson.

  “Hello you two chaps - how's the old wounds now - healing or still sore?!”

  We then exchanged pleasantries and views of each others marks. As I bent over my shorts down to allow a friendly inspection the touch of hands on my bottom had an effect.

  This was noticed. “Oho - I can see you'll be joining us in a few years time - the Goddess has clearly found an acolyte. Better pull up your bags before we all get randified - that's a sweet bum you've got there lad - ripe for the rod in all its manifestations.”

  “Steady on Tony - no need to be such a rip - they're just boys still. Anyhow we're here for a purpose - you've to join us downstairs for Hilde's flogging, but make sure you're smart - best togs. We'll bring you them so you can get ready.

  This puzzled us and we were even more so when they returned with dark barathea dinner suits - bum freezer jackets and shorts with black stockings, white shirts with high wing collars and black ties. They helped us put on the ties as we were unversed in this skill and gave us a good looking over.

  “That's a treat - pair of smart looking boys - you'll do. Don't mess yourselves up or I'll tan your backsides if no-one else does. Report to the reception room at a quarter to six before we go in.

  So began another interesting evening at the Old rectory.............

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  Chapter 9

  Pre Dinner Games

  Eddie and I joined our new found friends in the reception room adjacent to the Dining Room at the appointed hour and were greeted in a warm and friendly manner and offered sherry.

  “Come to see “Hilde” get his come-uppance have they?” said the one called Franks.

  “The Doctor says they are one of us now and are to be treated as such.” This was Tony Richardson.

  “I wonder if “Hilde” will see it that way?” said Watson.

  “Too bad if he don't - he's on the bill for two dozen regardless and will have to accept it - just as we have had to each in our time as new boys joined us.”

  I decided this obscure conversation had gone far enough.

  “Why should Hildebrand object if you didn't?”

  “They don't know!” said Franks.

  “How could they?” said Watson.

  “Well I'm not going to tell them - come here.”

  The three moved to the corner of a room and consulted in whispers.

  Eddie shrugged his shoulders and took a hefty swig of sherry. I must say I felt its warming effect easing the still sore parts of my backside - which I was enjoying being covered for a change that day.

  Then Tony returned.

  “Its been decided you have a right to know. Hildebrand is in fact Dame Hilda's - um - brother.”

  “Yes her younger brother.” chimed in Watson.

  “So you see he would be discomfited knowing that a couple of tykes she'd whipped only that morning witnessed his flogging this evening.” said Tony.

  “But we've decided he needs it - to keep him humble.” concluded Franks.

  This was news indeed and we wished Piggsy could have been here to witness the punishment of the man who had spanked him that Easter Saturday morning while he kept cave.

  However it was now time and we filed out to the Doctor's study. There waiting just as I had was the victim - dressed in the same manner exactly, in black, velvet, side-buttoned backless shorts, long white stockings, short black bum freezer jacket, and white frilly shirt. His hands were on his head, and above him were two birch rods - longer than the ones I had been made to construct.

  The five of us entered the Doctor's study and moire sherries were poured while we waited for the Doctor. He was not long and processed in followed by the Dame's brother holding the two rods.

  The, as before we followed into the adjacent flogging room, where only that morning Eddie and I had been given a judicial caning over trestles. How the positions had reversed in a manner of speaking. Glad I was that I did not have to face the Dame's stern and cold eye while this ceremony was conducted.

  In a few moments Hildebrand was facing the block awaiting the order to take down his trousers and go down. Richardson was at his head and Watson at his heels.

  “Once again it proves necessary to demonstrate the power of the rod over the reluctant scholar. Place your hands on your head Catchpole. Master Watson.”

  Unlike my own flogging Hildebrand was not allowed to unbutton his breeches and had them unbuttoned by Watson, who then slowly pulled them down. He then turned towards the Doctor, knelt and intoned,

  “Sir I have been idle, inattentive, and poor in my work. Only the rod can expiate these sins.”

  The doctor held one of the birches down. I was long and slender with vicious looking tips. Hildebrand kissed it.

  “Rise.”

  He stood up and turned towards the block.

  “Go down sir. You will receive two dozen strokes”

  Then he went down over the block presenting a fine muscular pair of buttocks well up for the rod's kiss.

  Tony, at his head pulled up his shirttail to expose his bottom fully and held his shoulders. The Doctor swished the birch and I could hear splatters as droplets of water came off. this had been kept in pickle all right.

  The stance was taken up and this time the Doctor raised the rod high well up and behind him, and brought it down with great force “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  This sounded different - so wet were the twigs and so long. No sound came from the lips of the boy-man being beaten., yet it must have hurt dreadfully.

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  Already fierce, angry, red, wire-thin lines and nettle rash marks were appearing speckled red.

  Four more times the doctor laid the rod on, and on each not a sound was heard.

  “Fresh rod!” grunted the Doctor as he threw the birch to Franks, who nodded to me and indicated a bucket in the corner, behind the door. I had not seen this and had assumed the second one carried in by Hildebrand would be put to use.

  I jumped and strode over pulling out a dripping bundle of twigs. I handed it to the Doctor who swished it several times then brought it down unceremoniously on the bare reddened buttocks kneeling at the block.

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  “Ah!” - a noise! Clearly the fresh rod had an effect!

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  “Oh! Ah! Oh!”

  “Spare me your noise child! Take your whipping and be silent or I shall flog you until I have no rods left.”

  He strode over to the other side of his target and swished with an expert and vicious backhand.

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!”

  “Splat!!!!”

  These were stop strokes ending with the rod tight up against the skin.

  Stifled noises came from the figure being flogged.

  “Twelve - fresh rod!” Fresh rod!”

  Once again I scampered to select another.

  By now backside at the centre of attention was covered in livid red- blue-white weals and speckles, arching round the curve of the bum to the flank.

  The next six were an education in technique for the Doctor flayed his bottom with cutting strokes slashing down instead of into the skin and the red that glistened now was where the skin had bee grazed and cut by the tips and nodules as each stroke cut the skin open - but only slightly.

  Increasingly loud hisses and exhalations indicated the pressure being exerted by the Doctor and the difficulty being experienced by the bending victim in restraining his noise.

  Yet another fresh rod was fetched - this time I left it to Eddie who was looking a little pale I thought. (Later he said it was the sherry - but I was unconvinced).

  There was a pause as the Doctor adjusted his gown and spectacles which had become increasingly unbalanced as the flogging proceeded.

  Then he stood back a little a delivered a mighty blow designed to elicit an unrestrained response from the hardiest soul. As it struck twigs shot off scattering on to the panelled walls.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!”

  A great shout echoed round the room! Tony then leant down firmly on the shoulders of the prostrate man who had now been reduced to a boy to hold him well down.

  Then the Doctor slowly, methodically reduced the rod to a stump as in stroke, after stroke, he drew the same or similar cry. Not two dozen but four dozen strokes did he deliver in total by which time Hildebrand was not shouting but sobbing like the kids that Eddie and I were, had been that morning.

  When four dozen had been delivered Hildebrand's backside was like minced beef all red and shiny and wet with cuts and scratches and weals, right round to the side of his thighs.

  The Doctor was breathing heavily as was the boy, between sobs, and no other sound could be heard.

  The rod was tossed discarded into the corner of the room and the Doctor left, turning on his heel smartly.

  Franks indicated we should depart also and we did into the study where I for one welcomed another sherry - though Eddie who was definitely green at the gills declined asking for a ginger beer.

  It was some while before the trio emerged, Hildebrand refaced - and red-bummed - and solemn looking. The others looking knowing with twinkles in their eyes. Then they shook hands with him with great formality. It was clear we were expected to do the same but Eddie and I could not look him in the eye as we followed suit for some reason I could not fathom.

  After a stiff whisky Hilde was led off by Franks to be cleaned up.

  A gong sounded.

  “Grub up boys!”

  So we were led by Tony and Watson (whose nickname was “Wart” we soon discovered) into the dining room - a room we had only entered on a Sunday for dinner with the Doctor and the Dame - usually a cold and cheerless affair.

  That night was a much more jolly affair, despite the pre-dinner games. eddie and I were each sat between one of the four older ‘boys’. Hildebrand when he arrived was surprisingly cheerful and chatty and we had a pleasant evening - although we could still feel our stripes through our shorts and were given hard chairs to ensure it . It was pronounced that we had both had enough strong drink for, one evening so had to make do with ginger beer. The Doctor did not join us which we did not understand but the Captain did. Indeed he sat at the head of the table!

  I quietly asked Tony during a noisy how this was and what part he played in the proceedings.

  “Ah - Hawkins was mine and Wart's fagmaster at ---------- (he named a famous public school). He's never been one for anything but the giving end - he did enjoy swishing us so - usually with our bags down too! He stands in for the Doctor quite a lot. the Doc never mixes with us socially - he doesn't want to be seen to relax in front of us and the Captain wields a sharp stick and strap on his own account.

  Eddie and I could verify that alright!

  When the last course had been served and the gentlemen were drinking their port the conversation took an interesting tone.

  The Captain it was who said,” You know if junior boys are to join us on Saturday's on a regular basis I am not sure it should be on such an equal basis as tonight or without their providing some contribution to the evening's entertainment.”

  “What have you in mind sir?” We noticed the others were courteous but not reverent in their dealings with the Captain.

  “Well, for a start they could serve at table, suitably attired, and if they make any little mistakes appropriate treatment could be meted out - just top enliven things!”

  “Perhaps we could discuss that a little more when....?”

  “Yes - Forrest and Perceval time for you to go to bed. Tony and Wart perhaps you would escort them?”

  “A pleasure sir.”

  “Oh sir do we have to sir - its such fun.”

  “Yes sir could we not stay a little longer?”

  “No arguing - I should not have to say this twice - off!! Richardson and Watson - do your duty if you please!”

  At this we were collared by our left ears by the respective escort and frogmarched out and up stairs - half protesting half giggling and joined Peter who must have been in bed some time by now and who was amused at what then took place.

  First they made sure we changed and washed properly -though not as fussy as The Dame and Perkins they were fairly firm.So we made ready to say our prayers - not our usual trick unless there were witnesses, and knelt by the side of our beds, but they interrupted.

  “No need for false piety we know the drill same as you.”

  “Thanks chaps - and thanks for this evening smashing time!”

  “Yes rather - jolly good fun!”

  “Ah yes well its not quite over is it Wart.”

  “No Tony I think not- we have an outstanding duty I believe.”

  At this we were grabbed by each of them, hauled up from our knees over our beds and over one knee as they rested a leg on the bed - our feet were both off the floor and our heads right on the counterpane. In a trice our nightshirts were ripped up and over our heads and their hands were raining down on our bare bottoms for a goodnight spanking!

  In between smacks we were told off good and proper.

  “When the Captain says get off you go see!”

  “No jaw or backchat!”

  “You jump or else you get your bottoms' smacked!”

  “So remember next time.”

  In between we “ow”ed and “ah”ed and “Ouch”ed but more for the surprise and sudden indignity and for the fact that our chums had pounced in a way so contrasting with their earlier conversation.

  After about five minutes solid spanking we were pulled up and passed each to the other and spanked anew over a fresh knee facing the other way so both sides of our bottoms were well and truly reddened.

  Peter was by now sat up in bed enjoying this unscripted entertainment for all it was worth!

  At the conclusion our shouts subsided, for it really began to hurt, especially as our morning's stripes flared up again. We did not want to blub whatever happened! We just managed it but were a trifle subdued when we were let up.

  “Message understood boys?”

  Tony was very masterful when he wanted to be.

  We nodded looking down at our feet, hands rubbing our backsides.

  “Turn round both of you. Bend over hands on knees. Lift up their shirts Wart. Yes a nice sight - that should keep 'em quiet tonight. Into bed smartly now and off to sleep - no talking.

  For once we did as we were told - we were tired and sleepy. peter we told gruffly would have to wait to hear about the day's events. We had not in fact determined what to tell him.

  As predicted sleeping on one's back was not comfortable at all and we nodded off on our tums.

  Early the morning I woke with a start. I was sure I had heard a loud bang - then Ow! my behind where the cane had cut in - “No must have been a dream.” and so went back to sleep.......

  When Sunday came Eddie and I woke stiff and sore in our backsides. We felt bruised even though we were not as a visible enspectio showed - though we both had many long red and purple weals. These marks were indeed still partially visible three weeks later.

  Matins was a terrible trial on the hard wooden pews. We kept wriggling to relieve the pressure, incurring sharp looks of displeasure from the Doctor.

  Otherwise it was a quiet day indeed by our standards. we had decided to limit our tale to Peter to our beatings and schoolwork. The two young men who had spanked us in front of him in the dormitory were, we said, visiting prefects from our new big-schools. A bit thin but could you do better?

  That evening we dined, all three of us, with the Doctor and the Dame - the usual undemonstrative affair. But as we were eating our pudding the Dame spoke.

  “You know a very worrying happened this morning.”

  The Doctor looked quizzical.

  “The geyser is Perkins' bathroom nearly blew up - soot and dust everywhere! The thing obviously does not work as it should. ”

  I choked and my dinner went down the wrong way.

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  Chapter 13

  Summers' End - Farewells and Hellos

  The long summer days began to draw in once again as Autumn approached - still a novelty to my tender years - and the thought of big school loomed. You may imagine dear reader that I was eagerly anticipating my metamorphosis into a junior tick and the opportunity to escape forever from the clutches and control of the Dame and the Doc at the Old Rectory. Yet I do not recall it so.

  I suppose, in our youth, habit and custom lend security and safety and change is always charged with the fearful and the unknown. I had been there for over four months, nearly five. For all they regularly and repeatedly whipped, spanked and caned our bottoms in all manner of conditions we still came to respect and even harbour affection for those in whose charge we were. I had no allusions about the potential warmth and friendliness of the big boys who would be in power over us at my new school - which was perfectly well borne out on my very first day!

  There was too, the companionship of Eddie, Piggsy, Arthur and the other older “boys” which I would miss. Commonly shared adversity and discomfort had brought us close together. The first signs of impending change were when the Dame summoned me to her parlour one evening outside the usual period of reporting.

  “Master Henry, the time is soon coming when you will be passing on to your new school and we need to prepare you as best we may. ”

  “Yes madam”

  “There are things to be bought, schoolwear, games kit and so on and your trunk will need to be sent ahead by the railway in good time. So I have arranged for the Captain and Perkins to take you to an outfitters tomorrow so that all can be arranged for you.”

  “Thank you madam. That is most kind. ”

  Long bags at last! I had laboured too long (and been belaboured) in short trousers, in my judgement.

  “You will give the Captain every assistance in this and I will not expect any bad report from him of your behaviour. ”

  This was no surprise but I already knew the Captain would take any opportunity to deal with me himself if it was presented.

  “You will be ready at 9 am precisely, in normal school uniform.”

  That concluded the interview - one of the few I can recall that did nor result in my being stripped and upended for a sound whipping of one sort or another. Eddie was inconsolable. “It's downright rotten and it ain't fair. You're to go up to big school while I'm still here treated like a young'un.” He indicated his shorts which were, once again, of the black velvet variety. Eddie was in his second week of reversion to an eight year old and was becoming jolly fed up with it by now, what with early bed, frequent bare bottomed spankings, much standing in the corner and many other very juvenile impositions and punishments.

  “And I'll miss you!” He turned away from me and I could here the choke in his voice.

  “I'll miss you too old chum.” His unexpected but genuine emotional outburst forced me to blink back sudden hot tears that welled in my eyes. I too turned away and could hardly speak for fear of blubbing like a well birched boy.

  There was a silence as we both reflected on the forthcoming change. Our friendship had been short, but very close and had grown strong in strained circumstances. Where would I find such another?

  Then Perkins came in, all sharpness and coarseness, and bustled Eddie off for his compulsory stand-up bath. This broke the spell and I wandered out and downstairs to the garden to reflect more in the evening air. As I entered the hallway leading to the library and the conservatory, whence you could get out to the garden, I encountered the Doctor. I stood respectfully eyes downcast.

  “Good evening sirrah. ”

  “Good evening sir”

  “I hear you are to leave us soon. Is that so?”

  “Yes sir. Dame Hilda informed me earlier this evening.”

  “Well, good, good that's as it should be, so it is, all as it should be.....” he then wandered off seemingly in thought towards the downstairs parlour, then as he began to open the door, turned and said “but we' ll see you soon enough never fear - oh yes soon enough...” and in he went. Whatever did he mean?

  The next day off we went to the school outfitters with a great list of items which the school had provided. These were of a general character, shirts, stockings, shoes, nightwear, towels and sports gear. The main items of uniform would be provided at the school from a local outfitters who already had my measurements so they would be waiting for me. To wear on the journey I was to have a new suit and I longed to feel the enclosing cloth round my legs when it was delivered for me to wear away. A considerable amount of measurement was done which seemed excessive to me at the time, but I was not unduly concerned.

  At one point however the tailor insisted on measuring a trifle too intimately I thought and I rebuked him.

  “Leave off that. Rotter!!”

  “Harry! “An admonishing tone from the Captain resulted. “You do as he tells you lad - he's had his instructions, so don't you interfere.”

  “But he's....”

  “Not another word if you don't want me to swat your bare backside here and now in front of the whole shop!” That I assuredly did not want, and I knew now that he would do just that, so I demurred. The tailor bustled and measured and groped about all over me, then said to the Captain.

  “I think for these next ah, measurements we should... ah.. well... do you not think.?”

  “Harry , go with the gentleman next door so he can finish the job and do as he tells you.”

  I was escorted into a private fitting room, where the tailor indicated that he wished me to drop my shorts.

  “You see they want me to provide some specially made items as I must have exact measurements you see.”

  So I undid my shorts and lowered them to my knees. “And the ...uh...yes... if you please, thank you.” My knickers too! He then measured from my mid thigh right up, both sides and then round the back measured across and down my bottom and inside to see how deep. He asked me to bend over and touch my toes and repeated the process.

  The man seemed very embarrassed by all this but business was business.

  “Eh..uh..thank...you. You may...uh... yes pull them up.”

  Back in the shop I asked the Captain in a whisper. “Why did he have to take all those funny measurements?”

  “Dame's orders lad - not for me to say. Something special I expect.”

  Back at the Old Rectory things resumed their normal order. I was not due to go until mid September but school at the Old Rectory resumed on the first day of that month and I was not exempt. The Dame had returned from her holiday - in Scotland we were told.

  My Latin cramming and tuition had begun to take effect and I was able to do some basic construing by now. Even so, seldom was I perfect.

  “Have you or have you not learnt your lesson and text boy ?” thundered the Doctor.

  “I've tried to sir.” I pleaded.

  “Well I have tried you and found you guilty. Come out to the front and receive your sentence.”So out I went and bent over for yet another dose of the Doctor's cane across my backside. As I went down to touch my toes he intervened.

  “Trousers down sir, trousers down!”

  This was unusual - the doctor seldom beat boys on their bare bottoms in front of the class. I must have looked surprise and chagrined for he added, “When you go up to S----------- you will have to become accustomed to receiving the cane with your trousers down in class as that is their preferred method I am informed by your Housemaster.

  My shorts and knickers were now around my ankles.

  “Bend over, six , I think.”

  So it went - and for the rest of the time before I went up to my big school the doctor insisted on caning my bare bottom at every opportunity that presented itself. I must say it served me well, as I shall in due course relate, and I was able to show no reluctance or hesitation in presenting my bare backside to a master in front of my classmates for punishment. ( My stoical acceptance of the inevitable caning was much admired as were the consequent marks.)

  The Dame too was equally unrelenting as they both ensured I was well toughened for the new experience. Her cosy private castigations resembled very closely those I was to receive at the hands of prefects. They were much harder than the Doctor's and crueller - ensuring strokes landed in the crease of my backside where it hurts most. It always amazed me that a Dame should have a harder hand and stronger arm and wrist than that of a master. She beat just like a prefect as I was to discover.

  Jack Poole seemed too to have been given his instructions for his slipper cracked against my thin cotton shorts repeatedly during the remaining gym lessons before I left.

  “You're slack boy SLACK!!!! Bone idle slow and slack. Touch your toes!!”

  “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!”................. By the time a lesson was over my backside was numb. To cap it all Jack had concluded cold showers were de rigueur for me.

  “That's what you'll get at S------------- laddie so you'd better get used to it.”

  He was wrong on that score I am happy to say - although, at school, the occasional cold bath was the remedy for certain disapproved behaviour! The others were mightily relieved at this crescendo of canings, and slipperings that descended on my bottom. I noticed that they confined their punishments to those I might expect to receive at my new school - no more spankings, smackings, paddlings and slappings. I came to long for these at times! At night in the dorm they were mightily gay at my expense.

  “How's the bum Harry?!”

  “Yes Harry, point it this way I want to read! The glow must be enough by now!”

  “By the time you go to S------------ you'll be able to strike a match on it!”

  There was a limit and I soon descended pillows and fists flying determined on revenge for their taunts and teasing. As Eddie resisted my assault, Arthur joined the fray belabouring me likewise with the sole of his slipper, especially where I was already well dusted. This enraged me further and releasing Eddie I seized Arthur by the scruff of his neck, hauled him over my knee and lifting his nightshirt gave his little bottom a thorough spanking with my slipper! He yelled and yelled - not at the pain - we were all pretty tough by now - but at the surprise and humiliation of a spanking at the hands of a chum. This inevitably unquiet affair had its equally inevitable consequences and soon all three of us were outside the Dame's parlour in our nightshirts hands on head waiting for her to attend to us.

  We were all summoned into her room, together, at the start.

  “I have never heard or witnessed such disgraceful conduct after lights out in this house!” Given the usual consequences for the slightest infraction this I could actually believe! “Before I give you all a richly deserved and thoroughly applied thrashing I want to know who was responsible for starting this riot! Well, who began it?!”

  Silence - inside we all must have felt equally to blame

  “I am waiting and will not wait more than ten seconds then I will ensure you each receive the twelve strokes I had reserved for the instigator instead of six. I shall count and if the boy who was responsible for starting this does not hold up his hand...”

  “One.” No movement. I supposed I had better, but twelve on my already well whipped bare bottom...”Two.” Well I suppose... I raised my hand. So did the other two!

  “I see - you are all responsible - twelve each it is. You will all remove your nightshirts and go back outside.”

  So even worse we were stood, totally bare now, waiting for twelve of the worst! What chumps! Twelve of what for the other two I wondered? Mine would be the cane I assumed.

  We must have waited a good half an hour and I was beginning to feel quite chilled, and my limbs stiff with the strict position of standing to attention with hands firmly on the head. The position had also to be set back from the wall with the toes in line with the join of the nearest floorboard to the skirting board - a good foot away from the wall - particularly embarrassing if anyone came by completely bare as we were.

  Arthur was called in first and the door close. I strained as usual to hear. After a long silence I heard a loud crack from behind the door and a wail. Whatever it was Arthur was not used to it at all. Slowly - almost fifteen seconds between each by my reckoning - Arthur's bottom was struck and on each he sounded off. Then he emerged to rejoin the line. He was crying and as soon as the door closed behind him his hands went to his afflicted bottom - so sore he could not forbear from risking further attention should the Dame re-emerge at once to summon Eddie.

  Once Eddie had gone in I glanced down at Arthur. His backside was well marked with deep red stripes, both sides top to bottom and all the way across - it looked like a strap of some kind - none I knew of at the Old Rectory made those marks that I could recall, unless the Dame was in a towering strength of a rage unlike we had ever seen.

  It sounded like Eddie was in for the same. Twelve heavy cracks each followed by a lusty yell from Eddie and out he came in a like condition to Arthur, tears and an irresistible desire to clutch his bottom.

  I was thankful that whatever it was it was not destined for me. Bad as it was, I expected the cane. My wait seemed longer, perhaps the Dame needed to recover her strength. At any rate when the door eventually opened it was with some relief that I went in.

  Inside, as I stood, quite naked, in front of the Dame , my hands still on my head I saw her long piano stool set in the middle of the room with a bolster on top - evidently intended for me to lie astride. On it was resting an instrument of correction but it was not a cane. I had not seen it before but it was clearly a strap of some type. Was this what I had heard being used on my chums to such effect?

  I was soon to find out.

  “Despite the fact that all three of you claim to have been the instigator of this misbehaviour I could be forgiven for nurturing the suspicion that in fact you were at the centre of it. I shall therefore ensure that your punishment is as effective as possible. Put yourself across the stool with your bottom well up.”

  She lifted the strap from its resting place as I hauled myself over the length of the stool.

  “Right over so your head is over the end. Hold onto the stool legs. Put your legs apart.”

  In this position my feet were off the ground and my bottom cheeks spread and raised - for the bolster was thicker at one end that the other. I felt the cold hardness of this strap as she laid it to rest across my bottom.

  “My holiday in Scotland has not been without its other benefits. This is a Scottish Tawse or the Belt as they call it. It is manufactured by an expert establishment and in a variety of weights and lengths. This one is called “heavy”. I may say I have yet to find any strap to match it for its effectiveness and it will now form a regular part of my repertoire. I do not believe you will like it any more than your colleagues have done.”

  I felt it lift from its position of rest on the crown of my bottom and tap against me.

  You will count slowly. Until you count the stroke you will not receive the next. I want you to feel each of these to the fullest extent and I do not want this to be quick.”

  I held my breath gripping the legs tight and waited for the descent of the Tawse.

  It landed with a mighty “crack!”, across both my cheeks - it felt absolutely dreadful - like a cane causing pulsing pain but like a paddle bruising and numbing. I cried out immediately.

  It seemed to be ages before I could count “one” and my breathing was rapid. As I said the number down it came again lower down, but every bit as bad.

  Again I shouted and my breath was rapid and loud as I fought to regain control. It was almost like the effects of shock, now as I recall it, and as I whispered “two” the third came down on the top part of my bottom, where I was less accustomed to the cane or paddle and it hurt like the very devil and this brought tears.

  “You see my boy, how, even now, I can still find punishment that breaks through your hardened bottom. You will cry many more tears before the belt has finished its work.”

  So slowly she did her best to “beat the bottom off me”, as Irish boys say, carefully landing the tawse on all areas of my backside. For the second six she switched sides which was even worse torturing the outer edge of my left cheek also unaccustomed to such left handed treatment.

  After six, while I struggled back more tears trying to utter the dreaded next number, she paused.

  “I want you to raise your bottom each time you say the next number, ,Master Harry, to show me you want the next stroke and say “please Madam” .

  “Seven, please madam” and I tensed my buttocks raising them slightly inviting the belt to grip them in its fiery embrace!

  While it hurt every bit as much this seemed to help somehow after each searing tear-inducing blow.

  Each of the final five lasted an eternity and time stood still. I existed only for the next stroke of that belt on my behind, to survive, to recover and offer my bottom dutifully and obediently to the next.

  When the last had fallen I was silent eventually.

  “You may get down.” I slowly carefully clambered down letting my bare feet touch the carpeted floor, so soft compared with the hardness of that Tawse, tears still trickling down my cheeks. I hardly dared wipe them away. I stood staring down at the stool waiting for her to speak.

  “Face me Master Henry.” I turned towards he looking at the floor my hands in front of me.

  “Put your hands back on your head.” She said this firmly, icily, tapping that appalling belt in the palm of her left hand clearly indicating the consequences if I delayed. I stood there bare and beaten waiting her instructions.

  “Turn around” I about faced.

  “Bend over with your hands on your knees. ”

  “Oh no not more please.” I thought.

  There was a silence. She was obviously having a good look at her handiwork.

  Then “Most satisfactory, Master Henry. I haven't seen marks like that on your bottom for some months now - hardly since you first came here. I think you are going to be sleeping on your tummy tonight young man and for the next couple of days sitting down really will be uncomfortable.” She was absolutely right!

  The day for my departure arrived, my trunk having been sent on with most of the clothes that had been ordered. As I returned from my morning ablutions I looked forward to the new trouser suit I was confident I would be wearing as I travelled. There it was with other items laid out and some decent boys' boots. I would not have had my knees covered since I last came here I thought!

  But when I inspected it I groaned in despair. While the trousers were not shorts they were not longs either but knee breeches - like the jacket cut Norfolk style - with buttons at the knees but worn loose. While some boys in those days still wore this kind of rig it was rare and I knew that I would be in for some real ragging from other boys. As I contemplated this outfit gloomily almost in tears, in swept the Dame.

  “Well Master Harry come on put your clothes on no time to waste!”

  “But Dame Hilda” - horrors to use her name and not “madam” - I was upset - “I can't wear these - the other boys will rag me terribly! ”

  “CAN'T!!! Won't I fancy Master Harry - now listen to me - if you want to go up to your big school today and not after Christmas then you just carry on as you are doing. You will wear this suit to and from school at each half. If there is any more delay I shall ensure you go off this day with a well caned bottom. ”

  At that she swept out knowing I would comply - but wait what was that about “.. to and from.” ?

  I got on with following her instructions and if truth be told it was a fine piece of tailoring superbly cut and now I look back at some old photos I did look rather a treat - a proper little country gentleman. The taxi took the Captain and I to the Station. He was to accompany me all the way to the school and to deliver a personal note to the Head. He was jolly as usual and helped me to look forward to the coming half with amusing and tall tales of his football prowess and other tricks and japes from when he was a lad at school.

  It was a good seven hour journey to this school which was in the North country in the Yorkshire hills and en route we seemed not to encounter any whom I might assume were other boys. We travelled first class which might account for it. We had luncheon and tea on the train and I ate heartily at the Captain's advice as he could not say for certain whether dinner would be available on our arrival.

  On the winding half hour journey in a trap to the school I could feel Autumn's chill fingers attempting to embrace my knees which while covered were nonetheless open to the breeze. This would be a bleak place for any boy not wearing longs I thought.

  Like the Old Rectory itself and like many schools the buildings looked grim and forbidding in the fading evening light as we trotted up the long treelined drive. On all side I could see playing fields and lights glimmered dimly from the halls of the place in which I would spend the next five to six years before going up to Oxford.

  We halted at the main entrance and on the advice of the College porter waiting there walked along a short corridor to the Headmaster's Study - a place I became all too familiar with I am afraid. I sat on a long bench outside while the Captain went in to deliver his letter. (That bench too I came to know rather too well).

  They seemed a devil of a time before I was invited to enter.

  Before me stood a man who was almost the image of the Doctor - but somewhat older!!! “Master Harry Perceval I presume? “His eyes twinkled with amusement as he intoned this greeting and already I began to form a view of this remarkable man.

  “Yes indeed sir - How do you do sir”

  He offered his hand to shake which I did - it was as firm and vigorous as a handshake could be.

  “Very well - Captain I believe you have lodgings in the Royal Oak for the night and I am sure you are anxious for an opportunity for rest and repast while we introduce young Harry.”

  “Thank you sir - now then young Harry - take care you don't get into too many scrapes but don't be a milksop neither - we'll see you at the half.” He winked and left with a jaunty air.

  The HM (as I came to refer to him) bid me sit opposite him - no doubt for a bit of jaw I thought - and I contemplated once again the reference to the half.

  The HM was studying a document. “Now Master Harry, your Tutor and his colleague have written to me at some length about you. The good Doctor and Dame Hilda are in fact relatives of mine in a distant sort of way and I want you to know that I entirely endorse and approve the methods they employ. That said they are not entirely appropriate here in a public school although some aspects are common to both. You will now doubt be pleased to know that your parents whose tour of duty overseas is prolonged have instructed that in the holidays you are to reside with the Doctor and the Dame as before.”

  “Pleased!!!” I could hardly have been more dumbstruck - part of me was horrified and part of me pleased I might see Eddie once again.

  “But now I must take you along to Matron and thence to your Housemaster who will introduce to your Fagmaster. From what I know of you already young Perceval I have a feeling we shall become rather more acquainted than you or your bottom may like. But you should know I do not regard high spirited and active boys in a low light and the use of corporal correction in this school while frequent and effective is not in my view a condemnation of such boys. Those whose conduct is deemed vile and despicable is not so punished - we soon dispense with them!”

  This seemed to promise minimal “jaw” for misdemeanours and boyish larks which I appreciated.

  Matron was a large round red-faced jolly woman and when I was left in her care she soon found my trunk.

  “Now Perceval you will need to remove that nice suit and leave it with me. My instructions are to lay it out for the half and for returning home in. You will not need that here. So off with it laddie!”

  Thank the Lord - longs at last!!

  “That shirt is not standard either nor those stockings and boots.”

  I was so long used to being stripped in front of and by ladies I thought nothing of removing them forthwith so stood there clad only in my knickers.

  “So here is your uniform as laid down by the school - oh those won't do either - she indicated my knickers - strip them off too.”

  I began to inspect the uniform a fine worsted blazer, thick cotton grey shirt, cap, tie, long woollen stockings topped off with stripes in the schools colours and - shorts!!

  “Uh Excuse me Matron but I think there's been some sort of mistake - these are shorts.”

  “Oh no mistake laddie that's the uniform - for all boys until they are sixteen.”

  Horror!!! What trick had been played on me - no-one had told me!! And that was not all!!

  “Please Matron where are the knic - drawers?”

  “My goodness laddie what sort of school do you think this is? Those are well lined shorts and the shirt has a good enough tail to keep your bottom warm - now why would you want drawers? We've enough laundry to do here without wasting time and hot water on those!”

  I donned this new uniform in silence. It was true the shorts and shirt were warm and thick in light grey flannel and the former well lined, almost like having built in underpants. I realised later that the strong school emphasis on personal hygiene and regular showers and baths were in part a complement to this sartorial spartanism. The shorts came down to about four inches from the knee, snug round the backside but loose and full further down. They had no pockets since we wore no knickers at all, for reasons I soon was able to deduce when I grew older!! The blazer was full, well lined and warm, as were the stockings. For shoes we had stout Oxford brogues.

  “Good now that's done. For Sunday you will have a separate uniform. Your chums will tell you how to put in on if you've not worn one before. Now I'll take you to your Housemaster.”

  So clad in my new uniform I was taken to meet the man we came to know as “The Chief”.

  “You're in the “Dowager's House” sometimes called “Dower” for short, named after the Dowager Duchess of S------ who helped to found the school and I am your Housemaster Perceval. You'll be in Dormy One - which is for all first years and you'll fag for the Upper Sixth for the first two years you are here.”

  “This is a hardy Spartan school and we do not believe in sparing the rod where lively healthy boys are concerned, which by all accounts you evidently are.”

  “We leave day-to-day discipline to the School and House Prefects but you should know that the maximum they are permitted to give any boy is six of the best over your bags or a dozen with a slipper if you are in the dormitory - as you all wear nightshirts its customary to raise those for the slipper. I may decide to give you more and I will generally beat you with your trousers down. That is usual for punishments in class as well. The Head may decide to use the Birch of course. I believe you are already well familiar with that instrument.”

  This he said with a knowing look and a half smile. He was a youngish man of about the Dame's age I would have said and I may say now was always fair but hard - you knew it when he swished you that was certain and he always had you bending over bare!!

  So my interview quickly over I was then taken to the House Captain Richardson Minor (Richardson major its seems had left the School only recently).

  He was alone in his study with a fire going when I first stood before him. Tall, handsome and athletic was he and the terror of the fags!!

  “Perceval.” He looked me over with a cold steely glint in his eye - one I came to know and dread - “Whatever the Chief may have told you is just plain jaw - do you understand? When you fag for the Sixth in Dower you are under our complete power and will take whatever we decide to dish out. When we call for a boy the second last gets the job, the last gets six - bags down on the spot. When you come before the House Captain for a House beating its also bags down. Its the only way to bring you little ticks to heel.”

  “Now you'll fag for study 6 - Morris and Down - they're a bit soft those two so I'll be keeping an eye on you myself - in case they let you get slack. In the common room you'll see a wall chart. We keep a record of juniors' black marks there. Get six and you're up for six from me before breakfast the next day - don't wait to be told, just wait outside, knock, enter when called, stand there, drop your bags and bend over and then you'll be beaten when I'm ready. Is all that understood?”

  “Yes ”

  “Yes Thank You Richardson!!” Did they teach you no manners at your prep school boy!!!”

  My tongue was tied and I instantly regretted I had not been more subservient - his monologue having had the opposite effect to that intended. Far from putting me in a state of terror it had made me determined not to give in to intimidation- what were a few bare bottom canings to me - I was well used to it by now!!

  “I think we had better practice Perceval as I think you are going to need it. Get in position. I shall beat you now.”

  So within an hour of arrival at my big school there I was bent over in the corner of the House Captain's study, shorts round my ankles and my bare bottom presented for the cane. It was clear that he had been determined on finding some cause or other to beat me if he possibly could. I later discovered that each of the six new junior boys in my dorm had been given the same treatment for mostly the same trivial offence so we went to bed sporting three dozen red stripes between us that first night.

  I could feel the warmth of the fire toasting my behind as I waited for a rather warmer toasting.

  This big boy took his time selecting a cane. I could hear “whoosh! whoosh!” as he tested one out. I was clear I was not going to give him any satisfaction whatsoever. Not a peep or tear would he get as reward. He placed his hand on my back just below the neck, clearly used to holding little boys in position. Then I felt the tickle as the tip touched my bare bottom. I tensed and breathed in slowly as the first stroke lit up my backside.

  It was a corker alright, delivered right across the crown and with a mighty “Whaaaaaaaaack!” I slowly exhaled controlling my reaction as the pain throbbed and burnt. Then I had a brainwave “One thank you Richardson” I piped.

  “That's good - that's very good - you learn fast Perceval”

  “Thwaaaaaaaaaaack!!”

  This landed just below the first and I again took my time and rehearsed the litany. The third was a searing crease stroke and I could not hold back a slight “oh!” before enumerating the stroke.

  Number four was right at the top across the saddle and left a vivid double red mark I later found and it throbbed and throbbed. I hesitated and breathed slowly some more concentrating all my thoughts on my shoes and the shorts fallen around them.

  “F-four thank you Richardson”

  This was some boy-caner!

  Number five was the fifth bar of the gate and landed across the previous four, going from top left to bottom right, the tip just at the top of my thigh.

  “Eeh! - F-five Thank-you Richardson”

  I was beginning to have some admiration already for this boy- thrasher!

  Number six landed exactly over number one and left the stripe throbbing and pulsing as I stated the last “Six Thank you Richardson”

  And so went my first caning at my big school. Richardson did his level best to break me with that thrashing and I did my best to defeat him. I had to concede some reaction even if I did keep utterly still throughout. A draw in my favour I felt.

  He was magnanimous and as I pulled up my shorts over the stripes he had an impish boyish grin. “Well taken young'un - I've never seen a junior boy take his first caning in such style - why you hardly twitched! ”

  This praise was as unexpected as was the levity from one who just now had appeared cold and evil in intent and I was disarmed by his sudden charm.

  “Oh - uh - Thank you Richardson - I -I don't know - that is - well it was a jolly tight beating and hurt awfully just the same.”

  He held out his hand so I took it and shook it weakly.

  “Welcome to the Dower anyway.” He let go my hand and put his cane away looking at me in a very proprietorial manner. “I'm going to enjoy out little encounters I can see that - that's a pert and very beatable bum you've got there - be careful someone doesn't spoil it for me or I will thrash the skin of you. In fact I've changed my mind. You'll fag for me this term. Potter's a fearful little weed and blubs after three - even if he does make good toast. Let's take you up to the dorm where you can meet the others - though none of them have your pluck - they all howled and screeched like girls as soon as the cane touched them. They still got their six though even if I did ease up on 'em. ”

  With that his left hand resting lightly on my shoulder he ushered me out of his study giving my behind a slight squeeze as he did so. So I had arrived and the Doc 'n Dame's ministrations and training had already paid dividends it seemed.

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  Chapter 14

  The Half

  My introduction to big school over I settled in very quickly to what was, for me, a much freer existence to that which I had been permitted at the Old Rectory. There was no-one to fuss and fluster over minor matters of dress and deportment and manners, no standing for long periods in corridors, much less with your bare bottom exposed, certainly no reversion to an eight year old status or anything like it. And no infernal women - this was a man's , or boy's world par excellence.

  I had much more free time and so was able to get up to some fun and games and mischief and there was much more physical activity and games as such. I also found the bigger classes with the less individually oppressive style a great relief. I had pocket money of my own which I could spend in the School tuck shop and lots of new friends, though none yet as close as Eddie. In short I was in heaven, comparatively.

  For me therefore the transition was easier than for the other juniors in my dorm and class, who found it a very terrifying world in many cases although I managed to get myself caned in class on the first day.

  I soon found I had more than my fair share of swishings or so it seemed to me - perhaps because I was so much less in terror of them - their being so relatively infrequent compared with the O.R.

  Alternatively perhaps, I found the school rules and customs so much easier to bend and break than those of the O.R. that the very frequency of these infractions and my indifference to the consequences simply weighted the odds against my escaping physical punishment.

  Having managed to get myself caned in class on the first day, and then by the Chief in the first week -both six with shorts down and Richardson found at least two occasions to give me a further dose in the first fortnight. Thereafter things settled down a bit as I accustomed myself to these new conditions and I managed to get only three more swishings that half - although one was from the HM. It reduced me to blubbing as I had become so out or practice

  I discount post-lights-out slipperings as these were frequent, undramatic and invariably collective, being inflicted on the whole of Dormy One, usually for talking after lights out or some such predictable trivia.

  But my purpose in this tale is not to relate the detailed goings on and activities of Harry Perceval - a junior boy in his first term at public school - although they might make a decent story on their own along with the subsequent history. No, I cover these matters only to provide a background for my physical and mental state of being as I approached the coming half and my return to the Old Rectory.

  Now for many a schoolboy eight canings of six of the best (nine actually from the HM) in a half term, all of them on the bare bottom, would be considered a record of infamy and personal disaster, but in my case with the experiences of the Old Rectory behind me (as it were), they were of only a modest consequence.

  Only some were painful, Richardson's whose power and wrist action were the equal of the Dame's, but they were spaced often by whole weeks. He also had a long cane which he liked to use while I lay over a bench. It would swoop down viciously cutting into both my bottom cheeks, leaving long red weals and making me kick my legs in reaction. Oh yes he was a tyro alright!

  My fellows were awash in a mixture of admiration and wonder at my seeming indifference to what for them were highly traumatic occasions. Some had never been caned before even over their shorts, much less bare, and found it all very disturbing. A few tried to emulate me in a sloppy kind of hero-worshipping fashion but after a second caning in a week for two of them they concluded they, or their bottoms, were not my equal and had had enough.

  Others found wearing no knickers a great trial and would attempt to smuggle some in with parcels from home. Those suspected were watched carefully by the prefects and if caught wearing them the prefects had the pleasure of stripping them off themselves before inflicting a fierce dozen strokes on the snivelling boy's bared bottom.

  For myself I was having what was almost a beating holiday so that by the time the half was up I was actually beginning to feel a caning more than I had during the first few weeks.

  I journeyed home (for that was what the O.R. was effectively) on my own this time, and enjoyed the trip mightily. I travelled as far as London with some of my chums and the feared ragging I had expected at my Norfolk suit was dissipated by their having to wear their shorts, no longs being permitted them at school.

  This made me realise that the Dame had done me a great kindness - perhaps unwittingly - in providing this garment.

  I paid off the cabbie and as I walked up the gravel drive, it crunched under my shoes and I was reminded anew of that dark evening in late winter when I had approached the Old Rectory for the first time and of the unpleasant bare bottomed paddling that had been my lot not long after. What manner of welcome could I expect?

  I knew enough to go to the rear and to the scullery this time, the which I did. There to find a supper as before laid out with a short note in the Dame's hand waiting for me.

  “Master Henry. Welcome back from your first half. Here is your supper. When you have finished repair to your room as usual and change into the clothes you will find there. Then come and see me in my parlour when we will discuss your progress this half and your programme of activities for this week. DH ”

  “Oh gawd “I wondered “What has she got in store now? ”

  To my slight surprise nothing particularly astonishing awaited me in the dorm. On my bed were some unremarkable schoolboy clothes - shorts again it was true - the Dame would not tolerate covered knees under any circumstances, but otherwise I was dressed fairly normally. I must confess I had been enjoying the rediscovered pleasure of knickers all day, one that was still available to me. So when I had washed and changed and hung my suit up I went along the hall to her parlour. So far I had not seen a soul and the clocks ticked quietly in that solemn hall as they had many an evening before.

  “Come in” Those soft contralto tones again. And there she was, seated elegantly on her chaise longue, reading some, no doubt, illuminating book, as a lively fire danced in the grate. The feeling was warm, homely and welcoming, and this time I did not expect to have to suffer for my presence here.

  “So Master Harry here you are. Come and sit by me.” She indicated one of the large soft pouffes she had not infrequently used as a platform for upending me in order to belabour my bottom. This time I could employ it for comfort it seemed.

  “Now tell me all about S--------. I want to know everything.”

  So I told her of my experiences of the HM and the Chief and Richardson and of my chums. By dint of close and penetrating questioning she ensured I could not hold back some of the less enjoyable moments of the half - those involving the cane - but I tried to gloss over them lightly as if they were nothing.

  “So you have had a most enjoyable half by all accounts and it sounds as if this school is nothing like as strict as we are here am I right?”

  I had to admit that was the truth of it.

  “Ah well schoolmasters do not always understand boys as well as they should, although your House Captain seems made of better stuff - you say he caned you the first day and three times thereafter and that the slipper is of frequent post-bedtime application by the Prefects?”

  I confirmed these facts.

  “Well we shall have to get you back into order Master Harry else all our good work in undone, although there is so little time in a half holiday to make up for a whole half's neglect of discipline in a boy....”

  These words made my blood run cold - could I really accept a return to the old ways now?

  “But not for tonight - you and your bottom may rest in peace for now at any rate. We are expecting Master Edward any hour now and tomorrow we will commence some refreshment of your training so be on your best behaviour. I will want to observe you closely to see if either of you have picked up any disgusting or unmannerly habits in your time away and deal with them appropriately.”

  So with these ominous words she took her leave of me and I went to prepare for bed. On the landing I met with Perkins again, she no lees unfriendly that before I regret to say although I suppose if she had not been so inclined, already we had given her just cause during our brief “Jacobite Rebellion”

  “Well now look 'oo we 'ave 'ere, the little terror 'is-self. Come back for more 'ave you - well don't think I ain't forgotten and don't think you're in for any soft times 'ere. 'Er majesty's been right out of sorts lately with no naughty boys' bums' to whip and you'll do nicely I'm sure...”

  She went off cackling in her usual coarse and evil manner.

  Back in the dorm and in bed I read a little and then started to doze off - the long journey having tired me considerably. Then I was jolted back to life by the thump of a pillow on my face and looking up....

  “Eddie!!!”

  “Harry!!!”

  Reunited we were like lost brothers and soon were swapping yarns and stories each more unlikely than the previous one, well past the tenth hour. He had actually got into a big school not too far away and like me was back here for the half which fortunately was of similar duration and timing. Quite like old times!

  He had gone straight into the Dame on arrival and had experienced the same mild interrogation and, as I, had left marvelling at an interview that did not terminate in the usual stripping and upending for a whacking or whipping.

  We speculated on the order of the regime we would be subjected to for the coming week but could not believe it would be as before - surely not - we were big schoolboys now!!

  At this point we were reminded of the time by a stern reprimand from Perkins who threatened us with the Dame if we did not get into bed now and turn off the lights, so for once we obeyed her with alacrity - not believing the good and unusual fortune of being able to go to sleep in the Old Rectory without a sore or red bottom between us.

  The day following was a Friday - schools having this annoying habit of running half-terms from mid-week to mid-week - and at the O.R. this would normally be a day of lessons with gym or dance etc.

  A bell roused us - no novelty from school at 7 am, which we had not expected.

  “Rouse yourselves - come along now - you've had plenty of sleep, even if you did stay up half the night talking. Up you get.”

  This was the Dame - stood there towering over us a slim cane in her hand, which we knew of old she would not hesitate to use on the backs of legs, thighs or wherever she could lay it if we took overlong in dressing.

  But this time she intervened.

  “No not your usual clothes - get into your PT kit - you're going for a run first my lads to waken you up.” Sure enough, in the drawers there were shorts and singlets and pumps ready for our use and to fit, as we had grown a little - and we were harassed and shepherded down to the large back garden by the Dame with her lithe and supple thin cane.

  “I what you to run around the perimeter 50 times each. Master Harry you will run clockwise and you master Edward counterclockwise. Before you start touch your toes both of you.”

  She then gave us each six quick stingers across the thin cotton seats of our shorts.

  “That's to encourage you and to let you know what to expect if you slack. Now off you go. I shall be watching you!”

  The chill late October air needed combatting and running was the only way in that thin cotton garb, nor did we have socks in our pumps so our feet were like blocks of ice. I calculated on the first round that the walled garden was some 120 paces all the way round on the lawn and fifty laps was therefore about 5000 yards - nearly three miles!!

  We were young, we were fit and growing, and we were cold so it did not take as long as it would take me today but it did take a good thirty minutes to complete in the early light.

  We had no thought of cheating, but if we had we could see the looming figure of the Dame as she watched our progress from the Conservatory perched in a chair, her nasty little bamboo switch grasped in her hand, itching to have an opportunity to sting our backsides if we slacked.

  We ended our run - with Eddie some three laps ahead of me panting heaving and exhaling moisture laden breath into the cold air by the backdoor to the scullery, which had been bolted from the inside by the Dame. It opened with a creak and we lumbered in still making heavy breathing and panting noises.

  “Such a lot of fuss over a little run - aren't you lucky it was not raining at least? Now upstairs for a shower the pair of you!”

  A shower! That was a new addition! I had grown to like those at school, not least because I could minimise the time spent on tiresome washing. We stripped off in the dorm and dashed to the bathroom, towels wrapped round us in a newfound modesty, born of our new schools where the complete nudity common at the O.R. was frowned upon.

  “One at a time - wait outside while I get it running, and give me your towels I will heat them on the rack in front of the fire for you.”

  This unexpected kindness by the Dame threw us off the scent.

  “Now Master Harry you first.” I stepped under the shower head waiting for its blissful steaming jets to warms up my cold body and....”

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhh!!!!!!!! ITS COLD!!!!!!!! EEEEEEEHHHAAAAAHHH!!!!”Oh!Oh!OOh!! AAAAh!!....” etc and so on for indeed while the expense of a shower had been gone to, the necessary means of heating the water had not!

  “Why of course its cold whatever did you expect my boy? Now be sure you scrub yourself properly. I don't want you out from there until I am convinced you have thoroughly washed off all the mud and other nasty things your run will have generated.”

  As any who have showered thus will know, prolonging the agony by such meticulous attention to personal hygiene is often difficult to accomplish, but I tried.

  “Really that is simply not adequate. Stand still, fold your arms and let me.”

  The dame who had by now donned one of those infamous rubber aprons and also a rubber shower cap - which did look slightly comical - advanced upon me as I stood there shivering in the bath under the cold shower, the dreaded bathbrush in her hand and proceeded to scrub me as hard and unpleasantly as she could concentrating on my back, legs and bottom and between the legs. I “ouched” and “owed” my way through this whole undignified and uncomfortable process.

  “Now get out but don't dry yourself.”

  She indicated a rubber mat in front of a whicker chair, on which she now sat bathbrush in hand. I felt I knew what was coming next and was right. In a trice she had me over her knee my head and hands on the floor and began spanking my cold wet bare bottom with the flat of that terrible bathbrush. I yelled and howled!!

  “Such a noise well I'll give you something to make a noise about my lad oh yes!” And so she landed that ferocious spanking implement the more on my reddened quivering buttocks.

  After about fifty swats I was allowed to stand, take my “nice warm towel” and return to the dorm to dress while she turned to Eddie who had been stood there shivering in the hall in cold and anticipation and who now added his yells to mine first for the unexpected coldness of the shower than for the expected hotness of the spanking.

  Back in the dorm I found, as usual, clothes laid out on the bed and these were horribly familiar but not exactly so. An Eton collared shirt and short Eton jacket were accompanied by long white stockings and black patent pumps, but there were no skimpy knickers or black velvet shorts this time.

  In their place was a more substantial garment in medium grey flannel, three quarter thigh length shorts, with side buttons, but with a substantial flap at the back, which buttoned all the way across the top as well. It was possible to don them without undoing the flap other than at the sides, but it was plain the flap was designed to be pulled right back and down exposing the whole of the backside - what for I could easily guess! There were no knickers but the shorts were lined back and front and at the front there was funny little elastic lined pouch inside, into which a certain portion of my anatomy seemed snugly to fit. They were almost moulded to me, including the back flap which had a distinct curvature in the centre to mould with the centre of my bottom. This must have been the result of my visit to the outfitters and his measurements!

  Eddie returned all fuss and feathers and a well spanked bottom and like me was at once appalled and then enthraled by this new garb.

  “Does this mean we're to be treated like....”

  “Eight year olds?” Came the Dame's voice as she rejoined us.

  “Why no whatever next? This is simply your new uniform for your attendance here. Since you are both at schools where the wearing of long trousers is, I am glad to say, forbidden until you are sixteen we need to find something to make your time here marked out and distinctive and these shorts are my own devising. You will both be regularly measured and remeasured and new pairs made to fit as required as you grow.”

  She inspected them carefully running her hands over the tight fit, indicating we should turn and allow her inspection as she required.

  She told me to bend over touching my toes.

  This I did stretching the fabric so it tightened very firmly over my bottom, almost too tight for me to get right down.

  “Its very tight madam.” I panted.

  “Yes well, its not really intended to be worn in that way in those circumstances. Stand up straight and put your arms by your side.”

  I could feel her fiddling at the back with the buttons and then felt the back of the shorts being pulled right away. Then she undid all but two of the buttons down each side.

  “Now bend over.”

  As I did as she had told me I realised that the back of the shorts were falling away and down exposing my bottom, while leaving the shorts otherwise normal at the front.

  “Yes - exactly as I had conceived them originally - perfect for the convenient application of the cane or any other instrument to your bare bottoms, while affording greater modesty to the front.”

  She indicated I should stand and then she did the buttons up at the back which made me also realise I could not do them myself without taking them off completely.

  “I have a programme of activities for you to engage in. It is posted on the schoolroom noticeboard. You needn't look too crestfallen. We are sensible enough of boys needs to realise that additional schoolwork is not conducive to your needs in a holiday - but have a care - if your general behaviour is less than satisfactory the consequences in addition to the usual physical correction will be less amusing.”

  At this out she swept. Once we were properly attired we went to the schoolroom to inspect the notice. While it was not schoolwork as such some of it might press the keenest intelligence in discerning the precise difference.

  9:00 am - 10:30 am - Reading of select books 10:30 am - 12:00 am - Puzzles and conundrums 12:00 pm - 1:00 pm - Outdoor games 1:00 pm - 2:00 pm - Luncheon 2:00 pm - 3:30 pm - Musical Appreciation and Piano 3:30 pm - 4:00 pm - Tea 4:00 pm - 5:30 pm - Artwork and drawing 5:30 pm - 7:00 pm - Review of day's activities 7:00 pm - 8:00 pm - Supper 8:00 pm - 9:00 pm - free time 9:00 pm - bath and bedtime

  We did not like the sound of the “Review” at all!

  There was also a list of “select books” few of which would automatically feature on a boy's own list of preferred reading:

  Pilgrim's Progress Canterbury Tales Eric (a feeble attempt at a “boy's” book!)

  We were informed we would be quizzed on the contents of these and were enjoined to read three chapters of each a day - “quiz” is just another word for a test I thought. Fortunately we were left to our own devices for the first period and spent more of the time swapping stories, humbugs, peppermints, gobstoppers etc! Precious little reading was done by the pair of us as a result and when we came to the second period were game for a bit of fun. The puzzles and conundrums, which were in the library on the table, were really a bit juvenile for us and we soon found alternative amusement drawing moustaches and other anatomical additions to the various characters and animals in the puzzle books - some of them distinctly rude.

  Eddie also had some of his own games and tricks such as fake ink which left great blotches and then faded, bangers and other tricks, such as rubber bladders which made rude raspberry noises when sat on - “whoopee cushions” they came to be called in later years.

  We experimented with these, putting them under cushions on chairs, and then sitting on them, and so on, getting rather too giggly and semi-hysterical.

  In a lull the door opened and in swept the Dame her cold eye surveying the scene. “Having a pleasant and jolly time are you boys? I hope these are not too young for you - as I know how much you hate being treated as silly little boys.”

  The implied threat made my blood go cold and I murmured something suitable and insincere as she loomed over my shoulder. Luckily the page of the puzzle book I was studying had not yet had any of our additional artwork on it.

  To my horror however she then lifted it gracefully off the table saying. “Now let me see how well you have been doing. You are a clever boy after all.” As she said this she moved slowly towards the leather armchair and began to sit down. Open mouthed I realised what was about to happen as she began to descend onto the cushion under which I knew only too well was an undeflated rubber bladder.

  Horrified I waited for the expected twin explosions - the one of air and the other of rage but just as I thought nemesis was upon us she daintily whipped the cushion away from the chair and glancing down saw the offending article.

  “What is this?! ”

  Only Dame Edith Evans in her future role as Lady Bracknell in “The Importance..” could have commanded a greater sense of outraged gentility and morality.

  If Eddie's face resembled mine it must have been a picture to see us open-mouthed, pale-faced and rooted to the spot!

  A quiet descended such that you could have heard a flea squeak.

  “Stand up.” He voice was low and calm now.

  “I warned you and you have ignored me. Return at once to the schoolroom and wait for me there.”

  Glum and knowing full well we were in for it, we sat at our desks hardly exchanging a word. I had a feeling the flaps on our new shorts were soon going to be put to use!

  We had been there about five minutes when she came in, carrying a cane and a small strap. We stood respectfully - no risks to be taken now. She placed the two punishment instruments on the desk and looked us over without an expression of any kind, then began the dreaded “jaw”.

  “You have betrayed my trust and shown you can neither of you be left to your own devices without mischief and wrongdoing. Not only do you make a feeble attempt at gutter humour at my expense but you deface perfectly good books with disgusting and childish drawings. Your leisure programme for today and until further notice is cancelled. You will do supervised lessons this afternoon and early evening and go to bed at 8 pm after a good bath and scrubbing. The rest of the morning will be given over to punishment.”

  “Perceval step out to the front. Place you hands on your head. You boy stand in the corner likewise.” she barked at Eddie.

  I then felt her hands undoing the buttons of my flap and at the side.

  “Bend over hands on your knees. ”

  With a slight tug the flap was pulled right back and down and my bottom was now bare from the waist to the upper thigh. She tucked my shirt up into the jacket. Nothing happened yet and she moved over towards Eddie where she was evidently doing the same to him in the upright position.

  Then she walked over to the desk which was to my left and picked up the cane which she swished slightly. It touched me slightly and then flicked down.......

  Twelve stinging stokes later I was in Eddie's place and he in mine, my bottom burning in that only too familiar way.

  He then replaced me and I returned to the same spot. This time she held the small strap in her hand.

  “Hold out your hand.” I knew what was to come and closed my eyes tight. She gripped my wrist with one hand and with the other brought the strap down six times very quickly on the palm and fingers making me yelp and “Ow!” mightily.

  “Other hand.” And so repeated and I thrust my burning sore hands into my armpits face screwed up in pain.

  “Stop that and bend over gripping your ankles again.”

  This was worse, as my sore hands found a firm grip painful and unsoothing. Another twelve cuts quickly lacerated my bottom although it was impossible to divorce my mind completely from the pain in my throbbing hands.

  Stood back in the corner, hands on head throbbing, bottom throbbing, I felt very sorry for myself and soon relived those feelings and emotions that had of late been in suspension at my big school.

  Eddie was being given the same treatment but I could hardly concentrate such were my own feelings.

  We stood facing the corners for some time, ten - fifteen minutes. I had not noticed she had left the room and was surprised therefore when the door opened and her voice spoke quietly.

  “Come out into the corridor. ”

  This was easier than with shorts and knickers round the ankles so we did not need to shuffle. We kept our hands on our heads.

  “Follow me.”

  We processed downstairs until we reached the dreaded flogging room where we were left to face opposite walls. Was this to precede an encounter with lady birch? That would depend on whether any had been prepared in advance.

  It was now about half past twelve and maids were going about preparing the midday meal for the Doctor and Dame and others and we could hear their usual giggles as they saw us once again in the position of penitence awaiting some further punishment. It was some nine weeks or so since I had last been in this position bottom bare, waiting in a public corridor and the shame, embarrassment and humiliation were the more acute. So much so that I shed a few silent tears of self-pity as I stood there.

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  Chapter 15

  Old friends and New

  After about another half hour there came along the corridor two familiar figures - Watson and Richardson (not my House Captain and Fagmaster) whom we had not seen since the dinner night. I dared to turn my face towards them.

  “Now then laddie move not a muscle - you know the score - both of you. “this was Tony Richardson.

  “Pair of silly chumps and no mistake.” Watson or “Wart” spoke now.

  I put my nose back to the wall as they entered the flogging room. Were they to witness the next stage? They had seen me flogged before but that had been very special whereas this was...

  “Come in the pair of you.” This was Tony's voice.

  So we went in. The Dame was nowhere to be seen. There was no block and bucket of brine soaked birches prepared for us to adorn and to adorn our backsides. All there was in the room were two chairs facing each other.

  We stood side by side, in front of these two young men, who looked us up and down with grim but not entirely humourless expressions.

  “Take advantage of the Dame would you?” (A notion that was really quite preposterous when you consider it properly!)

  “Just a pair of silly little junior ticks. Look at them - bare bums for all to see and already well swished.”

  “Well we've volunteered to give you the next dose and I can assure you, you will find it powerful medicine! Wart you take that one and I'll deal with this little idiot!”

  At that Tony pulled me by the ear towards him, twirled me to the right and forced my head down with his hand on my neck so I touched my toes once again. There was a pause and then a “Smaaaaaack!!” - something flat, heavy and very very stingey landed on my lower bottom just in the underhang and before I could take hardly a breath another and another and another in quick succession. Fast hard strokes of some kind of flexible paddle or slipper rained down on my already tender bottom and soon I cried out and wriggled and danced as each one descended. This was a slippering such as I'd never experienced from a stong youthful man in his prime with a powerful wrist - Tony was a tennis player and a golfer!

  I sensed Eddie getting the same treatment but the constant arching pain in my lower backside reduced his cries to a distant background.

  Suddenly it ceased and I could hear only the sound of my heavy breathing and moans, wanting only to rub my afflicted bottom. But that was not to be. I was hauled up, that strong hand on my neck again and then hauled over his knee as he sat down on one of the chairs. As I glanced to my right I could see Eddie's feet and lower legs, both off the floor as mine clearly were.

  They then proceeded to spank us, with their hands at first, hard slaps and smacks over all parts of our bottoms then concentrating in the lower parts already sore. They made no effort to spank in unison. After at least a hundred smacks there was a pause and then he began to use some sort of wooden paddle which stung even more, so it made me wriggle and moan and hold my head in my hands. Faster went the tempo and harder and harder the awful sting as the flat wood punished my skin until I just had to blurt something out.

  “I'm sorry please please I'm sorry. Ow” Oh! please no more. I'M SORRY!! Oh oh ah oooh ow....!!”

  “Sorry are you? Well you should be but not yet sorry enough my lad!”

  And his hand renewed its relentless tattoo on my bottom so now my tears and sobs and entreaties flowed loudly and fully without restraint, my body racked with sobs as the spanking continued. At some point I sobbed and I slowly subsided. I could hear now that Eddie had been likewise spanked and spanked until he too cried like a little boy.

  Eventually we were allowed to stand up, handkerchiefs were offered and a comforting hug from our two erstwhile punishers, which only produced even more sobs.

  “I reckon these two have learnt a lesson here don't you Tony?”

  “I think so, but for now I think they'd better return to the hall for a bit longer until we've sorted out this afternoon.”

  “Yes my boys for you are in our hands for the rest of this weekend as the Dame and Doc have better things to do. It had been hoped you could be trusted to keep yourselves amused constructively and properly behaved.”

  “- if asked we would have advised them otherwise. So you'd better realise now that you've to toe the line or else...”

  So we resumed our stations bare bottoms very red and hot as were our cheeks from crying and upset. Our pleasure at being reunited with our old chums was tempered with the experience we had just had at their hands. What could we expect? Lunch came and went and we were still stood in the hall in the penitent position at half past two when we were allowed return to our dormitory by our two guardians. We were obliged to change back into PT togs, not just the shorts that Jack required, and they joined us when we were ready also in PT gear.

  “You are going to work off some of that energy this afternoon.”

  “Which we will supervise of course, now downstairs to the gym and be sharp about it ”

  In the gym we stood apprehensively before them at attention as we had learnt from Jack Poole. Each held an unpleasant looking slipper in his hand.

  “Pay close attention and do as we say sharply and correctly or we will correct you sharply. ”

  So began an hour or more of exercises with us each instructed by one of them individually in pressups, squat thrusts, toe touchings, chin ups, bar and beam exercises, and the whole gamut of possible boy tortures devised by gym teachers everywhere. Whenever one of us faltered or was less than perfect a slipper descended on our thin cotton shorts.

  “Pump your legs!”

  “Whack! whack!” “Harder, you can do better than that!”

  “Hopeless, touch your toes!”

  “Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!” By then end of this period we were sore and exhausted and I have to say that Tony and Wart were breathing hard too from their exertions as they kept up with us except when they had to “encourage” us.

  We had just both been whacked for another series of blunders which tiredness had something to do with when they called a halt.

  “I reckon these two have just about had all they can take and should be properly exhausted now eh Wart?”

  We were both panting hard hands on our knees and alternately nursing our sore backsides.

  “Into the showers - cold of course!!”

  So another chill dose of cold water was added to the hot warmth of our bottoms. They joined us in the showers and we could see that unlike the big boys at our school, and now Eddie as he grew older, they had no hair lower down or even on their legs. We remarked on it and they noticed that Eddie was sprouting hair too.

  “We shave our hair off.” said Tony. “If you return here when you've left school you will too, but until then it will grow of course.”

  I said I didn't like hair anyway which made them laugh.

  We changed back into the uniform from the morning despite our protests - they said that the Dame had laid these down so that was that. We were then escorted to the schoolroom and set to write lines - 1000 by the end of the day was the imposition. Tony and Wart took turns to supervise us and we had no opportunity for any fun or relief from this drudgery, nor were we either of us in any mind to play up and earn a further dose of either the slipper or their hands. To further emphasise the point a short thin cane was placed on each of our desks as a warning.

  We spent the rest of the day, until suppertime at half past six on this exercise, and no further interest or excitement enlivened this depressing scene and we finished our thousand lines in time which they then dumped unceremoniously in the waste paper basket,

  Supper we took in the usual upstairs room, on our own, which was a relief, as Tony and wart dined in the main dining room.

  “This is totally rancid Eddie!” I'd sooner be back at school.

  “We've got to find a way to get them into some fun. It can't be much fun for them either.”

  “Maybe they'd agree to some outdoor games - a spot of footer - or a walk..”

  “More like a run if I know them.”

  We were finding it difficult to think of any clever wheezes which would lighten the potential gloom of the rest of the weekend and had made no progress when we were enjoined to strip off for a bath and wait outside the dorm with a towel each facing the wall.

  We were in for a scrubbing by Tony and Wart, who had each obtained a rubber apron and a spare tin bath so we would receive the Perkins style treatment together. Knowing that both of these young gentleman had each experienced such ministrations themselves in their younger days explains why they were so effective in their application and unremitting in their use of the bath brush, first to all our nooks and crannies our bottoms, legs and arms and then our bottoms, as they hauled us over their knees for the bathtime spanking that inevitably followed. As they saw we were tucked safe bit sore into bed they gave us an indication of their plans for the following day.

  “Get plenty of rest as you'll need all you energies tomorrow. You'll rise at six for a run to start with and then we've some jobs for you to do, which should keep you busy until lunchtime. ”

  “Then you can spend the afternoon doing letters of apology to the Dame. You are to serve at a dinner in the dining room so you will be up later than usual for that. You'll be given time to get yourself properly tidied up. You both need a good haircut so Wart'll take you to the barbers and we'll ensure you are immaculate for dinner and on your best behaviour. ”

  I enquired whether we would wear kilts as we had last time and this was confirmed. “Does that mean we'll get swished like last time too?” piped up Eddie, echoing my own thoughts on the subject.

  “Well a sacrifice to the lady will be needed and I see no reason, given your behaviour, why your bottoms should not suffice. In fact I think a proper swishing for your both would be a jolly good idea beforehand with a couple or maternal rods handy for during the dinner.”

  “Yes I think their kilts should be kept pinned up during dinner so we can all see!” Tony was determined we should feel uncomfortable about the whole process.

  “Sleep well boys!” Wart's instruction was of course rather difficult to follow in view of the impending day's activity!

  Once again we prepared ourselves for a formal dinner evening at the Old Rectory. This time there was just Eddie and I and this time we were to be given a good swishing beforehand. The last time I had been acquainted with the Goddess had been at the Dame's hands, for having too many black marks or demerits. Eddie had not been swished properly so far as I knew - he had received a good over the knee dose at the last dinner at which we served but so far as I knew had never been instructed to “go down”.

  We constructed our rods in one of the rooms off the scullery in the late afternoon, the gardener having deposited fresh twigs for us. I showed Eddie how to ensure they did not have too wide a spray.It being Autumn they were not as green and lithe as before and had a more “woody” feel. Theses would cut more than sting. As usual we had to make two each and as before there was to be some preceding ritual and preparation.

  The rods were taken from us when completed and stored in a bucket of brine while we went to bathe and change. Constructing two birch rods apiece took us the best part of an hour what with stripping of leaves etc and my showing Eddie how to do it. So by the time we had prepared ourselves it was nearly six o'clock when we were summoned into the Dame's parlour where Watson and Richardson were waiting, they having borrowed it for the weekend. They had not changed for dinner yet.

  We were inspected to see we had donned our kilts properly, tabs tucked in, stockings straight, hems at the right length and of course nothing underneath! We each had to bend over while the kilts were flipped up to ensure this was the case. We were pronounced satisfactory - “smart” even and then told how we were to spend the time between now and the appointed hour of 7:15 pm. Unexpectedly we were not to be required to spend a lengthy time facing the wall outside the Doctor's study or in the hall outside the flogging room.

  Instead we were each to assist with the laying of the table in the dining room and preparing the anteroom for sherry. At half past six we were to each join the two young men in their rooms to assist them with preparing for dinner, lay out their clothes etc. When that was completed we were then and only then to go and stand, not in the hall outside the flogging room but in the main entrance hall, to either side.

  We were to greet the guests take their cloaks and hats and escort them to the anteroom, offering them sherry. Six were expected. Once they had arrived we were then to take up our station as before but facing the wall on opposite sides. At 7:15 precisely when the clock struck the quarter we were to process into the study and thence to the flogging room, where we would be flogged simultaneously. During all these proceedings we would speak only when spoke to, be polite and courteous and pleasant and not sulky or surly and behave in every way as if nothing unpleasant was in store, of else it would be doubly unpleasant, literally.

  So, it all transpired as they had ordained. We recognised four of the guests from the previous evening but not the other two, who arrived together, one an older bewhiskered gentleman and he other a boy not much older than ourselves, 14 perhaps wearing and Eton suit - short bumfreezer etc. I guessed that they might be father and son. The boy blushed in a rather engaging way when Tony said in a cheerful matter-of-fact voice to the older gentleman,

  “Before dinner you shall have the pleasure of witnessing lady birch applied to the charming backsides of these two miscreants.” Turning to the lad, jovially, he said, “Is the birch a novelty to you my boy or does your pater give it to you good and hot as he should? ”

  “Oh, um I.. well, actually um...”

  “'Fraid not old chap, arthritis - I have to leave that to his housemaster - but they're too soft these days - thinks lads should,only be flogged for really misbehavin' - they don't see that any real boy needs a good regular flogging at least one a week just to keep up with what he ain't been caught for...!”

  Loud laughter followed this exchange and the lad went a deep red.

  “Maybe master Michael should swap places with one of these rascals.... eh Wart?”

  “Oh no not swap - join more like!”

  Eddie and I both knew this was not necessarily a jest.”

  But no move was made to enforce this suggestion and the conversation moved on while Eddie and I moved to our appointed places facing the wall at 7 O'clock. Fifteen minutes to wait while conversation and laughter drifted out of the room, while the door sometimes opened and closed as an individual made his way to the cloakroom and back.

  While I have had longer lonelier and more bitter waits this seemed more galling than usual because such a jolly time was being had next door and we were denied any part in that. Our role was to fetch and carry and serve and then be birched for their pleasure which seemed a little unfair to me, at the time - the more so because one of the witnesses was a lad who so far as we knew had an unbirched bottom - this seemed in breach of the spirit of our company altogether!

  The clock struck and as we turned the others proceeded from the room while we joined in behind them. To my surprise Michael emerged carrying the four rods which if they had been in the anteroom I had not noticed. Again he was blushing in a rather charming and attractive manner. As we traversed the study and re- entered the Goddess's arena I felt how like Christians facing the lions we must be and tried to compose and appropriate latin couplet - I must have been at risk of becoming precocious now I look back!

  There were two blocks at angles to each other and there were Tony and Wart stood next to each and two of the more familiar guests at the head of each block to act as holders down. The older gentleman positioned himself so he had a fine view of both blocks and so of our bottoms. Michael did not know where to stand so stayed by the door looking petrified.

  “Perceval and Forrest step forward!” Tony began the ritual.

  We stepped smartly forward so we were in front of them facing them squarely. I don't know about Eddie but looked Tony right in the eye.

  “It is customary at these occasions to offer our lady a suitable sacrifice so we are fortunate indeed to have two culprits here whose behaviour and attitude towards our revered and respected Dame Hilda leaves much to be desired and to correct. Have you anything to say boys before you are whipped?”

  We each went down on one knee and intoned as instructed as clear as we could. “Sir we deserve to be whipped - do your worst and we will try to bear it bravely.”

  Michael was signalled to step forward bearing the four rods cradled in his arms. Each of the men about to inflict them upon us took one and lowered it towards us. I grasped it lightly with my right hand and touched my lips to its prickly tips smelling the saline and vinegar mixture in which it had lain only recently.

  “Go down.”

  I knelt as usual on the step ensuring my kilt was not under my knees and that my sporran was comfortably to one side. The short evening jacket meant there was no need to remove or raise the tail and as was soon clear the kilt was ideal for this purpose, for one of the other guests stepped forward and lifted the hem of my kilt up and over, passing it to the holder down who secured it with a pin so it could not fall back. Bared in an instant and no trousers pinioning my legs.

  The prickles of the birch teased my right buttock and so it began again......

  We received our strokes more or less simultaneously counted out by one of the guests. Tony started light and got heavier as he went and ensured he gave me good coverage so my left cheek and the tops of my thighs were stinging after a dozen. I bore up well and had time to notice Eddie's reactions which were progressively less stoical. We had each had 15 when he began to moan a little at each stroke. This seemed to spur them both on and the tempo and severity markedly increased.

  “Sixteen”

  “Ooooh!” this was me this time - softly I reacted as he landed it heavy and stopping fight on the centre of my bottom holding it rigidly in place as if to dare me to move. It was beginning to really hurt now but even as it did after each stroke I deliberately, knowingly and imploringly stuck my bottom out for the next. He was flogging me hard alright but I was loving it!! He responded and began to breath hard as he laid on stroke after stroke on my glowing, strip ridden bare bottom. The harder it was the more I stuck it out for more and by “thirty” felt almost as if this could go on for ever.

  Eddie could not however and I could hear his quiet sobs, so sensed it would end soon. How it then went for Eddie I could not say but Tony delivered six quick slashing cuts to my backside scorching and clawing at my skin and making me yelp with surprise and admiration. When “thirty six” had been intoned there was a silence broken only by the heavy breathing of Tony, Wart and I and Eddie's sobs.

  We were allowed to rise from our positions of penitence. After an interval to recover we both kneeled and again kissed the remains of the rods. The party left quietly while we tidied each other up wiping bits of twig and marks made by the bark from our cheeks. Instructions were to resume our duties in the dining room afterwards so we returned quietly Eddie's eyes were red and he was looking downcast.

  I was full of life, sore, yes, well whipped in fact and the weals and stripes to my flanks burnt and warmed me, but I also felt a pride and a joy in having not only taken it well but embraced it and welcomed it.

  When we reentered the Dining Room we found two extra places laid - obviously meant for us, but we waited to be invited to take them.

  “You may join the party boys!” Tony, at the head of the table was expansive and generous spirited.

  “But before then just a little adjustment - come her both of you. ”

  We approached in trepidation and in my case a little excitement.

  “Turn round, bend over hands on knees.”

  I then felt my kilt being raised again. There was a pause, then I felt him pinning it to my jacket. Then he did the same for Eddie.

  “Now you can sit - we have ensured the chairs are suitably firm!”

  So with our bottoms plainly on display, at least to the rear, we sat at the table. We were placed with Michael between us, he looking distinctly uncomfortable and apprehensive. The dinner was served by two male household staff, unusually, who had been taken on recently. They showed little concern or surprise at our condition unlike the silly young girls who had been employed previously.

  After the dessert, the conversation turned to the older gentleman's concern about his son's education, character development and general lack of backbone - in his view - which he largely blamed himself for and which he wished could be corrected even now.

  “I was too much away when he was a small boy an his Mama, God rest her, doted on him too much so he has never had a firm hand, so now he cannot manage his big school - and they regard him as “overly sensitive”. What is a father to do? ”

  It was plain from the looks on the boy that his father's constant categorization of his weaknesses, foibles and unhealthy passions deeply hurt him and he hung his head with tears trickling down his cheeks. I felt sorry for him - jaw was always worse than war - we knew that. Wart could see that and I could see he felt sympathy too.

  “Harry - why don't you take Michael to the library for the rest of the evening - you three can have more to talk about and better things to do than listening to us jawing!” We lost no time and led the lad away.

  Once away from his papa he broke down completely in sobs and let out his heart. It was plain he loved his father and wanted to please him but found his manner and constant criticism more than he could bear.

  “All he does is complain about me and tell me I'm hopeless - but he never does anything - sometimes I wish he would beat me - I deserve it sometimes. And tonight seeing you take such whippings and hardly a tear - especially you Harry - you were so brave - well I felt he was right and I felt so unhappy...”

  We comforted him as best we could but we had neither the experience nor the wisdom to respond in the right way.

  It was getting late and we knew soon we would be summoned to bed and would have to bid our new friend farewell. Sure enough Tony and Wart came in looking serious, for them, except when giving out a good whacking.

  They came over to Michael who was sitting looking very glum in one of the armchairs, squatting down beside him. They talked quietly to him - we could hardly hear what they were saying. Tony put his hand out to steady him and the lad seemed to brighten a little - then nodded his head grinning weakly.

  “Good chap!” Tony exclaimed “Harry take our new friend upstairs to the Dorm and bed him down - he's to stay with us for a time. Eddie root out Perkins and tell her with my compliments to kit him out with a nightshirt etc and with the usual new boy's uniform tomorrow - oh and you two as well”

  We both knew what that meant!

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  Chapter 21- Part One

  Jenning's Revenge and the Vicar's Retribution

  Christmas at the Old Rectory threatened to be a dull and quiet affair, we thought, and were it not for each other's company and the diversions of the Vicarage we would have been very glum indeed.

  However it turned out not to be so after all. Our parents had sent generous allowances and the Captain, that Christmas Eve , took us out to the town centre to select items of Christmas fare, and other jolly things to make it a real Christmas. We had a Christmas tree, the promise of goose and pudding, and gifts for us both, from our homes, and from the adults in whose care we were, so we were not bereft of normal family comforts. In this pre-radio and television age the pleasures of Christmas were more homely and personal than they were to become and simple things could give great joy.

  Before we could really begin however there was caroling and that was enormous fun. Even Jennings seemed to enter into it, as if his very painful and public thrashing had entered him onto a new life.

  We processed round the district wassailing for all we were worth on a joyful crisp Christmas Eve - very Dickensian. When we arrived back at the Dower there was a great log fire in the grate in the drawing room and the Captain waited with the Cook and the servants where we had a little party. Perkins got a little tipsy and the cook rather more so. You would never have thought, that in earlier times, not so long before, we pair had been regularly, publicly, thrashed and our belaboured bare bottoms, not to say our whole bare bodies had been on display in corridors and in rooms, to many of those present and that some of them had been active participants in their fate.

  At about nine o'clock when we should normally have been in bed there was a ring at the doorbell and then we could hear voices singing carols for us which was a treat. They were not boys voices at all but men's and when we went to the window there were several ORs, including Wart and Richardson singing lustily with red glowing faces.

  So they too joined us, and at this point the servants' party dispersed. So there we were half a dozen or so OR's together on Christmas Eve. They brought us small gifts as well as their good company and we told them all about our experiences that half, the Vicar and all that had passed - making sure the Captain was unable to hear any incriminating information concerning one Jennings of course !

  Much had transpired since the half term. The Dame was unaccountably and prolongedly absent , as was the Doctor, and there had been no boys lodging for nearly six weeks. Michael, the boy we had met during the half, had stayed a week or so but had been taken away again at his mama's insistence so had little benefit of the experience. Piggsy and Alfred had gone on to other more conventional establishments as had the other boy we had shared our time with for a while. Eddie and I were the only part-time ORs in residence.

  “You know I do wonder if the whole enterprise is not falling apart through lack of new blood.” said Wart.

  “Yes by the end of the first two years at their schools neither of these two will be suited to this place and unless the Dame and Doctor have placed some new youngsters of appropriate demeanour and spirit our fellowship will atrophy.”

  “Its a damn shame. What do you say Captain Hawkins?”

  “I say wait and see what the New Year brings. There are plans and possibilities. Too early to say what's afoot. ”

  I asked why we could not simply stay on as we had been doing, but got no satisfactory answer, save that at a certain age boys became very difficult and unsuited to the restricted style of the Old Rectory nor to some of the Dames's less conventional methods. When we were approaching our fifteenth years we would need to be given a different style altogether.

  “But you chaps have returned and keep coming back!” I said.

  I was told that was different, to mind my manners and get up to bed before the good will of Christmas was overlaid with the warm feeling of a good whacking..

  Christmas day proved very jolly and full of treats, gifts, rich food and all the traditional things that children and adults enjoy. Here was a day when we were free from constraints and threats of punishments and where we were able to indulge ourselves to the full. Little needs to be said as there was little of any unusual or original nature to chronicle that most readers would not have experienced a - plenty for themselves.

  Boxing Day was a rather different day. With another fresh fall of snow and having spent the previous day indoors we ventured out to the local pond to sample the ice. So did many others, including not a few of the choir , so we had a merry time , snowballing, chasing, ice sliding and the like. There were many other folk about, perambulating and taking the brisk chill air, all wrapped up in great coats, mufflers mittens. At one end of the pond was a mound which soon became a rough ice slide enabling boys with sledges to hurtle down onto the frozen pond and which also became a battle ground - a mighty fortress for small, and not so small, boys to storm and defend.

  Soon, two motley armies formed. Leading one was our protagonist Jennings as it happened, so the battle had an edge to it and before long snowballs were flying like confetti.

  Eddie and I were adept at snow marksmanship so successfully led a foray up the hill scattering all before us. As they fled from the top I launched two mighty snowballs in a great parabola intending to smite the foe from the air like howitzers or shrapnel!

  So I dashed ahead to the top of the hill whooping like a red indian. When I achieved the crest a sight greeted me. There at the bottom of the hill were the boys scattering like flies but in addition there was a gentleman glaring up at the hill and wiping away the remnants of a snowball from his hat. Pointing up the hill was Jennings, gesticulating like a wild thing!

  “Ooo-er!” I thought - time to make a hasty retreat and made as if to dash only to lose my footing, slip onto my backside and go hurtling down the slope. As luck would have it at that precise moment the offended victim and target for one of our snowballs began to ascend and we met half way down as I bowled him off his legs in a most undignified fashion. Only then did I realise it was the Vicar!!!

  Up he leapt spluttering, red of face and incandescent with rage. He gave vent to a storm of adult anger at my unfortunate and clearly unintended assault on his dignity and person.

  I stood and let the tide overwhelm me. At least he could not inflict anything on me here in public and in the snow!

  Finally his ire subsided.

  “For the present we shall say nothing more but you will understand Master Perceval that you and I have an accounting to render and at present it is you who are in debit to me to a considerable extent. “In the RED” as the banks say and I dare say some drawing of red lines would not be amiss either. For now get of with you, wretched and insufferable child!”

  Morosely I rejoined Eddie and as our fun was now completely deflated we returned to the OR. Nothing was said to us about the incident and so far as I knew the Vicar had not complained of my conduct so we tried to put it out of minds for the rest of the day - Eddie could as he had not been the direct and visible author of the Vicar's collapsed dignity. Nothing was heard at all that week. The Christmas tide was over and we then entered the New Year with but a week or so before returning to school.

  That did not mean we were free of the Vicar's ministrations and my encounter with him on Boxing Day was still fresh in my mind when we assembled once more for choir practice for the services on the first Sunday in the New Year. When we arrived he made no mention of the affair.

  Eddie and I did our best to not to earn his displeasure and managed to get through the first hour of practice without any attention from him and his thin cane and with our trousers still on, although there were, as usual, one or two other boys whose bottoms were not so protected. The second half I was less fortunate and Eddie had one, and I had two, doses of the cane for what the Vicar called “slackness” but which I called ill humour and a desire on his part to keep us under his thumb. At any event we were both minus our trousers and underpants as we came to the conclusion, and the only ones in that situation.

  We were also coming to the most difficult bit - a descant - and one which only those boys who could hit the top notes could manage purely and precisely. Our nocturnal and other outdoor adventures had left me with a slight raw throat and I just could not manage that top note at all - so mimed it hoping to carry it off.

  The first run-through seemed to work but not the second. Unsatisfied as he was the Vicar split us into two halves and tested each half separately. This time he was clear someone was not singing and he concentrated more precisely than ever. I dared not dissemble this time but could not make the note and a dry cracked sound emitted.

  “Perceval you cannot make that note can you boy? Was it you who was not singing to hide this pathetic rendition?” Although I protested my throat I knew this would not avail me and resorted to hanging my head and looking at my feet ready to position myself onto his stool again, for a dozen stingers this time.

  “If you can't sing or won't sing you shan't stay here, wasting my time - idiotic boy. Go outside and stand in the hallway facing the corner by the hatstand. I shall deal with you in my study afterwards” .

  It was just like being at the Old Rectory, a long tedious muscle cramping hour spent facing a bare wall while waiting to be thrashed and with your bare backside for all to see. I knew enough to keep my hands on my head and not to react in any way when people came and went in the hall. I knew the Vicar's lady, Jonathan's mama, was a tyro of a boy-caner herself and wished not to incur her displeasure.

  There came a ring at the doorbell and a maid answered and ushered in a lady to the house, presumably to visit her. As her hat and coat were hung on the stand next to me I could only imagine what thoughts must have been going through her mind. Was this a practice she was used to I wondered?

  “I see the Vicar is keeping busy with the choir. “said the lady to the maid.

  “Yes mum very busy.”

  “Yes he's very good. It doesn't do to allow little boys too much licence. I am pleased to see he maintains an appropriate firm discipline, as I do with my pupils at St D--------. You boy what is your name?”

  Startled I replied “Perceval - uh madam.”

  “MISS - MISS - don't you know how to address a Schoolmistress and turn to face me when I speak to you. ”

  Reluctantly I turned, my hands still in the correct position. A large and substantially built lady loomed over me.

  “And take your hands down and out them to your side and stand straight. That's better. You may go girl. I will join your mistress shortly. “She dismissed the maid who was rather discomfited by all this.

  “Perceval. Well I am Miss Olivia Jordan and I am the Headmistress of St D-----, of which no doubt you have heard.”

  I had not heard of it but thought better than to admit it.

  “Yes miss, how do you do miss.”

  “Well I suppose you can be polite - if that is possible for a boy with no trousers or knickers on. Why are you here and in that condition? ”

  I explained as best I could.

  “Very well that all seems in order and quite proper. Exactly how I might have dealt with a naughty little boy too. Its a lucky thing for you your mama and papa don't place you in my care. Where do you go to school?”

  “At S----------, miss but I lodge at the Old Rectory with the Doctor and the Dame in between terms...” I doubted very much it was a lucky thing at least in the terms she meant it...

  “Oh yes I know something of them but have never met them. They have their own ways I am sure. Mine are a little more...unconventional shall we say...but smacking naughty little boy's bare bottoms certainly is one firm feature. You seem the sort of little boy whose bottom should not go without such smacking on a regular basis and no doubt when your vigil here is over the Vicar will apply some instrument of correction to it. I may stay to witness it. You may turn around again.”

  At that she left., but not before giving my knickers a little tug to ensure they nestled round my ankles with my shorts.

  That was not inclined to make me feel any happier. I had not been in this humiliating position now since the half-term and having to be confronted by a strange lady in this state did me no good at all, knowing as I thought, that one of the Vicar's more ferocious canings awaited me at the end.

  Eventually the clock chimed for half past four and the boys in the choir burst out chattering and donning their coats and scarves. As did Eddie , who paused to whisper to me.

  “I've been told to go home - sorry old chum - see you later.”

  That did not make me feel any happier at all and soon another quiet descended on the hallway as the mid-winter gloom deepened. It was also quite chilly there with nothing on below the waist and I had to softly stamp my feet and move my legs to keep circulation flowing. All I could hear was the slow tick of a clock.

  I stood there another hour before I was given some relief. A maid arrived in the hall and told me to pull up my knickers and shorts which I did, while she waited - both of us a little embarrassed - she in general and me because she was.

  “The vicar says to go into Master Jonathan's day room along there.”

  That was Jonathan's own little schoolroom which we had visited that first day. He was there, sat at his desk, engaged in some work or other. We exchanged greetings both of us rather self absorbed.

  “Hello - Papa has released you from that corner has he - I wish he'd release me from this drudgery.”

  “After two hours I'd welcome a thrashing just for a change.”

  “I wish that was really possible but I doubt it.”

  With a sigh he returned to his bookwork which seemed to involve copious writing on his part and constant references to the books scattered on his desk. I did not know what I was supposed to do so pulled up a stool and sat on it with my arms resting on my knees watching Jonathan as he worked.

  Then the door opened and in came the Vicar. I hurriedly got down off the stool as his son too rose to his feet.

  “Jonathan you may put away your books and take your supper and then play a while before bedtime. You will report to me in the Library at seven pm in your night attire when I shall determine whether your work is satisfactory enough for you to retire without correction.”

  Something in Jonathan's face told me that the chances of his going to bed with his bottom unscathed in that encounter were small. And for me? When we were alone he addressed me.

  “And you boy - what am I to do with you? I have given the incident of Boxing Day much thought as to the appropriate form of chastisement that I should inflict - a mere caning seems inadequate for a boy of your regular experience with that instrument and your acquaintance with the birch is almost as frequent. ”

  “At any rate I believe I need time as well as considerable imagination to ensure that you understand the depth of my feelings and to make some sort of impression on your rebellious little boy 's spirit. So you are to reside here for the night. I have sent word - your guardians will not expect you and are in full agreement with my proposal to deal with you as I deem fit. I will decide in the light of the next twenty-four hours whether to release you back to your guardians for tomorrow evening. I will personally devote much of that time to your punishment. You, of course, will devote all of your time to it.”

  “A room has been prepared in the upper floor of the house where you will sleep, and remain. I will conduct most of your punishment there. So come with me now.”

  He gathered my neck in his firm hand and shepherded me out of the room. Instead of heading for the hallway we went to the far end of the corridor to a small door which led to some stairs - the servant's stairs no doubt - threadbare of carpet as indeed were the walls bare of any decoration. We passed the second floor and went on up a narrower set - this time bare boarded completely and then along a small short corridor to another door. This too led to a short stairway which led into the eaves of the house and into a room with no door.

  This was a large room, with a sloping ceiling to one side but of a good height to the other and about twenty feet in length. It was bare of any comfort. An iron bed, unmade, a and a few other items of furniture occupied the room, which had bare polished boards. What would normally have been quite a gloomy room was surprisingly well lit with several bright oil lamps and a gaslight.

  I realise now that without adequate lighting he could not of course administer the planned castigation accurately and effectively.

  It was also rather cold.

  He indicated a small portmanteau next to the bed.

  “You will now remove all of your clothes and put them in that bag.”

  Nervous and fearful I stripped to the skin , folding my clothes neatly and tidily until I stood there my toes curling on the cold hard floor, quite naked and goose-pimply.

  “You will have these returned to you when you depart. Now you will make the bed with the bedclothes provided and stand at the end of it facing it, with your hands on your head. I will return shortly to see that you have done so satisfactorily and to give you some punishment on account.”

  He turned down the gas lamp and left with my clothes leaving me to contemplate my position.

  The bed was much like any plain iron bedstead as were the blankets but no sheets were provided or pillow cases for the pillows. I was used to making beds at S--------but of course usually had a sheet turn-back to present. It took little time to get it made so I explored this spacious prison-cell, for that was what it was like.

  There was a small window set in the sloping roof, with no curtains. The other furniture comprised a chair, a small table with an enamel basin and a water jug and a tall wooden stool. There was a locked wooden chest at the side of the bed. There was a commode under the bed.

  The room was not freezing but there was a distinct chill. Some heat was emitted from the double chimney breast that covered half of the main wall and the oil lamps also gave off some warmth.

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  Chapter 21- Part Two (final)

  Jenning's Revenge and the Vicar's Retribution

  This inventory of the room took very little time. I went over to the door to listen out. Would I be able to hear the vicar's approach? The stairs had a door at the bottom, presumably locked so I assumed I would hear him ascend those. I really wanted to get into bed and warm myself up but knew I could not accomplish that and be in position, the bed properly made, in the time it would take him to ascend the stairs. So I curled up on the floor next to the chimney breasts to try to get some warmth.

  In any event I did not have long to wait as I heard a key turn. I scampered quickly into position at the end of the bed and held my breath, then exhaled slowly. I heard his footfall on the stairs and then the creaks as he came up. I did not dare turn as he came in. I tried to make out what he was doing as various things were being put down and moved about.

  Still he said nothing. I could feel him looming behind me, then felt a hand on my neck, which pushed me down over the bed. It let go and removed my hands from my head.

  “Place your hands flat on the bed, and put your head on the bed too. Bend right over. Keep your legs straight and together”

  The bed had a high bed rail over which to bend and provided the support. With my head on the bed I could see little but my bare thighs tightly clasped together through the iron bars of the bedstead.

  I then felt something touch my bottom and braced for what I knew would be the first stroke. But not yet, another touch and another, so I tensed and tensed and then,

  “Whhhhhaaaaaack!!!!”

  A hard and sharp cut across my upper legs or lower bottom made me yelp.

  Then he gave me another much like the first and I ow'd and slightly whimpered, wiggling my legs slightly as if to shake the pain off.

  “Keep still.”

  The third was more usual, on the main part of my bottom and the fourth. But all were hard and painful taking my breath away. He then practised his caner's art in covering all parts of my backside with well laid on heavy strokes. At number twelve he paused and I tried to recover some composure. Then something different happened and a quite different stroke landed “Craaaaaaaaaaaaaack”. This was no cane, but a strap of some sort, and it really punished my flank, biting in. Another five followed all burning into my outer right cheek. These really made me gasp and cry out anew, and want to move my bottom to the right and away from this terror. When eighteen had been delivered there was another pause. Then I felt something else cool and flexible and then another great “Whhhhhhaaaaack!!!” as some kind of strap or slipper tortured my underbum to right and to left followed instantly by four more in rapid succession so that by the end I was blubbing slightly at the intense pain.

  It stopped. There was silence except for my slight whimpers and crying.

  “Get into bed.”

  With the minimum of delay I plunged into its comforting warmth my bottom throbbing with the pain of my beating - sharp warmth and throbbing weals where the cane had cut. It made a real difference to lie on my side. I could not look at him and turned to face the wall.

  “It is now twenty-five minutes past seven. At eight o'clock precisely I will return to give you another thrashing and again at nine o'clock, after which you will sleep until 5 am when I shall return again. Tomorrow every hour on the hour I shall administer some sort of corporal punishment to your bare bottom. If you have need of any diversion in the intervening periods I commend these to you. Tonight you will have no supper. Over there are some items to contemplate and these others, all of which will be employed on you.”

  Placed next to the chair was a galvanised bucket in which rested some bundles of birch twigs and he laid on the wooden chest a formidable set of canes, straps and slippers.

  He departed leaving a Bible on the table and two Latin texts Caesar and Livy.

  I cried into the pillow for a while then tried to sleep but could not. However toughened I had become through my experience at the Old Rectory and at S----------- the cold hard determination that this man had to break me down was getting to me already. My sore throbbing backside, accentuated by the roughness of the blankets, and my nakedness underneath them and in front of him, the Spartan austerity of the room, the long wait between inevitable punishments, all oppressed my usual resilient , cheerful, self and I felt wretched.

  How much more would I have preferred the warm intimacy of a spanking and the Dame's determined care, which had a certain kind of love in it. Even my fagmaster's ferocious canings had, underneath, genuine mutual liking and respect. But this minister's original chatty openness had disappeared and had been replaced by a calculating automaton determined to exact horrible revenge for his snowy experience and tumbling.

  At eight o'clock - or at least I assumed it must be then, he returned, turning up the gaslight to its full brightness.

  “Get out of bed.”

  He sat down on the only chair in the room, beckoning me over. I stood between his knees, trembling and vulnerable and feeling the chill of the air after the warm comfort of the bed. He placed his hands on my hips and twirled me round , then pushed me in the small of my back to bend over. I could feel his hands exploring my buttocks, examining my weals and marks, testing their resilience and capacity. His hands were like a doctor's, clinical and unaffectionate. He did not recoil from making a more intimate and interior examination of my bottom either, which made me gasp, nor from examining the other more private parts of my anatomy in some embarrassing detail when he turned me round again, telling me to put my hands upon my head while he did so. When he had finished he removed some rubber gloves which he had put on for the purpose while I had been facing away from him. He stood.

  “Kneel down at this chair.”

  I knelt in front of it.

  “Tuck your knees in straight, legs together and lie with your stomach on the seat and your bottom stuck out and up. Grasp the rungs with your hands and stay still.”

  I needed to hold fast onto the rungs to maintain this strained position.

  He then walked over to the chest, removing the instruments laid out on it. I could hear him unlocking it and rummaging about inside. Then it was closed, locked again and the instruments replaced, or so I assumed from the noises.

  All this time I knelt there, my bare bottom thrust out, inviting whatever he was to inflict upon it. I expected to feel some fiery stroke at any moment but none came yet.

  Instead he bade me lift my bottom so my knees were raised and inserted a cushion or bolster of some sort underneath so when I lowered my bottom again it was raised up without my having to tense. Then I felt him attaching things to me - a strap or belt of some kind was placed round my ankles and drawn tight. Then a longer belt was laid across my back and under the chair pulling it tight, so I grunted, holding me in position. He loomed over me and I could see in his hands he now held a bushy and mighty looking birchrod.

  Thus secured, my hands no longer needed to grasp the rails so I let go and for some unaccountable reason instinctively put them to my bottom , in a protective gesture I suppose.

  He grunted to himself and unaccountably laid his hand gently on my head saying,

  “Oh no - that will not help you my boy - not in the least.” I looked up at him imploringly. Inside I did not want this whipping for all that it was clearly inevitable.

  But my involuntary gesture cost me any further liberty of movement as my hands were moved round to the back of the chair and secured with another strap by the wrists. Now I could hardly move and my bottom was at a raised angle. I could hear him swishing the rod to remove droplets of water.

  Then it began. First the damp tickle as the rod was laid against my bare buttocks and then the first stroke, whistling down and flaying my right cheek, flank and upper legs. Thus secured I could not move and so the pain seemed the greater. My humiliation certainly was, to be so naked and kneeling before him to be whipped.

  I could not count the strokes beyond twelve - not knowing how many there were to be and not being required to count meant that each swish of the rod and subsequent pain and anguish became all I knew. I gasped and “aah'ed” and “eeeh'd” throughout and squealed, so that when of a sudden it ended I could only breath heavily, crying, and lie there still hoping it was really over.

  There was a deep silence, broken by the splash and “thunk!” as the rod, obviously still serviceable, was returned to its watery - I assumed briney - storage place.

  From somewhere he obtained a towel and wiped down my quivering , smarting buttocks before releasing me from my bonds.

  I then suffered a full repeat of the earlier examination with its more intimate and horrid accompaniments before being escorted back to my bed. Without a word he tucked me in and left.

  I was too exhausted, vilolated and defeated to cry much more by then.

  He returned for the third and last time that evening at nine pm.

  His pleasure, and my pain, this time was to have me spreadeagled full length on the bed, with my ankles and wrists secured to the iron bedposts with straps while I rested my loins astride a pair of pillows. In this position he alternated strokes of a long thin tawse and a lithe thin cane. Again I lost count but the score was well over twenty. To be secured once again, as if to say I was not courageous enough to take my punishment otherwise, was a deep humiliation and made it all the easier to let my feelings out.

  While I had been secured on a number of occasions at the Old Rectory that had always been in preparation for punishment never during it and with the exception of the time when I was horsed by a servant had always had to maintain the self discipline to stay in position.

  The variation between the sharpness of the cane - which he laid from right to left so whipping an area unused to contact with a cane's tip - and the painful business end of the tawse had me biting the blankets in pain and in tears and convulsions before he finished. My face was streaked with tears, my bottom a deep cherry red and striped and wealed with the strap, cane and birch before he finished with me. Then I cried myself to sleep, which was a blessed oblivion indeed.

  I woke with a start and a shaking and he was there again. It was not dawn yet for it was January and I shivered as he had me out from my bed. He watched while I made my ablutions with the fresh water he had brought and then he escorted me down one flight of stairs, still naked, to the bathroom to complete my toilet. In the bathroom was a bath steaming full of hot water into which he made me go. My bottom stung terrible and I gasped and winced but he said hardly a word.

  There he washed me and scrubbed me, much as the Dame and Perkins had done, though even less gently. A fresh warm bath towel was provided and in order that I might not catch a chill a warm woollen dressing gown, which I wore to return to my prison and punishment cell. While he had been attending to me a maid had brought a modest breakfast of bread and butter and milk, which he then left me to eat, still clothed in the dressing gown. It helped assuage my hunger but only just.

  The maid eventually came to fetch the breakfast things and also the robe.

  “Master says you are to get back into bed and give me the dressing gown so hop in child.”

  Not wanting to give yet another servant more embarrassment than necessary I did this as quickly and discreetly as I could, turning away from her as I disrobed. However she can hardly have failed then to see the angry marks resulting from the previous night's encounters between various straps and rods and my backside.

  At six am he returned and my brief period of comparative calm was over.

  This time I was required to take the cane in a classic touching toes position, in the centre of the room. He used a medium strength cane but a very flexible one so it did not bruise but cut and sting painfully, so my bottom now had some distinct slightly seepy cuts on the crown where he had laid on. I kept this position as stiffly and as immovably as I could manage. Though he did not reduce me to tears I made noise enough and the comparative freedom of an unfettered punishment was welcome to me.

  At its conclusion I was not permitted back into bed, which I now had to strip and fold the blankets before he left. Instead of standing in position I had to perch on the high wooden stool which he placed in the centre of the room, bent forward with my hands grasping my ankles. In order to accomplish this my bottom had to stick out at the back so I really sat on my thighs. Using some straps he secured my hands and ankles so I could not descend from this penitent position. Then he left. This was uncomfortable and humiliating.

  So it was in this position, at 7 am, that he found me on his return. He released me and let me stand which was a great relief for my aching and cramped limbs. My beating on this occasion was of a slightly less cold character. He grabbed me by the ear and moved over to the bed placing his foot on it at one end, bending his knee. He then hoist me over that knee so my elbows rested on the mattress and my head nearly so. My bottom therefore rested right on his knee and my legs dangled in the air.

  Then he walloped my behind two dozen times with a heavy black leather strap or paddle making much noise as it landed. It hurt but soon I felt numb as it landed repeatedly in the same places on each side.

  When he had finished this I was helped down from this position and made to stand in a corner of the room in the usual manner until the next time. The lights were turned right down so it was dark despite the slow dawn creeping through the single small window.

  I was beginning to feel cold again too having spent over an hour quite naked now and rubbed my arms and legs to get circulation going. There was a noise on the stair so I assumed it must be him again, although it did not seem an hour had past. In fact it was not him but the maid again fetching an oil stove which was intended to bring some warmth to the room. She left this and departed without a word. I felt very lonely and forlorn, and as I was so cold went over to the stove and tried to obtain some of its radiated warmth. My backside felt warm. It was the rest of me that was chilled.

  I had to judge when the time was likely to be up so returned to the corner earlier than I needed to but at least felt not quite so cold, particularly as the warmth from the chimney also began to come through with the household fires being lit.

  At eight am another more demanding whipping was imposed. I had to return to the position on the stool and there with my bottom well stuck out receive several dozen of a very bushy and stingy birch rod which concentrated, by the nature of the position, on the middle and upper part of my buttocks - which were tightly presented. It stung terribly and I cried out a lot.

  I was not restrained this time and because I had to be well back to avoid falling off as I grasped my ankles, presented myself only too readily for this punishment. The effect of this, because of the angle, was to inflict many nasty deep red small weals on the upper left and right and centre of my buttocks.

  When back in the corner I could twist myself to see the redness on the upper part of my backside and of course could feel the marks plainly.

  By now the Vicar had inflicted six thrashings on my bare bottom in just over twelve hours and it was only past eight o'clock. How many more?

  At nine he whipped me kneeling on the bed my head down and my bottom up in a reprise of the piano stool position, his thin cane doing deadly work.

  At ten he had me lie on my back on the bed and then with my legs in the air and held back by him applied a smaller birchrod to my exposed bottom and upper thighs. It stung in an infuriating fashion.

  At eleven he had me bent over the stool for a severe caning, my legs apart and gripping the rungs tightly. This made me yelp.

  At twelve it was the strap again, this time bent over grabbing my ankles legs wide apart, only twelve strokes but each one penetrated.

  He said little at each of these whippings, except to issue instructions and to tell how and where to stand, sit, lie or kneel afterwards.

  After the last as he was about to leave, and as I sat on the floor hands round my knees, my still throbbing bottom in painful contact with the hard wooden floor, as required, he said,

  “I am otherwise engaged for the next few hours at the Rural Dean's for lunch so will not be able to inflict your punishment at the usual hour at one pm. I am sure you will find my substitute no less effective.”

  I assumed this would be his wife although with the Vicar going to the Rural Dean for lunch surely his wife would accompany him? Perhaps the captain would put in an appearance. Could I prevail on him to rescue me from this hard penitence?

  I waited and also hoped for some lunch myself. That did arrive - the maid again, who left a tray at the top of the stairs. It comprised some sandwiches and more milk and some cake so I suppose it was not so sparse and I gulped it down.

  I also felt another urgent need and as the maid did not appear to have locked the door - I could not recall a click I tip-toed down the stairs to see if I might employ the bathroom rather than the primitive means allowed me. Sure enough it had been left unlocked so I then tip-toed to the bathroom and was able to enjoy some privacy and comfort for a short while.

  I took the opportunity to examine my tortured bottom in the mirror - it was deep red, crisscrossed with marks and weals. the outer edges , my lower back and upper thighs were all welted with the characteristic birch bud weals and several cuts still glistened where the cane had cut the skin. My skin was hard and lumpy in places and very sore. The marks of the tawse were very plain to see. Altogether my bottom was a battlefield. I cleaned it up as best I could with soap and water and gave myself a good stand up bath before returning to the room.

  It was only just in time that I resumed my position of penitence on the floor for I heard the door open and the stair's creak.

  In my prescribed position I faced away from the door so suppressed my curiosity to turn around and identify my next tormenter.

  Tormentress it turned out to be!

  “We meet again young Master Perceval.”

  It was the lady - the headmistress I had encountered the night before in the hallway!

  “Up you get so I can take a look at you.”

  I leapt to my feet still with my back to her.

  “Face me. ”

  I did cupping my hands in front of me.

  “Now none of that - put them on your head so I can see you properly. That's better. Yes still only a boy - quite a little boy too aren't we.?”

  She said this in a cloying and cruel and taunting manner. It was cold after all........

  I saw no reason to say anything. She approached and pulled up the chair which she enveloped with her person, rather than sat on. Pulling me towards her she then repeated the inspection I had undergone at the Vicar's hands only more slowly, more painstakingly, and in the more intimate parts less softly and more thoroughly, so I exclaimed at times.

  “Oh dear we don't want to hurt you - at least not there - but we do want you to have a very sore bottom - oh yes. It's not sore enough yet but it will be. As I told you yesterday a good smack on a little boy's bottom works wonders.”

  At that she hauled me round to the side and over her capacious lap so my feet were off the ground - in a classic spanking position.

  From somewhere she removed an instrument - a large wooden backed brush which she held in front of me.

  “This is what naughty little boys really need - a good hard spanking with the brush on their bare bottoms.”

  With that she placed it against my left cheek raised it and “SPLAAT!!!” it landed with a great noise and I yelled for it was a large brush and she had a heavy hand and I was already very tender. That of course encouraged her and she continued alternating smacks and at increasing speed onto my bottom.

  As anyone who has ever experienced such treatment will know there is ultimately no stoical way to take such punishment. Even the toughest and most hardened culprit will eventually succumb to the remorseless and painful application of the large hard wooden backed brush. I was no exception and already well weakened by the catalogue of whippings and thrashings that had already been delivered, so before very long I kicked my legs and “oo”d and “ow”d and “a-a-a-h”d. It was to no avail and so I dissolved in sobs and tears and wails. This did me no good for she kept it up, albeit slightly slower, in order to keep me in that condition.

  I had no idea how many whacks she gave me - it must have been over 100 and me bawling my eyes out for most of it. When eventually she allowed me to get up I could only rub my eyes and my bottom at the same time. I had no strength to resist as she bundled me over to the corner again where she left me. But not for long for she returned with a small stool - one just about capable of taking me and made me sit on it. My knees came up to my chest!

  “There, that's one of my “naughty stools” that I put naughty little boys on after their bottoms have been smacked. It's plain to me you have not been treated as a naughty little boy for some time and it's obviously needed. I must have a word with this lady when she returns.”

  While she could not possibly know the half of it, in a sense she was right, since the Dame had not put me though the little boy treatment since before I went to S------.

  “I have lots of unpleasant treatments and punishments for naughty little boys. If you were to spend some time at my establishment you would soon learn not to play such big boys games. For now you have had just a taste.”

  So she departed and I was not sure which I dreaded more, her's or the Vicar's return. I felt more and more miserable and alone and abused and affronted than ever the Dame had made me. I longed for her kindly disciplinary embrace and the shared company of other boys in our torments.

  In the event at 2 pm or thereabouts it was the Vicar, once more but accompanied by the lady who carried a bundle. He summoned me from the corner.

  “I see and hear that Miss Jordan has been teaching you a thing or two in addition. Well this I have decided is to be your final instalment. In all you will have had twelve thrashings - one for each of then twelve days of Christmas, though I doubt their content would lend themselves readily to plagiarism and parody.”

  “Now I have the task of completing your correction with something firm and memorable. You have been caned, strapped, birched, and spanked. Your bottom is no doubt extremely sore and you may think you have few tears left to cry, but it is my intention to wring from you what there is left and on this occasion not in private . Later this afternoon I have summoned a special choir practice which you will attend in order to receive your final award in front of them.

  “Before then, as suggested by Miss Jordan, you will adopt a mode of dress and position that she recommends for her boys when they are to be publicly whipped. She has kindly consented to do what is needful. Miss Jordan?”

  “Now come here Henry so I can prepare you properly.”

  I was too miserable and wretched to protest.

  “First lift up your arms.”

  She slipped a garment over my arms and head. It was a sort of linen shift with short lace decorated puffy sleeves. She then bade me pull on some long white silk stockings which were horribly girlish and slip into some no less horrible smooth black, strap and buckled shoes. Then the final and to me most unacceptable insult some really frilly girlish knickers!

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” I rebelled and tried to get away writhing and wriggling and protesting until the vicar had to help her overpower me , lie me on the mattress and force them onto me. Once defeated I ceased to wriggle though got my legs thoroughly slapped by her first.

  “There now - that's more like it for a naughty little boy who is going to have his bare bottom whipped in front of his friends.” Once attired to their satisfaction I was frogmarched downstairs. I could feel my face going red and tears trickled down my cheeks at the sheer awfulness of this treatment - I was being dressed as a girl and it was really really utterly RANCID!!!! The shift was short - not much below the bottom and the frilly knickers had legs that came to about halfway down my thighs so it was obvious what I was wearing to any onlooker.

  Back downstairs I was taken to the music room and there further final indignities were heaped upon me. I was labelled with placards. On one side it said “A very naughty little boy.” and on the other “To have his bare bottom whipped.” They made sure I knew what these said. Then I had to stand on a small stool on one side of the piano with my back to the place where we stood to practice. My shift was pinned up behind and my frilly knickers slightly lowered to just below my bottom to bare it to view. A beribboned birchrod was placed in my hand and I was told not to let go at any price.

  It was in this condition that my fellow choristers found me when they entered at half past two. I could hear them whispering and tittering and giggling.

  “Harry's now a Henrietta!!” that was Jennings!

  At this point the Vicar entered. He addressed the boys.

  “Some of you will have been aware of the outrageous behaviour of a boy on Boxing Day. This is the boy who was responsible and as you can see he has already been punished considerably but before this afternoon is out you will witness his final castigation - hence his dress. When we finish the first half it will be my duty to take the birchrod he holds in his hand and whip his bare bottom soundly with it. I want you all to realise what can happen if you behave like this silly little boy.”

  The choir practice seemed to take an age and the Vicar, as if to emphasise the contrast, went out of his way to avoid correcting any boy however untimely and untuneful his contribution. He also took every opportunity to pass remarks about me and my circumstances.

  “See if you can get that note just a little higher - up to here where this little boy's bare bottom is.”

  “No that's too high - almost as high as this little boy will sing later when I whip his bare bottom.”

  “That's far too rococo and fancy like this silly little boy's frilly knickers.”

  “You're singing like a girl lad - what are you trying to do copy this silly little boy?”

  Of course had I had any feminine streak in me I might have found all this amusing but I was unashamedly a boy and glad of it so this treatment was galling and made me go red and sniffle at the gross humiliation, big tears slowly rolling down my cheeks. Never even had the Dame imposed this on me.

  “Crying are you - well silly little boys do cry just like little girls don't they? Especially when they're to get their bare bottoms whipped”

  Eventually it came to a merciful end and I hoped for release from this torture. But no quick thrashing was in store. While the boys broke for tea I was led into the hall and made to stand there again on the stool right in the middle. Eventually the boys boiled out from tea and back to the music room rushing past me, one or two of the less pleasant ones, pinching me or slapping me as they dashed past.

  Then I was alone and a long silence ensued until eventually the door to the room opened and out came the Vicar and Mrs Jordan. They indicated I should get down and go ahead of them into the room. There assembled was the whole household including Jonathan and the servants. This was just awful.

  There then followed an equally awful speech from the vicar to precede my final whipping. Suffice to say it said little that was new. When it had concluded the Vicar asked me for the rod I held which I gave him. He nodded and indicated down with his eyes so I knelt and kissed it as I had learnt and mumbled some suitable invocations to him to punish me as I deserved. I was then swiftly on my feet and hoist onto the butler's back. My knickers were pulled further down and I was presented to the company for the whipping.

  What followed is a blur. Oh he whipped me well enough. With a backside as thoroughly prepared as mine was he hardly had to exert himself. It stung and hurt and pricked and cut from the start and I cried and whimpered and sobbed from the start - and begged!

  “Oh please no - Ow! Oh Oh OH! - please don't no - AAh! aaah! no more please don't whip me anymore PLEASE!”

  And in like vein and in vain. I had been totally broken and he just carried on flaying my bottom producing more and more cries and tears, ignoring them completely. At the end he let go with the hardest strokes he could muster so I squealed and squeaked just like a girl and my public humiliation was now complete.

  When It finished I collapsed on the floor with so little control or discipline that I could not even kiss the rod. I had to be led away and then in the privacy of the schoolroom had my clothes returned to me by a servant along with my winter coat and scarf. Then, when I was ready, was shown the door by another servant and went, on my own, back to the Old Rectory. I cried all the way and on being let in rushed upstairs to the dorm and flung myself on the bed and just emptied my soul in sorrow. Nothing in my young life so far could match this for utter misery and self contempt.

  Even when the Captain and Eddie came to comfort me I was inconsolable. I knew then that what had been done to me was deeply wounding. It was not the beating itself - but the manner and style - the wearing down - the consistent humiliation and degradation and the final enforced feminisation. I had lost all self respect.

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  Chapter 22

  Letting the Side Down

  After the spectacular and humiliating finale of the Vicar's tour de force on my backside I kept to myself for the rest of the Christmas holidays. I could not be persuaded by Eddie to play joyfully or venture out of doors beyond the precincts of the Old Rectory.

  Compared to any experience I had had at the Old Rectory the twenty-four hours of solitary confinement and regular punishment he had inflicted significantly curbed my spirit and energies. I was a much less outgoing and lively boy for the coming half term than any master or guardian might have forecast.

  Even Richardson noticed it.

  “Have you taken a new year resolution Harry? You are most definitely not your usual self. Or have you gone all Pi? Don't tell me that we have finally worn you down last term? I shall be a little disappointed if one of the few juniors with spirit turns out to be a weed after all.”

  I did not feel able even at that stage - some two weeks after I had been subjected to the vicar's terrifyingly effective regime - to confide in him what had taken place. I certainly did not want anyone at S------- to know about that final scene where I had been made to wear such shameful garb and then hoist over a servant's back to flogged like a small boy - and had broken down weeping and begging for mercy. That was not the style I had established.

  The marks of course were visible for some weeks but I would not be drawn on them in the dorm the shower or the changing. room.

  But nor did I any longer feel able to carry on as I had been wont to do. It seemed as if the Vicar had in his way flogged all the impishness and capacity for mischief out of me - along with, however, any capacity for more acceptable lively activity. I had actually become highly averse to being thrashed and had a subconscious fear that any future misdemeanour would result in my breaking down completely the moment a cane or strap or birch was laid on me.

  I was, perhaps, in modern day terms experiencing a form of clinical depression. At the time it was more like the proverbial need to remount a horse once you had been thrown.

  So the term continued with little incident and activity as I merged into the background. I performed my fagging duties and my schoolwork punctiliously, punctually and perfectly for the most part, earning the odd black mark of lines or other impot but no more.

  One might have expected that the passage of time, the adventurous spirit of my friend O'Halloran and the demanding standards of the prefects would have ensured that I ended up inevitably on the wrong end of the cane eventually. However the longer I went untouched the easier it seemed to become. And those who took special delight in laying a cane on a miscreant boy's well presented bare bottom seldom had to wait too long to find a suitable alternative culprit.

  When the dorm had a late night riotous feast, it was I who remained abed and quiet. When Michael led a raid on another dorm It was I who stayed behind. They all got what they deserved out of these larks when apprehended but I remained aloof and untouched by skulking house pre's and their deadly slippers on these and many occasions. For all that I did nothing to protest my innocence and thus avoid punishment I did nothing to share it either.My previous term's popularity was quite reversed and even Michael began to avoid my company.

  Richardson became so bored with such an obedient and unlively fag that he passed me over to one of the more studious and equally undemanding members of the sixth, taking Michael on instead.

  In addition the throat infection I had developed after Christmas and so affected my singing voice that I was to be spared the attentions of our choirmaster for most of that half.

  That said in a school such a S------ even quiet good behaviour has its foes and a listlessness lack of spirit can then be reinterpreted as slackness and lack of pluck so my performance on the games field soon came to the attention of the head of house - my fagmaster Richardson in a different way.

  I had never been a rugger “star” in the previous term - I played and tried hard but seldom to any great effect but was at least “useful”. That had its merits however and was worthy of respect at least. However my desire to shun the limelight in any degree communicated itself to my hands and feet on the rugger field so that I ceased to be “useful” became marked as “useless” and finally considered a liability. This culminated in an inter-house juniors rugger match in the second half (that half-term was so short, only two days, that many of us did not return to our homes and guardians - including me).

  This was an important match because it counted towards the inter-house rugby trophy and we were not so over-endowed with physically fit junior boys that I could safely be dropped from the side. I was also well built for the game with a turn of speed so ought to have been as asset to the side.

  The night before the match, Richardson and two of the other House Pre's came round the junior dorms to encourage and harangue us. We were told how important it was for us not to let the house down. We were to play up and play hard and not slack. Looking at me Richardson said very pointedly:

  “I cannot help noticing a certain lack of spirit and of daring among ceratin junior boys and I should warn all of you now that no matter how well you have behaved this term it will avail you nothing if I feel the junior fifteen have not given their very best. I do not demand that you win at all costs - that would be un-English and against all we stand for at S-------. I DO demand that every boy give every ounce of sweat and toil and every morsel of energy in the attempt.”

  “If I should conclude that any member of the team has let the House down he can be assured of a prolonged and painful encounter with my cane tomorrow evening after prayers. AND if as a result we have lost the match I shall beat you all, but him, or them, if there is more than one the hardest. So you had better ensure that you are all playing your hearts out tomorrow and encourage the weaker brethren amongst you.”

  He quite definitely was looking at me when he said all this.

  After he had gone a few voices called out in the darkness of the dorm.

  “He means you ‘Purse’!”

  “If we get whacked 'cos of you we'll blackball you and put you out on the fire escape for the night!”

  “And throw you in a cold bath!”

  “We'll flush your head in the loo!”

  And many like threats that became more bizarre as they mounted. I did not fear them. I was as tough as any of them and there would be a few bloody noses and black eyes on them before they could match any of their threats. I did not relish the unpopularity however so resolved to make an effort.

  So came the match and cold wet windy March afternoon such as only Yorkshire can produce - enough to dampen any spirit. I knew inside that I lacked the deep fire to go all out but felt I should at least put on a show. I was in the three quarters near the end of the line and so could show some spirit by running a lot and tackling when given a chance. But the first half was a dreary drudge of a match.

  The ball came seldom out of a scrum cleanly and went dead in many of the line-outs so the three-quarters on both sides had hardly a touch of the ball save to try a few desultory kicks for goal of which we had one apiece at halftime - three all.

  In the second half after vigorous scoldings and dire threats by both house's pre's we all livened up and play became looser. Perhaps the tiredness of the forwards labouring in the Flanders-like mud had an effect too. So eventually with about ten minutes of time left we had an overlap as the ball was passed back along the line and open field in front of me - a quick dash for the line if I kept my legs moving and ran like the wind. Into my hands Michael flung the ball in as good a pass as you'd see on any schoolboy rugger field and my heart leapt - but not with as surge of power or spirit so much as surprise!

  Too long had we laboured in the field for nor reward and too long had my practice of the game floundered. So what was safe pair of hands in the slips on the cricket field proved far from that as the slippery wet and mud covered ball repelled itself from my hands and went forward. A groan went up from the House supporters and a cheer from the foe.

  “Wake up Perceval - fool!” That was Richardson's voice I was sure.

  “Peeeep! Knock-on - scrum down - Waverely's put in!” came the Games Master who refereed the match.

  We had not only lost the only chance so far to score a try (debatable though that might have been with over fifty yards to cover) but possession in the centre of the field. We returned to our positions and Michael gave me a scornful look which turned me inside out.

  What happened next was not really my fault at all as the scrum was not my affair but out of it came excellent possession for the other side and a break out by their backs who rushed at us threatening to do to us what I had singularly failed to do to them. In an unusual move for schoolboy rugby one of their backs passed a long ball missing out one man, the recipient of the pass then dummied and dashed straight for the gap to my right. I was of course busy heading to my left to cover the overlap that threatened.

  I caught the move out of the right corner of my vision and tried to change direction, swivelling round as I did and lunging towards him. As I did so I collided with Michael and we both went down in a muddy bundle slithering and sliding as we could only watch in despair the departing heels of out intended tackle making for out goal line.

  That was the only try and thus the decisive one. We gave a mournful three cheers for the winners as we slowly and miserably headed for the baths and showers in the house, fifteen demoralised, tired, wet and muddy boys who knew they were not going to hear the last of this.

  Sure enough waiting for us in the changing rooms were three of the house pre's with faces carved into pale stone and cold eyes. They had slippers in their hands and as each of the team emerged naked and wet from the shower they gave him 4 mighty whacks on his bare backside as he touched his toes.

  “That was just on account!”

  I was near the last and as I came out was grabbed by the shoulders and forced to bend over while one pushed my sodden wet-haired head between his knees. Another then gave me six powerful strokes which made me yell and yelp. Remember this was the first whacking I had had for over eight weeks.

  “I'd make it six from each of us Perceval but the Head of House wants his beating to be especially memorable.”

  As we sat dolefully dressing ourselves we were addressed.

  “You have let down the house and yourselves today especially one boy.” Pointing at me. “Tonight after prayers you will all report to the Library where we will beat you. Perceval will receive a Head of House beating. Until then you will all be confined to the house. There will be cross country runs for some of you before breakfast and any slackers from now one will have a cold shower in the morning to smarten them up. ”

  They left looking very self-important.

  Groans and hushed whispers followed and then silence and I could feel them all staring at me.

  I tried to protest.

  “I tried chaps- honest I did - it was just bad luck - could have happened to anybody - you know it could - come on chaps please....”

  But it was no good - they had lost when we could have won, they had sore backsides and more to come and threats of cross country runs every Sunday and regular cold showers. They also knew that every senior and every prefect in the house this term would lose no opportunity to harass, harry and chastise any and all of us for the slightest thing..

  They pounced and despite my efforts I could not resist. I was subjected to a nasty wet towelling which did not have any care as to where it landed so long as it was below the waist, then the upended me, and carried me to one of the cubicles where I had the horrible and ignominious experience of having the water closet flushed over my head and then be dumped unceremoniously on the hard floor.

  I showered again to get the imagined ordure out of my hair only to have some wag turn on the cold tap full while I was in there. When I eventually emerged they had all gone leaving my clothes scattered about the place wet and muddy. This was becoming too much to bear and I slumped on the bench and had a good cry into my towel.

  It was the first time I had cried since that last day at the Vicar's and so much came out that it was hard to stop. When I did there was no other sound but the drip of the shower taps. I raised my head to see a figure framed in the doorway. It was the Chief!

  How long he had been watching I could not say. He was puffing on that pipe of his and looking at me in a curious way. I tried to ignore him and got on with collecting my clothes and changing while he looked on. Eventually when I was nearly dressed he spoke.

  “Come and see me after tea. “I looked up at him. He had not said this in an unfriendly way but I now felt so hurt inside that I could not trust it. He must have seen this in my face for he said:

  “No I am not going to punish you. Whatever you have , or have not done today is not a matter for masters and I suspect you have already received more than a fair share of punishment for that.I want to talk with you. I want to understand better than I do. I want to help.”

  I thanked him and said I would come and see him. Tea seemed to drag on and although no-one had declared it I seemed to have been sent to an informal Coventry, which suited me as I was disinclined to talk with them.

  In his admirable book about Tom Brown the author muses that a reputation for steadiness once lost is hard to regain. So is with the reputation of a boy amongst his fellows for daring, bravado and devilry. I was now seen as a weak and unadmirable fellow altogether and the cause of much misery.

  After tea of which I ate little, I knocked on the Chief's door and entered as he indicated. He was sat in his great armchair that pipe steaming away and he offered me a seat on his sofa. He stared at me for a little while then said.

  “What has happened to change you my boy?”

  “Sir?” Boys are always the ignorant and unknowing rather than face the truth.

  “Now come on lad - you know you're not the same boy you were last term and I know boys well enough to realise its not down to a good thrashing and a lot of jaw and threats from me. I have eyes and ears and I know there is something else. All the Masters who teach you have noticed it. You do your work and are in many respects a model pupil but there is no fire there any more - you seem - only half alive - there's no joy in life in you any more. Have we tamed and subdued your spirit so much here for if we have that must be put right. We are not here to destroy character and spirit merely to channel and mould it.”

  I was lost for what to say. How could I describe how I had been incarcerated, and so terrorised and thrashed so that I hardly had a square millimetre of skin unlashed and uncut, strapped and caned so that I lost all composure and self respect. How could I describe the shameful and degrading circumstances of my imprisonment and the final denouement? No when its author was not only a clergyman but the brother to our own school choirmaster and padre..

  I tried to stumble out something.

  “I-its not the school sir. Its something..something..well sort of at home ...that...it ..well..that just sort of ..well..happened - sir.”

  “What sort of something lad - tell me. I want to help.”

  “I can't sir - its too..too..embarrassing.”

  “I see but whatever it is that is at the root of this change in you is it?”

  “I suppose it is sir.”

  “And what does that change signify - what is it that's changed in you?”

  “I don't want to be noticed sir - at least not like I used - not always up to tricks and things. I don't want especially..to..to..to be..to be punished any more! At least not if I can help it. I think...I think I'm frightened to be now. frightened of what will happen - of what I will do - I can't take it bravely any more.”

  It all came out in a rush as did some more tears at this admission. Out came some of the story too but rather garbled and incoherent.

  “So that is why you have been trying to avoid punishments and behaving as quietly and unnoticed as you can? And is that why you were crying in the changing room - because you are going to be punished for losing the match?

  “No not just that - though I suppose that's fair, in a way - although I did try today - but they all hate me now because they're going to be punished too - and that's not fair. If I've got to be punished as an example...well... even though I don't really want to be and even though I'm afraid I'll blub - well let them do it - but not my friends too. Let him punish me - as hard as he likes even if I do blub and make me go on runs and take cold showers - but just me and not them. If that's what happens I don't want to stay here any more - I'll hate it here - and I don't want to hate it really I don't.....”

  By now I had dissolved into incoherent sobs. The distraught tears and despair of any young boy are enough to touch most grown men's hearts and the Chief was no exception especially as he felt I had done no fundamental wrong that he could discern, rather the opposite, in that it was my demeanour as a well behaved pupil that seemed to be in part the cause of my misfortune.

  He came over and sat next to me and let me sob into his arms, just holding me and saying very little. When eventually I subsided he spoke again.

  “Well I am now a little wiser as to what has produced this change in your character, not unwelcome as it is, and I am sensitive to the injustice you feel about your fellows and I shall speak to Richardson.... No, No “(When I protested) “I am not going to do so on your behalf - I understand full well that you are not asking to be excused whatever personal punishment that is in store. Nor am I going to reveal your secret. I may tell him something however..no leave it to me..trust me. All will be well although I cannot promise you an easy rest of the term. ”

  “No I wish simply to ensure that in punishing others he is not planning to overburden one boy with more guilt than is either reasonable nor tolerable in a civilised school. Now that's enough. You must try to take your punishment manfully. You know - I know - you are able to and if you won't do it for me or can't for yourself perhaps you'll do it for the sake of the house and for your friends. If you take it well it may be Richardson will relent and spare the others overmuch punishment on your account. Show them that you can still take a good whacking when its merited and perhaps they will respect you again. ”

  I went away with much to think over.

  I could not know what had passed between Richardson and the Chief but later that evening in prayers I caught the House Captain looking at me strangely and not unsympathetically. My heart was still in my boots and I was ever on the edge of tears for all that. The peculiar thing was that I was so because I was afraid I might cry - human emotions are such a tangle are they not at times? We scarcely understand ourselves much less other people.

  At the conclusion of prayers a hush descended for all in the house knew a house beating was imminent and they all knew exactly why too. Prayers were said in the library of the house which was a large vaulted room - one which had previously been the school hall when the School House was the only one, so all the house could assemble there. All of us in the junior fifteen lined up at the front below the dais, glumly awaiting our doom and staring at our shoes and stockings.

  When the master's had departed Richardson spoke.

  “You will all know that today the junior fifteen lost in the house rugger cup to Waverley. You will also know that I and the rest of the Sixth are not satisfied that all those participating in that match gave their all. We had proposed to beat every single one of them here tonight in front of you all and to impose a more rigorous and strict regime upon the whole junior team for the balance of this term. ”

  “However I have been thinking further on this and have consulted the Chief” (Even then his potential skills as a senior civil servant were emerging - that ability to subtly distort the exact truth without actually lying!).

  “He agrees with me that the punish fifteen boys for the fault of one and for the rest of the term would be unfair.”

  This produced a stir and an audible sigh of relief, not just from the junior fifteen for the whole house below the sixth form felt at risk from the backwash of this affair.

  “He has also had the most ardent and sincere representations from the boy concerned pleading that he be the sole boy punished and even asking to be punished more severely as a result if that is what he deserves. That is not something I can ignore honourably and nor can this house. Therefore I am going to regard the matter as closed so far as fourteen of the junior fifteen are concerned. They each had jolly hard four whacks after the match in the showers which I feel no regrets about but that's an end to it.”

  A further more audible sigh and buzz went round the house. Some of my fellow juniors in the line waiting for execution bent forward to look at me and one held his hand out thumbs up. Several grinned and Michael, who was next to me, nudged me and whispered “Brave boyo - I knew you'd be yourself again one day.” I was still unsure on that score for while I was relieved that I had probably avoided undying enmity from my chums I had still to receive my Head of House beating and a more severe one at that plus whatever doom would be laden on me.

  One or two of the sixth maintained a stony look as if disappointed at this news. Some I knew would have relished the task of delivering a mass whacking to the bared bottoms of fifteen juniors, but that was not to be.

  “QUIET!!” Richardson restored order.

  “Just because we have decided it would be unfair to punish fourteen juniors any more than we already have done, does not mean there are not others whose backsides I would happily thrash here and now - including some of you if you don't keep quiet and stop fidgeting!” He glared at us in the front.

  “I also have the remaining boy to deal with. Perceval step forward!”

  I stepped to the front. He looked down at me all severe and authority - thus far and no further he seemed to be signalling.

  “You have let the junior fifteen down today. You have let the house down and you have let yourself down. You have partially redeemed yourself by your conduct in seeking to be the only guilty party in this affair and to have a more severe penalty as a result. I will grant you your wish. Step up here. Miles?”

  He gestured to one of the other prefects who with a colleague fetched two chairs onto the dias, which they placed back to back. The intention was clear to me - as one who has had to adopt most conceivable positions for a beating and many inconceivable ones. I saw no sign of a cane but had no fears that one would not be produced.

  While the furniture was being arranged I stepped up and stood in front of Richardson - a young man whom I admired still for all that he was about to thrash my bare bottom in front of an audience larger than any I had hitherto had.

  “Go and stand in front of the chairs. “he said in a very quiet conversational tone. “And Harry,” He added “Don't let either of us down this time - please.”

  That helped me a good deal. I stood in front of the chairs. This was like a flogging except no birch twigs would flay me but a hard whippy three foot cane i the hands of a fit young man. This would not be easy for me even at the best of times. It was bound to be twelve strokes would it be more?

  “Proceed.” Richardson said loudly.

  At that one of the prefects stood behind me and told me to undo my trousers and then to put my hands behind my neck. I did and felt my shorts pulled down to my ankles, revealing as I have already said my bare backside as we wore no knickers at S---------. I was told to step out and then kneel on one chair going over the back and onto the other resting my elbows on the seat. This was easy as these were low curved backed library chairs. My knees would tuck in easily to the side of the curved back, resting on the leather cover of the chair seat.In this position as in so many others my bottom was both raised and tensed.

  I felt my blazer being raised and flipped over as was my shirt, so now I would be quite bare from my upper back to my long grey stockings and in front of the whole house - ready for the House Captain's cane.

  There was a prolonged pause, then the sentence was pronounced.

  “Ten would be the usual punishment Perceval but as you have asked to be made an example of you will take fifteen strokes, one for each of the team. Miles will you count please?

  So began one of the hardest slow painful canings my bottom has ever endured. Part of what I am relating is gleaned from Michael who watched every movement.

  Richardson took his time, extending the drama as much as possible to ensure the example struck home. He removed his jacket which one of the sixth held for him. Then he selected a cane from one of several held by another. He tested their resilience and strength, eventually choosing one that was of medium thickness but very tapered and long and very flexible, and with a bulbous handle.

  He then walked about on the dias examining me - his target - He made an adjustment to my shirt and blazer. tucking them in and up a bit further as if to expose more of me and make a more aesthetic tableau. In the same vein he bade me spread my legs a little further and go down more raising my backside more.

  Because the chairs were relatively low his stance and my position would bring the cane down as well as across my backside.

  Then a hush descended as he took up his stance and I felt the tip of the cane touch my backside slightly. The boards on the dias creaked as he adjusted his weight and position and I could sense him swinging the cane for accuracy.

  Then “WHOOOOSH!” “Thwaaaack!!!” “One” came Miles' voice.

  It was a clean cut right across the centre and on both sides of my bottom and then came the familiar throbbing sensation. I exhaled softly.

  At about fifteen second intervals he landed four more similar cuts each sharp and penetrating, cutting me or at least it felt that way. Then he chose a new area - my lower bottom which he attacked in the same way. Every boy watching in that room who had ever been caned by an expert would know instinctively what was happening and many would have felt their own backsides in sympathy. Five cuts there was excruciating and by the third I could not forbear to cry out a little and at the next two so that by the time ten strokes had been delivered I was fearfully anticipating each stroke. The sow pace of the caning made the anticipation so much worse.

  Another in the crease I felt would break me down and I did not want that to happen. Luckily the House Captain was an expert observer of a boy under punishment well as a crack shot with a cane. He shifted again and began to overlay the first five cuts, the first landing in the top right hand corner and then on down. The original weals seemed to throb again as so many intersections were formed and I found this no less difficult than the cuts in the crease had been. The score reached thirteen and I was breathing heavily at the sharpness and throbbing pain and the fear. I sensed another shift and felt that cane resting against my right cheek and sensed again its withdrawal and then a mighty blow landed so painful it made me buck slightly and I yelled “Aaaaaaah!”

  “Fourteen” came the sonorous voice of Miles.

  Only one more to come so I felt I had survived without completely disgracing myself. The last was like the first only worse because it felt as if it had landed in exactly the same place - which it had. And I yelled again but managed to cut it off sharp and screwed my face up to stifle the scream. “Aaa- !”

  There was a pause and so all could inspect the results and be warned the house exited in single file each boy walking past the dias, while I remained in position. So not only had over one hundred pairs of eyes witnessed my beating but all of them were able to inspect my bare well striped bottom at close quarters. This took several minutes before the hall was cleared and I was left alone with the Pre's.

  “Up you get lad. Fetch his shorts Miles.”

  He extended his hand and I responded saying “Thank you Richardson” in the time honoured public school manner.

  “Very good now put your trousers on and cut along to supper.”

  Before I could join the others in supper I need to inspect the damage. I was sure I had been cut and indeed several weals were oozing and needed staunching. Because of the length of time that had passed since last I had been whacked my bottom was already colouring deep black, blue and red where the cane had really struck home. I had some consolation in the thought that no one would need to ask me to show them as all ad seen for themselves.

  In supper (bread cheese and cocoa) the rest of the team and my dorm gathered round. Many were expressing their thanks that I had done what I had - I did not feel able to tell them that it had been the Chief and Richardson who had really been the ones to act. I could not comfortably sit on the hard bench in the dining room so stood throughout supper. This was commented on of course in a jocular fashion by many. Several older boys in the fourth and fifth made admiring remarks some a little fast in nature and suggesting my bottom had other appeals to them and I tried to ignore them. I suppose I had never given any thought to the urges that the sight of a sturdy and well developed thirteen year old's bare bottom and other parts might have on some boys. (It was a point I was to recall when i was a prefect and I resolved not to beat a boy bare in public again.)

  While I supped my cocoa most of the house came and went but towards the end in came Richardson. Quietly he asked me to come to his study. There he insisted on inspecting my backside and even put some ointment on it. His kindness and concern contrasted with his earlier stern manner.

  “I had to really beat you - there was no choice - any less and not only the whole house but the whole of the Sixth would have though me weak. As it was I had to be very firm with a couple of them who wanted all fifteen of you up there with your bags down for six - three at a time - with ten for you. ”

  “Thank you Richardson. I could not have borne it if the others had suffered any more because of me - I did try you now - honestly.”

  “Probably you did but having said what was to happen I had to do something. Waverley were up for six if they lost no matter how hard they tried and as it is their scrum-half got six for giving away that penalty we did score. One more thing I am afraid it is not all over for you. ”

  “What do you mean - surely not another beating ...”

  “No but the others want to push you harder. They think any of you may still slack and want to ensure that does not happen so you will be sent on few runs and have more than your fair share of cold showers to follow. Every Wednesday (games day) and Sunday before breakfast for you and any others in the junior fifteen they think are slacking. If they see what happens to you your chums will not slack and so they won't resent you. The rest of the house pre's may not keep it up of course - one of them has to get up early to rouse you and go out with you even of they don't do any running themselves and I've told them they should to set an example. I'll run with you tomorrow so they will have to then. And I'll take a cold shower too. ”

  This was enough to make me grin.

  “Of course just because we take a cold shower after a run that doesn't mean we can't have a hot bath after that. O'Halloran can run me one for our return and you can share that if you like!” Then I did smile properly, perhaps genuinely for the first time that term!

  The next day I was roused at 6 am by Dobson my dormitory prefect and escorted to the changing rooms in my pyjamas and dressing gown where I changed into my PT kit. In those days it was no more than thin plain cotton shorts, a singlet and white pumps (no socks) - little enough to keep out the penetrating cold and damp of the Yorkshire Spring.

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  Chapter 23

  The Tumbrils Roll

  My stripes from the night before were still tender so I took note of the pre's threat to add a few more of his own if I slacked at all. Just as he was about to propel me out into the cold for four rounds of the circuit we were joined by Richardson. He had chosen to wear the same kit as I wore, for all that he would have been fully entitled to be more warmly covered than I.

  “That's fine Dobson, I'll take over from here you get back to your pit there's a good fellow! Come on young 'un lets see some life in you.” and he slapped my behind playfully.

  Such a run is one of the most tedious and horrible of experiences. To keep warm you keep moving but the movement itself has a pace and pattern that numbs thought. Fortunately my companion was well able to maintain a good pace without losing his breath and conversed with me most of the way, which received the boredom. I was not able to say much in response as even his gentle pace was a demanding one for me.

  The course started off round two sides of the main rugby pitch and then crossed the drive into some woods , from where it re- entered the sports grounds via a long spinney. In the woods and spinney it was of course muddy and slippery underfoot and I lost my footing several times and fell on my face or backside so I was very wet and muddy by the time we had done three rounds.

  Richardson spent much of the time telling me what he expected of me and of the juniors from now on. Of me, he said:

  “You may have turned over a new leaf as far as the masters are concerned but that will not do for me. Getting up to tricks and mischief and taking what comes as a result is what being a lively junior here is all about. I already know you well enough to see that this “pi” style of yours is out of character.”

  “I've decided you shall fag for me again and I want to see some real improvement for the rest of this term. More energy, more life and if that means the odd whacking for stepping over the line a few times what's so bad about that?”

  Just then I would have willingly substituted any whacking - even the Vicar's for this early morning run. S----- had found something I disliked infinitely more than being beaten regularly.

  When at last this torture was over I had another to face - the cold shower. Custom was you had to stay under fully for at least two minutes and the powerful jet made me shiver and yell in shock! I had not done my two minutes before Richardson joined me under the same jet, which had the advantage of covering me from the worst of the shower - he being so much taller than I. He stood there stoically so I tried to emulate him.

  Once the time was up he ruffled my hair slapped me playfully again and said.

  “Come on - lets get into the nice hot bath that the Irish hellion has so kindly drawn for me.”

  As Head of House Richardson was allowed to use the single private bath cubicle - all the others were in pairs - and so we could share it without anyone else knowing. It was one of those great deep ones you seldom see nowadays with plenty of room for both of us to soak together and get the chill of our bones. It was a pleasant and slightly exciting experience to share this intimacy with a young man whom I worshipped in many ways. His strong hairy masculine physique was such a contrast to my own still smooth unhairy boy's body. When I remarked on it he said - “Another year or so and you'll be changing - don't be in too much of a hurry. Anyway I like you the way you are. I's sooner wallop a smooth junior boy than a rough hairy senior one!”

  Throughout he also kept on at me.

  “I'm not disposed to do this every time you are out on a run so you'll have to get used to the cold shower afterwards but I want you to know I believe its for your own good. If Dobbie has to whack you for slacking I want to know as I'll repeat the dose and twice as hard. ”

  Back in the dorm everyone was dressing when I returned and Dobson looked me hard over.

  “You took your time didn't you? When did you get back from the run? ”

  I told him and explained that I had been with the House Captain throughout.

  “That's as may be but on Sunday you won't be and you'd better get round and back here before the rising bell or you'll take six on the spot.”

  The coming weeks revealed, even to me, that I had passed a critical point that day of the rugger match and that same memorable evening when I had been thrashed in front of the whole house for letting them down. My experience at the Vicar's had destroyed my pride, my self respect and my self confidence to such an extent that shock treatment such as that had been needful. Restored to my chums' good opinion and with increasing sympathy from them, as I regularly pounded the school circuit and suffered under the cold shower, I became almost my old self again.

  On one or two occasions I was not then only sufferer pounding the track as some “slackers” were detailed to join me. There were several occasions too when the run was preceded or followed by six with a slipper for some conceived lateness or lack of sharpness on mine or our part. Invariably if the other boy got whacked so did I as part of my treatment. I have to say these whackings were not delivered with any softness where I was concerned and after each the House Captain would follow it up in his study with six stingers of his own, with my shorts removed, to repeat the lesson.

  While one might have thought such a regime oppressive and in its own way as awful as that imposed by the Vicar it did not feel that way. It was not a lonely path I trod nor one lacking in warmth and human understanding - just persistent and determined.

  It produced results. Not only was I fitter and hardier I felt more inclined to give that little bit extra on the rugby field. It was too late for the inter house match with Waverley but not for the remaining two matches which we narrowly won in both cases. While I did not distinguish myself by actually scoring I did manage a few successful passes that contributed to it and a few decent tackles against the opposition. The odd pat on the back from Richardson and even Miles and Dobbie showed that even those whose main aim hitherto had been to warm my backside at every opportunity were beginning to warm to me in other ways.

  This recovery of lively spirit fortunately did not manifest itself in my classwork or in relations with masters. Perhaps because of the experience at the hands of the vicar I was still, inside, somewhat wary of the potential of some adults for inflicting deep and abiding pain, and I was also grateful for the Chief's intervention so kept my head down below the parpet in class. Beyond the odd impot I went whack-free in the classroom.

  In other respects I was entirely my old self leading, with Michael, various forays and expeditions and larks which had various and different consequences. We were more careful than we had been to avoid detection and punishment so that it became more exceptional at least in the mass.

  For all that there was scarcely a Sunday morning that went past without two or three of us house juniors lining up outside the House Captain's study for a post breakfast whacking and there were usually one or two mid-week.

  Looking back we described this term as “the reign of terror” As the end of term approached there was one incident which certainly set the tumbrils rolling fully laden in that direction, and unlike that revolution, it was not our heads that were for the chop but our bottoms for the whop!

  There was a certain amount of rivalry between our Dormy One of junior first years and the slightly older Dormy Two and the practice of dormitory “ragging” was not uncommon - stripping the enemy's beds and distributing them all over the room. This happened to us several times and while the Pre's knew jolly well we had not done it ourselves they did not see that as any excuse for insisting we clear it up double quick or else!

  Quite a few collective black marks were earned that way and so not a few individual red one's in Richardson's study at week's end. We decided on a more interesting variant of this as our ultimate revenge, so one Saturday afternoon in the period after lunch and before the school matches we seized an opportunity. Many of the older dorm were in the junior school team and some who weren't had exeats or detention. We knew where they all were.

  So we pounced. We not only stripped the beds but collapsed them and removed them! They were not heavy and we had already worked out where to put all 6 beds - excluding the prefect's. (There were twelve beds in our dorm which was the largest). Three we placed in spare spaces in adjoining dorms, fully made. The remaining three were disassembled and the parts - bed ends etc hidden in the large double lockers. The springs and mattresses were doubled up on other beds so that a casual glance would not reveal them.

  We made sure none of the incriminating evidence was in our dorm and that all of it was deposited in the middle school college dorms. With twelve of us to accomplish this - two per bed it was done fairly swiftly.

  We had finished and were gathered upstairs in the boot room fetching our macintoshes and scarves before the match and speaking in hushed and excited tones, when Dobbie came along and looked us over suspiciously.

  “Whatever are all of you doing here at this time? You know you're not supposed to be hanging around in the house at this time of the day - cut along all of you and support the school - the match starts in fifteen minutes - anyone not there will be up for six in the morning.”

  We needed no encouragement and scooted off.

  The excitement of the match, which was a victory over the much despised R-------, soon drove our conspiracy out of our minds so that it was not until after tea that the great row began. Michael and I had just finished giving Richardson and his guest from R----- his tea and toast and had left him a contented man.

  From the warmth and safety of our common room we could hear voices raised and doors slamming, and then loud footsteps along the corridor. Then the door burst one and in came Miles, the Dormitory Pre of the other junior dorm.

  “Number two dormitory - come with me this instant - all of you.... Where are they all? ”

  For all we knew they were either still at tea on exeats or detention we all feigned ignorance of their whereabouts.

  “When I catch them they'll not sit down for a week - hey Dobbie....!” and off he went in a great funk and fury.

  Nothing much further happened for a bit. We dared not sneak upstairs to try to find out what was going on in case that aroused suspicion. Then, from the other sounds along the corridors, it was evident that some of the middle school boys were being rousted out of their studies to explain why their dorms contained such irregularities as extra beds etc. And there was even more banging of doors and loud voices.

  By now Michael and I could not resist the temptation and used the excuse of clearing away the tea things in Richardson's study to find out what was happening.

  As fags, we came and went as we pleased, although we knocked of course.

  “May we clear please Richardson?”

  “You're a bit late aren't you? Take three black marks - I'm too busy to beat you just now!” Then he returned to the conversation he was having with the several other members of the sixth there is his study.

  That was a blow for we now had six which meant a Sunday morning visit to his study for six with his cane and as we were his fags he would add another couple into the bargain.

  “So what have you found. Have you recovered all the beds?”

  “We have - they were all over the place - in at least three dorms and their lockers. Of course nobody in them knows a thing - they are all denying it like mad and the thing is I almost believe them. Their reactions were as surprised as mine when they saw what had been done - I don't think they were acting or if they are they are damned good at it.”

  “What about your kids Miles - is this their own doing.”

  “I'm not sure - most of them have perfect excuses - two are on exeats, two in detention and the rest were playing in the juniors match. And the dorm was perfectly alright just after lunch as I went there myself to fetch my slippers. I don't see how they can have done it themselves - and what for? ”

  “Well it certainly looks like the middle school have been ragging the juniors for a bit of fun, although my dorm is untouched. When was it discovered? “This was Dobbie.

  “At about four pm, by Matron, who came to me at once. “said Miles.

  “Yes that's curious isn't it Dobbie? ”

  “It would have needed a lot of work - six beds to move so quickly - perhaps they didn't have the time? I was up there myself at about two fifteen and there was nobody about then except my lot getting ready for the match and I scooted them out sharpish.” Then there wqs a silence.

  I could feel his eyes boring through me. Had they guessed?

  “Thank you O'Halloran and Perceval- you can take those and wash them later. ”

  Richardson suddenly dismissed us so our spying was curtailed.

  As one of the dorms not affected by this conspiracy we had hoped to avoid suspicion and so far....

  When the other juniors returned from exeats, detention and from games they had the task of reassembling their beds and remaking them and were full of grumbles and complaints with Miles overseeing the whole process, slipper in hand. The pre's had decided that in the absence of any clear culprits three black marks apiece to the victims was the only solution. As a result three of them at least were to be up for six the morning after along with Michael and I.

  The trouble with a successful wheeze is the burning desire by the perpetrators for the victims to know who was responsible and unfortunately one of our youngest, more unworldly, members could not help taunting one of them at supper for their poor bedmaking and reminding him of his appointment the next day.

  “Now you'll think twice before ragging Dormy One's beds!”

  I heard this exchange and inwardly groaned. Hastening over I grabbed the fool by the ear and hustled him off, threatening all manner of unpleasant things to his more intimate parts after lights out if he said another word.

  However this was enough to raise Dormy Two's suspicions which set them off on a rampage into our dorm. Going beyond tossing bedclothes off the beds they pulled drawers out and tipped their contents on to the floor and threw flour and water bombs. Such was their ire that they were still at it when we came up to change for bed so a brief melee ensued. We were smaller but more numerous and soon had them routed. But the dorm was a mess.

  Such clamour could hardly go unmarked and both Dobbie and Miles were soon on the scene. In the silence that followed as we repaired the ransacked dormitory we could feel them watching our every move then they whispered to each other and Miles left. We carried on with our bedtime preparations.

  “Get into bed and not a sound.” Dobbie left leaving the light on which was unusual. Then a short while afterwards came Richardson and Miles and Dobbie.

  They looked at us in almost unnerving fashion then Richardson spoke.

  “I think we have now got to the bottom of this - but that is but one bottom before we get down to others in this affair. We have been speaking to Dormy Two who we know for a certainty could not have ragged their own dorm today. They say that they ragged yours because it was you who did it to them. It all fits now - no - “I was about to speak. “Make no futile attempt to cover it up. This warfare has to stop and it stops tonight.”

  “As far as I am concerned both dormitories are guilty and so we will punish you all. You will all report outside gym at six thirty before breakfast. Miles, Dobbie and I will than take great pleasure in thrashing the bare backsides off all of you until breakfast. Good night and be warned - no more trouble or we'll have you outside my study after breakfast too. I'm already seeing three of them and two of you as it is.”

  “Now good night.” and with that he switched the light off.

  As you might imagine a gloomy silence ensued after this sentence was pronounced, with a dozen boys all contemplating the morning's promised doom and discomfort. After about ten minutes however I could not hold back my feelings on one aspect.

  “Hatfield, you little twerp!” in a stage whisper “This is all your fault for bragging off to Dormy two - when this is all over we'll jolly well scrag you!” And grumpily I went off to sleep.

  We and Dormy Two were woken by our prefects ripping off the bed clothes and harrying us out of bed just after six o'clock. We were told to put on our normal school clothes first - one or two boys in their pyjamas down there was manageable - eighteen was not.

  Sunday's at S------- was Scottish dress for chapel and lunch but we put our shorts on for breakfast normally so did so today - all in uniform grey knicker suits. When we reached the gym, before being allowed in the change we had to line up alphabetically. Dobbie, Miles and Richardson were all there in their rugger togs, wearing warm pullovers and spots caps. Dobbie was in charge at the entrance.

  Then one at a time he called us in to the entrance lobby to the gym. Behind the door and outside we could hear nothing but the eventual:

  “Whaaaack! Whaaaaack! Whaaaaack! Whaaaaack! Whaaaaack! Whaaaaack! “as six stokes of a slipper landed on the boy's backside. Very quick and very loud. I was in the bottom half, so about twelve boys had entered and had their bottoms slippered before I went in, which for all that, had taken less than five minutes. I was surprised to see only Dobbie there in the entrance lobby. I had assumed we were being whacked before changing to go on a run and that they were taking turns.

  “Take your shorts down and bend over.” No nonsense - no time wasted. It was certainly drafty in that lobby and I could hear echoing noises from inside the gym itself rather like...

  “Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! “as he slippered my bare bottom!

  Ow! He was getting into his stride alright! Gingerly I got up and began to pull up my shorts, my bottom stinging and throbbing as were my eyes with salty tears of pain.

  “No take them off and go through to the changing room. ”

  I removed them and he took them from me adding them to a pile of boys' shorts I had not noticed before behind the door. There was a small queue through the swing doors that led to the small hallway outside to the gym so I lined up behind them. I could clearly hear as each boy went in that another whacking was being delivered and it sounded like a caning.

  In the gym itself, which we had to pass through on the way to the changing room, was Miles a thin cane his hand. There on a coconut mat was a small gym horse and laid out in neat piles around it many sets of boys clothes right down to their shoes and stockings - no shorts of course.

  “Strip off and get over.”

  I complied, adding my own pile of jacket, shirt, tie, stockings and shoes to those already assembled. I vaulted over so my head lay very low and my groin just rested on top, my legs spread and stretching down the legs of the horse. Then I tensed waiting for the cane.

  Six quick cuts descended rapidly onto my raised bare backside making me exhale sharply.

  “Up!”

  I quickly pushed myself off and instinctively stood to attention, naked, cold and sore.

  “Into the changing room - go! ”

  I dashed for it and as I entered confronted Richardson towering there holding a slipper and a cane in his hands. behind him in a line and facing the wall were the preceding twelve boys all in their PT kit all with their hands on their heads and their shorts round their ankles.

  “Into your kit!”

  I hauled down my shorts and singlet and fished out my pumps - all still muddy from the run on Wednesday. When I had changed...

  “Shorts down and bend over touching your toes.”

  He then delivered 3 strokes each with the slipper and a cane before putting me into the line. It must have been another ten minutes at least before the final boy came through and they had eighteen boys all lined up, our well slippered and caned bare bottoms glowing in the early morning light.

  “Pull them up and about turn. Lead off into the gym. Lift your knees up! Double up! Come on!”

  Back in the gym there were several sets of apparatus set up, the horse, with our clothes still neatly piled, a beam, the ropes, and a bench. The three prefects formed us into three groups of six alphabetically - I was with Miles group to begin with - and we lined up, each group by a piece of apparatus, with the exception of the horse.

  Then we each in turn had to perform the exercise required, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs sometimes in threes. We then passed on to the next prefect and piece of apparatus

  Three of us at a time went up the rope and down again, three times each, so our arms ached and our legs chafed. If you were too slow you got a cut with the thin cane. At the beam we took it in turn to do a dozen chin ups. One lad who just could not manage more than six, had to hang there while his shorts were pulled down and six given to his bare bottom in compensation. At the bench it was pressups, feet on the bench and then sit-ups feet under the bench bar. The pressups were if course another irresistible opportunity to belabour slower boys backsides.

  We did two rounds of this course before we were lined up again eighteen of us behind the horse, some of us rather sorer than others all of us well warmed up and breathing heavily. Then we did vaults. Any boy who failed or landed clumsily immediately touched his toes for two and rejoined the line at the back until we had all doe six vaults across the horse.

  Lined up I could see from the clock that it was now about a quarter to eight and breakfast on a Sunday was at half past eight, so they would not keep us much longer surely?

  But first we had some jaw to endure.

  “I hope that has instilled some better discipline into you boys. Know this - what we have done we can and will do again for any and all of you and for much longer of we chose. Now into the showers - we've no time to supervise cold showers fro all of you. When you have dried off come back here and get your clothes on. You have ten minutes.

  We made a noisy shower of it relieved of the relentless pressure to react to this and that instruction and to take whatever whack that fell our way for failing to comply. Singly or in twos and threes we made our way back to the gym naked as we had left it to gather our clothes. Before that however each boy had to lie across the horse and have his backside inspected by the prefects who made all sorts of teasing and chilling comments as they did.

  While I was over the conversation went as follows:

  “Well I shall be seeing this backside again soon won't I Perceval - for your blacks - still plenty of room for a good dozen or so.”

  “Yes here and here “Fingers probed my cheeks, then slapped them gently.

  “You could whack this backside until next Tuesday and still he'd be back for more.”

  “Perhaps I should just whack him every day after breakfast and be done with it! Go on Perceval get your clothes on and cut along. I'll see you with the others at nine sharp.”

  So we sat uncomfortably in breakfast, our hair still damp from the showers, our limbs still aching from muscular activity and our backsides feeling the effects. Evidently most of the rest of House knew what had transpired - it being a previously used ritual called “Circuit Beating “and which had been used before when a group of a dozen or more boys were to be beaten for the same offence. We were subjected to some light hearted raillery and teasing and threats to flip up our kilts after chapel to inspect the results - which did in fact happen to several of us myself included!

  Some of us were quieter than others as we had our blacks to work off. These too were publicly known about. Names were pinned on the notice board outside the library and read out after grace by the duty Pre'.

  So as we stood for grace at the end out came a list.

  “The following are to report to House captain at nine....Perceval.... and so it went on.

  Outside the study door there were five of us juniors and two more senior boys - still in shorts you will recall because only the sixth wore longs at S---------.

  It was customary for all occasions, for either age or the alphabet to determine the order of things. But this time on approaching the line of boys that stood outside his door, Richardson indicated that Michael and I should move to the end.

  “I'll see my fags last.”

  Then the door closed and before long the first name was bellowed out. The culprit blanched, pulled himself up straight, knocked and entered. There would be a pause of perhaps ten to fifteen second before we heard the first stroke landing on the boy's bare backside. A six stroke beating lasted about thirty second with five second intervals or so. Thus in an efficient five minutes, five boys could be in and out with six smarting weals added each to their throbbing behinds.

  Richardson always boasted he could beat the whole house in an hour if he had to, but I doubted that even he could maintain such a pace.

  At any rate I did not have to wait long and was summoned for my penance. There was no jaw or ceremony, simply,

  “Stand in the middle of the carpet. Take down your shorts and bend over. ”

  He relied on you to raise your shirt and jacket sufficiently to provide him with a clear target. He would then beat you hard and accurately at an even pace each stroke much the same but spread.

  This time I got eight as I had feared and by now I was feeling mighty sore what with the eighteen earlier and odd ones and two's earned en route round the gym.

  Then in no time I was out in the corridor again rubbing my bottom and heading for a nice hot radiator to sit on (no such luxuries had ever been available at the Dower!)

  That morning the prefects had certainly earned their privileges. In Chapel in our kilts we could feel the results still, especially when we sat down on the wodden pews and afterwards some of the middle schoolboys determined on inspecting them so we were in turn upended wheelbarrow style while they admired the artistry.

  Later we decided what to do about Hatfield - the one whose blathering tongue had caused us all so much grief. While he had taken his full share and more - as he was such a weed in the gym - we felt something extra from us was deserved.

  Later that day he was discovered by two seniors in the gym who had sauntered down for a game on the fives court. He was sat, cross legged, in the middle of a coconut mat, stark naked, with his clothes scattered round about him. His hands and feet had been tied with his tie and his shoe laces and his stockings stuffed into his mouth. His face, most of his bottom and upper legs and most especially his privates were covered in black boot polish.

  He steadfastly claimed not to know who had done this to him. What we threatened to do if he should remember, you may imagine was much, much worse!

  Given what had already transpired I cannot imagine what would have happened had the Pre's decided to respond to this but for some inexplicable reason they did not.

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  Contents

    Table of Contents

    Chapter 1

    Chapter 2

    Chapter 5

    Chapter 6

    Chapter 7

    Chapter 8

    Chapter 9

    Chapter 13

    Chapter 14

    Chapter 15

    Chapter 21- Part One

    Chapter 21- Part Two (final)

    Chapter 22

    Chapter 23
    

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