## Barbarians and Philistines (M/m, M/m, M/mmmmmmmmmmm)

I've hesitated about relating this account, because it does me very little credit, and even today, over thirty years after it happened, I remain unsure about whether or not I did the right thing. On balance, I think I did - but it's a fine line, and it comes down to the issue of whether or not a person should be punished for breaking a rule that should, perhaps, never have been imposed. My view is that in this case, such punishment was justified - just because we disagree with a particular rule, does not give us the right to break it under normal circumstances. This changes if the rule in question is incredibly unjust - but in this case, I don't think it met that test.

I could probably spend a thousand words or more justifying my position, and in the end, it wouldn't matter because others will judge as they see fit. So be it. All I ask is that people understand that I did consider these issues then, so whether my decision was right or wrong, it was a decision based on my efforts to make the best judgement I could.

It was getting towards the end of my sixth form year when these events unfolded. I was 15 years old - I'd been allowed to progress through school at a younger age than normal - and I was Captain of my House and therefore largely responsible for its discipline. My House Master kept an eye on things and would step in wherever needed - but he did it only when the situation was serious. For relatively minor matters, he was most reluctant to interfere. I also had other responsibilities in the school - and one of these was editor of the student magazine. I didn't work alone on this, of course - I had a Deputy Editor, a Fifth Form boy from another House named Thomas Baxter.

I think a little bit of background is called for.

Now my school was, in general terms, a rather conservative place. Most of the boys at the school came from well off (or sometimes much more than well off) families and the school catered specifically to that clientele. Boys tended to be conservatives, so did most of the Masters. And I was certainly no exception to that. In general terms, at least - I was also fiercely in favour of issues like freedom of speech, and equal rights for oppressed groups, but that wasn't that unusual even among conservatives at the time. Overall though, I was a conservative person who believed in things like law and order, and supporting the military (this was during Vietnam).

Now, I'd become Deputy Editor of the student magazine when I was in Fourth Form. To an extent, I'd got the job because nobody else wanted it at the time. This was because the Editor was - well, he was our local version of a student radical. He didn't share the common views of the school on most issues. He was a Labor supporter, he was anti-Vietnam, he was a republican (in the sense that he wanted to abolish the Monarchy), and a socialist. His views weren't that popular in the school, and few people wanted to work with him because of that. I put my name forward for the position of Deputy Editor solely because I had ambitions to gain prominence in the school, and this was a way of gaining some publicly visible responsibility. I didn't really expect to get much real responsibility, because I knew my views would not match the editors and I assumed he'd keep me in the background. But to my surprise he didn't. Because while he had his own views, he really did want to produce a balanced magazine. And so he used me for that balance. He encouraged me to speak up if I felt he was leaning too far left on a particular article, and he let me write and tempered my words when needed. Eventually he quit the job of editor after an issue of the magazine was spiked by the Master-In-Charge who had to clear everything - and I found myself Editor.

The thing is, I'd learned from him - and so when I went looking for a Deputy Editor, I specifically looked for someone whose views were different to my own. Thomas Baxter fitted the bill very well. He was intelligent and competent, and hard working - and seemed to have dedicated himself to bringing down the school from the inside.

He was opposed to compulsory Chapel (I think he was most disappointed when it was made voluntary because it deprived him of the chance to protest every Sunday evening). He was opposed to compulsory sport. He was opposed to school uniforms. He was opposed to Latin. He was opposed to breakfast (though I never worked out why). He disagreed with the Prefect system. And he really, really disagreed with corporal punishment.

Most boys in the school either supported the way the school functioned, or at least accepted it. But most is not all. I was at the school in the late 1960s and early 1970s and while we were largely insulated from the protest movements of the time, we knew about them - and there were some boys in the school who embraced those ideas. And that was generally fine - the school saw part of its mission as creating boys who could think for themselves - and that meant having to accept that what some boys thought wasn't always what the school would have preferred them to think. Boys were allowed to think what they liked - but they were still expected to comply with the rules.

But it has to be said, there were limits on our freedom to think - because certain material was censored within the school. Some of this censorship was fairly straightforward and had been around a long time - there were bans on American comics and there were bans on any form of pornographic material, for example. We tolerated these bans fairly well (and circumvented them when possible in some cases, understanding and accepting the consequences if we were caught). Occasionally, though, something else was banned - and this wasn't always accepted.

And this account concerns one of those times.

Baxter was my Deputy Editor but he did nearly as much work on the magazine as I did. Partly this was because I wanted him to balance me and that meant given the same powers and authority, but partly it was because my position as a Captain, along with some other responsibilities meant my own time was fairly stretched. Baxter took on as few responsibilities outside the classroom as possible - besides his position as Deputy Editor - so often he had more time to do things than I did.

The magazine was run from a room behind the boilers in the main school building. It had a lockable door, and I had an extra key made which I gave to Baxter so he could get in there when needed. It was a small office basically with a darkroom off to one side, and a room which had the press in it on the other (it was a good press for a school). Now giving Baxter a key was... well, it was technically speaking something I shouldn't have done. Keys in the hands of boys (beyond small locker keys) were so rare at the school they were actually considered a status symbol. Keys were a sign you had access to locked places, that you were trusted. I should have got permission before getting Baxter a key - but I didn't bother. I didn't break important rules - but minor ones like this got broken all the time.

One day mid year, I had come into the magazine office and found Baxter sitting at his desk reading. This wasn't at all uncommon - as a Fifth Form boy, Baxter still had very little privacy in the school - he was still in a dormitory with either three or five others - and so when he wanted to be alone, he tended to be in the magazine office.

"What are you reading, Baxter?" I was interested - he and I shared some of the same tastes in fiction.

He held up the book so I could read the title - Barbarians and Philistines.

"About the Roman empire?" I asked.

"No, you idiot - it's about British education. About all the things that are wrong with Public Schools." He grinned - he knew that I held dear nearly all the things about our school that he did not. "You can borrow it if you like after I've finished with it."

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself - I think I'll pass it around though. It might wake a few people up."

I didn't think anything else of it.

Until a few weeks later.

We had a whole school assembly. These were regular events and were generally fairly unexciting. Occasionally a boy was beaten during an assembly and that livened up proceedings considerably, and we used to have to sing, and we'd cheer sporting victories. But most of the time at most assemblies was taken up with mundane matters of administration. Boys being informed of upcoming events. Boys being informed of changes to the bounds. Dull, boring, necessary stuff.

This assembly was unremarkable except for the fact that it was being lead by the Deputy Headmaster, Mr Keanes. Most of the time the Headmaster ran them, but occasionally, he was away, and by definition his duties devolved on Mr Keanes. When this happened with regards to an assembly, it was always a little hard on the Prefects. We were expected to move about the Hall, maintaining order during assemblies. The Headmaster would happily tolerate minor disciplinary issues - boys whispering to each other for example. Mr Keanes would not.

I was supervising junior boys - First Form boys - on this particular day, so I was up near the front of the room. I had the boys most likely to fidget under my control - First Form boys had less patience than older boys and were denied chairs to sit on as well - they had to sit crosslegged on the floor. Having them at the front meant they were most visible to the Deputy Head and I was aware that if even one of them attracted his displeasure it could potentially lead to the whole school losing their morning recess. And if that happened, everybody else would blame me. Or even worse, he might decide to deal with only the boy who attracted his attention - and I really did not need a 12 year old getting six of the best from Mr Keanes due to my lack of effective supervision, on my conscience. So I was walking up and down the rows of little boys trying to intimidate them (and surreptitiously sticking the toes of my shoes into their backsides where necessary), and only paying a fairly limited amount of attention to what was being said at the front of the room. Most of it was boring anyway.

But then the tone of his voice changed.

"And the final issue that needs to be raised today. It has come to my attention that a particular book has been circulating among the senior forms. It's title is Barbarians and Philistines. I have confiscated the copy I have found. I want to make it entirely clear - crystal clear - that if there are any other copies of this book in the school, they are not to be distributed. I will not tolerate the circulation of a book that compares schools like this one to Nazi Germany." He had my attention now - he was in full flow, and I have to say that I was reminded of film I had seen of Hitler's speeches as he gesticulated and spoke. Not that Mr Keanes was anything like Hitler (and I don't believe it was fair to compare the school to Nazi Germany) but at the time the juxtaposition occurred to me and amused me. "Those of you who have already read this book - well, it wasn't banned at the time, so you haven't done anything wrong. But it stops now. Some thinks go beyond... Mister Rysher, what is so amusing?"

I was right near the front of the Hall, right under his eyes, and I realised with horror that my amusement must be showing. I wiped the smile off my face, and hoped that would be enough. But it wasn't.

"I asked you a question, Mister Rysher."

"Nothing, Sir."

"Do you often grin at nothing?" There was giggling from the junior boys nearest me. It was fun to see one of the Captains getting told off.

"No, Sir."

"Then why were you grinning?" The giggling was spreading. He realized this and decided to move on before he lost control. "This is not a laughing matter, boys. But if anyone would like to continue doing so, I'm sure we can extend into recess." There was a subdued groan. "That's better." He stood silently for about 30 seconds. "Go on - go off and play."

I made sure the First Formers left the hall in a reasonably orderly fashion, then headed out myself and headed towards the School Captain's room - all the Captains met after such assemblies in case there were matters we needed to discuss. The School Captain - Jacob Campion - unlocked his door (he was the only boy in the school entitled to have a lock on his door) and we all crammed into his fairly small room. He shut the door, and immediately he had, clicked his heels together and raised his right arm, up and straight. "Sieg Heil." We all dissolved into laughter. "Jesus Christ," said Campion. "That's a bit rich, isn't it? Has anyone read the book?"

None of us had - although I was wishing I'd taken the chance when I had.

"Does anyone know where it came from?"

I nodded. "Yes - Tom Baxter."

"Ah - well, that explains that. Probably pretty hot stuff if Baxter is handing it round. He's almost as red as your face was at the end of assembly."

"Leave it out!"

"All right... look - we don't have any guidance on this. But it's a banned book - so I suppose you treat it like Playboy."

"Only for disciplinary purposes. Anyone who treats this book like Playboy for any other purposes needs help."

"Indeed. But we've got to deal with this somehow - and until we're told how, we have to make our own decision. Or we could ask for guidance?"

Mike Sharpe spoke up. "Is it really on, though? I mean, he said it was being circulated among the senior forms, and it doesn't sound to me like it's anything but political - should they really be banning it?"

"None of us have read it," answered Campion. "If we had, and we knew for certain what was in it, I might be willing to go to the Headmaster to protest. But I really don't want to risk a protest on something that might be much worse than it sounds. Especially if it came from Baxter. Some of these radical books - well, the way they get written even a book on schools can wind up pretty filthy. Look at what is going on in London." I should point out that this incident occurred at the time of the Oz trial in England, which a lot of us were following with some interest.

"Point taken."

The rest of the school day passed without incident. I was heading down for sports training after school when Baxter approached me.

"Rysher... could you help me with something?"

"If I can."

"Keanes has confiscated my book. I need it back. But if I go to him, and he finds out it's mine - well, I don't need a thrashing this week." Mr Keanes and Tom Baxter had a very acrimonious relationship. Baxter had pushed things way too far a year or so earlier.

"He doesn't know it's yours?"

"No - actually it's my Dad's - that's the point. Keanes is just as likely to throw it on the fire - and I promised Dad I'd take care of any of his books I borrowed."

"Well, if I go and see him - he'll ask whose it is - and when I tell him, he might decide to cane you anyway."

"Yeah... but probably not. He's not a bad bloke, really - if I go and see him, he's likely to whack me in the heat of the moment. If he has time to cool down..."

"All right - I'll see what I can do - just don't blame me, if you do get in trouble."

After sport, we had dinner - and Mr Keanes wasn't there. This was moderately unusual, given that the Headmaster was away. I had meant to talk to him there but obviously I couldn't - and I decided to see if he was in his study as soon as I left the dining room. As I arrived, he was coming out of his study wearing evening dress. Obviously he was going to some sort of formal dinner.

"Yes, Rysher?"

"Sorry, Sir. Didn't mean to disturb you. It can wait."

"I have a couple of minutes."

"Well, Sir, it's about the book."

"Book."

"Barbarians and Philistines, Sir."

"Ah, yes... do you know who it belongs to?"

I had been trying to work out a way of telling him that would be most likely to keep Baxter out of trouble. Mr Keanes was normally a very reasonable man - strict, certainly, and extremely severe if he decided punishment was called for, but fair and reasonable. However, when it came to Thomas Baxter, things were a little different. Back in Form III, Baxter had set up Mr Keanes. He'd engineered a situation designed to get Mr Keanes into trouble for using excessive corporal punishment. He'd backed away when he discovered that Mr Keanes was facing criminal charges - Baxter hadn't realised how serious what he was doing was, and how serious the consequences for Keanes could have been and when he found out he'd come clean about what he had done. But since that time, their relationship had been volatile. If Keanes felt provoked, he tended to overreact - if he had time to cool down, it was generally all right, but otherwise it could be nasty. Especially as Baxter tended to take it.

"It's a little awkward, Sir..."

"Awkward? Oh, I see..." Light seemed to dawn as he jumped to conclusions.

He unlocked his study, entered it and came back with the book. "I should have known who it belonged to. Look, Rysher, just don't pass it round, all right. I don't mind those who are capable of critical thought having books like this - but I don't want it just being passed around."

"Thank you, Sir." I decided not to correct his misapprehension, and headed off to the magazine office, when I found Baxter.

"Here you go."

"Cheers! Did you have any problems getting it back?"

"No - but make sure you don't pass the book around."

"I won't."

Periodically I got an exeat to go into the city to use a university library. The end of my schooling was approaching and I was working towards a selection of scholarships for further study, a couple of which required me to do some detailed papers. The school library was all right as school libraries went, but I needed more than that for these, and the school supported me as much as it could. Going to this library really meant a whole day away from the school, because of the travel involved. But on the Friday of that week, I obtained permission to miss my classes and travel to the University. I always felt self conscious wandering around the university - I had to wear my school uniform, of course, and I was so young as well. I got more than the occasional funny look. I stood out quite a lot. After a couple of hours of note-taking, I decided to go in search of food, and left the library. I'd barely got outside when I was grabbed from behind and lifted bodily off the ground.

"Nathan Rysher. What are you doing here?"

I couldn't see who'd grabbed me, but the voice was friendly and familiar and after a second or so, I recognized it.

"Put me down, Burdett. Please."

He did so. Jason Burdett. Last year he'd been a pupil at my school, now he was apparently an undergraduate. He was the former editor of the student magazine - the person I had been deputy to until he'd quit the post. He'd also been a Prefect - and as I turned around I saw his eyes dart to my blazer pocket. He probably suspected truancy (and, yes, often truants were stupid enough to wander around in full school uniform) and if I was truant, then as far as the school was concerned he still had a duty to report me - they couldn't enforce that in any way, of course, but it was expected. There was very much an attitude that when you went to our school, it was a lifelong thing. And it had the advantage (from the school's perspective anyway) that it helped to control boys' behaviour in public places. You never knew if there was an Old Boy around who'd report you. Or for that matter, a parent or ex-parent. It wasn't just our school either - those associated with other similar schools would do it as well. So Jason was expected by our society, I suppose, to do his bit - and that would mean reporting a truant.

He relaxed when he saw my insignia.

"House Captain? Well done." This changed things a bit - it was unlikely that a boy that senior in the hierarchy would be truanting - at least to the extent of being two hours away from the school.

"Thanks."

"Why are you here?"

"Scholarship study. Do you want to see my exeat?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I would."

I pulled it out and showed it to him. He gave it a cursory glance.

"So what are you doing now?"

"Getting lunch."

"I'll come with you."

We got lunch together and sat down to talk. He was very interested in the gossip of the school, and while we were talking the subject of the recent ban came up, and that lead to a discussion of the Oz trial. Jason was incensed at what was happening in London. I had to admit I couldn't venture an informed opinion because I hadn't seen the issue of Oz in question. He stood up.

"Come with me."

We headed across the university and into the area devoted to the colleges. It felt odd walking through the colleges - because I was surprised at how many people I recognized. The colleges seemed to be filled with Old Boys from my school and the other similar schools - and while I certainly didn't know most of the people I saw, I did actually recognize a lot of them. We headed into his college and up to his room. Once inside, he rummaged around his desk and pulled out a magazine.

"Here you go." It was the now-infamous 'School Kids' issue of Oz.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Never you mind. You can keep that copy. It's my spare."

"Serious?" I knew they were pretty rare.

"Serious - I want you to know what's going on."

I thought about it. There was no specific ban on the magazine at the school, but I was sure that they wouldn't be impressed if I was found with it. On the other hand, Mr Keanes had made it clear to me that he didn't mind me having material that was generally banned, as long as I didn't distribute it. Besides I wanted to read it. I'd heard so much about it.

"Thanks, Jason."

I read it that night in the privacy of my room, and decided the trial in London was a gross overreaction. In all honesty, I wasn't all that impressed with Oz - it didn't seem that high quality to me and it seemed to be based on shock value, and to be rather immature - even to me at age 15. Some of the content was offensive (not to me, but I could certainly see why many people would be offended) but it didn't seem bad enough to warrant a major trial.

I put it away in the bottom of my desk, among a pile of comics for concealment and went to sleep.

I spent that weekend working - I didn't have sport on Saturday for some reason and so I could work solidly on the paper I'd been researching at the university. I didn't pay much attention to other things that weekend - every spare moment I had was spent working.

So I wasn't aware of things going on that I normally would have been aware of. I was out of the loop. I emerged from my study bedroom only for reasons of necessity, that whole weekend. On Sunday evening, it was my turn to attend chapel - it was voluntary for senior boys, but we made sure that at least one of the Captains attended each week to help maintain some order, and this week I was rostered on. When this was over, I decided I wanted some fresh air - I'd been cooped up for most of two days. So I went for a wander around the bounds of the school - I couldn't leave it at this time of night, but my position as a Captain meant I could wander just about anywhere within the bounds - and they were extensive. It was probably nearly an hour before I arrived back at the House - and a friend of mine was standing outside.

"Hi, Nigel."

"Nathan - they're searching your room."

"Who is?" I wasn't worried - all boys rooms (except that of the School Captain) were subject to inspection, and it was generally cursory.

"Mr Keanes, and Mr Pinner. It's not just an inspection - they've gone through the place like a dose of salts."

The Deputy Headmaster and my House Master searching my room. My heart was pounding as I arrived. There was material in there, there shouldn't have been and I knew it. It was minor enough that under normal circumstances even if it was found, I was unlikely to get in serious trouble. But if they were going to the trouble of a full search, it was likely I was already in some trouble for some reason. Especially if they were searching on a Sunday evening - my authority in the House was important and they risked undermining it only under exceptional circumstances - I would have normally expected them to search on a Monday when nobody would have had to know it was happening.

When I arrived, Mr Keanes and Mr Pinner had pretty much finished their search. They'd searched neatly - really the only sign that there had been a search was that I could see that all my books were in a different order on the bookshelves. Mr Pinner looked at me somewhat apologetically, Mr Keanes looked very stern, and he was holding a closed bag, but he was polite. "Rysher - can you come and see me in about ten minutes?"

"Yes, Sir."

I went to the toilet - I needed to go badly - and then headed down to the main building to his study. I was nervous. As a Prefect I was exempt from caning under normal circumstances - but that meant in some ways that I feared it more than ever. If it did happen, it would be severe and humiliating - because it hadn't happened to a Prefect for many years (actually, that's not quite true - Prefects had been caned as part of group punishments occasionally - a whole class being caned for example - but that was seen as different from any other form of caning, and it was voluntary - the Prefect could refuse. It was just rather bad form to do so if everybody else was getting it. There were a couple of other similar exceptions - cases where there was no stigma to a minor caning. But for the most part, Prefects were only caned for the most egregious offences). I wasn't certain if Mr Keanes could cane me or not. The rules were clear that a Prefect could be caned by the Headmaster, his House Master, or a Matron - but the status of the Deputy Headmaster was never explicitly spelled out. I'm inclined to think he could - he had all the other powers of the Head - but the fact it wasn't stated clearly always disturbed me a bit. I've occasionally wondered if it was left obscure deliberately to heighten tension, but that seems a little conspiratorial. In any event, if he ever decided to cane me I was not going to argue. So I was nervous when I went to see him. I knocked on the door.

"Come in."

I stepped into his room. He was sitting behind his desk. On the desk in front of him were several items. Most prominent was my recently acquired copy of Oz, but there was also half a block of chocolate, and a couple of images of bikini clad girls - skirting very close to the schools rules on pornographic material, but probably not crossing it.

"Where's the book?"

"Book, Sir?"

"Barbarians and Philistines. Where is it?"

"I don't have it, Sir."

"Rysher...I am not in the mood for prevarication. I returned that book to you last week on the clear understanding that you would not pass it around. Now I find this." He picked up a piece of paper from his side of the desk. "What do you have to say about it?"

I didn't know what it was. "Sir - it's a bit of paper. I don't know what is on it."

He thrust it out. I stepped forward and took it. It was new - and I realised immediately that it showed all the signs of having been printed on our school magazines press. It was a long piece on discipline in Public Schools - which it described as authoritarian and Fascist.

"I found that in the hands of a third form boy."

"Sir, I have never seen this before in my life."

"Really... do you deny that it was printed on your press?"

"It looks that way, Sir."

"Do you deny it's from the book?"

"I don't know, Sir. I haven't read the book."

"What? But it's your book."

"No, Sir, it isn't."

"Don't lie to me, Rysher!"

"I am NOT lying, Sir." I said it in the firmest voice I could manage, and was almost sick as I said it, from fear that I would not be believed.

He paused and looked at me. "Rysher - do I have your word of honour on that?"

"Yes, Sir, you do."

"And, on the paper?"

"I have never seen it before."

"What about the copy of Oz?"

"That is mine, Sir."

"Then I apologise for my mistake - please sit down."

I sat.

"Who does the book belong to?"

"Sir..."

"Nathan - you are a Prefect. You are a House Captain. I know boys don't dob on each other, but this is a deliberate and significant violation of the school rules, so I am ordering you to answer my questions. Even your codes understand that."

"Yes, Sir. I realise that, Sir. But, Sir... I would prefer the opportunity to ask the person concerned to come forward voluntarily."

"Is he likely to?"

"Yes, Sir. I believe so."

"Very well, then. But before you go, would you care to explain why you have Oz in your possession?"

"I was curious, Sir."

"You know you shouldn't have it."

"Is there a rule against it, Sir?"

"Rysher - please don't try and play that game with me. You are fully aware that whether there is a specific rule or not, that that would not be acceptable. Or do you deny that?"

"No, Sir. You're right, Sir."

"Has anyone else seen it?"

"Not at the school, Sir."

"Very well. I'm confiscating it - and I will burn it. And I'm fining you five dollars."

"Sir." Five dollars was a lot of money. Except for the fact that it would be utterly humiliating to my authority to be the first Prefect caned in two decades I would have rather had six of the best. "What about my pictures and chocolate, Sir?"

"I won't fine you for those, but they will be disposed of. Now, you can go. I expect the owner of the book to be here in fifteen minutes - or for you to return and tell me his name."

"Yes, Sir."

I left the building and headed across to Baxter's House. I walked in, and when challenged by a Prefect for my invasion, informed him I was acting on Mr Keanes' orders and I needed to see Baxter. He accepted that and escorted me to his senior Common Room.

"Baxter - I need to speak to you."

We walked outside.

"What is it, Rysher?"

"Mr Keanes wants to see you. About the book - and about the pamphlets you've been handing out."

"All right - I knew he'd find out eventually. Why has he sent you, though? I thought he'd get me himself."

"Because he doesn't know it's you. He thought the book was mine. He's searched my room."

"He thought it was yours? Oh... bloody hell, Nathan. I'm sorry. I didn't expect that. Are you in much trouble?"

"Not much, no. Don't worry about that - besides you'll pay for everything you've done in a few minutes. Mr Keanes is waiting for you to walk in and confess. Best I could do for you."

"Thanks - will you come with me?"

"Sure."

We walked across to the main building and went in through the side door, nearest Mr Keanes study. "I'll wait for you, here."

He approached, knocked on the door, and answered the summons. He shut the door behind himself.

I stood there and waited for around half an hour. Before finally I heard the cane begin to fall. One...Two... Three... Four and an audible cry of pain... Five and another louder cry... a longer pause and then a sixth loud crack. It was always somewhat surreal to hear the cane without seeing it. It really reminded you of the power involved.

A minute or so later the door opened and Baxter hobbled out. He was crying fairly freely and his hands were clutching the seat of his trousers. He walked past me and I fell into line.

I asked the question. "Flogging?"

"No, just normal. Because I confessed. Thanks for giving me the chance, Nathan."

"That's all right, Tom. How many did you print by the way?"

"Two hundred and fifty."

"Good God!"

"Yeah - and I have to get them back tonight. He wants all two hundred and fifty in his hands by tomorrow breakfast."

"You told him the truth about how many?"

"He caught me off guard!"

"You won't be able to do it, you know."

"I've got to."

I stopped. "Do you need to see your Matron?"

"Just for a basic sixer? What do you reckon?"

"All right, then - how did you distribute them?"

"I handed some out to boys in the fifth and sixth?"

"All right - can you remember who?"

"Yeah... but I also put piles of them a few places for people to take."

That made things more difficult.

"Where?"

"The library, the dining room, the changing rooms, the rifle range, the swimming pool, the..."

"Are you sure you only printed two hundred and fifty?" I said pulling out the notebook I always carried. "All right - give me the names of the people."

I spent until midnight going from House to House, speaking to everybody he could remember giving a pamphlet to, and in most cases retrieving them. Most were handed over willingly - a couple of times I had to resort to menaces or money to get them back. Baxter went everywhere he could remember leaving them and collected whatever was left. We met at midnight outside his House. I had around forty pamphlets.

"How many did you find, Tom?"

"About seventy five."

A grand total of one hundred and fifteen - Mr Keanes might have accepted a few missing pamphlets - but this was nowhere near enough to assuage him. I pulled out my key. "Come with me. I don't suppose you left the type set up?"

"Of course not."

"Then we'll have to set it up again."

"No, Nathan."

"If we run off one hundred, that'll make it up to two fifteen - that'll be enough."

"No, Nathan. Don't. I won't let you. You're not getting in trouble for me."

"Tom, it's the only option."

"No, Nathan - it isn't."

"You see an alternative?"

"Yeah, I do. I hand over whatever we have and I take whatever's coming to me."

I stopped dead. Tom Baxter hated the cane - I don't just mean that he hated getting it, he hated the very concept and idea of it. Most of us accepted it. A few of us, maybe quite a few of us, saw it almost as a form of fundamental and natural justice. He despised it and rejected it. For him to take whatever was coming to him...

"Are you sure, Tom?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

It was just past midnight when I watched him walk into his House. I went to bed myself, minutes later, but before the bell went the following morning I was up and dressed, scrubbed and combed, and waiting outside the door of Mr Keanes home - because of our relative isolation, a row of houses had been built for Masters and their families. As the wake up bell went, I knocked on his door. He opened it instantly.

"I've been watching you standing there waiting for the last ten minutes. What is it, Rysher?"

"Sir. I just wanted you to know that Baxter and I spent hours last night trying to get all those pamphlets back. And then I offered to print some more for him to make up the deficit. And he wouldn't let me."

"I see. Go back to your House."

I did as I was told - back to my House and thence to breakfast. At breakfast I could see Tom Baxter sitting there eating a hearty meal as if he didn't have a care in the world. And a horrible thought dawned on me.

He had his own key. He didn't need me to print pamphlets for him. He could have done it himself in the small hours of the morning. And if he turned up at Mr Keane's office with two hundred and fifty pamphlets after I'd told him there was a deficit... I left my seat and began walking towards him.

Jacob Campion stepped into my path. "Rysher, come with me."

"If a moment, Jacob..."

"Now, Nathan." He said it loud enough that all around us could hear it.

He was Captain of the School, and he had told me what to do. And people had heard. If I ignored him, I undermined him. And I could not do that. And he knew it. He didn't even look to see if I was following. He just strode out of the dining room - and I followed.

When we were outside and out of hearing, I confronted him.

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea, Nathan. All I know is Mr Keanes has told me to keep you away from Baxter until the start of classes. Under no circumstances am I allowed to let you talk to him, or communicate with him in any way."

"Oh."

"Mr Keanes told me to tell you that he will be scrupulously fair. Now, I suggest we go up to my room, and you can tell me what the bloody hell is going on."

We went up to his room, which we entered and he locked the door. The geography of the school meant that we weren't that far from Mr Keane's office - the Captain of the School had his own room in the main building, separated from whatever House he had been in prior to taking up that position (he remained a member of his old House only for the purposes of House competitions). For Campion, this was no great hardship - he was a rarity, a day boy who'd become Captain of the School. He boarded now because it was a requirement of his position.

He asked me what was going on, and I told him. When I'd finished, it was around the time that breakfast ended and downstairs I knew that Baxter was meeting with Keanes. So did Jacob. He opened a cupboard and poured us both a glass of the Captain's perquisite. I heard the cane fall. But only twice.

We lingered over our brandy, because that was the thing to do (and frankly, I didn't like the taste.) But then there was a knock at the door. Jacob asked. "Who is it?"

"The Deputy Headmaster."

We both downed our drinks - just because it was a commonly understood and acknowledged privilege of the School Captain to have liquor in his room to share with the House Captains in very special circumstances, didn't give us any right to be caught with it! I was still coughing as Jacob opened the door - coughing so much that Mr Keanes sniffed the air for smoke (which was not allowed!).

"Campion - could you please call a Prefects' Meeting for lunchtime, and invite me to it?"

"Yes, Sir. Would you care to attend a Prefects' Meeting at lunchtime?"

"I would be delighted to."

Mr Keanes walked away and we left for our classes.

"Nathan - do you know what the Prefects' Room looks like at the moment?"

"Yes, it's messier than a junior common room."

"Thought so. I'll see you at recess and we'll clean it up?"

"It's moments like these, this school really needs a fagging system, isn't it?" This was one feature of our ancestral schools that for some reason we hadn't preserved. Most of us felt it would have been a good idea (at least after we hit the Fifth Form).

Over the course of the morning, all the Prefects were informed of the meeting. To behind with, Jacob and I told those we saw and they told those they saw, until by recess, we were telling people who'd already been told and they were telling us. We didn't conceal what we were doing. Virtually everybody in the Sixth Form would have known - and a fair few would have known that Mr Keanes had been invited to it. Prefect's Meetings were common enough, but those called at short notice and attended by the Headmaster (or in this case, in his absence, his deputy) were unusual and were generally a sign of impending trouble.

At lunchtime we met in our room. The Prefects' Room had once been the Master's Dining Room (back when they were lucky enough to eat separately from the boys) and still looked a lot like what it had been - a long table surrounded by chairs. The furniture had once been very nice, but years of being used by boys (even boys responsible enough to be made Prefects) had left its toll. The Captain of the School naturally sat at the head of the table, all the rest of us - the five House Captains and the twelve other Prefects sat down its two sides. A chair had been placed in position for Mr Keanes at the foot of the table. Once the meeting was called to order, we sat and listened respectfully to what he had to say.

"Right. You all know about the pamphlets. I want you to find them, collect them, and bring them to me for disposal. I don't expect you to find all of them - there's around one hundred and thirty out there and some may have been lost or destroyed all ready. That's fine. But I want to get them out of ciculation."

"Sir." Campion spoke. "I have one in my possession, Sir, and I've just read it. I don't think it should be banned, Sir. It's scurrilous, Sir, and offensive, Sir. But it is political, Sir, not obscene or sacrilegious, Sir." You always wanted to be respectful when challenging a senior Master's views and authority.

"I see. So you think I was wrong to ban the book?"

"I haven't read the whole book, Sir. But if it's all in this vein, Sir, then, yes, Sir, I do, Sir."

Mr Keanes was silent for a while. Long enough that I was glad I was sitting near the head of the table, as far away from him as possible. Then he spoke. "Perhaps you are correct, Campion. However, we have moved beyond that now. Whether I was right or wrong, the pamphlets came about from an act of blatant disobedience and that cannot be tolerated. If... gentlemen, I want your words of honour that what I am about to say will not leave the room. Does anyone not give that?" He paused, and continued. "If and when the pamphlets are recovered, I may consider lifting the ban. I will consider it. But, for now, you will recover them."

He left - and we continued our meeting - that business hadn't taken long and we decided to deal with matters we would have normally dealt with at our next regular meeting.

And so we didn't see what was happening outside. We didn't see the other meeting of most of the Fifth Form and much of the Sixth Form, that spontaneously formed down near the swimming pool.

That evening in the House, I pinned up a notice instructing anyone who had a copy of the pamphlet to surrender it to me as soon as possible and making it clear that there would be no punishment for anyone who handed them over. Over the course of the evening, about half a dozen were handed into me in my study as I did my prep - not as many as I expected, but I really didn't know how many were out there. As prep was nearing completion, one or my fellow Prefects who was in my House came into my room.

"Nathan - we may have a problem."

"Oh, what type of problem, Nigel?"

"I've just come from the prep room," - a large classroom where all boys in the House except sixth formers did their evening prep - "There's quite a number of fifth formers in there reading the pamphlets. Doing so openly."

"Well, maybe, they just want to read them before they hand them in?"

"A couple of them seem to be copying them out. I'm not sure if I should have stopped them?"

"Oh, hell. OK - let's talk to them."

I headed into the prep room. "All right, everyone - please pay attention. It's been pointed out to me that a number of you are reading the pamphlet. In case you haven't seen my notice, those pamphlets have to be surrendered to me. So, I'll wait here, so you can hand them over as you are leaving. And seeing there's only five minutes of prep left - take an early mark."

Everybody filed out of the prep room. Nobody surrendered a pamphlet.

I looked at Nigel. He shrugged and spoke. "They were reading them."

"I know - I saw a couple. Get Geoffrey." He was the other Prefect in our House. We met in my room - Nigel had explained matters to him as he fetched him.

"Any idea what is going on?"

"None, Nathan. This is odd."

There was a knock on the door. I opened it. Standing outside was friend of mine - another sixth form boy.

"Yes, Carey."

"Want to know what's going on?"

"Please!"

He came in and explained matters to us. Apparently at lunch time, the Fifth Form had held a spontaneous rally down near the science station where they couldn't be seen from the main school. A lot of the Sixth Form had attended as well. A lot of the senior boys had read the pamphlets and couldn't see any reason they'd been banned - and they actually were quite incensed about the ban. I could understand why - in a real sense that ban was... wrong... wrong in terms of the mores of the school. It's hard to explain why - but I could feel it. We accepted a lot of controls over our lives. We accepted strict discipline and fairly harsh punishment, but we only accepted it up to a point. Denying us the right to think - at least for senior boys - that hurt. It wasn't playing fair.

I stepped out into the hallway and yelled. "All Fifth and Sixth Form boys to the prep room right now." I stepped back into my room and pulled on my blazer. I considered taking my cane but decided against it. Roy Carey had started heading to the prep room, the moment I yelled. My two fellow prefects darted off and returned with their own blazers on. We gave people a minute or so to get to the prep room and then I set off. Without needing to be told, Geoffrey and Nigel fell into step with me, marching one step behind me on either side. We entered the prep room in this fashion. The desks at the front of the room were filled with fifth and sixth formers.

"If you don't have a pamphlet in your possession, either here or elsewhere, you can leave." Most boys got up and walked out - less than a dozen were left.

I pulled out my notebook and wrote down their names. "You have two minutes to deliver your pamphlets to my room." I strode out, followed by Nigel and Geoffrey.

At my room, we waited five minutes and nobody appeared.

"Get them back in the prep room. I'll be back."

I walked out of the House and across to the main building and to Mr Keane's study. His door was open and I knocked on it. He looked up and before I could say anything, he said "They are to be caned."

"Sir?"

"They are to be caned."

"Yes, Sir."

I returned to the House, went to my room and removed my cane from the wardrobe. Then I went to the prep room.

They were sitting there. A couple of them looked apprehensive when they saw the cane, but most acted completely unconcerned. I pointed at the first of them, with the cane. "Bellows, come here."

He stood up and approached me. A Fifth Form boy - a well behaved one, who'd never given me any trouble. I took off my blazer and placed it over a desk. I flexed my cane and gave it a couple of swings through the air. Then I spoke.

"Go and see Mr Keanes and tell him that Rysher has sent you to be caned."

He went pale. So did most of the boys in the room. I flatter myself that I was pretty good with a cane and that my canings were something boys certainly feared. But they were at most, scared of me. They were absolutely terrified of Mr Keanes - and with good reason.

"Hang on, Rysher..."

"Be reasonable!"

"This isn't fair."

I shook my head. "No. No, you're right - it isn't fair. It isn't fair on me to expect me to cane you so you can feel all high and mighty about your moral indignation. You want to protest? By all means, do so - but don't use me as a tool for your protests. I won't have it. Now go to Mr Keanes."

Bellows was shaking. "Please, Rysher... I'll get the pamphlet..."

I considered it for a moment. I didn't really want to send him to Mr Keanes and this gave me a way out. Then I shook my head again. "Go to Mr Keanes."

Why didn't I take it? I sometimes wish I had. Sending him to Mr Keanes wasn't easy at all. But I made a judgement - and I think that I was right - that if I had taken the pamphlet from him at this point, I'd have done much worse to him than I actually did. By refusing to let him back down, I gave him the chance to make a moral stand that he obviously wanted to take. He must have wanted it, or he wouldn't have been willing to take the cane from me.

He left the room and the House. I sent Nigel and Geoffrey to the front door with instructions to send him straight to bed when he returned, and to let me know when that had happened. I sat down at the supervising desk at the front of the room.

And I read the pamphlet.

For the moment we must observe simply that none of the conditions of democratic control are in fact observed in Public Schools; discipline is arbitrary, from above and condign: it is in principle Fascist.

I sent the next boy.

It is in this sense, too, one talks of prefectship as an exercise in totalitarianism. Or as a wiser and older schoolmaster, the anonymous author of Sketch for a school, has written: "A prefect requires only the virtues of a drill sergeant - to administer a system and not to be disobeyed...."

I sent another.

Such then is the broad outline of the disciplinary organization of the Public Schools - an authoritarian hierarchy; and it would be naive to expect the details to be more civilized or rational than the general principles.

I sent the next boy.

Hardly a single problem of behaviour confronts a Public School boy, such a mass of rule and regulation has grown up to legislate for every possible occasion; and beyond the rules, there is always the code, the different customs of each school which commonly receive not merely the connivance but the encouragement of the authorities.

I did my duty once again.

The difficult question of punishment is simplified along the same lines. Like Fascism, the Public Schools are proud of having started without a philosophy; they have made it up as they go along; so that the principles of punishment have never received any consideration.

And again.

Punishment is simply used in its primitive sense as retribution. Society gets its own back on the law-breaker by hurting him. Corporal punishment is the ultimate sanction; and though the influence of New Education has thrown a certain doubt on both its efficacy and its necessity, it is still the prop of the disciplinary system which the more liberal masters justify by a variety of rather specious rationalizations.

It was all taking a while.

One can verify this from all school stories from Kipling onwards. The Great Victorian headmasters were conscientious floggers, conscientiously whipping virtue in and vice out. They took their work seriously, believing that they could achieve by it moral improvement.

I sent another.

Now it may be only natural and proper that boys should come to value the ability to take a beating without showing pain. It was, no doubt, always so. But it was a new thing, a Public School invention, that the masters, too, should come to put a moral value on the flogging itself, and should therefore be serving a double purpose in their whipping - expiating the offence and at the same time giving an exercise in physical courage.

There were only a few left now.

At the same time it might be an interesting sidelight to know at what point exactly this feeling appeared, and at what stage customary procedure changed from holding down or tying up the victim to his having to submit himself voluntarily. For it is this refinement which is supposed to make public school beating so much morally superior to any other kind.

I dispatched the next victim.

Psychologically it seems more probably that the reverse is true, and that if you are going to hit boys, it is better to seize them and hit them in the moment of temper than to wait to enforce on them this act of submission. Perhaps it is just this practice which accounts for the marked prevalence of masochism among English middle-class males.

I sent the last boy to his fate. Then rose and went to the shower room to wash my hands, and then went out to talk to Nigel and Geoffrey.

"Have either of you read this rot? I can't see it doing any harm, but by God, this fellow draws some very odd conclusions?"

"I have read it actually," said Nigel. "I suppose I'd better give you my copy."

"Well, you can give it to me, or you can go see Mr Keanes, I suppose."

"No, you can have it - is Keanes going to be upset with you for not caning them yourself?"

"I hope not. He's had too many upsets over the last few days - I hope I haven't added to them."

We stood around and discussed the article - Nigel agreed with my assessment of it and I gave the copy I'd been reading to Geoffrey with strict instructions to destroy it when he'd read it. The last boy came back. He didn't look too upset - he'd looked worse leaving the room - much worse. But then again, he'd had to sit there for an hour waiting. He was a Sixth Former - I'd sent them after the Fifth Form boys.

"How was it, Rodney?"

"Not too bad, Nathan, you utter bastard." He said it with a smile. "Only three. Of course, three from Keanes is like twelve from you!"

"I don't think there's that much difference!"

"Maybe not. You get the job done. Anyway, good night, upholders of the rules."

And we went to bed.

Back to the index.