## Indoctrination (M/m, m/mm, F/m)

Three o'clock in the afternoon. The day before school begins. At one minute to three I am just a boy. Alone in the world, adrift.

As the great clock in the tower strikes three, my status - changes.

I am now a schoolboy. I am now a boarder. I am one among hundreds, for the next six years my life will be regulated and controlled by rules and traditions that have evolved over centuries. What will happen to me will put its mark on me for the rest of my life. I don't know this at the time. All I know at this moment is that I am nervous, a little hot, and rather thirsty.

Over one hundred boys, all a little older than me (because I am being allowed to enter the school earlier than normal) are milling around me. We're standing on some tennis courts where we have been herded over the last hour or so. It's not hard for the older boys to indentify us new boys - they are all in uniform. While we have uniforms - I packed mine in a suitcase this morning - we are not allowed to wear them yet. Even so, the way we are dressed is surprisingly uniform. Every boy wears a button up short sleeve shirt - plain coloured, or perhaps with stripes or checks - dark coloured short trousers, long socks and sensible shoes. Every boy has a trunk and a suitcase - all of similar design. Some are sitting on theirs - some have abandoned them.

A minute after the clock strikes, six older boys appear on the edge of the tennis courts. All are in their best school uniforms, with considerable amounts of braid on their blazer pockets - senior boys. They are holding clipboards. One of them shouts out.

"Be quiet all of you. We're going to read out names - and you are to line up in front of the boy who reads out your name in the order that your name is read out. Leave your bags where they are - they'll be dealt with. When you are in line make sure you look very closely at the boy in front of you and the boy behind you - because there will be a lot of trouble if you fall out of order. Nobody talks - just move quickly and quietly into position - because I can cane you and whichever boy calls your name can cane you as well."

One minute into my life at this school - and the cane has already been mentioned.

They get us into line - these are the Captains. The most senior boys in the school, in fact, and we are being placed into our Houses from the lists they have been given. When all of us are lined up in our groups, we are told to march. And we do so. We are lead to a line of trestle tables outside an old building.

"All of you take a paper bag and use the pencils to write your name on it - surname first. Then - staying in your lines - strip off. All your clothes off and in the bag except your underpants." There's some murmuring in the lines. "BE QUIET unless you want to spend the rest of the afternoon looking forward to helping me break in my cane this evening. They've always told me it's better to give than to receive and I'd love the chance to test out that theory." He's trying to sound stern and severe, but he's not really succeeding. "We've all been through it, lads. Every new boy has to strip off here. Don't worry - it gets worse."

I'm unconcerned. I'm still only nine and haven't really developed any sense of bodily modesty yet. Most boys seem equally unconcerned - at oldest they are 12 - I'm sure some aren't that comfortable stripping down to their underpants but I think for most of us, it doesn't matter much. Within a few minutes, our bags are piled up neatly on the trestle tables and we are all standing in line in our white underpants. Everybody is wearing the same style. No matter what we wear, we seem to be rather uniform. Fortunately it is a fine and warm day.

I remember being slightly conscious of the fact that I am younger than everyone else (something I have more or less decided to conceal) and cast my eyes around trying to work out if it shows. It's not too bad. There's a wide range in sizes and while I certainly do look to be among the youngest boys, there are others who do look equally young. There's others who look somewhat older. I don't stand out too much.

The first group of boys in being lead into the building. They are taking us in in groups of eight. Groups go in every minute or so - and it isn't that long before I am told to lead in a group. "Room Four."

I enter the building and head down a corridor. Past rooms one, two, and three - the doors are half closed so I can't see into the rooms - but I am disturbed to hear crying from room one and a gasp of pain from room two. Room three is silent and I enter room four.

Three nurses and a pair of doctors - I can tell what they are from the nurses white dresses, and the doctors stethoscopes - are in the room. One of the nurses grabs my arm as I enter and makes me stand on a pair of scales. She calls out a number which another nurse writes down. Then I am pushed up against a height chart and another number is recorded before I am pushed to the first doctor. He looks in my ears and in my mouth and in my eyes with a small torch, before I am propelled to the second doctor. This one places his ice cold stethoscope on my chest and instructs me to breathe in deeply. It is an assembly line of medical examinations. Then I am pushed to the last adult in the room - a nurse - she begins rubbing on my arm with a piece of cotton wool and I tense knowing from experience what is coming next. She picks up a syringe and I close my eyes tightly as she jabs it into my arm. I try to be brave, but I can't help but cry out a bit.

"Good boy. Wait by that door."

I head to the door. And stand waiting as the next boy in line gets his injection. He doesn't cry out, though he grimaces in pain. Then the assembly line stops - because the third boy in line has seen the needle - and obviously does not like what he sees.

"No!"

"Come here." The nurses voice is calm and commanding.

"I shan't!" His accent is English, plummy and proper, but the use of that word marks where he comes from even more than the sound of his voice. I'd read the word - I don't think I'd ever heard it spoken.

"Yes, you shall. Come here." Her voice is a bit harder this time.

"Do you know who I am?"

The doctor sitting behind him reaches out, grabs him by the shoulder with one hand while the man's other hand swings back and then forward delivering a single very sharp smack on the seat of the small boys white underpants. The boys leaps upwards and forwards, with a yelp, as the doctor speaks.

"Yes, you're the naughty little boy who's just had one smack and will get another in a moment if he's cheeky to the Matron."

The boys face is pale and there is a look of shock on his face. For a second he looks on the verge of tears, then he controls himself.

"That didn't hurt."

The Matron speaks. "Do you want one that does?"

"No!"

"Then come and get your needle like a big boy."

He shuffles forward and closes his eyes tight as she rubs his arm with the cotton wool. She slides in the needle - very carefully - and he doesn't even flinch.

"Good boy, Strathvayne. Now line up."

The other boys take their injections without protest. When all of us are done, I am told to take them out and we line up back on the tennis courts. We wait a few minutes until all our house arrives and our House Captain, a boy we now know as Martin Kilvington, leads us off at a run to our new home. Into the house, and to our dormitory.

"There's a name on each bed - and your uniform should be on your bed as well. Put it on, and then I'll show you to your mentor. He's a third form boy who will show you around, and he's meant to look after you until you find your feet. He's the mentor, you're the telem. You need to get used to a lot of terms - that's the first one. If you have any problems over the next few days, talk to your mentor. If he can't help you, or you can't find him, you can talk to me. If you're really desperate you can talk to the Housemaster - you'll meet him later. Matron is good as well. I'll be back in ten minutes - I need to go and find the third form boys.

I find my bed and I start pulling on my clothing. Shirt, tie, short trousers, long socks and shoes. There's a blazer and a jacket there as well, and I pull on the blazer. As we dress, we introduce ourselves to each other. I have the bed nearest the windows, furthest from the door. It's a large dormitory - big enough for every first form boy in our house. Along one wall are cupboards, on the other bookcases. Between them, in the center of the rooms are the beds.

Some boys seem to know each other, some of us don't. There's discussion of where people went to school before and where people come from (I remain silent as I don't really want to explain my life to anyone just yet). In the bed next to me is a boy named William Connolly, he introduces himself and helps me push my trunk under my bed, before he turns to face the English boy who has also remained silent.

"Who are you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who are you? I heard you over there - you seem to think you're someone important. Who are you, then?"

"Peter Strathvayne."

"Is that important?"

"Well... Lord Strathvayne, actually."

"Lord Strathvayne? Goodness me."

"I can't help who my father is." Strathvayne seemed offensive. Connolly held up a hand.

"That's fine. You're right - you can't. Neither can any of us. Still, you're probably best advised not to throw that around."

"I won't hide who I am!"

"Of course not - but you don't need to rub it in either."

Members of the nobility weren't exactly common at our school - but they certainly weren't unheard of either. Strathvayne was the first I met - but there were a couple of others during my time at the school - for some reason, some British parents decided to send their children halfway across the world for school.

Connolly turned to me.

"Rysher, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Nathan Rysher."

"Your dad is... was..." he hesitated.

"Yes, he was."

"My father knew your father." He held out his hand so I could shake it. I did so. When you don't want to discuss your past, it's nice to find someone who already knows enough about it, not to dwell on it.

The rest of the day passed without major incident until dinner time. We're paired up with our mentors and they show us the ropes. I was lucky - mine was a rather nice boy named Tony Pearman and he didn't try to terrorise me too much, others weren't so lucky. By the time dinner came, I was beginning to feel at ease. And I sat down and the meal was served.

Chicken soup, followed by sausages, mash, and peas. I liked the sausages, I liked mash all smothered in tomato sauce. But I didn't like peas. I ate the sausages, and the mash, and pushed aside the peas.

"Oi - Rysher." The House captain had seen. "You eat what's on your plate."

"But I don't like peas."

"All right. Tonight you don't have to eat them. It's your first night so that's all right. But from tomorrow on, you eat what is served. That's the way it is here."

This made me feel a little bit uneasy. "What happens if I don't?"

"Let's not dwell on such an unpleasant subject. At least not until after pudding."

After pudding, we were formed into a crocodile and lead out of the dining hall by our House Captain, and as we headed across to the House, someone brought the subject up again.

"Would they cane a boy for not eating his peas?"

"Probably not - but only because it wouldn't come to that. We try not to let things get that far." Kilvington had answered. "Look, lads, the rules here are very strict but they're also pretty fair. We don't go around caning little boys - first formers I mean - just for not eating their peas. But, well, it could get you a spanking."

"You're joking?" This came from Strathvayne, "Surely they don't spank boys here - that's so infantile."

"You'd prefer the cane, would you?"

"Well... I suppose not... when it comes down to it. But spanking is for small children and girls - maybe prep school boys. There's such a thing as dignity."

"Dignity is not a big priority when you get in trouble here."

"So..." I tried to reclaim the conversation as it was my desire to avoid peas that was at issue, here, "If I don't eat my peas, I'll get a spanking?"

"I wouldn't be at all surprised. But I can't say for sure. All I'm allowed to do is use the cane - my powers are limited to that. But Matron - well, Matron does spank, and she especially spanks junior boys, if she thinks they need it. So if you don't want it to happen, don't push matters. I think she might even go looking for someone in the first form at the start of each year to be honest, so I certainly wouldn't make myself a target in my first few days."

We'd arrived at the House by this time, and the Captain dropped us in the junior Common Room, with a stern warning to the older boys - second and third formers that we were not to be tormented beyond reasonable limits and that they should make sure we knew what to do - especially our Mentors, who were all third form boys. I sat down in a corner and tried to read a comic... but I was also processing what I had been told.

At this stage of my life my experience of any form or corporal punishment was very limited. Until a few months earlier, I'd never been under any threat of physical punishment as my parents never used it. Since that time, I'd been exposed to it, but had experienced nothing worse than a single smack on one or two occasions. And the threat of the cane at least once. I started reading comics - British comics like Buster and Beano - in which corporal punishment was presented as a fact of life and I'd been well and truly warned that I could expect to receive it once the school year started - my standard of behaviour was somewhat less than that which was normally expected.

And now in one afternoon, I had been part of a large group threatened with the cane by the School Captain, seen a boy smacked in his underpants, seen him threatened with more, been told that I could be spanked if I didn't eat my peas, and told that there was a woman around who was probably looking for an excuse to spank someone. It was quite a lot for a small boy to absorb to be honest.

A boy dropped into a chair opposite me. "Pass me that Knockout would you?"

I looked up and recognized him as one of the other boys from my dormitory, and passed over the comic, introducing myself, "Nathan Rysher."

"Roy Carey - and just between you and me, I don't like peas much either. Green slimy round things. Yuck!"

"Yes... but the question is are they better or worse than a spanking?"

Two other new boys, Strathvayne and Connolly, who I'd met earlier joined us at the point, and I introduced them both to Carey. They'd overheard our last exchange and Connolly looked at me with a very broad grin. "Well, you're the one who's attracted attention. What do you think is worse?"

"I've no idea."

"Why not? Never been spanked?"

I hesitated - fatal mistake. Strathvayne pounced.

"You mean you haven't been?"

"Well... no."

"How about caned or strapped?"

"No."

"Good Lord. Have you ever been punished?"

"Smacked a couple of times."

"Are you some sort of saint or something?"

"No, I'm bloody well not!" I had been warned that it was very important not to come across as too good (by the same person who told me my behaviour had to improve markedly.)

"All right! So what's the gen, then? Are your parents some sort of nutters?"

Connolly spoke sharply. "That's out of order, Strathvayne. Don't go there."

Strathvayne looked at him, his eyes flashing, "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"I'm the one who'll break your face if you're not careful."

Strathvayne threw the first punch but Connolly threw at least the next five. And unlike Strathvayne's his connected. Then they were both rolling on the floor of the common room as Carey and I backed away trying to work out what to do. I had been raised to abhor violence in any form, but I had also read a lot of books about boarding schools and I knew that it was necessary to fight sometimes. And it seemed to me that it should be me rolling around the floor with Strathvayne, but I didn't think it would be a good idea to just join in. Other boys were moving into a circle around the fight and seemed to feel it was necessary to alert in the vicinity as to what was happening.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

"STOP THAT BLOODY NONSENSE!" The cry snapped out from the door. And I turned and saw Martin Kilvington striding into the room. The crowd parted in front of him and he reached down and pulled Strathvayne off of Connolly - in some ways this seemed rather unfair as Strathvayne had only just gained the upper hand under some serious punishment. Kilvington put his foot on Connolly's chest to hold him down - not hard, and passed Strathvayne to another senior boy who held him by his collar.

"What is going on here?" Kilvington was calm now.

"Nothing," said William from his position on the ground.

"Nothing," said Strathvayne who was barely touching the ground.

"In that case, the two of you won't mind shaking hands?"

They were both allowed to stand on the floor, and they both shook hands reasonably readily. As they did so, Kilvington looked them over and apparently decided that neither of them was actually injured. So he walked to the door. As he passed through it he spoke.

"Those who are responsible, my room, two minutes. Bring your backsides."

Strathvayne and Connolly gave an identical sigh simultaneously. But it was drowned out from behind us by the sound of two third form boys swearing very loudly.

Strathvayne spoke first. "So we're going to get the cane, now, thanks to your temper."

Connolly clenched his fist, obviously willing to resumed the fight. "His parents have just died you snotty..."

The young Lord went pale, and he raised his hand. "Pax. I didn't know. Pax Connolly, pax Rysher. Oh dear... I am sorry."

"You'll be sorrier in a minute." Strathvayne's mentor had joined us.

"I know... I guess we'd better go get caned," said Strathvayne to Connolly.

His mentor clouted him around the back of the head. "I'm responsible you twit. I'm the one who's going to get caned. Not you. Not tonight anyway."

Connolly's mentor has also approached. "That's the way it is. I don't think Kilvington wants to cane first formers on their first day."

"But that's unfair," Strathvayne sounded genuinely outraged. "We'll go. We'll tell him to cane us." Personally I thought his use of the word 'we' was assuming rather a lot of William Connolly, but William was nodding - somewhat reluctantly but he was nodding.

Sharp and Eastwood both shook their heads and Eastwood set it out. "Listen, if you two go up, you might force him to cane you. But we'll get caned anyway. And he'll probably go easier on us if you don't go. He'll have to cane us worse than he'll cane you. But if we go by ourselves, he'll do his duty and nothing more."

"Besides," said Sharp. "In two years time, you'll be mentors - and with any luck your telems will set the Housemasters dog on fire or something on their first day. We'd better go, Eastwood. We want him to have as little time to practice as possible."

"I'm sorry," This came from Strathvayne and lacked any trace of the petulance I'd begun to think of as normal.

"That's all right, kid. Worse things happen at sea."

They left - and the whole common room went quiet. The older boys were obviously standing around waiting for something, and we followed suit. After about two or three minutes, in the distance, we heard a CRACK noise. Then a gap of about five seconds, and a second CRACK. Then a longer pause - thirty seconds or so - and a third CRACK, and another shorter pause and a fourth CRACK.

Everybody started talking again. I slumped back into my seat and picked up my comic. And Connolly, Strathvayne and Carey dropped into seats as well - I guess everybody else had gone back to their positions. Connolly and Strathvayne were eyeing each other off, and it seemed likely that they would be at each others throats again momentarily unless somebody did something, so I decided to resume our conversation.

"What about the rest of you? Have you been caned?"

"Never." Carey spoke first. "I've never ever been smacked - and, no, Strathvayne, before you ask, I'm not a saint. I'm just seriously scared of being hurt and I don't mind who knows it."

"I'd keep that down if I were you," said Connolly. "Look, nobody likes it, but you're not supposed to say you're scared of it."

"I don't care. It's barbaric."

Eastwood and Sharp had returned by now, reentered the room and walked over to their friends. I was watching them closely to see how they acted. They weren't in tears or anything, but they certainly didn't look happy. My attention was drawn back to our conversation by William describing his experiences.

"My primary school used the strap on the hand and I've had that... half a dozen times, I suppose, in the year I was there, and the ruler a couple of times as well, and I've been spanked at home, but I've never had the cane. Dad says it feels like its cutting you in half - and he said I could do with a bit of that, too. I don't know... I think we'll find out."

Strathvayne looked at Connolly somewhat approvingly at this. "Quite right. Though I must say, I'm happy enough that it's not tonight. Still, caning is something we have to expect and have to learn to deal with. My prep school back home is... was awfully infantile. Didn't use the cane - used the slipper a lot, though. I'm quite glad to be past that. A chap gets too old to be treated like a little boy all the time. Couldn't have stood that much longer."

We talked for a while longer - Carey, Connolly and I trying explain Australian Rules Football to Strathvayne who found it rather hard to grasp that when we talked about football, we weren't talking about soccer, or even rugby, but some very odd colonial mutation. Glasses of cold Milo were distributed during our conversation and we were then instructed to go and get ready for bed.

We headed to our dormitory and the Matron was waiting for us, "Right - you're rostered to shower tonight, boys, so strip off. You'll need to check the roster at the start of every week - some days you shower at night before bed, some days in the morning - I said strip off - it stays close to the same for weeks at a time, but it can change at anytime contingent on circumstances and we expect you to be grown up enough to keep track of things - that's right, everything off, boys, I'm a Nurse and I've raised three boys so I won't see anything I haven't seen before - you will shower everyday, but I'm not always checking, so if you think you can get away with not showering, it might work for a little while, but when you're caught, you will not like what happens to you at all."

I'd undressed as she'd been talking. Stripped totally naked. It didn't embarrass me - I was only nine at this time. Other boys stripped as well, some a little more reluctantly. Everybody stripped though - except Strathvayne. He stripped down to his underpants and then stood there looking at the Matron looking very nervous. She saw him looking at her.

"There's no need to be shy, Rupert." Rupert - he'd told us his name was Peter, and I don't blame him for it. I could see people mouthing his name - Matron saw as well, and she swept her eye across them stopping them in their tracks. "Strathvayne, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Would you be embarrassed in front of your mother?"

"Yes!"

"Well, she's not here and I am - pick up your towels boys and wrap them around yourselves. Strathvayne, you can keep your undies on for the moment, but you'll have to take them off in the shower - put a towel around yourself though or the big boys will laugh at you. Come along boys."

She lead us into the shower room, and she went in with us. This was a large communal shower, big enough to take two whole dormitories at once, but today only the first formers were in there. The roster system was actually quite flexible most of the time - except when Matron for some reason felt that supervision was needed, which she did periodically right through our schooling - it became much less common as you got older, but even sixth formers occasionally had to deal with her lack of respect for modesty. But on this our first night, it was only us first formers in there, and as I recall it was mostly that way for a few weeks.

We hung our towels and stepped under the water and began to wash. All of us except Strathvayne. He stood near the door. Matron walked over to him, and spoke to him, and he shook his head. She spoke a little louder.

"You have to shower, Rupert."

"Please don't call me, Rupert - call me Peter, it's my middle name."

"All right, Peter - you have to shower."

"I can't!"

"RUPERT! Get your underpants off and get into that shower right now."

"It's embarrassing." "It isn't. I'm a Nurse. I'm responsible for your health. There's nothing embarrassing about it, Rupert."

"Peter!"

"You'd better be in the shower, by the time I get back, Rupert." She walked out of the door. The instant she was gone, he stripped off his underpants and ran into the shower for all of about thirty seconds, just long enough to get wet, then ran back out and put his underpants back on without even drying himself. People started laughing.

Matron came back in, carrying a chair which she put down on the rubber matting very deliberately. She looked at Strathvayne and spoke in a very commanding tone. "Stop laughing. Underpants off, and in the shower, Rupert. This is your last warning."

"I've been in the shower, Matron!"

She grabbed his arm and felt his hair. "Yes, you have, but that is not long enough. Back in, Rupert."

"No!"

Matron ripped his towel away, and dragged him by the arm she was holding, to her chair. She sat down, released his arm, and yanked his underpants down to his knees. He shrieked like a girl, but she ignored him and pulled him across her lap, then placed her left arm on the small of his back, and she started spanking his bare bottom. Five immense smacks delivered right in the centre, palm on his left buttock, fingers on his right. Everybody stopped showering to watch.

"Get on with showering, boys. How old are you, Rupert?"

Through his tears - and he was bawling - he indicated that he was twelve. She delivered another seven very hard smacks, leaving his bottom, very red, and then helped him to his feet. His hands covered his bottom - he seemed to have forgotten about any sense of modesty, and his face was as red as his backside.

"Get in the shower, Peter."

He refused to move.

"There's nothing left for me to see, is there? Come on, Peter - if you don't shower, I'll have to give you a bath, and you really don't want that, do you?"

He walked over to the shower, and stepped under the water. He just stood there, but it seemed to satisfy her.

"All right boys, hurry up, get out dry yourselves, then clean your teeth."

We all did as we were told. We definitely did as we were told. Dried ourselves, wrapped our towels around us, and cleaned our teeth, and then trooped back to the dormitory, where we dropped our towel and underpants into the hamper and changed into our pyjamas, all under Matrons supervision. When we were in bed, she spoke.

"If anyone teases Peter about anything, anything at all, I will spank that boy until he is crying for his Mummy - and then I will cane him. Good night. Sleep tight - and if the bedbugs bite you, bite back."

She switched off the main light. But it was still light outside, so this made little difference. I lay there looking at the ceiling, resolving to never ever make Matron even the tiniest bit upset with me. The dormitory was silent and then I heard William Connolly speak.

"Are you all right, Peter?"

"Yes... and I suppose the name is Rupert."

Eight o'clock in the evening. The night that school begins. I am still just a boy, but I will never be alone again...

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