It was the year 2010. The women who had held the country to ransom were no longer in power - rejected by voters fearful of becoming victims of horrific crimes committed by out of control youths.
The new, male dominated parliament moved swiftly to address the problem. Judges were empowered to order judicial whippings and corporal punishment was reinstated in schools......
Toby Giles was the headmaster of St Barnabas Boarding School for Boys. The buildings were much the same as they had been 100 years before apart from refurbishment in the 1980s to make the stone walls more resistant to earthquakes. The boys no longer wore uniforms. Discipline was ineffectual: 'grounding' and 'time out' only made the boys mutinous whlle 'suspension' was regarded as a holiday.
The headmaster looked at the package lying on top of his huge teak desk. He undid the wrapping revealing 100 whippy rattan canes. He sighed. Mr Giles was an enthusiastic educator who had become increasingly frustrated by the behaviour of the boys entrusted to his care. He remembered the cane from his own school days in the UK. It had never been used to his knowledge. The threat of it was enough.
Mr Giles picked up a cane and scythed it experimentally through the air. He could not imagine applying such a weapon to an errant boy's backside, no matter how deserving. Yet the new government was insistent and the Board of Governors gave their wholehearted approval. He walked across to a bookcase and looked up a volume containing a brief history of the school. He checked the index for 'corporal punishment' and sat down to read the relevant pages.
The headmaster was surprised to learn that beatings were administered by the handyman. He thought of the incumbent Mr Searle, who was elderly and arthritic, and shook his head. He put the book down and gazed reflectively out of the window. Some wretched boy had sprayed '_f_u_c_k_ Skule' on the gardener's cottage. Mr Giles didn't know what was more upsetting: the obscene word, the mis-spelling, or the fact that a boy had tagged his territory just like a dog lifting its leg.
The cottage door opened and the gardener walked into the yard. He immediately got to work erasing the obscene message. Rod McKenzie the gardener was 23 years old. Fit and energetic. The headmaster watched the muscles rippling under the gardener's sweat shirt. He opened the window and shouted to Rod to join him for coffee. 'What have I done now?' the gardener thought. He washed his hands under the garden tap and slicked his hair.
Inside the study the gardener balanced the fragile china plate on one muscular leg and slowly sipped his coffee. The headmaster cleared his throat.
"You will be aware Mr McKenzie that changes have to be made. The Governors are insistent that caning be reintroduced to the school".
Rod spoke up: "About time too, Have you seen the state of my wall?"
The headmaster nodded: "Quite. According to this book, beatings at St Barnabas were always carried out by the handyman er, gardener. Witnessed by the Head Boy until there was some incident early last century. After that the witness was the school chaplain. Well, we no longer have a clergyman on the staff so I think that function would best be performed by our nurse Mr Player. Regulations require boys be caned on the bare buttocks".
The gardener scratched his head. "So who gives the hidings?"
"Well, my dear chap," the headmaster smiled, "I was rather hoping it would be you".
Rod dropped both his cup and plate and got down to retrieve them. His mind was working overtime: 'Yes! I'll thrash the little bugger who sprayed my wall and the one who tied a tin can on the tail of Mangler the school cat!' He put the crockery on the desk. "Sorry about that sir, but no harm done. You took me by surprise that's all. You want a caner. I'm your man".
"That's splendid! The headmaster smiled and picked up his phone. He asked Jonathon Player to join them. The nurse quickly finished bandaging the knee of a third former, walked the long corridor and quiety entered the headmaster's study.
Mr Giles explained the situation to Jonathon. The nurse was both astounded and aroused by what he heard. Observing the deliberate wounding of a boy's bottom as punishment, was not in his schedule of duties. The nurse was the same age as Rod but slender and still boyish looking.
"I will be happy to assist any way I can", Jonathon said: "But I know nothing at all about beating boys' bottoms".
"You leave that to me, sunbeam". Rod looked grim. "When I was growing up my old man took a willow switch to my bare backside at least once a week".
"But what about the strict prohibition on corporal punishment?", the headmaster looked puzzled.
The gardener shrugged. "He didn't agree with it. When I have boys of my own they'll be brought up the same. Taught right from wrong, to respect other people ..." Rod glanced out the window at the graffitti, "...and property".
There was a knock on the door and the headmaster shouted "Come!" The Head Boy entered the study. He was a tall, fair youth of 17. Adrian _c_o_c_k_burn was the latest member of his family to attend St Barnabas. There had been a _c_o_c_k_burn at the school for over one hundred years. He handed the headmaster a roster of boys who had agreed to help during the annual sports day. The headmaster explained to Adrian the reason for the gathering. He handed a cane to Rod who inspected it.
Mr Giles coughed. "Adrian. I have a favour to ask but will not be upset if you decline".
Adrian looked puzzled. What was the old man on about?
"It's just that no boy has been beaten at St Barnabas for a very long time. I feel we need to have a dress rehearsal, so to speak. We must be confident when it comes to actually punishing a boy". Mr Giles looked expectantly at Adrian.
The Head Boy had a sinking feeling but said: "Alright sir".
"Excellent!" boomed Mr Giles. "It's all here on this pamphlet from the Department of Education". He handed one each to Rod and Jonathon. The maximum number of strokes is six but this can be extended at the headmaster's discretion. Let us proceed. Gentlemen, if you will please carry out your roles while I observe".
The nurse said: "_c_o_c_k_burn. For using a recreational drug you will receive six strokes".
The Head Boy thought '_s_h_i_t_! How did old Playbum find out about THAT?'
"Unbutton, boy!" the nurse said with steel in his voice.
Adrian turned away from the men and faced the chair which Rod had placed in the centre of the room. The Head Boy dropped his trousers and jockeys. Rod positioned the youth so he was bent over the back of the chair. He lifted the shirt-tail revealing Adrian's glorious jutting-out arse. The men watched as Rod raised the stick high in the air and then slashed it down onto those luscious boy mounds. A thick red weal sprang up.
"_f_u_c_k_!" Adrian screamed, leaping into the air and rubbing his fiery bum.
The nurse looked at the pamphlet. "Jumping up, swearing and rubbing each incur a penalty stroke. That's a total of 9 strokes".
Rod gripped the flogging stick. "Get down boy, NOW!" Poor Adrian had no option. He resumed the submissive position and, this time, stayed down.
CRACK! The youth's slender buttocks wobbled and shook like two obscene jellies.
CRACK! Another angry-looking welt sprang up. The boy sobbed loudly.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The two men watching observed the huge pole tenting the front of Rod's trousers and discreetly rearranged their own.
"That was the force I'd use on a junior", the gardener said. "These next two might suit an older lad". He looked at the quivering rump bent so submissively for him before winding himself up then spinning and landing two very hard strokes on Adrian's defenceless buttocks.
CRACK!! CRACK!!! The Head Boy yelled and slumped forward. Slowly he pushed himself back into position. After this he'd never touch that banned substance, tobacco, again.
"This last stroke will REALLY tickle a senior boy's bum", Rod said, conversationally. The headmaster looked at the evenly spaced puffy ridges on Adrian's buttocks. The nurse thought he'd never seen anything more exciting.
Rod stood closer to that already well thrashed backside. He spun like a top bringing the stick down with all his might.
C-R-A-C-K!!!!
The thin, whippy rattan struck the boy's tortured flesh, carving a diagonal path through the forest of weals. Adrian bawled pitifully and slumped onto the floor.
The nurse inspected Adrian's bottom. "Amazing. The cane has broken the skin but there is hardly any bleeding. He'll have some spectacular bruises by morning".
The headmaster offered Adrian a handkerchief. The boy wiped his eyes and slowly stood up. The men noticed his shrivelled up penis and tiny balls. Adrian slowly got dressed. The headmaster offered the white-faced boy a chair and he winced as he sat down. Mr Giles thanked the Head Boy for being the 'guinea pig'.
"Nothing else ever hurt so bad", Adrian confessed. "It will certainly stop the young hooligans - like Chalky White who wrote on that wall". The headmaster jotted down the name. "If I might just make a suggestion, sir?" The Head Boy looked up at Mr Giles through still damp eyelashes. The man nodded. "Well, the beating had a drastic effect on my bladder and bowels. I was worried I might disgrace myself"
"A very good point", the nurse said. "I will instruct the boys to go to the toilet before punishment". The headmaster nodded his aggreement, thinking about his persian carpet.
Over the next few days the Head Boy, like generations before him, proudly showed off his 'stripes'. There was an immediate improvement in the boys' attitude. Young White received six strokes which persuaded him to give up his 'art' work. Beatings were administered in the old room behind the gymnasium and afterwards, the boy shook the hand which had caned him, reviving another St Barnabas tradition. Vogler who was caught red-handed being cruel to Mangler the cat, left the punishment room with a suitably reddened bottom. Mangler looked on, pleased.
Morale among both boys and staff dramatically improved. Achievement in the classroom and on the playing field reached a level not seen at the school for years. The boys feared and respected 'the stick' and were all the better for it.