The thirteen year old boy, in pristine school uniform of dark grey suit and white shirt, looked very small against the background of the large Victorian building which was to be his term time home for the next five years. Peter Knowles had just stepped out of the back of his parents' Rover car and was looking up in awe at the imposing edifice. It seemed to him to be enormous. His first thought was that he would never be able to find his way about. He pictured himself constantly getting into trouble for being late, just because he would always be lost. He looked around again. It was not just the buildings which were so large. There were other boys arriving and some of them seemed to him to be giants. Several were even taller than his father. For a moment or two he could see no one at all who was anywhere near his own size. The sense of anxiety which had been building up throughout the two hour journey grew more intense all the time. Then, with a feeling of some relief, he saw another boy of his own age, also with his parents, and therefore almost certainly another new boy. He felt a surge of confidence at the sight of someone else in his own position.
Peter was a gregarious and fun-loving boy. He was certainly not shy or timid. But he had never before spent more than a couple of nights away from his parents, and then only at the houses of his friends. There now lay ahead of him a period of some three months or so in this boarding school, with only a short break at home for half term, before he would be safely in the bosom of his family again for the school holidays. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that his excitement at starting a new life was more than a little tinged by nervousness. When his parents drove home he would be left in the company of some five hundred boys none of whom he had ever met before. Of course, some would be new boys like him. But even amongst them he was likely to be in a distinct minority. Not only would most of them have boarded before, but many would be arriving with friends from their prep schools. As he thought of all that he was to face in the coming weeks he was almost overwhelmed by despair. But he fought it off. He took a deep breath, picked up his overnight bag (his trunk and tuck box would be arriving separately) and started to walk towards the large double doors at the main entrance.
Peter knew that his first appointment, to which his parents were also to come, was with his housemaster. He had been placed in School House, the largest of the six boarding houses and the only one situated in the main building. He knew that his housemaster was called Mr Bunsen. But that was the limit of his knowledge. He certainly did not know where Mr Bunsen might be found. Fortunately, there was a desk, just inside the entrance, at which a senior boy was sitting, waiting to meet new boys and their parents. He checked off Peter's name on a list and gave clear directions to Mr Bunsen's study.
The walk, down several long corridors and up two flights of stairs, seemed to take ages. Eventually Peter and his parents arrived at a heavy oak door above which was the one word "housemaster". Their appointment was for three fifteen. It was now ten past. Peter's father, who was himself the product of a similar school, was well aware of the importance of neither being late nor early for a visit to a housemaster. He said they should wait for five minutes before knocking. They carried on a rather stilted conversation as the minutes ticked by and then, sure enough, the door opened at just before three fifteen and two parents, a new boy and a slightly older boy emerged. Mr Knowles waited until precisely three fifteen and then knocked.
"Come in" shouted a splendidly cheery voice from inside.
The three walked in. The study was very large. But that didn't stop it seeming incredibly dark, despite the bright sunshine outside. The walls were panelled in dark oak. There was an enormous desk in front of the window. There were shelves around two of the walls, all lined with large books. By the fireplace there were a large leather covered sofa and two armchairs. Mr Bunsen himself was rising from one of the chairs. He was a tall, broad man of about forty five. His hair was still not grey. He smiled easily. He was holding a clipboard which he quickly consulted before properly greeting his guests.
"Mr and Mrs Knowles and Peter I believe?"
"Indeed, Mr Bunsen", Mr Knowles replied.
"Come and take a pew. I like to see all the new boys with their parents at the beginning of term whenever possible. I'm most grateful to you for finding the time to come."
Peter sat in the middle of the sofa, between his parents, and Mr Bunsen resumed his own seat. He was still beaming with the apparent pleasure of meeting Peter and his parents. Some of the boy's fears were beginning to evaporate. His housemaster certainly did not seem to be the fierce creature of the school stories he had read. Mr Bunsen continued talking.
"All this must seem very strange and daunting to you Peter. It's probably no use telling you not to worry, but I do assure you that this house is one of the most friendly you could ever hope to come across. All of us on the staff are here only for one reason and that is to help you and the other boys. I pride myself on my ability to choose prefects who always put the younger boys first, and this year's are some of the best we have ever had in the house. What you must understand is that whenever you have any concerns at all you can approach any prefect, any house tutor or me without the slightest fear. Think of me as a friendly and reliable old uncle and you can't go far wrong."
It was as Mr Bunsen spoke those words that Peter's eye alighted on an umbrella stand in the corner by the desk. What caught his attention was the fact that it contained no umbrellas at all. Instead, poking out of the top, were the bent handles of four canes. Just the sort he had seen in illustrations in some of the school story books he had recently been devouring. Mr Bunsen obviously noticed what it was that Peter had seen. He frowned for a second. He had never before forgotten to hide the canes before meeting new boys. Then he smiled again and coped admirably with the sticky situation.
"Ah, so you have spotted my little collection. They're really no more than ornaments you know. Nothing for you to worry about. I won't pretend that I never use them. Boys will be boys after all. But I only wallop as a last resort, and I haven't caned a boy in his first term here for over five years."
Mr Bunsen then asked Peter various questions about his previous school, his sporting achievements and his likes and dislikes when it came to school subjects. By the time the conversation was coming to an end Peters mother, who had been somewhat distressed by the possibility that her son might be caned, had completely forgotten about the subject. Peter himself had not wholly banished the canes from his mind, but he was certainly happier than he had been twenty minutes earlier. Mr Knowles had been a schoolboy himself once and he had not been completely persuaded by Mr Bunsen's assurances to his son, but, much as he loved Peter, it did not concern him greatly that the boy might occasionally be on the wrong end of a cane. His overall impression was that Mr Bunsen was a remarkably kindly schoolmaster who would be likely to be a splendid influence on Peter.
There was a knock on the door.
"That'll be Wilson", said Mr Bunsen, "he's in the year above you Peter and he is going to look after you for your first few weeks. Come in".
A tall, slim, dark haired boy of fourteen came in. Mr Bunsen consulted his clipboard again.
"Andrew, thank you so much for joining us. Did you have a good summer holiday?"
"Yes sir, thank you sir".
"Jolly good. Now, as you know, I have decided to appoint you as Peter Knowles's mentor for the first half of term. Once he's said good bye to his parents, perhaps you could take him under your wing. I want you to take your responsibilities particularly seriously because this is the first time Peter has boarded, so he's bound to have a lot of questions for you."
"I'll certainly do my best sir."
Mr Bunsen looked at his watch. Mr Knowles understood the signal and rose to his feet. His son and wife followed his example. After a few more pleasantries they left.
Andrew Wilson led his new charge and parents to the front door.
"I'll wait here", he said, "while you say good bye to your folks. Just come back in when they've gone and I'll show you around."
Peter had not been looking forward to this moment. But he was being very brave. In fact, his concern at being left with all these strangers was not now so great as his concern that his mother might make an exhibition of herself. He had made it very clear to her on the journey that she must not make a great thing out of kissing him goodbye. He had said that a small peck on the cheek would be OK, but nothing more. Now he noticed that her eyes were watering. He was terrified that she would start crying and that other boys would see. He decided to sound as cheerful as he could.
"I say Mum, I'm desperate to see what you've put in my tuck box."
Mrs Knowles smiled. She was particularly proud of the tuck box. Not only had she filled it with far too many sweets and chocolates, but she had also spent half the night painting Peter's initials on it. She could not resist telling him of her labour of love.
"I think you'll love the lettering I used to paint your initials darling. And now you'll be glad you've got so many middle names. No one else could possibly have your initials, so none of your friends will be able to say it's their tuck box not yours."
Peter Richard Ian Charles Knowles was horrified at this news. It had only been in his last term at his prep school that his friends had discovered all his names, and that had been bad enough. To start at a new school with everyone knowing would be dreadful.
"Oh no Mum, how could you do it?" He spluttered. "Just think what everyone will call me".
Mrs Knowles was completely bemused by her son's reaction. "What on earth do you mean darling? What will they call you?"
Peter's fair complexion turned pink as he contemplated explaining to his incredibly unworldly mother what the word that his initials spelt meant. He knew he couldn't.
"Oh, it's nothing Mum. Thank you very much for doing it. I'm sure it'll be great".
Mr Knowles smiled at his son. "Don't worry Pete, you'll be called far worse things in your time. Just laugh it off."
The departure was not too emotional. Peter's mother didn't embarrass him too much. He watched the car move off down the drive and blinked back a tear which was threatening to cloud his vision. After a couple of deep breaths he turned and went back inside the main doors.
Andrew was talking to another boy of about his own age. He turned and saw Peter.
"OK Knowles, let's have a tour."
As they set off Andrew embarked on an explanation of some of the basic rules of school life.
"I expect you know already, but just to make sure I'll tell you again. We never use first names here. You're Knowles and I'm Wilson, but you can use my nickname if you like. It's Chucker. Don't ask me why. Burner called you Peter just now, but that's only cos your folks were there. That's also why he called me Andrew, although you may have spotted that he had to look on his clipboard first to remind himself."
Peter looked bemused. "Why do you call him Burner?"
"Oh, that's just his nick name. It's not just cos of Bunsen Burners in chemistry. It's also cos of the burning feeling your bum gets after you've been sent to him."
"But he said that he hardly ever whacks boys."
"Well, he doesn't do it that much I suppose. I mean, new bugs (that's what you are) practically never get it from him in their first term. By the way, it's called getting swished when you get the cane. 'Whacking' is a bit of a prep school type word. You probably won't get swished till next term at the earliest. All you'll get this term is slipperings from prefects. But don't worry, I'll explain everything to you properly."
By now they were approaching the junior common room. Andrew carried on the conversation.
"Did you have a nickname at your prepper?"
Peter blushed again. He hadn't, until his full set of initials had become known. He was not eager to reveal what it had then become.
"Not really" he muttered.
"Don't worry, you'll get one soon enough here. Right, this is the junior common room. This is where we go to get away from masters and prefects. We all have lockers with our names on and we keep our tuck boxes under them. Let's go in and find yours. It should have arrived by now."
Peter desperately wanted not to go in and see his tuck box, but he didn't see how he could avoid it. He tried to look calm and untroubled, but he could not control his blushing. He was now bright scarlet.
"Hey what's the matter?"
"Oh, it's nothing really. Well, I suppose you're going to find out soon enough. My mum just told me that she painted my initials on my tuck box."
"That doesn't matter. In fact we all have our initials on our tuck boxes."
As Andrew spoke he opened the door and walked in. He glanced around at the lines of tuck boxes around the walls until he spotted one with the first initial P and the last initial K. He suddenly understood Peter's distress. His immediate reaction was to laugh. But then, being a kind and considerate boy, in so far as such a creature is possible, he forced himself to look serious.
"Crikey Knowles, I see your problem. Why on earth did your mum do that. She must know what it means."
"That's the trouble, she doesn't. She's led an incredibly sheltered life and I don't think Dad has ever really explained anything like that to her. I don't really blame her, it's just that I can't bear the thought of being called that word all the time Im here."
"OK, let's do some quick thinking. What we need to do is to tell everyone that you've already got a nickname in the hope they'll use that instead. But that'll only work if it's a bit similar." He thought for a moment. Then he spoke again. "I know, we'll say your nickname's 'Knob'. It means the same thing, but it's not nearly as bad. I can make sure that everyone in my year calls you that. As for the other new bugs, you tell them your nickname is Knob and if any of them use the other word let me know and I'll beat them up for you."
Peter was greatly relieved by his mentor's solution to the problem.
"You're brilliant. But don't worry, if anyone in my year needs beating up I'll do it myself."
Andrew led the way out of the junior common room and towards the dormitories. As they went he explained the most important hurdle that new boys had to overcome.
"Everything's pretty easy for you for the first two weeks of term. Basically, the prefects assume that if you break any rules it's cos your mentor, that's me, hasn't properly explained them. So, instead of you getting the slipper, I will. Then, in two weeks time, they have a session when all new bugs are tested on the rules and customs of the school. It'll be in the main hall. One by one, each new bug is called in, with his mentor, and the prefects ask ten questions which you will have to answer. You are only allowed to get three wrong. If you get four wrong they stop the session and you get another week to do it again, but you still get the penalty for three wrong answers."
"What's that?"
"Well, for every wrong answer the new bug gets one stroke with the slipper and his mentor gets two. So, if you get three wrong, you'll get three strokes and I'll get six. The slipperings are done at the end of the main session and all the new bugs and their mentors come in for them."
"That doesn't seem very fair. Why should you get the slipper just cos I've got the answers wrong?"
"It's meant to make us mentors take our job seriously and it helps you cos you get to see how to take a slippering properly. The mentors get it first and you can watch them before you have to get it. It's also useful for the prefects to get some practice with the slipper. They're all prefects for the first time this term so they won't have slippered anyone properly yet. Obviously they will have practised on cushions and things, but hitting a real bum must be quite a bit different."
"It still seems unfair to me. Anyway, I'll make sure I get all the answers right."
"I'm afraid it's not as easy as that. They always ask at least one trick question to catch you out. We're both bound to get the slipper. All I ask of you is that you learn everything well enough to make sure you don't get more than three wrong. I don't mind taking six once, but it'll be a bit of a bore if we have to do the test again a week later."
"What sort of slipper do they use?"
"They don't actually use a slipper at all. They use gym shoes, and really big ones as well."
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"It's not too bad. Just a bit worse than your average hard slippering at a prep school. Presumably you got it a few times at yours."
Peter again became embarrassed. Not only had he never boarded, but he would now also have to admit that he had been to a progressive prep school which never used corporal punishment.
"Actually, I never did. They don't whack at all at my old school. So the worst I've ever had is my dad spanking me. I mean", he added quickly, "Dad is pretty hard when it comes to dishing out the whacks and I've had a lot of them, but I don't suppose his smacks are nearly as hard as a prefect's slippering."
Andrew was astounded. "You can't be serious. A school full of 8 to 13 year old boys and they never whack them at all? You must have had a riot of a time there."
"They did give us punishments. You know, lines and detentions. So it wasn't all fun. In fact, most of us thought that getting the whack would be better. We actually got up a petition asking the head to bring in whacking instead of detentions, but he refused point blank."
"Well you won't have that problem here, I can tell you. OK, here's your dorm." He opened the door to a large room with twenty iron beds in it, ten along the wall on the right and ten along the wall on the left. "Until after the prefects' testing session there will be mentors in the beds on the right and new bugs in the beds on the left. Ten new bugs who'll eventually be in this dorm will spend the first two weeks in my dorm and me and nine others from there will sleep here. After the testing session we'll move out and you'll be all new bugs."
"They really take this mentor stuff seriously, don't they? I mean, you'd have thought we could be left on our own at night without any problems."
"I reckon it's just easier for the prefects. You see, if you didn't have me here and you got caught talking after lights out or something, they'd have to trek off to another dorm to find me for my slippering. This way, they can slipper me straight away. It also means that we mentors can try to shut you up if we think a prefect might be on the prowl and save our bums a bit of pain."
Andrew walked the length of the dormitory looking for Peter's name above a bed. He found it, right at the far end, near the window.
"Here you are, this is your bed and I'll be in the one opposite."
Peter still had his overnight bag with him and, at Andrew's suggestion, he put it on the hard bed he was to occupy for the rest of the term. The tour continued, with trips to the gym, the house library, the main hall, the changing rooms and the prefects' studies corridor. They ended up in the dining room just in time for high tea. As with the dormitories, Peter found that he was to sit on the same long table as Andrew. The latter was on one side, with other mentors and Peter sat opposite him, between two other new boys. They introduced themselves as Smith and Preston. They were about the same height as Peter. Both, like him, were slim and athletic in build. Smith had blond hair and Preston dark. Andrew had got into conversation with one of the other mentors and Peter soon found himself chatting happily to his two new friends. They had also been told about the sort of truce for new boys for the first two weeks of the term and they were already joking about what fun it was going to be to be able to break school rules knowing that they would not be punished for it. It was Peter who pointed out that the mentors were all bigger than them and were probably quite handy with fists. Preston saw the sense in that.
"Yeah", he said, "I suppose we'd be bound to get beaten up if we get them the slipper. Oh well, it was a nice idea for a while."
After tea Andrew took Peter to a deserted class room to start the arduous process of teaching him the school's rules and customs. Since Peter had had such a strange education to date, Andrew decided to begin with the incredibly complicated punishment rules.
It seemed that all boys started the new term on what was called "white alert". When on white alert, a first year boy could expect to be given three strokes with the slipper for a "table A" offence, four strokes for a "table B" offence and six strokes for a "table C" offence. There were also "table D" offences which would result in the boy being sent to Burner Bunsen for a caning. Once a boy had been punished three times during the term he would move up to "red alert". That would lead to his being given four strokes for a table A offence and six for a table B offence. Table C offences would be punished by a caning from Burner. Peter didn't think he would have much trouble remembering that, but he realised, as soon as Andrew produced copies of tables A to D, that it was not going to be easy to remember which offences were in which tables. The real difficulty was going to be in differentiating between tables A and B. For instance, having your hands in your trouser pockets on school premises was a table A offence, but doing the same thing in town was a table B one. Tables C and D were relatively easy. They seemed to have offences which should obviously lead to punishment (some of those in table A in particular hardly seemed to Peter to warrant a slippering). Table C included, for instance, ragging after lights out and breaking bounds. Table D included smoking, drinking and having midnight swims. Altogether, the tables contained well over a hundred different offences. Peter put the lists in his pocket and promised Andrew he would do his best to learn them by the following evening.
"Now", said Andrew, "I suppose since you've never been slippered before I ought to tell you something about what you do when you get it. If you get caught doing something wrong in your dorm, you just get whacked straight away, in your pyjamas, but if you get caught during the day it's different. Let's imagine that you have been caught with your hands in your pockets on school premises at lunch time. The prefect who catches you will give you a coloured card. White means you've committed a table A offence, blue means table B red means table C and black means table D. So, it's one o'clock and you've been given a white card. You keep it safely for the rest of the day, till House Prayers at eight o'clock. At the end of prayers, which are in the main hall, you stay behind with any other boys who are for it. The duty prefect will have left with everyone else, but he'll come back in about five minutes with a gym shoe. While you're waiting you line up on the right side of the hall in alphabetical order of surnames. A is nearest the door and Z (actually there aren't any of those) would be nearest the scholarships board. Of course, if you are the only one, you just stand by the door. As soon as the prefect comes in the first boy (nearest the top of the alphabet) walks to the middle of the hall, where the big table is, and takes off his jacket. He puts it on the far end of the table and then goes to the prefect and hands over his coloured card. When he's done that, he goes back to the centre of the table, turns round and walks four paces away from it. Then he turns again and bends over. Now, this is the important bit. Your feet have to be six inches apart and you bend over far enough to clutch your ankles. But you must not bend your knees at all. Here, I'll show you."
Andrew stood up, took off his jacket and walked to the centre of the classroom. He then adopted the position he had just described.
"As you can see, when I'm bending like this my trousers are really tight round my bum so I'm a much easier target than I would be otherwise. Also, of course, if I had put any padding down my trousers you would easily see it."
Peter could, indeed, see that Andrew's trousers were hugging his slim, slightly rounded bottom very tightly. He could even see the lines of the underpants underneath. When his own father spanked him, he always had his trousers and pants down. But he realised that the school uniform trousers were so thin that they would not provide any real protection from the pain of the slipper.
"In fact", continued Andrew, "no School House boy would ever dream of padding up before a slippering or a swishing. Only the worst sort of boy would be that cowardly, and we don't have any of them in School House." He stood back up and gestured for Peter to take his place. "OK, you have a go".
Peter took off his jacket and walked to the centre of the room. He bent over perfectly and he could feel the tightness of the trousers round his buttocks. Andrew looked at the bending boy with the eye of an expert.
"Got it in one. Bad luck for you, but I reckon that you've got a really whackable bum. It's just the shape and size that will make most prefects really want to slipper you. It's really odd, but fat boys don't get the slipper nearly as much as slim ones. I reckon it must be more fun whacking a bum like yours than, say, Witherston's". This was a reference to a rather flabby and unhealthy looking boy in Andrew's year to whom he had introduced Peter at tea.
Once the demonstration of how to take a slippering was done, Andrew left Peter to study tables A to D. They arranged to meet again just before house prayers. Peter dutifully sat at a desk reading the lists over and over again. After about an hour, he decided he could take no more of it, but he was pleased with his progress.
House prayers were uneventful. Not surprisingly, since it was the first day of term, no one stayed behind at the end and, after half an hour in the junior common room, Peter and Andrew went up to the dormitory. Peter was surprised, being an only child who had never boarded, at how unconcerned everyone was about undressing in front of others. Everyone seemed to be following the same routine. They stripped off completely and then went to the basins in the middle of the room to wash and brush their teeth, absolutely stark naked. The new boys, on the whole, were fairly undeveloped, but some of the mentors already had quite impressive kit between their legs. Peter found the display somewhat embarrassing and he tried to avert his eyes, but he noticed that everyone else seemed to think it all entirely natural.
When all were washed and dressed in their pyjamas the duty prefect, a very muscular looking seventeen year old called Robinson, came in to tell them to get into bed. They would have fifteen minutes before lights out when they could talk, but after that there must be silence. He left to continue his rounds. Andrew jumped out of bed and went to Peter's bed.
"I forgot one important thing", he whispered, "they turn a blind eye to wanking, but, if you're going to do it, make sure you catch it all with a hanky. You can get into trouble for staining the sheets."
Peter immediately blushed to the roots of his hair. He had indeed discovered the delights of what his prep school headmaster had called self abuse (although he was still a little too young for anything much to be produced at the end), but it would never have occurred to him to say anything about that secret pleasure to anyone else. He muttered his thanks for the advice and tried his best to hide his embarrassment. Life in a boarding school was very rum, he thought.
When the lights were switched off Peter, for the first time that day, had time to feel homesick. Until then he had been far too busy learning all about his new life. But now, as he lay in the dark on his hard bed, he felt a surge of sadness come over him. His eyes began to water as he thought of his parents and his comfortable warm bedroom at home. But he took a grip on himself. He thought of Andrew, and how kind he had been. He thought of the other new boys he had met, all of whom had seemed to be pleasant and some of whom appeared to be really good fun. No, he must persevere. Life would be bound to get better. Then he heard a rhythmic squeaking sound from the springs of Andrew's bed and a whispered voice from the bed next to it.
"Blimey you're randy Chucker, don't you ever take a night off?"
Peter smiled to himself. He wondered what sort of girl Andrew thought about at these times. It would, no doubt, have interested him greatly to learn that his mentor was actually imagining Peter bending over for six with the slipper.
Peter thought back over the day's events. As he remembered Andrew's demonstration of how to bend over for a slipering, he was surprised to find that he, too, was beginning to become aroused. He couldn't understand why the thought of Andrew's bottom in position for punishment should cause this reaction. Normally, it was thoughts of Sally, the sixteen year old girl who lived next door, which led him to start the gentle rubbing. But now, the combination of the audible activity in Andrew's bed and the recollection of that firm and slim bottom tightly hugged by school trousers, was definitely all that he was thinking about. A few moments later the sound of squeaking could be heard from his bed too.
To be continued.