After his caning for disobedience described earlier Thomas appeared to have learned his lesson. He brought his homework to me as instructed the following day, knocking on my door exercise book in hand. He was visibly nervous, obviously fearful of the consequences if his work fell short of my standards. His work was by no means perfect but I could tell he had tried hard. I therefore told him that I was satisfied with his effort but I also told him I expected more attention to details such as spelling in the future. Thomas sniffled a little when I criticised his spelling, clearly expecting a session with the cane, but brightened up when I told him I was satisfied and said he could return home.
A week or so passed and I met Linda, the boys' mother and my neighbour, once or twice and she thanked me for, as she put it, "dealing with Tommy". She told me that his behaviour had been better since his caning and asked me if I would be prepared to discipline him, and his younger brother Ian, again should the situation demand. I told her that if she felt the boys needed a lesson I would be prepared to administer one. She told me she was becoming a little concerned about Ian's behaviour and felt he was being influenced by a group of older boys, about Thomas's age, who lived in our street. I repeated my offer to discipline her boys should she think it necessary.
That same evening I had settled down in my armchair to watch some television. I had to turn the volume up slightly as a group of children were playing noisily outside. It being early summer I had my windows slightly open. I smiled to myself, the thought of these kids enjoying themselves in the summer sun brought back memories of my own happy childhood. My reverie was shattered however when I heard at least two of the boys using words which were, to say the least, impolite. I recognised one of the voices as Thomas. I was tempted to bring him indoors for a beating there and then but decided that, as he was not my son, I had better wait a while to see if Linda took any action. I need not have worried. No sooner had I settled back in my chair I heard Linda's shrill voice berating her eldest son. I felt sure the cane would soon be in use again and I waited with some anticipation to see if Linda decided this misdemeanour was worthy of involving me.
Within 5 minutes there was a knock at my door. I answered the door and was not surprised to see it was Linda and a clearly contrite Thomas. Linda asked me if I had heard the language Thomas had been using and when I said I had she asked me why I hadn't dragged him into my house for a thrashing. I explained that I felt it was her responsibility to decide on her son's punishment and she replied, emphasising every word for Thomas' benefit "I have told both boys that I have given you permission to punish them if you see them misbehave". She added almost as an afterthought "Please deal with him, I can't cope with him" and turned around to return to her own house.
I ordered Thomas to remove his shoes on entering the house and to go upstairs to my office. He knew where to go from his previous visit and trotted up the stairs obediently. I went and sat behind my desk and glared at the 11 year old boy. Thomas was dressed in a blue t shirt and a pair of very brief shorts and I must confess to being slightly excited at what was about to happen. The boy had started to sniffle and I rose from my chair and went out of the office to open my loft in which I had replaced the cane after it's last outing. I withdrew the cane from the loft, shut the hatch and returned to the office holding the cane by it's curved handle. Still without speaking I returned to my chair behind the desk, placed the cane centrally on the desk, and sat down facing the boy.
"Have you anything to say" I asked.
A timid shake of the head and a muffled "Sorry Sir" was the only reply I received.
I decided a lecture was appropriate. "I told you when you were here last that your mother has decided she thinks you need a man's firm hand when you misbehave. It seems to me Thomas that you misbehave rather too often. It is very rude to use the sort of language I heard and it is even worse to hear it in my own home. If I had known your mother was going to ask me to beat you I would have come out and taken you indoors there and then. Now tell me how many times you swore and tell me the words you used".
The boy looked at me tearfully and shook his head. I told him that I expected a full confession of each word he had used. "I called David a wanker, sir" he sniffed. I demanded to know how many times he had used the word. "Three I think" he replied. I had heard him use this word twice and so I accepted this confession but I knew other words had been used as I had heard them. I told him to go on. "Ummm I said piss off sir" he sniffed. Again I asked him how many times and he admitted to only one such outburst. I had not heard him say this so again I accepted his word. I was waiting for his admission that he had used that which is called the f word. I had heard him say it at least twice. On one occasion he had used it to express shock at something. "F--- me" I had heard him say and this was shortly followed by "F--- off" when someone said or did something he didn't approve of.
"Any other words Thomas" I went on. Thomas studied the carpet. "Look at me and answer my question. And if you lie I will beat you for that as well". Thomas could barely look me in the face.
"I said the f word" he muttered, and I asked him how many times. "I can't remember, sir" he sobbed. I told him I had heard him say it twice and that I was prepared to leave it at that. The way the boy was looking at me though made me believe there was something he still hadn't told me and so I glared at him and told him to go on.
There is one word in the English language which I consider the most vile. It is the word used to describe part of the female anatomy and it is a word I had heard Thomas use once before, a long time before I was asked to assist in his upbringing. He had chased a dog out of Linda's garden and had used the word to describe the animal. I suspected this word had been used at least once on this occasion. I decided to apply a little pressure "ANY MORE THOMAS?" I shouted at him once. And then I repeated it again for extra effect. Thomas choked back a cry and nodded his head. "WELL" I shouted.
"The c word sir" he eventually sobbed. And then as an afterthought "I'm very very sorry sir. Please don't cane me hard like you did last time".
"I'm sorry Thomas but I regard this as very serious misbehaviour. Swearing at your friends is bad enough but doing it in the street so all the neighbours can hear makes it worse." I pointed at the wooden hardback chair standing in the corner of the room. "Put that in the middle of the room". Thomas obeyed. He had been told to bend over that chair when I had beaten him before so he knew what was about to come. "Take off your shorts" was my next command. He slipped his shorts off to reveal a tiny red slip which would afford no protection against the cane. However I decided embarrassment, as well as pain, was part of the discipline. "Pants down" I ordered, and the little slip was lowered to the ankles." Bend over the chair" I said and at the same time rose from my chair, picked up the cane by it's handle and walked to where Thomas was bent over the back of the wooden chair grasping it's front legs. "You know what I said last time about staying in place Thomas" I said, and the boy nodded his head. "This time after each stroke you will repeat the words I will not use foul language. Is that clear". And the boy nodded again.
I positioned myself behind the bottom presented to me and drew the cane back. I paused a brief moment and then propelled it, with a swishing sound, through the air to connect with the boyflesh. Thomas took a sharp intake of breath and I waited until he had recited his line before repeating the process a second, third and then fourth time. He was trying not to cry but each time he said his line it took slightly longer because of the increasing number of sniffles and blubbers that had started to come out. The fifth and sixth strokes brought forth an anguished "PLEEEEZ, PLEEEZ DAD". He had used the word "Dad" the first time I had thrashed him and now he said it again. Perhaps he was reminded of the beatings his father gave him with the belt before he was sent to prison. Number 7 produced an anguished squeal of pain followed by a plea for "PLEEEZ NO MORE I'M SORRY". Again I waited for the little recital I had told him to do and after it had been spluttered out I brought the cane down for numbers 8 and 9. The boy was now sobbing uncontrollably and it was almost a minute before he had managed to splutter " I W-W-W-W-IL-L-L N-N-N-O-T-T U-S-E-F-F-F-F-OW-OW-OWL L-L-ANGUAGE". His tears had now started falling onto the carpet and he was wailing pitifully. However I had decided on 12 and 12 it would be. Number 10 cracked across the now reddened buttocks and Thomas cried out again and arched his back. I almost thought he was going to cover his backside with his hand for a moment (This would have bought him 2 more strokes) but he managed to control himself. Stroke 11 "AAAAAAAAHHHHHH PLEEEEZ DAAAAD" Followed by more spluttering and contrite words about not using Foul Language. The last stroke, although Thomas didn't know yet, whistled through the air and connected low down the thigh. This was to ensure that one bright weal was visible to his younger brother Ian as a reminder of what would also happen to him if he should step out of line. "OWWWWWWW" he screamed before repeating his little speech for the final time.
I returned to my desk and on the way back placed the cane in my cupboard inside the office. This would be it's new home. I then turned my attention to the still bending and weeping 11 year old. "Pull up your pants and stand up". Thomas pulled up the little slip over his burning backside and hopped around furiously. I had forbidden him to rub. "I want that to be a lesson to you, boy" I said and Thomas tearfully said all the expected things about it never happening again. I felt confident however that it would not be long before I was again staring at his bare backside. I sent him home to his mother hoping that she would approve of the raised welt clearly visible below the hemline of the brief gym shorts he was wearing.