Mr. Flint winced as thirteen year old Philip attempted to play the peice. The hesitations and wrong notes made the sound almost unrecognisable as a peice of music! The piano teacher had very soon realised that the boy had no aptitude and little interest in playing. After almost a year of weekly lessons the boy was still stumbling over simple peices written for much younger children.
"Try again Philip"
The boy, tongue protruding, attempted the peice for the third time. Halfway through the discordant noise, the door opened and a man walked into the room with a pained expression on his face. Mr. Flint stood up, assuming the man to be Philip's Father. Despite being a weekly visitor to the house for almost a year, he had never met Mr. Hurst before. Half expecting the boy's Father to introduce himself, he held out his hand for the customary handshake. To his surprise the proffered hand was ignored. Mr. Hurst was a well set up man of early middle age, smartly dressed in an expensive business suit and striped tie.
"I'm attempting to write a letter in my study young man!.......all I can concentrate on is the dreadful din you've been making for the past fifteen minutes!"
The boy turned his head and flushed, his Father addressed the piano teacher.
"Is this the best the boy can do after almost a year and a great deal of expenditure on my part?"
Mr. Flint blushed himself, the implication that the boy's lack of progress was due to his teaching hit home.
"I'm afraid that Philip finds the piano a little difficult.......I'm sure in time........however I must confess to some doubt as to the fact that any practice has been undertaken during the past week"
Mr. Hurst's grim expression changed in a flash. He smiled at the other man. It was a technique he employed in his successful business transactions, start off 'tough' then change to 'Mr. Nice'.......it 'wrong footed' people beautifully!
"Have you strapped the boy's backside?"
The piano teacher swallowed hard at the unexpected question.
"Well no......I didn't imagine that I had the authority to do so!"
Mr. Hurst gave a deep sigh.
"My dear man, when I left University I was a school master for a couple of years, that very soon taught me that the only way to instil something into a boys brain is through his bottom!"
The piano teacher didn't comment, but he could well imagine this forceful man administering a thrashing with cold efficiency. Philip too, seated at the keyboard was listening with dread to the turn the conversation was taking. Without a word his Father left the room, returning moments later holding a foot long leather strap. He approached the piano and placed a large hand on his son's shoulder.
"Have you practiced Philip?"
The boy shook his head.
"Then Mr. Flint is correct.......stand up!"
Young Philip quickly rose from the piano stool. His Father took his place, but facing out into the room of course.
"Shorts down and over!"
Miserably the boy undid his grey school shorts and allowed them to drop to his ankles. He lowered himself across his Father's lap. Mr. Flint standing just three feet away stared down at the boys proffered bottom clad now in just crisp white underpants. He had never seen a boy thrashed by his Father before.
'THWAP!'
"OOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!"
'THWAP!'
"OOOOOWWWWWOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!"
'THWAP!'
The boys legs kicked up.
"AAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!"
"Keep still Philip!"
'THWAP!'
The boy yellped as the burning in his bottom intensified, the strap was making its mark!
'THWAP!'
"DAAAAAADDDDDDD!"
'THWAP!'
Philip flung his head up and howled as the final, and by far hardest stroke landed. The pain in his backside was undescribeable.
"Up!"
The sobbing boy slowly pushed himself up and stood, tears streaming, but not attempting to touch his bottom. His Father stood up and flung the strap onto the top of the piano.
"Sit!......try again"
Hardly able to bear the fresh sensation of agony as his scalding bottom made contact with the seat, the boy, with shaking fingers wiped his eyes, then attempted to play the peice. The noise was dreadful.
His Father shook his head.
"I suggest you try harder in future Philip........Mr. Flint has my full permission to punish you.........is that clear?!"
This final remark was addressed at both boy and teacher. Then he turned and left the room.
"Pull up your shorts Philip, I think that will do for today........I want you to practice the peice hard and we'll see how we get on next time shall we?"
The still sniffing boy nodded his head, the sympathy in the teachers voice made him feel tearful all over again. Reaching down he pulled up his shorts, wincing as they crossed his throbbing backside.
"Yes Mr. Flint"
The piano teacher left the house in a state of some personal confusion. He had just experienced a new and totaly unexpected sensation, he had actually enjoyed witnessing the boy getting strapped.
One week later the piano teacher returned. To Philip's surprise the first thing he did was to extract a large old gymshoe from his briefcase and place it on the piano. Philip viewed the well worn, size ten black plimsol, minus its laces, with no little consternation. He placed his fingers on the keys and began.
As the still faltering peice came to a coclusion the piano teacher shook his head.
"Try again Philip"
Again the boy attempted the peice, there was alittle improvement, but not much.
"And again!"
The third recital was worse then the first.
Mr. Flint 'tut tutted' and picked up the slipper......................