(Usual disclaimers apply. Comments welcome).
The winter term dragged on. The mass whacking was soon just a memory. Every day I saw Townsend the prefect who had once watched an angry master give me the hiding of my young life. The bruises had faded but I'd never forgotten how much it had hurt. Senior boys were like gods so of course Townsend never noticed squibs like me. Sport was his passion, rugby in the winter and cricket in the summer. He was the school's demon fast bowler. I admired the big prefect and hoped someday to be just like him.
Then came the last day of term. My final structured period was Latin followed by a free period for revision. After that, three whole weeks of holiday. I could hardly wait.
The Latin master was elderly and troubled by arthritis. We silently read 'Life in Ancient Rome'. Our numbers were depleted because the boarders had already left on the midday trains. Eventually the bell rang and the master told us we could go. "Not you, boy" he said, pointing a bony finger at me.
I stood in front of his desk, waiting. After the last boy had left the master closed the door. I could hear his next class, third formers, waiting outside in the corridor. The master cleared his throat.
"Four times this term you were late handing in homework". I bowed my head, not liking the sound of this at all. He shook his head. "Totally unacceptable. Hopefully a thrashing will teach you to be on time in future".
A thrashing! I did not try to bluff my way out of it because, in my heart I knew I deserved it.
"Sadly", the master continued, "I am unable to administer it myself". A ghost of a smile appeared on his lined face. "I have arthritis which means it would hurt me a great deal more than it would you. The head prefect will have to act as 'locum magister'. Wait here".
The master opened the door and looked out into the corridor. The boisterous third formers quietened down. Townsend was passing. The master explained the situation to him. The big prefect followed the master back into the classroom and closed the door.
"I'd like to help, Sir", the senior boy said in his deep voice: "But the head prefect has already left for the holidays. I am the only boarder still at the school. I'm to wait for my father to pick me up. He's at a meeting in the town and won't be here until early this evening".
"Yes, yes" said the venerable master who was growing impatient. "You'll have to do it".
My heart sank at the prospect of being beaten by Townsend. The master searched for a cane in his cupboard but came up empty handed.
"Wretched boys! They've stolen my stick". Townsend frowned at my grin. I put a hand over my mouth. The boys waiting in the corridor were getting very noisy.
"Are you due in class?" the big prefect asked me. I explained about the free period and how I had intended going to the library to do revision.
"Sir, I can take care of him upstairs, now." Townsend offered, a respectful expression on his handsome face.
"Would you Townsend? Most grateful. Let me know if he gives any trouble", the flustered master opened his door and the third formers trooped in.
"How many?" the prefect asked.
"What?" the master's mind was on the task ahead, navigating the junior boys through the intricacies of declension.
"Strokes?"
"I see what you mean", the master said. "I'll leave it to you. A proper thrashing, mind". He turned to the waiting third formers.
My heart thudded most unpleasantly as I ran to keep up with Townsend. The last day of term and he was going to wallop me! The prefect took the stairs two at a time and we were soon inside the boarding establishment.
"Been up here before?" Townsend asked me. I shook my head. It was out of bounds for day boys.
I better show you around".
The boarding establishment was spartan to say the least. I was very glad I got to go home at night. We looked at the ablutions block which was all porcelain and tiles.
"I have to do wees" I said, heading for a urinal. My fingers were all thumbs as I unbuttoned my flies.
"Then hurry it up". The door closed behind him.
I stayed in there for ages trying to delay the inevitable. Then I took a deep breath and went back into the corridor where Townsend was waiting. He took me into another room.
"This is the third form dormitory. I'm their monitor". He showed me his bed which was partitioned off from the other beds to give him a little privacy.
"And through here is my study". Townsend took me into a small room which had a desk, chair and bookcase. A record player was on top of the low bookcase. I looked at the disc on its turntable, "Flight of the Bumblebee" by the Harry James Orchestra.
"That record lasts one and a half minutes. Any lad whose feet are not on the floor when it finishes is in b-i-g trouble". I thought of my poor mother who shouted herself hoarse most mornings trying to get me out of bed.
"Now for that whacking which I hope will encourage you to always hand homework in on time".
"Please, Townsend! I didn't think he'd noticed".
"You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of an elderly master like that". My stomach gave its usual lurch. I watched him select a three foot length of rattan from a small collection beside his desk. It looked so light in Townsend's big hand yet I was only too aware of how much it could hurt.
"You know what to do".
He gestured impatiently and I bent over, my new shorts allowing me to touch my toes. Townsend whacked my bottom twice. Each stroke caused a minute or two of intense stinging hurt and then a powerful tingling sensation flooded my backside. A disagreeable experience but not the 'proper thrashing' I'd been led to expect. I felt let down by Townsend.
"Up you get". He dismissed me.
Halfway down the stairs the tingling was already starting to wear off. I touched my bum through my shorts. It felt a bit hot. I took another couple of steps before coming to a halt. I retraced my steps to Townsend's study. The prefect looked up at the shadow in his doorway.
"What is it?"
I stood there, tongue-tied.
"Well?"
"Please Townsend, the Latin master told you to give me a PROPER thrashing. Not just two feeble taps".
His handsome face flushed with anger. "You ungrateful little tyke", he roared. "I took it easy on you only because of the extreme hiding you got at the mass whacking". Townsend looked very angry indeed. "From your attitude today I can see that the master's actions were entirely justified".
"I'm sorry, Townsend", my voice shaking.
"Not half as sorry as you will be in a few minutes", the burly prefect threatened. He took me firmly by my shirt collar and marched me into the dormitory.
"Please! I didn't mean to ... "
The senior boy interrupted me. "And you can stop that snivelling right now. You asked for 'a proper thrashing' and that's exactly what you're going to get".
He unlocked a cupboard and found a thick length of rattan which he swished through the air a few times. I looked around the dormitory with all those beds. I ran and dived underneath the nearest one.
"I'm in no mood to play games" the prefect said reaching down and effortlessly scooping me up from my refuge, setting me on my feet again. Townsend took me by the collar and propelled me towards the door.
"Everything all right?"
I looked up and saw the school handyman standing in the doorway.
"I was going to fix that broken lock on your desk but can come back if you're busy". The handyman was ex-army, and aged about 40. He looked hard at me. "THAT's the little brat I caught having a ciggie in my shed. Bold as brass. Ran off as soon as he saw me".
"Empty your pockets, boy" shouted Townsend.
Slowly I pulled out a dirty handkerchief, pocket knife, half a dozen marbles and, last of all, a half-crushed packet of Craven A. The prefect confiscated the cigarettes and I put everything else back inside my pockets.
"Thanks, Mr Kent". Townsend said. "The boy will be punished. I'd be grateful if you would go ahead and fix the desk".
"Well, make sure you stripe his cheeky arse good", the handyman said, slamming the dormitory door behind him. I heard his big footsteps as he walked into the study which was on the other side of the wall.
"So I have to whack you for smoking as well". The prefect who had nicotine stains on his own fingers placed a chair in front of the door. He took off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves.
"Right, boy. Bend over the chair".
My slender frame was suported by the top of the chair as I offered up my small bum to the burly prefect. I could sense Mr Kent was listening and felt myself blush. I heard footsteps retreating. and remembered Townsend was the school's quickest bowler. Many times he had outwitted the batsman but this task would be far easier, the undefended target with its own distinct 'crease' had only two layers of light clothing..
Townsend started to run along the dormitory floor, his shoes clattering on the polished linoleum.
WHUP!
A narrow strip of flame scorched my rump. The sheer force of the blow moved the chair several inches. It rekindled the fire that still smouldered in my backside from the earlier beating. I realised I'd been holding my breath and let it out with a rush. The prefect stood beside my haunches, the rattan in his hand. He placed the stick so it lightly touched my toasted flesh - almost like a caress. Townsend waited until he saw me relax slightly. Quickly, he lifted the cane and I heard it woosh a swift arc before connecting with the tightly stretched fabric of my uniform shorts.
WHUP!! WHUP!!!
Townsend struck my orbs two times without pausing. Wave after painful wave of fiery hurt radiated from my buttocks. I bucked on top of that chair. Townsend lightly touched my rump with his cane again. I wondered how I could possibly survive another stroke yet in truth never felt more alive. The prefect then retreated but this time ran up even faster than before.
WHUP!!!!
Townsend's flog stick had ignited a raging forest fire. Flames blazed on my behind. I yelped with the pain of it. I remembered Mr Kent would be listening so managed to stifle the noise to a low moan. Body and soul surrendered totally to the overwhelming, all-absorbing hurt. My globes, encased in their uniform serge, wobbled like two raspberry jellies. Tears ran unchecked down my face joining the slime from my nose. I half twisted my body trying in vain to stop the hurting. . "Stay down", the prefect warned.
It was oddly peaceful in that deserted dormitory on the last day of term. Just Townsend and me. A sudden burst of hammering through the wall a reminder that Mr Kent was still there. That no longer bothered me. I had been soundly thrashed and the painful sensations emanating from my backside were quite enough to be going on with.
"Up you get".
I jumped up and my feet did an involuntary 'cane dance' hopping from one spot to another until the fire in my bottom died down sufficiently for me to stand still.
"Hope you've learned your lesson this time". The prefect said, his jet black hair, unruly, framed his handsome face. He rolled down his sleeves and put his blazer back on.
"Yes, Townsend", I squeaked. My narrow haunches were thobbing as if they had a life all of their own. I covertly rubbed my corrugated bottom.
"No rubbing and blow your nose".
I found the grimy scrap of linen and did as I was told. Townsend looked down at me.
"That's better". He put the rattan back in the cupboard. The atmosphere lightened now the stick had disappeared from sight. To think a light cane from some exotic place could inflict so much hurt. He'd thrashed me well. My bum would be all the colours of the rainbow by morning.
"Pleased to be going on holiday?"
I nodded my head.
"Does your father work in the town?"
I cleared my throat. "He got killed in the desert".
"Sorry".
"That's alright. I was only little when he went to war. Don't really remember him". There were faded photographs on the dresser in Mum's bedroom.
"Huh! That explains why you're such a brat with no father to keep you in order". The expression on his face was so forbidding I felt an icy lump form in my stomach again.
"Fortunately, you are lucky enough to attend one of the great Commonwealth schools. There are few boys as well off as you".
I looked around that spartan dormitory with it rows of beds and felt profoundly lucky I wasn't confined to the 'great' school for 24 hours in the day. I thought of telling Townsend that, but the profound throbbing in my backside made me think better of it. I WAS learning! Townsend lazily scratched his own firm buttocks making me itch to do the same with mine.
"The Latin master served in the Great War. Did you know that?"
I shook my head.
"He came out of retirement while the younger masters were overseas. He serves the school well. I was caned by him in the fourth form". He disclosed that information grudgingly, daring me to make some smart comment. I kept my mouth shut.
"Six real stingers" he said. His big hand lingered on his buttocks as though he was still feeling the welts. For a moment he was lost in thought. His stern countenance relaxed into a rueful smile. I blinked at the thought of a pint-sized version of Townsend bending over for the Latin master before arthritis took its toll.
"Will you promise me that from now on ALL homework will be handed in on time?"
"Promise".
"Is your sister Evie Thwaites?"
"Yes".
"Thought so". He looked thoughtful. "Remember me to her".
"Yes, Townsend".
"Good lad"..
The 19 year old looked at the small figure of a boy he had been required to thrash in order 'to teach him a lesson'. The lad's red eyes and painful posture made the big prefect feel a twinge of pity.
"Enjoy the holidays" he said as a peace offering.
"My bloody oath!" I shouted and ran down the stairs. The prefect bellowed at me to come back but I flew like the wind from the boarding establishment. When I reached the quadrangle the final bell for the term sounded. I collected my Raleigh from the bike sheds and walked home, whistling.