"John Wilkins and Richard Foster: you have been found guilty of a variety of serious offences, the worst of which was assaulting a police officer whilst resisting arrest. Thanks to that brave constable you are now before this court for sentence you must learn once and for all that this kind of hooligan behaviors will not be tolerated! Now, do you have anything to say for yourselves before I pass sentence?"=20
The two delinquent teenagers stood glaring sullenly at the judge. He represented everything they hated - in fact this whole pompous court was a farce as far as they were concerned. The stupid old judge was welcome to do his worst - they had both 'done time' before in detention centers and it had been a doddle, even the short sharp shock variety.
"So you've nothing to say in mitigation? I thought as much. Wilkins and Foster, your joint record is very bad indeed for boys of only fifteen and eighteen. I have no alternative but to impose a custodial sentence..." Back to the rest home for a few months, thought the older hooligan.
"You will be sent to a strict regime detention center, and although you deserve twelve months apiece, I shall save the tax-payer some money by awarding you three months apiece...."
Hey, this old fool is a soft touch, thought the younger tearaway, who not long ago had been putting the boot into the police officer and he lay helpless upon the pavement.
"However, under recently enacted legislation I am also empowered to pass a sentence of corporal punishment upon you both, and that is what I intend to do....." Hang on a bit, the delinquents thought, what did he say? Corporal Punishment? What does that mean? The judge soon made matters clear:
"Parliament, in its wisdom, has recently seen fit to make Judicial Corporal Punishment available to boys and youths between the ages of ten and twenty-five. You are eighteen, Wilkins, and it must be said that yours is much the worse offence since you initiated the assault and then encouraged your young friend to participate......"=20
"Richard Foster! In passing sentence upon you I have taken your youth into consideration, and the fact that you were influenced by the older boy. You will be taken from this court to a strict regime detention centre where, soon after arrival, you will receive eight strokes of the birchrod. You will then serve three months in solitary confinement." Richard Foster reeled back in the dock as the words sunk home. He felt frightened.
"I din't mean to kick the copper, Sir....I"
"SILENCE!!!!.....John Wilkins!"
The older teenager continued to glare hatefully at the judge; HE wasn't yellow.....
"You will also be taken directly to the detention center where you will receive twelve strokes of the birchrod, then serve three months solitary confinement.... Take them down!"
The condemned boys found themselves being manhandled down to the cells by several burly policemen. Once in the cells, their hands were manacled behind their backs and heavy leg irons locked about their ankles: there would be no chance of escape. The cell door clanged shut. Fifteen-year-old Richard Foster eased himself down on the hard wooden bench and shuffled about trying to get comfortable. The handcuffs were cutting his wrists and he wanted to scratch his nose - how long would they be kept chained up? He felt, as he was, young vulnerable and very frightened. "What did the judge mean by the birchrod, Jonnie?...It's like the cane isn't it?...I got that a couple of times at school - it really hurt, I can tell you....."
His partner in crime said nothing; although he would never admit it, he was also frightened and all he could hear, echoing through his mind, was the judge's voice saying 'Twelve Strokes'.
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At the detention center preparations were being made for the new inmates. Immediately following the enactment of the Corporal Punishment Legislation, a large cell had been set aside as a birching room. It had been furnished with several chairs for spectators and a number of brine filled buckets where the unused birchrods were stored. The piece of furniture that dominated the room, however, was a very solid looking vaulting horse, fitted with a number of stout leather straps. The Governor had been forced to improvise when the birching bill had passed into law, the Government had not seen fit to supply any purpose-built flogging equipment. He had therefore removed an old gymnasium horse from storage and, reasoning that a boy receiving the birch across his bare bottom would be inclined to struggle, or even try to escape, he had ordered the straps from a saddler. They were designed to hold the prisoner at his wrists, ankles and waist, and once strapped down the weight of the horse made escape impossible. As a last refinement, the Governor had obtained some 'bag hoods' of black leather: it was better that a boy did not see who was beating him, and better that the audience did not see the face of the victim - or so the Governor thought. Looking at the birching horse standing in the center of the room, the Governor felt rather pleased with his efforts. The apparatus looked very intimidating, especially when viewed in tandem with the array of fresh birches standing in their buckets of brine. The Governor would be viewing that evening's birching with a number of guests, including the judge who had passed sentence, the counsel for the prosecution, the policeman who had been assaulted, a representative of the Magistrates association and a pair of MP's who had been instrumental in pushing the birching bill through Parliament. The Governor had been surprised how quickly the seats had been taken - several MP's had been disappointed not to be offered places.
This would be the first occasion that the birching horse would be used and the Governor was pleased to observe that since the inception of corporal punishment at the center, discipline and behavior had improved greatly. There were a couple of lads whose cases he had to hear tomorrow, and to who he might recommend to the visiting magistrates for the birch; but the two boys arriving that evening would be the first to actually suffer a birching at the center. Word soon got around the inmates that the two new detainees were to be birched and when the prison van arrived, just as the junior boys were filing into the canteen for tea, many eyes turned in sympathy towards the handcuffed and leg-ironed prisoners as they were led towards the reception block.
"Alright you two hooligans, stand up straight! This isn't a holiday camp! You think you can go around kicking police officers do you? Well we'll soon teach you that you can't - UNDERSTAND? Foster, step forward!"
The nervous teenage boy shuffled forward, leg iron clanking.=20
"Unlock him!"
It was with some relief that the boy regained the use of his hands which had been manacled behind his back for the past four hours.=20
"Escort this prisoner to the Juvenile punishment cells - MOVE LAD!"=20
Young Richard Foster was marched off at the double between two powerfully built warders. He was taken through a heavily barred gate into a small block containing a number of cramped solitary cells. These were the punishment cells for boys of sixteen and under, where prisoners would serve time (usually added to their sentence) for such offences as assaulting prison officers.
Before being placed in a cell, Richard Foster was made to strip completely naked and, after a cold shower, was forced to sit in a chair whilst his head was shaved, as punishment block regulations required. he was then made to dress in a crudely tailored jacket and trousers, made of rough canvas, and emblazoned with broad arrows just like the old time convict's uniform. The uncomfortable suit was completed by a forage cap and wooden clog shoes.
"Stand at attention Foster! Always stand at attention when an officer speaks to you lad! This is your punishment block uniform, which you will wear for the next three months. The tunic must be kept fastened at the neck at all times, and the suit is worn with clogs and cap for inspection and exercise. Any breach of these rules will result punishment - is that understood?"
"Y - yes, Sir!
"Following your birching you will be kept on bread and water for three days, after which, if you behave, you will be allowed normal punishment block diet. After three days you will be also be allowed underwear. You will be kept in total solitary confinement for the first seven days, with thirty minutes solitary exercise. After seven days you will be allowed three hours association with other solitary prisoners each day and one hour's exercise. Any breach of the regulations and these privileges may be withdrawn. Is that understood?"
"Y - Yes, Sir!"
"Any serious breach of the rules and you will find yourself before the visiting magistrates, who have the power to impose a birching - like the one you are going to receive this evening."
With that last thought the cell door clanged shut and the unfortunate prisoner was left to his own thoughts. His freshly shaved head felt horrible - and must look horrible, he thought, and the canvas suit was very uncomfortable. He looked around the tiny cell which was to be his home for the next three months. It was a depressing place, with white tiled walls and cold linoleum floor, lit only by a dim bulb and the light which filtered through the heavily barred window high overhead. There was a narrow bed with a lumpy mattress; a
rudimentary chair and table, upon which stood a jug of water, tin cup, and some stale bread; and over in the corner was a chamber pot. The whole place seemed to be as silent as the grave.
The teenage inmate had certainly never experienced harsh conditions like these. He was accustomed to comfortable beds, recreation rooms with color television and billiards, social workers and do gooders in constant attendance......Here there wasn't even a radio allowed!!!!=20
As he sat in his miserable solitary cell, in convict uniform and awaiting his imminent summons to the birching room, Richard Foster felt very lost and frightened. He began to cry..........
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John Wilkins had been put through the same induction procedure in the senior punishment block, where conditions were even tougher. He had given the staff some trouble when they had shaved his head (he was proud of his wavy hair) and had been left handcuffed to the bed for his pains. Try as he might, he could not get the prospect of those twelve strokes out of his mind. It would not be long before they came for him - well, he would show them! He felt very thirsty, but how could he get himself a mug of water with his hands manacled to the bed frame? I expect they'll birch _d_i_c_k_ first, he thought. He's only getting eight strokes and he's young - they won't beat him so hard. I'm getting twelve and I bet they lay it on hard for me - how I hate that judge!
Richard Foster heard the tread of heavy boots outside his cell; the bolts were drawn and the heavy metal door swung open.
"Stand up lad, and put your hands behind your back." Richard did as ordered and handcuffs were quickly locked about his wrists.=20
"Come along with us now........."
The teenage boy's legs had turned to jelly and he had to be frogmarched down the corridor, out through the barred gate and across the quadrangle towards the birching room. It was nine o'clock at night and all the inmates of the center had been locked in their cells and dormitories an hour early in preparation for that evening's event. When the door of the birching room was opened for the first thing Richard Foster saw was the heavy vaulting horse with its array of leather straps. Once in the room he saw the row of chairs, as yet unoccupied, and the fearsome looking birchrods standing in their buckets of brine. After a perfunctory examination by the detention center doctor, his convict cap was removed and a black leather bag hood was pulled over his head and secured by a drawstring at the neck. There were airholes in the top of the hood, but breathing was still somewhat difficult, and the leather was drawn in and out with each breath. Richard could see nothing at all - only inky blackness - and the smell of leather pervading his nostrils. The hood was horribly claustrophobic. His handcuffs were removed and he was then helped to remove his canvas trousers, leaving him naked from waist down.=20
"Step forward and bend over the horse - move it lad!" Rough hands propelled the terrified, hooded boy forward and he found himself over the birching apparatus with his legs wide apart. His hands were pulled forward as far as possible and secured with leather wristcuffs whilst further straps pinioned his ankles and encircled his waist and thighs. Everything was buckled up as tightly as possible and Richard found that he could hardly move, nor could he move the heavy horse, which seemed to be bolted to the floor. Struggle as he might there was no escape.
Through the enveloping leather bag hood he detected distant voices and then the patter of feet as several people entered the room. The chairs creaked as the guests took their seats and then studied the figure of the semi-naked youth stretched over the birching horse, his bare bottom awaiting the chastisement of the rod. The door of the room was closed tight and the Governor rose to address his audience;=20
"Gentlemen you are about to witness the first judicial birching to be carried out at this detention centre under the new corporal punishment legislation. The hooded boy you see over the horse is a youth of fifteen who was found guilty of a number of heinous offences and is to pay the price. However, on the credit side you may like to note that he will now serve three months, rather than twelve - a considerable saving to the taxpayer. He will serve his term of imprisonment under a mainly solitary - and strict regime and I am sure that his confinement, and the birching he is about to undergo, will make him think twice before committing such offences again."
The spectators nodded in agreement whilst the pitiful fifteen year old prisoner began to sob with fear, the tears trickled down inside his hood. The Governor continued;
"Officer, hand me a juvenile birchrod please." the officer who was to inflict the beating, a powerful built man well over six feet in height, removed a glistening bunch of birch twigs from one of the buckets and handed it to his superior. It was about three and a half feet in length, one end was bound with tape to make a handle, whilst the other end opened out in a fine spray of pliant, knotty twigs.
"This is the type of birchrod which the powers that be have deemed fit to be used upon the bottoms of juveniles - that is boys below the age of eighteen but above the age of twelve. Boys of twelve and below are subject to a cane of the authorized length and thickness, applied over the bare bottom, whilst lads of eighteen to twenty-five may receive the senior birchrod, please officer?"
The warder placed the juvenile birch to one side and held aloft the senior version. This was some five feet in length and consisted of four stout branches, bound together at one end as the handle and opening out a little at the business end. There was no spray as such and it looked much heavier and more dangerous than its juvenile counterpart.=20
"Birchrods are always applied to the bare bottom of the recipient, gentlemen. You will observe that the two examples shown are quite different and that the senior version is much harsher. You will have the opportunity to assess this for yourselves since our second birchee tonight is eighteen years of age, and will therefore suffer the senior instrument................"
Young Richard Foster was feeling very uncomfortable by now, stretched out in this bent over position. He had begun to fidget, as much as the constricting straps would allow.
"Now gentlemen, I can see that our prisoner is growing impatient and we had therefore better proceed with his chastisement." The Governor cleared his throat
"Richard Foster has been sentenced to receive eight strokes of the birchrod, and has been certified as fit to accept the punishment. Officer, you may proceed....."
The juvenile prisoner squirmed in his bonds and began to sob again. At any moment he would be feeling the birch across his quivering buttocks........ The warder picked up the birch and shook it a little to remove the clinging droplets of brine. He stepped back from the pinioned boy and, lifting the rod high above his shoulder, brought it crashing down on the prisoner's naked backside as hard as possible. The onlookers heard the lad gasp with the sudden shock as the breath was knocked out of his body and he let out an anguished scream of pain, but as yet only faint, weals appeared on the creamy white bum cheeks. The officer lifted his birch again and once more assailed the lad's bottom. There was a low moaning and yet more struggling as the terrible burning pain spread through the boy's body. Two more ferocious strokes followed, turning the naked buttocks bright red; the skin now appeared ready to break in several places.
"Please examine the prisoner, Doctor." announced the Governor.
The Doctor did his duty and ascertained that, apart from his wealed and inflamed backside, the boy was otherwise fit. Richard Foster, in his world of inky blankness, knew only pain and terror - the dreadful, scalding pain in his bottom, and the terror of those remaining four strokes. The birching officer had benefitted from his short rest and now redoubled his efforts. With the fifth and sixth cuts the skin broke and a myriad of tiny scarlet spots appeared. With the final two cuts those spots became more livid whilst the boy wept piteously inside his leather hood. Some of the spectators were taken aback: they had not realized what a full judicial birching - even of a juvenile - could entail.
"Release the prisoner!"
The leather straps were unbuckled and the birched boy still hooded, was lifted up from the horse. He stood with his bottom on display to be examined again by the Doctor, and was then helped into his canvas trousers and led from the birching room. Once outside, his hood, by now clammy with sweat, was at last removed, to reveal a sad, tearstained face. he blinked in the unaccustomed light and had to be supported on each side by a warder.
"Can you walk back to your cell if we help you lad?"
"I - I can walk........."
"You took it well lad."
The birched juvenile stumbled back towards the punishment block, his injured backside still smarting unbearably. When would the stinging die down, he wondered. It had hurt a lot more than he had expected and it had been horrible, waiting strapped down with his head encased in the hood, for the birching to begin. The worst stroke had been the first, and he would never forget the shock of that first stinging, burning cut of the birch.
But it was all over now and Richard Foster determined to behave himself, serve his time, and get OUT of this dreadful place. Locked back in his solitary cell he lay on his stomach hoping the throbbing pain in his bum would go away so that he could get some sleep. He also thought about his friend, who would now be receiving his own dose of the birch . . .
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John Wilkins walked _c_o_c_k_ily towards the birching room - he would show them! Pain was nothing new to him: he had been in enough fights, after all, and taken plenty of caning at school in his younger days. The surly eighteen year old did object somewhat when the guards had stopped him at the door of the birching room, removed his cap, and forced the black leather bag hood onto his newly - shaven head. He gasped for air and felt he was going to faint, but resistance was impossible; there were too many guards and he was still handcuffed anyway.
It felt strange being led into the birching room without being able to see anything. He was made to stand still and felt the Doctor's stethoscope being pressed against his chest; and he sensed, from the low murmur of voices, that several people were present to witness his punishment. His canvas trousers were now removed and although hooded the teenage malefactor could sense the eyes of the spectators looking at the semi-nakedness.
"Step forward and bend over!"
The well built boy did as he was instructed and within seconds was strapped down securely over the horse. This is it, he thought, twelve strokes. Well, if _d_i_c_k_ can take it, I can. I wont give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing me frightened.
"John Wilkins has been sentenced to receive twelve strokes of the senior birchrod, and is certified as fit to accept the punishment. Officer, you may proceed..." The same burly warder who had birched the fifteen year old picked up the five foot rod and tapped it lightly against the prisoner's smooth white buttocks in order to judge his aim. The other boy hadn't made too much fuss however hard he had hit him, he thought. what would this one do? He certainly deserved a good hiding, kicking a policeman like that, and he would make sure that he suffered. Two senior birchrods had been prepared, and he indeed to change instruments halfway through. Only the Doctor's intervention could prevent this job getting the thrashing of his life!
The onlookers craned forward in their seats to get a better view. The senior birch was certainly a fearsome weapon and they wondered what effect it would have upon the pinioned boy's quivering buttocks, now so flawless and creamy white. The officer lifted his birch high and with an almighty swing brought it down with tremendous speed across the target area. The knotty branches seemed to cut right into the tender flesh, leaving a series of long ridges. John Wilkins pulled at the restraining straps and screamed out in agony inside his black hood: the pain was incredible!
"CRACK!"=20
cut number two, and the miscreant was screaming More,
"CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!" Four more times that lethal
birchrod scythed through the air cutting into the screaming boy's naked buttocks as he struggled furiously against his bonds. His backside was now a mass of livid red weals.
"Examine the prisoner, please Doctor." the Governor said.
In his dark universe of blackness and unbearable pain John Wilkins heard those life saving words. Surely they wouldn't make him take another six?
"Please, please, no more! I can't bear it! Please let me go! Let me off! Please, Please...."
"Keep quiet, and keep still! How is he Doctor?" The Governor intoned.
"He is fit to receive the remaining six strokes."
"OH NO!! Please, please, I won't do wrong again, I promise. Don't birch me again please, please no more, pleeaasse...."
Even the police officer who had been at the receiving end of the young villain's steel toe-capped boots felt some compassion as he heard him pleading for mercy and watched him struggling in vain against the strong leather straps which bound him to the horse. One of the MP's present, who had voted in favor of the birching legislation, began to wonder if he had done the right thing - it was all so savage. The judge, on the other hand, considered the twelve strokes which he had imposed to be just about right and felt sure that once word got about as to the rigors of judicial corporal punishment, the deterrent value would ease his, and other courts workload considerably.=20
"Complete the birching, officer."
As he picked up the fresh birch the warder assessed the results of his work so far: John Wilkin's buttocks were covered with ugly read weals from top to bottom.
"CRACK!" The springy knotted branches slashed the teenage
prisoner's backside and the piteous wailing began all over again.=20
"CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! the backside before the officer grew more speckled with angry red looking blotches and long ridged weals began to darken in color; and all the time their came sobbing, yelling and cries for mercy from under the black leather hood.
"CRACK! CRACK!" The last two strokes, but as savage as any that had gone before. The yells of pain had ceased now and the onlookers heard just a quiet sobbing as the hooded boy was helped up from the horse to receive a final medical examination. His buttocks were in a frightful state. The Doctor announced that all was well even though the boy's bottom was well flogged.
The prisoner's rough canvas trousers, with their broad arrow markings, were eased over his lacerated rear and he was helped out of the birching room. The drawstring which held the hood in place was unfastened and the leather bag was removed to reveal eyes red with tears.
"I didn't mean to cry.... but it hurt so much....."
"Yes son, we understand. Let's get you back to your cell."=20
John Wilkin's birched buttocks took several days to heal and the marks remained for many weeks - a constant reminder of his visit to the birching room.
The following day two inmates of the center appeared before the visiting magistrates on serious charges. The Governor addressed them:=20
"Previously I would have recommended that you sentence these boys to additional time here in the form of solitary confinement. However, we now have tried and tested birching facilities, and I suggest that you impose a sentence of corporal punishment..."
The magistrates thought carefully - they liked to keep a semblance of independence after all. After consideration the chairman pronounced sentence:
"We have decided that the younger boy, Stephen Roberts, aged sixteen, will receive three strokes of the birch and serve four days solitary confinement. Peter James, aged nineteen, is nearing the end of his sentence, and we see no point in keeping him hear beyond that time. He will therefore suffer twelve strokes of the birch sometime before his discharge."
The Governor was pleased: now who would he favor with a ringside seat?
John Wilkins and Richard Foster behaved themselves and were released from the center on the same day and traveled home together. The one thing neither of them wanted to talk about was the night they had been taken to the birching room.