You're REALLY going to get it...
(A four-way look at a cane-wise boy's first taste of birch)
Why is it that a boy, particularly an older one, who is sent to tell a younger schoolfellow that he is in for a hiding or, even better, to fetch him for one, is always so jovial, even gleeful, about his errand? Is it that seniors forget, so soon, what it was like to feel a master's cane biting into their own young rumps, or is it that they remember that agony so well that they just can't wait for some other poor little devil to suffer the same fate?
Take today. Colin Petheridge is my favourite prefect and likes me too, but he was positively beaming when he called me out of PE with a terse, 'The Head wants you in his study now, MacIntyre' and then, while escort- ing me there, followed his message up with a carefree 'You're REALLY going to get it now'. Those words are like the trump of doom to me; I have heard them many times since I was about 7, from brothers and even sisters, heralding a trip to the nursery or, later on, the Ser- vants' Hall, where I would be draped, trouserless, over a waiting lap, a stool or the arm of a couch while a hard hand, hairbrush, strap or, more latterly, cane, would turn my small white bottom through all shades of pink and red to an angry, welted purple, by which time I was deemed to have learned whatever lesson was being taught and my thrashing ceased.
Donald MacIntyre is by no means the worst boy at Morlands College, nor even the most frequently punished or most badly behaved one, but he does seem to have a propensity for landing in spectacular scrapes which, even in his mere two terms in the Fourth Form, have brought him to my study for sound corporal correction on two occasions and, I know, to his Housemaster's on several others, quite apart from the consquences of numerous brushes with prefects and monitors of which I am officially unaware, but of which I, as an observant and involved Headmaster, take cognizance for purposes of assessing the level of chastisement which should come the lad's way on occasions like the present one. Having entered the College in the Fourth Form, he escaped the usual spell of fagging and, thus, the similar attentions of his fag-master, a circumstance which may now be to his disadvantage.
On this occasion he had really outdone himself and, even allowing for his quite wild Highland background, I had no alternative to expulsion save to impose one of the most severe penalties allowed by our Board of Governors, a sound birch flogging, but, on this occasion, in the relative privacy of my study rather than before the entire school, at Assembly. I had had three junior birch rods freshly cut and bound for the occasion, working on the basis that each rod would be good for 8 to 10 strokes before losing its efficacy by repeated vigorous contact with firm, bare flesh and I had sent for the miscreant as soon as they had been delivered to me by the husky young gardener whom I also intend- ed to use to 'horse' my victim. It had, frankly, not escaped me that the boy would be at his PE class at the time and would thus be wearing nothing but a pair of running shorts, whose removal for his thrashing would leave him stark naked for the operation, but I felt that he had incurred that additional humiliation by being spared the far worse ordeal of a public flogging.
I intended to give the child a full two dozen lashes which would, I felt sure, leave his haunches quite unfit for sitting purposes for a few days, as well as wearing out all three rods as a salutory warning to the other boys, who would see the remnants on traditional display at the entrance to the dining room, where they served to confirm that 'there had been a swishing' (as if that fact would have escaped the ghoulish attention of the rest of the lads}.
I strode back from the Gymnasium to the Admin. block, my longer legs and rapid steps forcing my smaller companion, whom I was holding firmly, if unnecessarily, by his left ear, to jog along on his bare feet in order to keep up with me. I wondered whether the Head had realised and deliberately intended, that young Donald would arrive in shorts only and would thus be naked, once stripped of that garment for the birch, but concluded that it was probably coincidental.
I genuinely like the youngster and was strongly tempted to tell him that his forthcoming encounter with the birch would not hurt him nearly as much as he expected it to - he must have realised by then that he was going to be flogged - but that it would introduce him to a new dimension of transient sting and burn, flay his entire backside superficially and then leave it virtually unmarked after a couple of days' ontolerable itching, which could easily earn him another beating or two for figeting in class. However, I decided to let him savour the full experience, including all the agonies of anticipation, without interference from me and so we arrived at the Head's door in silence, each busy with bhis own thoughts; mine made up of memories, his of fears and doubts.
This summons had been inevitable since a fateful day near the end of my first term, when two Third Formers, Ewan Campbell and Donovan Cross, had been bragging about the wonderful Whisky which their fathers habit- ually drank, implying that their superior station and means made this rare blend available to them alone. I had responded, unwisely, by saying that my own father and elder brothers drank nothing but the very best 'Scotch', Chivas Regal Royal Salute, or Johnny Walker Blue Label and within minutes, was committed to bringing a few tots to school next [this] term for their expert assesments. This I had done and all three of us had partaken far too freely, I with no serious after- effects, but my younger partners in crime reduced to such rowdiness that an observant house monitor had smelt their breath and immediately reported his suspicions to their Housemaster, who had referred the incident to the Head, as the use of alcohol is, of course, strictly forbidden to all boys.
As a result, the two delinquents had been hauled out of prep and, in the course of a stormy interview in the Head's study, had each received a bare-tail caning of six strokes, administered with such vigour that when I had inspected their four black and blue, heavily welted and quite badly cut little buttocks later that evening, I had had to con- cede that, when confronted with the threat of a further flogging and expulsion, if they refused to divulge the source of the forbidden liquor, they had had no alternative but to give the Head my name.
That their action had been justifiable did not, however, help me and I had spent a miserable intervening two days, wondering whether I was booked for an 'Assembly' flogging and expulsion, if I would be disowned by my family and/or be sent to prison for years for having stolen my father's treasured whisky in the first place. In the result the sum- mons, when it came, was almost a relief, but to say that my stomach was churning with terror when Colin reached out and knocked on the heavy oak door, is a serious understatement.
I had expected him to show me in and then to withdraw but was horrified when he followed me into the study, which was already occupied by one of the young gardeners, whose name was Thomas and, of course, the Head himself. If I had been in any doubt as to what was in store for me, this was dispelled by the sight of Thomas's handiwork lying on the Head's desk in all its green, springy, brine-soaked glory and my heart seemed to stop as I visualised all those long, thin twigs cutting into my bare bum, at least six times, I expected.
Still not fully comprehending why both Colin and Thomas were present, I took up the required position for boys who had been summoned to the study for a dressing down and, possibly, a beating - hands on head, shins against the front of the desk, [bare] toes burrowing into the thick carpet, shoulders square, chin up - and awaited an indication of my fate.
This was not long in coming. I was asked to confess my guilt, was then sternly reprimanded for leading younger boys astray and was told that it was due to consideration for my family, only, that I was not being summarily expelled from the College; however, the rest of the 'usual' punishment for such a serious offence was called for, although, as I was still so new at the School, it would not be inflicted at Assembly, but on the spot. Colin was then ordered to 'take him down', which he did by the simple means of giving the elastic waistband of my shorts a sharp, downward tug, which brought them to my knees, from where he pulled them down to my ankles, which he tapped as a signal that I should step out of them. That left me stark naked in front of the other three. I managed, somehow, to keep my hands on my head, but felt, with a burning sense of horror, that I was rapidly developing an uncontrolable erection, which was betraying my immature body in the most shameful and embarrassing way.
Beyond doubt, the child stripped very well, his sudden nakedness reveal- ing a compact young body, gleaming with health, with broadening shoulders just beginning to give taper to the lightly tanned torso, its already flat, but not yet ribbed, stomach slightly furred at its base by the soft down of early puberty, from which reared, no doubt to its owner's dismay, a well developed, if immature, but fully erect penis, its pink foreskin completely retracted to under its shiny, mauve head, by the strength of its erection. There followed sturdy thighs, flat, bony knees, well rounded calves and slim, well turned ankles, ending in broad, strong, high-arched bare feet, whose long, mobile toes seemed intent in clawing their way right through my pile carpet.
I had the boy turn round to enable me to inspect his naked hindquarters, which, I was pleased to see, were completely innocent of any bruises, ulcers or other impediments to the whipping I intended to lay across them. This would be one young man who, when he displayed his trophies to his admiring schoolfellows, would still be in some serious pain from them and whose thoroughly flogged rump should serve as as very salutory warning to the entire school for quite a while, as I intended to ensure that he would be displaying a well striped and scarred bottom in the showers and to any interested seniors for some time to come.
Having satisfied myself that my victim was fit to stand up to the pun- ishment I had in store for him, I looked the boy, who was again facing me, still erect and squirming with embarrassment, full in the eyes and informed him that as his offence involved the corruption of younger boys [about which I had my own reservations] and as he had no doubt seen what had been done to their posteriors as a result of their part in the crime, he must realise that his own thrashing would necessarily and exempli gratia, be far more severe than theirs had been; I did not intend to expel him, nor even to report the incident to his parents and, in addition, notwithstanding the aggravated nature of his offence, the reason for it would not be recorded in the punishment book, so as to protect his record, although the severity of his flogging would, to some extent, speak for itself. He would, accordingly, be horsed on the back of a school servant, his lower limbs would be secured by his House Prefect and he would receive two dozen strokes of the birch across his naked buttocks, whereafter the incident would be closed and not referred to again.
I could almost feel a ripple of shock run through the room as the sheer severity of my sentence struck each of the three youngsters in its own way.
Thomas, in his own crude, rustic way, felt deeply for the slight, naked boy standing next to him. He had never, himself, felt the sting of any of the birch rods which he fashioned so competently, on demand, but knew, from having acted as 'horse' at many floggings, that 'his' rods were generally feared and, without exception, did a devastating job of thrashing whatever pair of well-born buttocks they might be called upon to flog. He wished young Donald well, but felt sure that he, Thomas, was going to have his work cut out to maintain his grip on the husky teenager who, even at 13, was likely to be quite a handful, once the heat and sting of the multiple twigs landing over and over again on the small area of his bare cheeks, really got through to the flogged boy and he began to buck and writhe in a vain effort at moving his increasingly sore tail out of the path of the slashing, biting rod.
Colin, no stranger to the birch himself in his younger days, was tempted to intervene on Donald's behalf, as he felt that two dozen cuts with those lithe rods was more than any 13-year-old should have to bear. Then he reflected that the Head was not only an truly great headmaster, but a very experienced flogger of boys, that he would not lay more on to this young bum than it could and should bear and that he could, in any event, remit the remainder of the flogging at any time if necessary. So he kept silent and watched, in sympathetic awe, as young Donald came to grips with what was about to happen to him.
I couldn't believe what I had heard. I hadn't been at the school long and had no personal knowledge of what a 'flogging' as distinct from an 'ordinary' hiding, entailed, or what the 'normal' number of strokes would be. However, I had expected 4 or 6, 8 at a pinch and, looking at those three long [three foot six inch] bundles of supple, thin, well-budded twigs, I couldn't even begin to imagine what it was going to feel like if each one of them was going to cut into my bare flesh 24 times. I knew that I deserved a sound whipping, but honestly didn't believe that even what I had done merited my having my tail cut to ribbons, which seemed to be the certain result of getting that number of strokes with those birch rods across it.
However, in some strange, way, I trusted our Headmaster, to the extent of feeling that if he thought my 13 year old tail was capable of absorbing that many strokes and that I would still be alive after them, that was, in a perverse, twisted way, a compliment. That put it up to me to justify his confidence and to take whatever was coming with as much dignity as a naked boy with a full erection, whose bare bum was being soundly thrashed, could muster.
I heard the Head's voice say, dispassionately, "Will you two gentlemen please take him up for punishment?" and suddenly I knew I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of lifting me like a sack of corn, into the 'flogging' position on Thomas's back. So as he turned round, with his back to me and Colin made to give me a 'leg up', I pre-empted that ultimate humilation by vaulting up as lightly as I could [and bearing in mind my need to avoid buckling my stiff _c_o_c_k_ against Thomas's back or crushing my balls on his hips,] squarely on to his waiting back. There I settled myself quickly into the 'piggyback' position, with my bare feet dangling in space and, I knew, my naked backside sticking out invitingly, as if begging to be flogged.
I was taken quite by surprise when this kid hopped so nimbly up on to Thomas's back. I had been expecting a bit of a struggle, what with his being a first timer and so young and all. I had felt really sorry for him when he got a stiffy, as that is terribly embarrassing, even in all male company and I was thankful, for his part, that the Head had given no sign of having noticed, although I was sure that he had.
Having served as 'leg holder' at several previous floggings, I knew the drill and crouched down behind Thomas's firmly braced calves, taking one of Donald's ankles in each hand and pushing them upwards and well past Thomas's knees, the effect being to make the bare-tailed youngster 'ride' the older boy like a jockey, the width of his mount's hips spreading his cheeks widely and exposing their entire surface as well as the tender parts between them, to the rod. From my point of view, too, the position was a good one, as the bottom that was about to be flogged was just above my head and, by looking upwards, I would be able to observe the progress of the entire flogging at very close quarters and stroke by stroke.
I was not quite ready to take the lad's weight and staggered slightly as the naked boy landed on my back. However, I quickly got my balance again and felt his two strong young legs grip my hips like a vice, as his feet were pulled forward by Colin. My own nerves begun to sing as I waited, holding my breath, for the flogging to begin, knowing full well that I would 'feel' the entire whipping, as ots real victim writhed and bucked on my back. One of the best parts of my job as apprentice gardener at Morlands is my fairly regular calling to the studies of the various Housemasters to hold down a difficult boy for a [usually bare-bum] caning and, even better, to the Head's, to assist with a flogging, by horsing the unfortunate lad, as in the present case, or, by holding him down on the block if that happened to be the chosen position for a particular birching. I found both methods very exciting, the first because I could feel youngster's agony being passed through his loins to mine and the latter because his bare haunches were being very spectacularly striped and flayed right before my eyes.
Then we all knew that the time had come for action. I felt, rather than heard, the Head pick up one of 'my' rods and move into position well round to the left side of my helplesly dangling rider and I felt the slight, naked body that was pressed against mine stiffen, as small bare buttocks were readied for the sharp bite and sting of the birch.
I am, I believe, as competent at thrashing my pupils' bottoms as any other Public School Headmaster in these modern times, when a sound flogging remains the recognized and even preferred method of disci- plining wayward boys. It is true that the, to my way of thinking, far more barbarous, use of the cane has to some extent supplanted that of the birch, probably because the cane can be used effectively over trou- sers, while the rod must always be applied to bare flesh. The point is academic at Morlands, in my study at any rate, as any boy whose offence is serious enough to merit his visiting me there for punishment, will always receive his thrashing bare tail, irrespective of whether my weapon is the cane or the birch.
Young Donald MacIntyre, whose naked hindquarters are now spread out be- fore me for flogging, is a case in point. As I have said, he is a wild, rather than a 'bad' boy, but one who is definitely in need of firm and urgent correction. I could easily have flogged him at Assembly for this latest escapade and I am sure that there will be general disap- pointment at my not having done so. In this case, however, my objec- tive is to get through to the boy personally and not to humiliate him more than necessary. The presence of the two other young men plus his own nakedness and unconcealable arousal will provide quite enough embarrassment, as well as ensuring that he would be unable to claim hav- ing taken his flogging with fortitude, should that not have been the case.
I test the balance of the rod in my hand and note that it is of Thomas's usual size and expert construction. His 'junior' rods all consist of four 42-inch saplings, forming a central core, all bending slightly inwards and surrounded by six 34-inch twigs, all in fine, pointed bud and suppled by several hours' immersion in a solution of salt water and vinegar, which certainly does not lessen their effect on naked hide.
My technique, which I then set about exercising with considrable vigour on the boy's small, bare buttocks, is to hit him far round on the out- side of his left cheek and to follow the stroke well through, which ensures that all the lithe twigs sink painfully into both buttocks and that the longer tips flex completely round the right one, stinging its flank excruciatingly, while some of the shorter wands curl round the inner curve of the left cheek, finding their way, quite by chance, of course, deep into the tender cleft between his buttocks and, as like as not, stinging the thin, soft skin of anus and perineum as a painful foretaste of undreamt of agonies yet in store.
My first stroke falls squarely across the lower half of both bare cheeks and is met by a harsh gasp of pain, the frantic clenching of buttocks and thighs and a broad band of brightly red-welted skin right across the round, muscular little tail, while letting me see clearly that both the boy and his 'horse' are struggling desperately to maintain position; never mind, he will settle into the rhythm of the flogging after an- other stroke or two, so let him tell his own story.
I was ready, of course, for some serious pain, but had more or less convinced myself that nothing could be worse than the bare-bum caning I had received in the same study halfway through my first term, when I had been given a really hard sixer for swearing and had had a striped bum for three weeks afterwards. That idea went up in smoke as soon as the birch came down on my bare arse for the first time. As I heard it coming I knew I was in trouble and this was confirmed as my left cheek was scalded by the stream of boiling oil that was being poured across it. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion - the sharp contact of the solid bundle of sticks against my naked left flank; the deep, bruising passage of the sensation towards the middle of my arse, followed by the feeling that a few wasps had found their way in between my cheeks and were deliberately stinging my arsehole and were moving down towards my balls.
Then the agony started all over again on the crest of my right cheek, this time more diffuse, no doubt as the twigs spread out and covered my right buttock with more wasps, each of which set about plunging its sting deeply and repeatedly into my flesh. I had barely overcome that first wave of agony when it was doubled by the second cut and I howled out loud. Unlike a caning, when the strokes are given at fairly long intervals to allow the pain to build, a birching is apprently administered in 'quick-fire' mode, with the rod landing steadily and methodically in a pattern which covers both bare haunches progressively from centre down to thighs and up to top of crack, over and over again, each series of strokes re-igniting the already intoler- able heat and sting of its predecessors.
By the fourth cut I felt sure that I could never take twenty more and that I was going to disgrace myself by screaming for mercy. Then, mercifully, I lost my breath and my screams were in my mind only as the first rod was literally worn down to a stump by its repeated contacts with my blazing and tightly clenched tail which, I now know, would have suffered far less if I had just relaxed it slightly.
The next four, with the tips of the fresh twigs of the second rod biting with renewed cruelty, were an essay in pure pain but were followed by a pause. Half way. Perhaps I CAN get through it; my left cheek is already pulverised and the right one so hot and stinging that it can't really get hurt any more. But something has changed behind me; oh heaven, he has gone round the other side and now my poor, almost never whipped left arse cheek is going to feel those awful tips as is the other side of the inside of my crack and my hole. So far he has missed my balls themselves, but will my luck hold?
Here comes number nine, the swish, the splash, the pain as my already flaming right cheek takes the full force of the body of the rod. The sting and burn just go on and on, down between my cheeks, up and over my bruised and throbbing left bum, the hot, stinging agony as the tips bite into that flank telling me that the bastard had taken the third rod for the first part of this half of my flogging so as to ensure maximum pain from the first eight or so of the second dozen. I am almost beyond my threshold of pain - my whole tail is a solid mass of scalded, roasted flesh, there is a red hot spike up my arse, which is being slowly twisted as the slim twigs slash the thin, soft skin round my hole. I can feel something hot and warm on my bare legs and realise that by then my bum must be just about raw and is probably bleeding freely. I no longer really care. I am not a boy any more, merely a target for that slashing, biting bundle of sticks. I can't believe that I will have anything left to sit on once this flogging is over and I imagine myself standing up for the rest of my life.
Then the head says to Colin, "Last four. Give me that second birch back again." Not even one cut off. I can't brace my bum any more, it is just too sore. The muscles are paralysed and so swollen that it feels as though the skin, or what is left of it, is pulled so tight that it will split at even the slightest touch. However, the last four are all given, with deadly accuracy, low down, on the very bottom part of both cheeks and across the, until then almost unwhipped, top few inches of my bare legs. Then I DO yell at this new refinement of cruelty and I feel Colin's hands on my ankles and Thomas's holding my wrists in front of his chest, tighten against my frantic attempts at getting my rear end out of the path of that rod. The sensation of which I am most aware, is one of intense heat, rather than sting or any other kind of pain; it would have taken very little, despite my knowing exactly what had, in fact, been done to my bare backside, to convincce me that crucibles of molten lead had been poured all over it and that I was then sitting, with bare buttocks flat on the red hot plates of an old-fashioned kitchen stove. I could no longer feel individual stripes or the bite of the remaining cuts - everything had merged into a mass of blazing agony somewhere tound where my bum used to be.
Then, suddenly, it is all over and I am being lowered to the ground. My legs won't hold me and it is Colin who puts an arm round my waist and holds me upright while I return to relative normality. The Head extends his right hand, the one that has just flogged my arse off me and I take it automatically and hear him say, "Well taken, MacIntyre, that was quite a thrashing and you are a brave boy. I am sorry, but it was necessary." I hear myself agreeing with him and see him stroll out of the study as calmly if he had just had his tea instead of giving one of his pupils the hiding of his life.
(Of course, I am feeling very far from calm and my rapid exit was necessary to conceal the obvious signs of my own reaction to what had just taken place. Beyond doubt, giving a boy a sound birching is a far more interesting and arousing operation than inflicting a comparable caning, even on his bare buttocks; the broad bands of whipped flesh which rise, red and glowing, across a formerly pale backside, after each cut, soon merge and cover the entire surface of the flogged buttocks, from the top of rheir cleavage, down to and beyond the crease where they meet naked thighs, with hot, smarting corrugations; even in the case of full-grown haunches, the whipped area is so small that the rod must necessarily land, over and over again, in the same places, which is even more so when the flogged tail is as small and compact as a 13 year old boy's.
As more and more of the thin weals overlap, even a strong and elastic hide like young Donald's cannot help but split at the intersections, with the result that, after several strokes, the entire buttocks appear to have been flayed, which is certainly not the case, although they are uniformly covered with a film of blood-tinged sweat, which is what has been responsible for giving a birching the terrible reputation which it enjoys.
In fact, once this serum has been sponged away, the child's bottom will show none of the deep, purple, long-lasting and agonizing bruising which a severe caning would have caused, but will be as uniformly red and inflamed as any naughty boy's should rightly be after a sound thrashing; also, some property of the fresh birch sap which would have found its way into the many superficial cuts in his skin will promote quick and clean healing and he will be as good as new within a week or so. Nevertheless, none of the four of us who were present that day is likely to forget the spectacular and stinging effects of birch well applied to to a bare tail.)
Only then do my hands go to my wounded bum, where they encounter hot, hard, corrugated flesh as far as they can reach. There is also some warm stickiness, so I know that my arse was, in fact cut open to some extent, but amazingly and already, the blinding burn and sting which was surging from my mangled cheeks to the very top of my head and the tips of my fingers and toes when my bare feet had first touched the floor, was subsiding into a hot, but not too unpleasant, glow and, even more astonishingly, my _c_o_c_k_, which had shrivelled up completely while I was being flogged, was again stiffening, with such obvious intent that I think I can be forgiven for allowing the two older boys, who were also not born yesterday, to help me clean up and generally feel much better in the ablution block over the next half hour or so.
My glowing crimson and ridged bottom was an object of intense interest in the college for about a week and my stocks rocketed as a result of both the other boys' reporting that I had taken 'a hell of a hiding' like a man. By the 10th day, though, my trophies were fading fast and the residual tenderness in both buttocks had given way to some terrible itching, as scabs formed on the many superficial cuts in the skin of both cheeks and fell off, leaving new, pink stripes which felt dangerously tender. My fidgeting in class earned me two summonses to 'come up here', but on both occasions my classmates reminded the master concerned that I had been flogged by the Head and my punishment was commuted to hand strappings, which, I think, hurt more than anything done to my bum ever had. As a result, I never found out what it would be like to be thrashed again on a freshly flogged tail, but that is probably just as well, as I did get six of the best, not bare bum but through running shorts, three weeks later, and even then, they nearly sent me through the roof and seemed to re-kindle all the heat and sting of my birching, although not one of the six livid weals came even close to cutting my newly healed hide, which seemed to prove that regular hidings DO toughen a boy's backside up.
Looking back, I do not believe that, stroke for stroke, the birch hurts as much as the cane, but the overall effect of receiving so many light- er, but still very sharp, lashes with all those thin, pliant twigs and the fact that they are, invariably, applied to a naked bottom, is what makes a birching and particularly ones first one, an unforgettable ex- perience.