The last paragraph from "Letter to Parents: Further Consequences":
We left the boys' toilets and I watched Reynolds head towards the gymnasium where he was late for PT, leaving wet footprints on the polished tiled floor. I turned and went to my maths class, certain that my excuse that I had been to see the headmaster would be acceptable, equally certain that my algebra homework would be unacceptable and hoping sincerely that my lines would be deemed neat enough.
The story continues:
Philip Smith was correct on all counts but he did not enjoy walking into the work in progress of the maths class and was made to stand in front of the room for about two minutes whilst Mr. Strutt was explaining an equation on the blackboard. The class were whispering; wondering whether Smith's late arrival was because he had just been caned. The master turned to Smith when he had finished, put down his chalk and stared at the boy:
"Why have you taken so long. Grainger has been here for five minutes already?"
"I am sorry Sir. I was helping a first former Sir"
"What do you mean?"
"He was caned by the Head Sir and couldn't stop crying."
"So you felt sorry for him?"
"I suppose so. Sort of Sir"
"Well I shall overlook this now but don't think I shall be so easy on you when your club starts in earnest. If the first former was caned he deserved it, is that not so Grainger?"
The addressee stood.
"Yes Sir, but it was his first time Sir and we had to hold him down because he couldn't take it. The Head really laid it on and Reynolds is very small"
The addressee sat.
"Very well. Smith leave your lines and homework on my desk and go to your seat. The rest of you stop talking. You will soon get the opportunity of seeing how boys like Smith and Grainger are dealt with. You will have to be patient.
Smith went to his desk at the back of the class ignoring the hand that reached out and touched the back of his knee and sat down next to Turner who was grinning broadly and looking down at Smith's bare thighs. He was not going to admit it but he thought he looked rather cute like that. The lesson was spent doing, or attempting to do algebra exercises. Smith found them difficult but his neighbour found them easy and finished quickly. To amuse himself he drew a stick figure of a cane-wielding schoolmaster above Smith's right knee with a felt tip pen. Philip thought he was just tickling him and ignored it. As the class was dismissed Smith was called back.
"Smith, this homework is quite disgraceful and will have to be done again this evening. You will also report here after school for detention."
"Please Sir I can't I have to go and get a cap straight after school. My dad will kill me if I don't"
"I doubt it, he will merely thrash you. However I do not want to get in the way of you wearing a school cap so we shall make the detention tomorrow evening instead, but for an hour."
"But Sir . . "
"But Sir nothing. Off you go or you will be late for another lesson"
Philip was glad when the bell went at the end of the final period. It had been a trying day and he had become very fed up with the continual teasing about his short trousers, especially from Turner who he was really beginning to hate. It would not be so bad if he didn't live so close, as he had to try and avoid sitting near to him on the bus. He was unlucky this afternoon and found himself joined by Turner and his big brother as soon as he thought he was safely tucked away on the back seat upstairs, sitting next to a first former. The brother was in 4C and made Philip's class mate look like an angel. His uniform was not treated with any respect and clearly reflected the way the soon to be 15-year-old felt towards the school and authority generally. There was also a younger brother, who was in 1A and although not a member designate of the Schoolboys Society did wear short trousers and it was he that had been sitting quietly by the window who Smith had sat next to, not knowing he was a Turner. Turner, i. e. Colin Turner of 2B had rudely plonked himself between his little brother and Smith and his big brother pushed in to Smith's right. The boys rarely used first names and Smith was not sure how to refer to the big and little brothers. Had it been a boarding school Turner would have been Turner minor, his big brother Turner major and the little brother Turner minimus. At their school they were referred to by the staff as Turner, J. 1A, Turner, C. 2B and Turner, P. 4C. This was of no interest to our hero who just knew he hated any boy called Turner and now he was sandwiched between three of them. The little one at the end gleefully pointed out a blue mark on Philip's legs, where he had tried to get rid of Turner's silly drawing. The big one, encouraged by middle Turner just asked Philip question after question in a silly drawl whilst chewing gum. By the time they reached Caneton the Turners knew all about Philip's recent canings at home; that he cried like a baby; that he wanked in bed at night; that he had a little prick and nothing came out when he played with it but it did go hard sometimes, which both the older Turner boys tried unsuccessfully to manifest by the simple expedient of feeling up inside Philip's trouser legs (Philip regretting his satchel being between his legs instead of on his lap); that Reynolds had an even smaller one – even as small as the kid (Turner, J. 1A); who the other members were and major Turner was particularly happy that there were some third formers amongst them, two of whom he knew, one of which he already bullied and would have terrific fun with tomorrow. Philip answered the questions as softly as he could and continually aware that he was blushing, his ears looking like two additional rear lights high up on the bus.
The Turners were not prepared for Smith getting off at Caneton and he made his escape by employing the surprise tactic, leaping out of his seat with his satchel and nearly falling down the stairs in his effort to get off the bus before it started off again which he only just managed but incurred the wrath of the bus conductor, the very same that boxed his ears that morning.
Philip Smith entered Brummels cautiously, looking around to make sure there was no other boy from his school or indeed any boys at all when he was met by an assistant who was hardly more than a boy himself. The grey haired proprietor was busy with a gentleman who was trying on hats. The young assistant asked the boy what he wanted and Philip muttered something about a cap but was relieved when told to wait for Mr Brummel who dealt with school uniforms. Philip watched the hat fitting and hoped his own cap fitting would be quicker, all the time being closely regarded by the youthful assistant. Philip then wandered around the shop, his movements watched by the youth, who seemed particularly attracted to Philip's knees and into the area at the back in which school uniforms were displayed. He saw several different schools featured including his own, but only one cap in evidence destined for the head of a boy from a local preparatory school but currently surmounting an inanimate replica of the same. There were shelves of short trousers, shelves of school socks of many colours, shelves of shirts, draws of ties, rails of long trousers on hangers, a rail of navy school raincoats and rails of blazers of assorted colours and patterns. His eye caught a blazer amongst those from his school, which was distinguished by the yellow braiding the headmaster had mentioned. He was taking the blazer off the rail for closer examination when Mr. Brummel came in, replacing his young employee:
"Well young man I gather you want a cap for - - - - Grammar School. Do you like the blazer? It might even be for you. Your name is?"
"Smith Sir, Philip Smith"
"Well so it is. Your father ordered this only this morning and we were able to get the braiding on straight away but it is to be collected on Saturday. You will have a bus to catch so put it back now" and he went to a cupboard not readily accessible behind the rail of grey long trousers. Philip wondered if he would ever wear a pair of those again as he watched the proprietor bring out half a dozen blue school caps with yellow piping and each complete with a small version of a badge which matched that on his own blazer. He allowed the elderly shopkeeper to place each cap in turn on his head until he chose one that fitted. He pulled it down straight on Philip's head and the boy could just make out the peak as he looked up. It felt strange, as he had never worn a hat of any description.
"There we are young Sir. That will be £1.75p", and Philip took out the five pound note he had been keeping safe in a little secret pocket that he discovered in the front of his new short trousers. Mr Brummel gave the boy his change and watched him leave the shop with his cap on his head and turn left towards the bus stop. He also observed through the shop window that as soon as the boy reached the pavement he removed his cap and put it in his satchel.
Philip caught the late bus from Caneton and sat upstairs, pleased to be without the Turners. There were only adults on the bus and Philip sat with his satchel on his lap and stared out of the window and thought about his day. He took his cap out of his satchel and looked at it, wondering just how much teasing he would get for wearing that tomorrow. He did not want to be the first member to do so and was determined he wouldn't wear it until Monday, when they all had to. The headmaster had droned on about having to wear their caps and raising them in the street. How embarrassing! As he approached his stop, that was visible from his house and heeding his father's warning he put his cap on as he walked down the stairs, jumped off the bus and into his front door.
"Home mum", he called and was surprised to see that his father was sitting in the lounge.
"Hello Philip. Come in", from Mr Smith and Philip went in the lounge, cap in hand and feeling in his pockets.
"Here's the change." And he offered the money to his father.
"Here's the change, SIR" he was sharply reminded.
"Oh, I'm really sorry Sir. I won't forget that again honestly, Sir. I have the cap. Look", and he handed his new cap to his father, hoping he would not repeat the whacking he had this morning. It was only a little slip after all. His father however was considering something else.
"Very good. I trust you kept it on as you came home."
"Oh Yes Sir"
"You walked to the bus stop from the shop with your cap on your head, kept it on in the bus and arrived home with it on your head, only removing it as you entered the front door, did you?"
This seemed a very long winded way of asking what he had already asked but Philip did not know how to answer in any other way than another "Yes, Sir"
"Are you quite certain about that Philip?" and Mr Smith stood up and put his evening paper down on the coffee table. Philip was worried now but was certain his father could not have seen him so he replied again, but with slightly less certainty:
"Yes Sir"
"No Sir, I think you mean, Philip"
Philip said nothing.
"I am very disappointed in you Philip. Very. You are too late to redeem yourself. You have already lied to me but would you like to tell me the real truth now?"
"I did, Sir. I did wear it. Honestly. All the time, including on the bus", Philip answered, compounding his lie because he was reasonably certain his father could not have known but then quite suddenly he remembered the blazer with the braiding . . .
"Philip. Stop this. You are making it worse than it already is. Mr. Brummel telephoned me and told me that as soon as you left the shop you removed your cap and stuffed it in your satchel. True?"
Philip's heart sank and his bottom started itching.
"Yes, Sir", he murmured looking down at his knees and the blue stain.
"And you did not put it on again until you were getting off the bus. True?"
"Yes, Sir"
"So you have lied to me, Philip, and carried on lying deliberately, which I consider more serious than the act of gross disobedience of defying my specific instructions."
Philip caught his father's eyes. He looked very angry.
"I am sorry Sir"
There was a silence. Philip could think of nothing to say but he was angry that his father had set him a trap and angry with himself for falling straight into it. He felt his heart racing and his nervousness increase, as his father did nothing. His willie felt as if it was tickling and he badly wanted to feel it but not in front of his father so instead he held his bottom hoping that he would keep his trousers on for the now inevitable caning. He did not think he could take that again so soon.
"Go and stand in the corner, face the wall and put your hands on your head" ordered Mr. Smith. Philip obeyed and heard his father leave the room. All was quiet for a few minutes and the boy risked holding on to his soft willie through his shorts for some comfort. He also felt a need to urinate. He heard the door and rapidly replaced his hand.
"Hello Philip", said his mother. "Your father won't be long now. I have put back the meal so you can have your caning first", she said matter of factly and added: "It's shepherds pie"
"Oh great!" said Philip from his corner. It was his favourite but how unfair it seemed to have to go through so much pain before he could have it. His mother left the room and the boy wondered at her cheerfulness, but then she wasn't about to be beaten with a stick. Ten minutes went by during which Philip became pretty desperate to visit the toilet and held himself continually to avoid an accident. His father found him in that position when he came in quietly.
"You obviously find it difficult to obey simple instructions," he said and Philip's hand returned to his head.
"Please Sir. I am desperate to go the lavatory", he said and his legs wiggled from side to side, which somehow seemed to help. Mr. Smith could see it was true and released Philip who darted to the toilet at break neck speed, pulled his willie out from his trouser leg and relieved himself. Stopping first to mop up where he had missed in his haste he washed his hands and returned to the lounge to face his father who by that time had taken the cane down from its home on the bookcase. Philip faced his father and stared at the cane.
"I have deliberately left you alone to dwell on your behaviour but also to temper my own anger. I hate dishonesty and although you may feel it unfair to be found out in your disobedience by means of asking Mr. Brummel to report what you did; I had sincerely hoped that when I asked you if you had obeyed my instructions you would have had the honesty and guts to own up that you hadn't. It would not have been very serious for you, perhaps 3 strokes of the cane through your trousers for not wearing your cap and a pat on the back for owning up. Now however, I have to punish you very severely for deliberate and continual lying in addition. Let us hope that after this there is no repeat. It is particularly important that a boy, now brought up with strict discipline and the fear of real punishment for his misdemeanours learns to be open and honest; to submit to the cane if he knows he has done wrong and never to lie to attempt to avoid it."
There was a pause to enable the message to sink into the wretched boy who was now genuinely sorry. He fought to hold back his tears and just succeeded as he said to his father:
"Sir. I am sincerely sorry. It won't happen again"
Mr. Smith thought that Philip sounded that he meant what he said and was sure that after the message was reinforced with his cane the boy would not lie to him again in a hurry. He looked down on his son who was standing in the classic position of a contrite youth; head hung low, hands behind back. The juvenile dress suited the boy and his father noted with pleasure his neatly pulled up stockings, his still shiny black shoes, his correctly worn school tie framed by the triangle of the neckline of his light grey pullover in contrast to the darker grey of his smart short trousers. He forgave the blue ink patch above his right knee and the small dark patch of damp at the front of his shorts due no doubt to the lad trying hard not to wet himself whilst waiting in the corner. He was not a hard man but had a duty to perform and would not be found wanting in that direction.
"Take your trousers down" he instructed
Philip obeyed, letting them fall to his ankles.
"Right off please"
Philip stepped out of them and picked them up. His father took them from him, examined the white lining to see how wet they were but there was only a little patch and he shook them and folded them neatly. Philip watched and wondered, surreptitiously feeling the front of his underpants and finding them a little wet and feeling most embarrassed.
"Bend over the back of the chair"
He did as instructed and positioned himself as he had only last evening. There was a brief moment of semi-security as he was aware his pants were still on. His father looked at his son's bottom and picked up his cane. There were marks showing at each side of his white briefs and he could make out bruising through the thin material. He hung his cane by the crook handle in his top pocket and with both hands peeled the boy's underpants down to below his knees, covering the school colours of his sock tops. Philip felt the cold air and his little moment of hope vanished. Now he had to prepare for the excruciating stinging fire of the cane he had experienced for the first time less than 24 hours ago. This time though his bottom was not smooth and white, but marked with black, blue, red, yellow and purple decayed welts. He did not dare ask how many he was to get. He tried to clench his bottom, then to relax it and uncertain which would be the best way. He was not yet crying and was going to try hard not to do so but most of all to stay still and not leap up. He thought how silly Reynolds looked this morning. He heard the cane whistle through the air, once, twice and a third time. It made his heart stop and he clenched his calf muscles and tightened his grip on the arms of the chair in order to get a grip on himself. The cane touched the middle of his bottom gently as his father took aim. Philip breathed in deeply and clenched his bottom cheeks.
Mr Smith took the cane back and whipped it down very hard in the centre of his son's already punished bottom. An angry red wheal appeared instantaneously, which looked much worse than produced by the first of last night's strokes and at which Philip had leapt up and danced around the room. Tonight though he didn't and his bottom remained in position and there was only a little grunt from the boy. He laid the second stroke immediately below and parallel with the first and again his son remained still, whimpered and clutched the chair. The third stroke below the second produced a louder cry from the boy and he stamped his feet up and down, gripping the chair arms even tighter. The fourth stroke was aimed above the first but landed mostly upon it. Philip howled in pain and the tears flowed freely now but still his bottom remained in position. Mr Smith aimed the next higher to avoid the last and was more accurate this time. Philip was crying loudly now and his feet were jumping up and down and from side to side in an effort to cope with the pain. Mr. Smith's sixth stroke was aimed high and on an area of bottom that had never been chastised with a stick, only a slipper. It left a white wheal that quickly turned red and a boy who by now was very distressed and screaming more than crying. He was very pleased that his son was taking his medicine and only now had to complete the task. The seventh stroke was aimed lower in an area that was particularly badly bruised and unfortunately for Philip, he was unable to take it and despite his strenuous efforts, beating his feet on the floor, gripping the chair until his knuckles turned white and yelling his head off; he found himself standing and clutching his bottom with both hands, although he forewent the dance.
Mr. Smith waited a few seconds and listened to the boy's distress. He knew that as time went on his son would learn to cope as after all he had tried extremely hard to do so. His bottom would eventually become inured to the cane but never to the extent that it ceased to be punishment. Now it seemed extreme and to the 12-year-old he was standing behind, perhaps felt like the end of his world but his father knew that he would grow to accept it and indeed thrive upon it. It was no different than when he slippered the boy. At five years old he found it impossible to cope with and his mother had to hold him down. By eleven he took his punishment "like a man" and no doubt he would learn to take his canings in the same way.
"Philip. Bend across the chair again immediately. I trusted that after last night you would have learned to stay in position and again you will suffer further strokes. Your punishment was to be nine. The last did not count as you moved afterwards and the same will happen each time you move. You also receive an extra stroke at the end for moving at all. If you are brave you now have four more to go. Alternatively I shall call your mother and she will hold you in position for a further six. What is it to be?"
"I'll take it. Sir", sobbed Philip, really not wanting his mother to be involved in this. He remembered the shepherds pie and repositioned himself across the chair, noticing that the seat had become quite wet from his tears.
His father beat him again aiming the stroke to land on top of the last, the one that no longer counted. Not counted! The combined effect was the worst pain that young Philip had experienced in his life and he screamed so loudly that had somebody been passing in the road outside he would have dialled 999 to report a murder.
Mr Smith felt sorry after that stroke and had to remind himself what this very severe punishment was actually for. The weal produced had started to bleed very slightly and this was never his intention. The next stroke was aimed lower still, in the crease marking the division between buttocks and thigh and still smarting from the cane's application last night and although he whipped his son less hard the boy found it nearly impossible to bear. He did manage though through a huge effort, both physical and mental to stay in place to take another stroke, which this time was applied to the top of his thighs; a new and different pain of a special intensity that sent his legs dancing on the spot. Before he had time to fail in his resolve to stay down for the last stroke his father gave it to him, in the centre of his bottom where the punishment commenced, not too hard this time but at an angle, crossing the other strokes; the finishing touch that caused Philip to break down totally and he fell to the floor and sobbed.
He was left alone for ten minutes and Philip spent it crying to the carpet, oblivious of his bare and beaten bottom being on display to his mother that came in for a moment but left immediately. She returned later.
"Come on Philip. Get up. It's over now. I've run a bath for you"
Philip, aware of his mother's voice staggered to his feet and covered his front, turned and yanked his underpants up. His mother ushered him upstairs and into the bathroom, carrying his shorts.
"Sit in that for ten minutes. I have put a little Dettol in the water. It will make you feel better. Don't be too long as dinner's ready and you still have your homework to do so you will need to dress again"
Philip completed his undress and sat gingerly in the bath. The Dettol was quick to work and the boy felt a sharp stinging, but which soon eased. His mother's call of "Shepherds Pie! Philip" prompted the boy to get out of the bath and dry himself, catching a brief glimpse of his injured buttocks in the mirror before he covered them with underpants and short trousers. He completed his dress and combed his hair; then went downstairs to the dining room.
"How do you feel Philip?" his father enquired.
"Very sore, thank you Sir", the boy replied and thankful that the dining room chairs were well padded as he slowly sat down in his place.
"The Dettol would have done you good", observed his mother
"And the cane a great deal more good", added his father sternly, causing Philip to look down in embarrassment. Mrs Smith then diffused the evening by dishing out two huge portions of her best shepherds pie, placing the first in front of her severe husband and the second in front of her errant son, who fell upon it greedily