Perkins was a cheerful 15 year old, often in trouble. Once Once again he was at the tail-end of a small line of boys waiting outside the headmaster's study. The sound of a bottom being whacked could be clearly heard. The waiting boys apprehension levels rose with each fresh whack, except for Perkins. The boy had been thrashed so often, the cane now had little effect on him.
"Old Splodge will just tickle my bum' he thought with a grin.
Whey-faced lads rubbing their sore behinds emerged from the study until at last it was Perkins turn. The cheeky grin on his face froze when he entered the inner sanctum and saw that Mr Rodgers the headmaster had company: the school chaplain.
The Rev. Sid Hedges was a muscular young man, half the age of the headmaster who was to retire at the end of the year. He glowered at the boy standing in front of the desk. Then headmaster glanced through the punishment register.
"Swearing ! That's not like you, Perkins. What on earth did you say to upset the French master ?"
Perkins coughed. "I said he was an arsehole, Sir".
"Really!" The headmaster looked grim but privately agreed with the boy's assesment. He rifled through the pages of the ledger.
"Your name appears here more often than any other boy", he sighed.
"If I might offer a suggestion, Headmaster?" The smooth voice of the Rev. Sid Hedges intervened.
"Certainly, Chaplain".
"Your arm must be sore after attending to those other naughty boys. I was a housemaster at Sefton before taking up the cloth. I have thrashed many a boy and would consider it a privilege to cane Perkins, on your behalf".
"Most generous of you. I AM running late for a meeting of the Rotary Club". The headmaster slipped off his black academic gown and hung it on its peg behind the door.
"Tell me if he gives you any bother", the headmaster told the chaplain as he bustled out the door, closing it behind him.
The reverend gentleman slowly got to his feet. He removed his suit coat and slowly rolled up his sleeves.
"Touch your toes" he barked at Perkins. The boy offered up his trouser-clad slender haunches to the chaplain who administered one hard cut with a 3 foot length of rattan.
'Cripes', thought young Perkins. 'I don't want too many of those. My poor old bum is stinging like the blazes'.
The ritual demanded a boy stay down until told he could get up. However, nothing was happening so Perkins started to move.
"Stay there!" The stick tapped the cheeks of Perkin's bottom, tautly outlined by his tightly-stretched uniform trousers.
The chaplain well knew the longer he waited, the more pain would be inflicted.
THWACK!
Perkins had relaxed so the fresh cut took him by surprise.
"OW!" he hollered, to his surprise and the chaplain's gratification. The boy's bottom was now on fire. Four more strokes followed. Long pauses meant each fresh cut hurt as much as the first.
When Perkins was finally allowed up, he looked at his chastiser through tear-filled eyes.
"The Creator", the chaplain said firmly, "Might well have designed a boy's bottom with caning in mind. Two mounds of compact body flesh, capable of sustaining corporal punishment with little risk of any lasting injury".
Perkins could feel fat weals pressing against his underpants. The boy's behind had never hurt so bad.
"I intend offering my services to the headmaster. Caning aggravates his arthritis. If I have to thrash you again, boy, I will not be as lenient. Now go to class".
Perkins trudged off down the corridor, vowing never again to misbehave. Once again the ritual had served its purpose.