Another sunny day was dawning, and Colin Peters was awake to see it. The sunlight streamed horizontally across the calm North Sea, and gently settled onto the wall of his bedroom window. Margate is situated on the very eastern tip of Kent, and at this time of year the sun rose in the North-east, almost a thousand miles of water stretched across to Norway. In summer time it was a popular tourist destination, mostly Londoners coming 80 miles or so down the Thames until they ran out of land. The still air at the open window confirmed that today was going to be a scorcher. The holiday-makers would be out enjoying the beautiful weather, grinning to themselves because they had chosen a resort which had been favoured with hot sunshine.
Colin would not be joining them. Colin would be spending the early part of the day performing the usual routine chores that make owning a guest house less attractive. Colin, a retired civil servant who had spent most of his career in the diplomatic corps, should have been a happy man. Although in his late fifties he was still healthy, active, and owned one of the better guest-houses in this pleasant town. Colin had inherited the property unexpectedly in the spring, and this was his first summer as owner. It had nine bedrooms, each with a shower cubicle & toilet. Six were family rooms, with twin beds which could be pushed together to make a double, and two bunks. The other three contained a bunk bed, the top bunk could be quickly dismantled and slid under the lower one if the room was occupied by only one person. This often happened in the late season and winter, when travelling salesmen heading for continental Europe made up the bulk of business. The house had a lounge, children's playroom, bathroom with Jacuzzi, sauna, gym with weights machine and three exercise cycles. It was tastefully decorated and spotlessly clean.
This morning, however, Colin was in a foul mood. First there was breakfast to cook for his nine families. Then the washing up had to be done, even with a smart new dishwasher this was a task he loathed. Some people wasted so much food it was incredulous - specially the children. At some point he would have to go shopping, nine families eat a lot. Then there were the repairs. Doorknobs pulled off, little holes in the plaster, door hinges damaged, sweet wrappers dropped anywhere. Later Colin would have to clean all through the house, five storeys meant a lot of stairs to vacuum, handrails to polish, and dirty fingerprints to wash off his walls. Then there were the toilets. Oh my God, he thought, how I hate cleaning those toilets, particularly when some little brat has used it, wiped their backside and dropped the paper on the floor instead of down the pan. The kids. That is what Colin hated about owning a guest house. Those kids. Now some children were great, he thought. Particularly the children of parents who saw fit to smack them when they got too excited. But the wild kids, the ones whose parents didn't seem to control them. They spoiled the house, and everybody's holiday. Why don't those parents deal with their brats? Perhaps they don't like to in public, or haven't got the equipment, he mused.
Then he had an idea. I'll give them the equipment, and encourage them to use it. Colin's mood changed. Suddenly he felt positive about the day. Today he would go shopping all right, but not just for food. He leapt out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown. It was still only 6am, no guests would be up for at least an hour, but Colin was a man on a mission. He hurried to his bathroom and showered quickly, but thoroughly. Then he shaved and combed his hair. Colin dressed quickly, putting on his clean white catering coat and blue striped trousers. Colin liked to dress properly when cooking for his guests. He felt that it set the tone. The guests too, were impressed by his high standards of appearance and hygiene in the house.
Breakfast passed quickly, and soon Colin was leaving to go to shopping, dressed in a light coloured summer suit with tie, and driving his small neat car. Margate was a good town for shopping, but did not have what he wanted. Today Colin was off the Bognor Regis, a drive of about two hours along the south coast of Kent. Colin normally enjoyed the drive through the garden of England, but today his mind was on other things. He was calculating what quantity and variety he would need, where to put the new equipment, and how to go about encouraging his guests to make full use of it. By the time he reached Bognor, he had worked it out. By the time he located the premises of the Bognor Cane Company he was almost excited.
"Good morning, Sir" greeted the mature lady behind the counter as Colin approached. "Can I help you?"
"Good morning indeed" Colin responded. "I would like twelve of your junior canes, please, and four senior ones, all with crook handles"
"Certainly, Sir, anything else?"
"Yes, twelve of those small leather paddles, twelve two-tail tawses, one large paddle, three tiny canes, and a martinet."
"Of course, sir" said the somewhat surprised assistant. She was quiet used to serving parents who wanted something to keep their youngster in check, and did deal with the bulk orders from independent schools. But those orders usually came by post, and very rarely was there such a mix. "That's quiet an arsenal you're taking" she prompted as she placed the last items on the counter "Are you expecting trouble?"
"No" Colin stated, "I'm ending it" They both laughed.
Colin paid the bill, which he was pleased to note was much less than he had anticipated, then the shop assistant put his goods into two large carrier bags. The long items went into a plastic bag which was probably intended for wall-paper, the shorter instruments into a normal bag. It was only a short walk back to the car, then he drove home.
Back in Margate Colin called at a hardware store and purchased 24 picture frames, some coat-hooks, some screws, rawlpugs, a new masonry drill bit, and some brightly coloured paper for his computer printer. It was just past lunch-time when Colin returned to the house, but there was no hurry. All the guests ate out at lunch-time, one of the blessings of a Bed & Breakfast. Colin would need to cook the evening meal, but there were several hours before he would need to start, and he had enough food in the cupboards. At his computer Colin started to type notices, which he printed onto card and fitted into frames.
One card said :-
Happy Holidays Guest House. Guests are reminded that they are expected to keep their children under proper control. The management recognises that guests have come away for a holiday, but must insist that parents ensure their children do not spoil the pleasures of others. We accept that children are inclined to get into mischief, but do expect parents to do their duty. Please feel welcome to make use of the disciplinary equipment provided. If you prefer other equipment, there is a selection of instruments at reception. Punishments may also be administered in the lounge if parents feel that it is appropriate, please ask at reception if you wish for an announcement to be made.
Colin made nine copies of this, one for each bedroom. Others had shorter messages. He intended erecting these on the stairs, in the dining room, and lounge.
They said things like :-
To err is childish, to punish is divine.
Spare the rod and spoil the child.
Do you love your children enough to spank them?
The manage reserves the right to ask unruly guests to leave.
Spank now, your kids will thank you later.
Erecting the notices took an hour, and fixing the coathooks took another. After he fixed the hooks, Colin hung up a junior cane, small paddle, and tawse in each room. They were positioned on a wall in clear view from the door. Colin had just finished vacuuming the drill dust from last carpet when the first guests returned.
Mr Smith opened the door and Mrs Smith pushed her boy in. "Get up to our room, I'll speak to you later" she snarled.
Mr Smith saw the new notice in reception at once, and nudged his wife. It read "Guests are expected to punish naughty children. There is a supply of instruments in each bedroom, and more here." They walked into the lounge to be met by another notice reading "Guests wanting to punish an offspring have priority in this room, but other guests are welcome to observe."
"Mum, somebody's been in our room" yelled their nine-year-old boy from the second floor landing "they've put these thing in" and waved a cane and tawse.
"Feel welcome to use them any time" Colin appeared from the broom cupboard behind reception.
"An answer to my prayers" Mrs Smith beamed "He has been ignoring me all day, running up & down the promenade, getting in the way of old ladies on the electric wheelchairs, and pestering for one ice-cream after another"
"Well, be my guest" Said Colin, holding up one of the spare small paddles which he had deposited behind the reception counter "There is one in your room, or you can use this down here."
"Michael, come here at once" called Mr Smith. The boy appeared, wearing a yellow T-shirt and shorts.
"Mother and I are very upset with you today" he continued "You have embarrassed us in public, and now mummy is going to spank you for it." Michael looked at the floor. Mrs Smith placed a hard-backed chair in the centre of the lounge.
"Come along, young man" she said as she sat down. Michael edged closer to her, looked up at his dad, then started to cry.
"It's no good feeling sorry now" the man declared "You have been a nuisance all day, and it has spoiled our fun. Now you will learn to obey your Mummy"
Mrs Smith took the boy's hand and pulled him closer. His shorts, which an elastic waist but no zip, were yanked down, and his white underpants came with them. Michael's bottom was much whiter than his sun-tanned legs. As he was pushed over his mum's knees his T-shirt rode up, revealing his sun-tanned lower back.
The first slap with the new paddle made everybody jump. Mrs Smith had raised it high over her shoulder and swung viciously at the proffered bottom. There was a loud crack like somebody clapping their hands, and a squeal from Michael.
"Try lots of flicks" suggested Mr Smith. Mrs Smith raised the paddle to about head-height, then brought it down sharply on the little boy's left buttock. Nine more smacks followed in rapid succession. Michael was rigid.
Michael's once white left bottom cheek was now almost purple from the immediate impacts of the paddle.
"Muuuuum" he wailed "Sorry, Sorry Sorry." Michael's legs thrashed about, and his shorts came off. Ten brisk strokes on his right cheek were not what Michael had wanted.
Michael's right cheek now matched his left one, vivid purple colouring which was rapidly swelling and maturing into a hot red heat.
"Arrgh" was all that he could manage. He went limp, sobbing loudly.
"It's all right now" soothed his mum, as she lifted the boy and sat him on her knee. Michael flung his arms around her neck, and sobbed. "I'm sorry mummy" He said over and over.
Mrs Smith stood the boy up, picked up his underpants and shorts, and led the tearful youngster bare-bottomed up the stairs. His buttocks were now an even crimson colour, and appeared to be about a centimetre bigger than before. The red patch looked like a stuck-on plastic coating, but Michael was all too aware that it was very real, and burned.
"Thank you. That helped to clear the air" Mr Smith returned the paddle to Colin.
"My pleasure" Colin smiled as he put the paddle under the counter.
Just then the Jones family entered the hall. All four of them saw the retreating red behind. The kids looked shocked, the adults smiled approvingly. Colin descended into the kitchen to start the evening meal. Mr Smith nodded to Mr Jones.
"Have a good day?" Mr Jones asked, innocently.
"Not really" Mr Smith replied "the young fellow was a bit difficult, but we've sorted it out now."
"So I saw. What did the old boy say about you spanking the little fellow in his house?"
"He provided the paddle, and it really did the trick"
Just then Mrs Jones noticed the new signs. "Look darling, I told you nobody would have minded if we had smacked them last night"
The Jones children had been the principle cause of Colin's discomfort this week. Although aged 13 and 14, the boys had acted more like 3 year olds. They had raced up and down stairs shouting, had thrown wet tissue paper at each other in the bathroom, had fiddled with the TV tuning buttons, trying to locate Channel five, even though a notice stated that it was not available in Margate, and had scattered marbles all over the playroom floor.
"Upstairs you two" ordered Mr Jones "we have some unfinished business" The two boys looked up from their position lying on a settee, watching the cartoons on the TV. They were both wearing football strips, red short-sleeve tops with white shorts, their long red socks gathered around their ankles, and sand-ingrained shoes soiling the cloth.
"In a minute, Dad" said Jason the elder boy.
"Not yet" chirped in Graham. Neither boy stirred.
"Now" barked Mr Jones. Both boys sat bolt upright. "I am ashamed that you two have behaved so badly in this house. Now you are going to pay. You will both be getting a taste of the cane for last night's performance. Get up to your room or I'll thrash you right here" The boys shot up the stairs.
"See you at dinner" said Mr Smith as Mr Jones ascended.
Once inside his room. Mr Jones looked with satisfaction at the array of weapons on the wall. He had thought it appropriate to let the boys have a room on their own, since they were both teenagers. Now he wondered if he should have made them take the bunks in his room. Mr Jones took the tawse from it's hook, holding it in his right hand. I remember this, he thought, as he ran his left hand down it's length. That Latin teacher certainly knew how to swing it. Mrs Jones sat on the bed.
"Jason, come in" He commanded. The boy obeyed. "Now, this is going to teach you to do exactly what I say, when I say it. Hold out your right hand" The boy complied. Although corporal punishment was not used in school anymore, he had seen films of kids getting a strap on their hands. He was confident he knew what to do, and could take it.
CRACK
"Owww" screamed Jason, tucking his palm under his left armpit.
"Left hand" Mr Jones demanded. Jason offered it, gingerly.
"Hold it out straight"
"It hurts, Dad" the boy pleaded, but held it out anyway.
CRACK
"Owww" Jason moaned, and pressed both palms together between his legs.
"Right hand" said Mr Jones.
"Please Dad, it hurts ever so" "A boy your age needs at least four to learn his lesson"
"Oh God" Jason began to cry. Out went the hand.
CRACK
"Arrgh" he squealed and shook his hand vigorously.
"Left hand". Jason complied
"I'm sorry Daddy. I will do as you say at once" Jason whimpered, tears streaming down his face.
CRACK
"Now, that's better. Go and stand by the wall, hands on head, whilst I deal with Graham. Then it's the cane on your bottom."
"Graham, come in" Graham had been standing in his room, watching proceedings in his parents room which was directly across the landing. Graham had not enjoyed what he had seen. He thought his elder brother was marvellous, so tough, and if he had cried, Graham was sure to. The walk across the landing was a traumatic experience.
"Hold out your right hand" his father commanded.
Graham did so, scared to refuse but frightened of the sting to come.
CRACK
"Ouch, Ouch, Ouch" Graham danced, clutching his right hand to his chest, nursing it with his left one.
"Now the left" demanded his dad.
"Please dad, it hurts ever so"
"I know, but you deserve it" Graham tore his left hand from the safety of his chest and thrust it into the danger of open space.
CRACK
"Owwwwwww" the hand instantly returned to the comfort of his chest.
"Right hand" Graham felt a surge of courage. This was his dad dealing out well-deserved punishment.
"I'm very sorry daddy"
CRACK
"I have to do it properly, you do realise that son"
"Yes Daddy" Graham spluttered between sobs.
"Left hand, then"
CRACK
"Now go and face the wall. Cane in ten minutes"
Graham staggered to the wall, and raised his throbbing hands onto his head. Both boys stood in silence, apart from sniffs of tears, and time passed slowly. Mr Jones sat on the bed, Mrs Jones gathered up the dirty clothes from the boys bedroom, and added her items to the pile.
"I think I'll wash these things. Can I have all of their clothes as well, to make up a decent load for the washing machine?" said Mrs Jones, with a purposeful expression.
"Boys, get undressed" Mr Jones said, calmly, as if it was a simple request.
For the boys it was far from simple. They had not been seen naked in front of their parents for several years, and the bedroom door was still open. Worse, their hands had gone numb, and arms ached after ten minutes in a raised position. Despite this, they stripped quickly, blushing slightly as they stepped out of their shorts and deeply when the underwear followed. Humiliation was completed when Mrs Jones held out her already loaded arms, and the naked boys had to pick up their clothes and add them to the pile. All modesty was gone, and neither felt it worthwhile trying to shield their budding manhood. Mrs Jones departed for the laundry room, mercifully closing the door behind her, and fully aware of the consequences of her action.
"Bend over the end of the bed, boys" The brothers did so, side by side, stark naked. Mr Jones took up the cane.
"Graham, step to your left, please" The boy did so, moving away from his partner in crime, and now in punishment.
"Three strokes each" He announced "But next time it will be six"
Both boys felt a degree of relief, quickly converted to panic as the first stroke cut in.
Whack, Whack. Mr Jones sliced each boy across his bared bottom. First Graham, who was further away, and then Jason. Each boy rose up instantly as the cane struck home. Neither had ever been caned before, and this was awesome.
"Ouch" "Ouch" they yelled, clutching their rumps in shock and pain. Mr Jones was secretly pleased. He knew that it would be a shock to his sons. Up until now family punishments had been restricted to spankings, and although done firmly they had not been given on bare bottoms. Mrs Jones had always forbidden the acquisition of a cane, worried about what the neighbours might think, nor the removal of clothing. In fact Mr & Mrs Jones had discussed this very topic several times, but she had adamantly refused to permit the boys to be spanked with clothing removed. The significance of the laundry incident had not been lost on Mr Jones, who now felt fully in control.
"Bend over, boys"
Both looked at their dad, but neither thought it worth saying anything. They had accepted that this punishment was fair, and just wanted to get it over with.
Whack. Whack.
"Ouch" "Ouch" This time the brothers knew what to expect. The sudden sharp pain quickly faded to a hot throbbing. Both stayed down.
Mr Jones admired his handiwork. Each boy had two neat lines across their lower bottoms, just above the point at which the thigh ended. That should give them something to remember when they sit down, he smiled. A pity that the other parents would not be able to see that he, at least, had done his duty. Then he grinned.
Whack. Whack.
"Arrrgh" "Owwwww"
Both boys screamed as Mr Jones swished the cane across the middle of their thighs. Tears streamed down their already salty cheeks. Two vivid red weals formed on the sun-tanned skin.
"OK boys" Mr Jones spoke in a friendly tone "It's over not, you can get up"
The boys leapt up, clutching their sore rumps, and simultaneously trying to rub the last stinger on the lower thigh. After a few minutes Jason, the older boy, spoke.
"Thank you, Daddy, I am sorryI was naughty"
"That's OK, son." smiled Mr Jones "You took your punishment well, that's all I can ask for."
They hugged, a tight emotional hug, and Graham joined them. The three standing squeezing each other firmly, lost in deep emotions of pride, respect, forgiveness, but mainly love.
An hour later the Jones family marched into supper, both boys immaculate in white shirts, navy blue shorts, white ankle socks, and blue canvas shoes. Each sporting a red stripe on their exposed leg, but neither embarrassed by it. They sat slowly, and spoke quietly through the meal, displaying perfect manners. If the other children present had noticed the bruise, they did not remark upon them. For every child had his, or her, own marks to focus their attentions.
When Colin appeared with the soup, everybody stood and applauded him.
"Thank you" said Mr Jones
"Hear Hear" contributed the others.
"I hope you enjoy your stay" Colin replied.
"We will now" they all chorused.