There are times in any close knit community when its members seem suddenly to become obsessed by one topic. English boarding schools are no exception. Such a time came to Borsfield School for Boys at the beginning of the Easter term in 1980. It took a week or two for this particular obsession to work its way into the minds of all the prefects and most of the Lower Sixth Form boys. But it certainly did in the end. The cry of "Get Carter" was soon on the lips of all but the most solemn of the senior boys. Neither was it long before the junior boys became aware of what was at the forefront of the minds of so many of their elders. When the first three weeks of term had passed there was, it seemed, only one subject of interest to the boys: when would Carter be got?
Carter, I should explain, was a perfectly pleasant and popular first year boy. At the age of thirteen, he was all that you could ask of a boy. He was polite and respectful to adults. He was clever at his academic work, without being a swot. He was a solid all rounder at school sports. While he was, perhaps, too slim and light to have a great future in the rugby scrum, his ability as a sprinter made him a useful member of any team. He got on well with his peers. He was not a show off, but he was always happy to be involved in any harmless boyish mischief. Last, and by no means least, he had been graced with the most stunning good looks. At the first, and most cursory, of glances you might have been tempted to dismiss him as no more than a "pretty boy". But there was certainly more than that to him. Although his lightly freckled and dimpled face did, it must be admitted, have some of the immediate charm of the face of a pretty girl, there was also a subtle steeliness to it, which, perhaps, was due to the fine angular jaw bone and the jet black hair above the similarly dark eyes. He was on the tall side for his age, but he did not have that clumsy gangly appearance that so many pubescent young boys have. His limbs were in perfect proportion to the rest of him. There was not an ounce of spare fat on him, and he had the physique of a well-trained athlete. He may have been slim, but his muscles were firm and strong. It was no surprise that, on his introduction to the boxing ring, he showed remarkable early promise.
Why, you may ask, were so many senior boys determined that Carter should be got? And what did they mean by the use of that word? The answer, it may well be said, did not do a great deal of credit to the traditional boys' boarding school education of the time. The truth was that Carter's good looks had made a deep impression on many of the older boys all of whom, inevitably, because of the way the school was organised, were starved of the company of the fairer _s_e_x_ at an age when that company is particularly sought. I must hasten to say, immediately, that few, if any, of the older boys harboured any carnal desires for Carter. But there was something in his clear complexion, his graceful body, his winning smile, his not quite broken voice which, undoubtedly, stirred deep emotions in them. They dreamt of stroking his fine dark hair, putting a consoling arm around his shoulder at a time of distress, perhaps even planting the gentlest of kisses on his dimpled cheek. But such thoughts had to be left securely in dreams. Physical contact of almost any kind between senior and junior boys was greatly frowned upon and it was firmly understood that it was absolutely taboo.
But there was one kind of physical contact which, so long as it was undertaken by those who had been properly authorised, was not only allowed but positively encouraged. The good order of the school required that the younger boys should be subject to effective discipline. While the boys were permitted a certain amount of reasonable freedom, it was universally accepted by the masters that a proper system of penalties had to be available to deal with boys who abused that freedom. As with many schools of its type at the time, the authorities at Borsfield took the view that the disciplining of younger boys could properly be left in the hands of the School Prefects. There were several advantages to that. It taught senior boys how to exercise authority properly. It allowed the boys to have a much more natural relationship with masters than would be the case if they were in constant fear of punishment. Finally, so long as the prefects were seen to be acting fairly, the boys did not feel any resentment when they had to be punished. "He's only doing his job" they would say to themselves, and they would harbour no ill feelings.
In theory, there were several penalties available to prefects. In reality, there was only one. If a boy misbehaved he would be given one, two or three black marks. The misbehaviour would have to be exceptionally grave to merit three. Indeed, it was rare even for a boy to be given two. For most of the misdemeanours typical of young boys, only one black mark was ever awarded.
Merely having a black mark was not, in itself, a punishment. Nothing untoward would happen to the boy concerned unless and until he collected three. When that happened a punishment had to be imposed. There was never any doubt about what that punishment would be. At the next evening prep following the acquisition of his third black mark, the offender would report to the Lower Sixth Form prep room. He would there be caned by that day's duty prefect. The punishment would be administered in front of the collected Lower Sixth Form boys and all the School Prefects. The reason for the presence of the Lower Sixth Form was that witnessing such punishments would prepare them for their own future responsibilities as prefects. First year boys, who started in the Third Form, could generally expect to be given three strokes of the cane for their first three black marks. If they acquired a further three in the same term, they would usually be given four. Each boy would begin the next term with a clean slate. The same applied to Fourth Form boys, except that they would usually be given four strokes for the first three black marks and five for the second, and to Fifth Form boys, who would get five and six respectively. Any Lower Sixth Form boy who had to be beaten would be given his punishment privately by the head boy and would almost always get six strokes.
It was not unusual, it has to be said, for senior boys to yearn to administer physical punishment to the more attractive of the younger boys. Though their natural instincts might lead them to wish to engage in gentler contact, they did feel a particular thrill at the thought of thrashing a defenceless, small, round bottom.
It will now, I hope, be more readily understood what the cry "Get Carter" meant. The long and the short of it was that Carter had not yet been caned (or "swished" to use the school slang) and there was not a prefect in the school who was not eager to put that right. In his first term he had managed to keep his tally of black marks to two. That was not uncommon for new boys, although several had in fact been beaten. It was almost unheard of for a boy to escape a caning in his second term. Occasionally, a particularly studious and well-behaved boy would make it through to his third term before bending over for his first swishing, but a boy as high-spirited as Carter would surely not escape until then.
At the beginning of the third week of term Carter collected his second black mark. It was about then that the air of subdued excitement in the Prefects Common Room and the Lower Sixth Reading Room became most marked. Every conversation would somehow turn, eventually, to the question of how Carter was behaving. His fag master, a kindly prefect called Robertson, was being constantly urged to find sufficient fault with his fag's work to merit a third black mark. But, as much as he shared his fellow prefects' admiration for Carter, Robertson would never dream of giving a boy a black mark unless it was deserved. What is more, he had made it abundantly clear to Strickland, a prefect with rather less integrity, that there would be big trouble if he, Strickland, gave the boy an undeserved black mark.
On the Saturday evening of the third week Carter and his fellow third form boys were preparing for bed in Junior Dormitory. Nothing had so far been said by the younger boys about the "Get Carter" campaign. But they were now beginning to understand what was going on. As Carter was removing his underpants before getting into his pyjamas, the boy in the next bed, Lawton, spoke to him.
"Do you realise that every prefect in the school wants to swish that bum of yours?".
"Yeah, it was beginning to dawn on me. What I don't understand is what it is I've done to upset them all so much. I'm not saying I mind about getting the swish. Obviously it's going to happen sooner or later and presumably it will do me good. But I just can't follow why so many people want to give it to me."
Lawton was a worldly wise boy, who also had the advantage of having a brother who was a prefect. He did his best to explain things.
"Oh, it's not that you've upset them. In fact, as far as I can tell, it's the exact opposite. They all seem to think that you're great, but they also think that it is important for boys of our age to get the swish early on at school because it's what they call 'character building'."
"Well, obviously I see the sense of that, but I still don't understand why they've picked on me. After all, there are still quite a few of us who haven't been swished yet."
At this point another boy, Bloxham, intervened. He had been at the same prep school as Carter and they were firm friends.
"I expect it's the Turner problem again", he said.
Carter smiled as he remembered the History and games master at his old school.
"What's the Turner problem?" asked Lawton.
"He was a master at our prep school who was always finding excuses to whack us. But we all knew that the one he liked whacking most was Carter. He thought we didn't realise, but he made it so obvious. It wasn't just that Carter was never let off with a telling off for anything and always had to get the slipper. Turner always somehow managed to give him the slipper when his bum was bare.
"Once, for instance, Carter was mucking about in a History lesson in the morning and Turner caught him. Any other master would just have told him to come to the front of the class and bend over for his punishment immediately. But Turner wasn't like that. He said to Carter that he would deal with him later. But then, instead of telling Carter to stay behind for his whacking at the end of the lesson, he just swept out without saying anything more. He meant everyone to think he had forgotten all about it, but we knew him much better than that.
"Sure enough, he waited till we were all in the showers after games that afternoon and he oh so suddenly happened to remember that Carter was owed the slipper. So he told Carter he would deal with him as soon as he got out of the shower and sent me to the Games Office to get his size 11 whacking plimsoll, which was ever so conveniently sitting on the table so I didn't have to search for it.
"When I got back I found Carter had got out of the showers, but he hadn't managed to get into the changing room because Mr Turner thought he needed a telling off before he got his whacking. So there was Carter stark naked and dripping wet being given his telling off. When Mr Turner saw me with the plimsoll, he said 'oh well Carter, I suppose I'd better give you the slipper now in case I forget again'. So Carter had to bend over for his four of the best on his bare bum.
"I'm not saying that the rest of us were complaining about watching it, but it was obvious he was liking seeing Carter's bum getting redder and redder just as much as we were. I mean, it's one thing for a collection of 11 year old boys to be interested in seeing one of their friends getting it on his bare bum, but it's not exactly natural for a master to be so keen on it."
Carter was chuckling at the memories brought back by Bloxham's story.
"Hey, do you remember that time when games were cancelled?", he asked.
"I certainly do, that was hilarious. Go on, tell Lawton about it."
"Well, one Wednesday morning, as we were coming out of chapel, old Turner nabs me for talking during the prayers. I couldn't complain cos I had been talking and obviously I knew it was against the rules. As per usual, he says he hasn't got time to whack me immediately, but he'll catch up with me later. By now, of course, I know his game. So, instead of just waiting for him to pounce when I'm in the showers, I put my hand up right at the beginning of that morning's History lesson and said 'please Sir, I thought I'd better remind you that I need the slipper, shall I come up for it now?' Well, all of a sudden the lesson is far too short for him to take up a couple of minutes in slippering me. 'I'm not going to waste valuable teaching time, I'll deal with you in your own free time later'.
"I was not going to give up. So, at morning break I went to the Masters' Common Room, knocked on the door and asked for Mr Turner. When he came out I said I had come for my slippering. That caught him on the hop and he ummed and erred a bit before thinking of another excuse to put it off. He said he'd left his whacking plimsoll in the class room. Well, I ask you, have you ever heard of a prep school's masters' common room not having a collection of whacking plimsolls in it? So I said I was sure that another master would lend him one. But, oh no, he only ever used his own special one. So I said I'd go and get it from the class room. That was no good, he said, because boys weren't allowed in the class rooms during break.
"The last lesson before lunch we had him again. When it was over I, ever so helpfully, reminded him to remember to take his plimsoll to the Masters' Common Room. Well, he could hardly get out of that, so he took it with him. We had half an hour free time after lunch, so back I went to the Masters' Common Room. This time, when I knocked, I was told that Mr Turner wasn't there.
"The really funny bit came at Games time. It was absolutely pouring with rain and all games were cancelled. We couldn't use the gym, cos some junior boys were using it. So Mr Turner decided to give us chess lessons instead. Well, I had another go then. But he wasn't going to admit defeat. 'Carter', says he, 'chess is a noble game which should never be interrupted by such mundane things, however necessary they may be, as the beating of naughty boys.' Of course, he was in far too much of a hurry at the end of the chess session to be able to spare the time to land a few whacks on a boy's bum.
"He managed to avoid me for the rest of the day. I thought the next danger time would be when we were changing for bed, but as it turned out he had the night off and he was going out to a friend's house. Obviously, the next time I would have to be bare was for cold baths in the morning, but I reckoned I was safe then because it was Matron's job to supervise cold baths and no masters ever whacked us in front of a woman, even if we were in trousers. But, lo and behold, who should appear in the dorm that morning but Mr Turner. He thought it would be nice, he says, to give Matron a morning off so he had volunteered to supervise cold baths. And what do you think he just happens to have with him? You guessed it; he has his whacking plimsoll in his hand.
"It was time for some quick thinking from yours truly. There was no way he had forgotten that he owed me a whacking and it was obvious that as soon as I stripped for the bath he would suddenly pretend only just to have remembered. So I thought that even though I was only wearing pyjamas, it would be better to get the whacking immediately than to wait for his memory to work. So I says, all bright and cheery, 'Sir, I see you've got your whacking plimsoll with you, shall I bend over now?'. Then he says 'thank you Carter, I'd quite forgotten that you were in need of correction, but I'm not going to fall for that one, I'm well aware of the soothing effect of cold water on a chastised bottom, we can leave it till you're out of the bath'.
"Well, you had to give the man credit. He'd set me up perfectly. The second I got out of the bath he was telling me to bend over. He gave me five real corkers that time. I don't mind telling you that I had an exceptionally sore bum, but that didn't stop us all having a good laugh at old Turner when he left to supervise junior baths."
Lawton greatly enjoyed these stories about Mr Turner. He also thought that there might be a grain of truth in the suggestion that Carter was being singled out for special attention by the prefects because they thought that beating him would, for some reason, be particularly enjoyable. Like most of the first year boys, Lawton took it for granted that prefects must get some pleasure out of being allowed to cane junior boys. But he couldn't understand why the degree of pleasure should be affected by the characteristics of the boy being caned. Of course, he reasoned to himself, if the boy was particularly obnoxious, it would be understandable if the prefect caning him found the task especially enjoyable. But Carter was the opposite of obnoxious. Then he remembered a rather strange conversation he had had with his brother in the previous holidays.
"Maybe you're right and there is something about Carter that makes people like swishing him more than other boys. I remember now my bro telling me in the hols that the prefects had had a sort of opinion poll to say which of us new boys had the most swishable bums. He said that they had all agreed that Carter was the most swishable. Actually, the reason he told me was because I had apparently come second."
Bloxham said he thought it was something like that, but he couldn't really understand why it should be. "Come on you two, pull your pyjama trousers down and let's do a comparison".
Lawton and Carter stood side by side, pyjama trousers around their ankles, to allow Bloxham to carry out his inspection. The two boys were of similar build and, from the rear, did not, to Bloxham, look greatly different. Their bottoms were both slim, round and firm, although he thought it possible that Carter's was slightly more protuberant than Lawton's. The only other difference was that there were still the faint marks of the three strokes of the cane which Lawton had been given in the previous week.
"It's a mystery to me", said Bloxham, "I'd have thought it would be just as much fun to swish Lawton as it would be to swish Carter. Still, I suppose you get more experience of these things as you get older and there must be something I'm missing."
We must now move on to the afternoon of the following Monday. One of the more arcane of the school rules was that third form boys were not permitted to walk on a particular path between the sports pavilion and the changing room block. They were required to take a longer and more circuitous route. The rule was generally obeyed but, sometimes, if a boy was in a particular hurry and if he was confident that no prefect was in sight, he would take the risk of sprinting along the shorter route. On that Monday Carter had been delayed, after a game of rugby, by a master who had needed help in carrying some rugby kit into the pavilion. He didnt want to miss the start of tea, so, having looked in all directions and not seen any prefects, he took the risk of running along the forbidden path. After half a dozen strides he heard his name being called from behind the pavilion. He stopped and turned. There was Strickland, the prefect who was prepared to use fair means or foul to "Get Carter".
"Why are you on that path?".
"Oh, sorry Strickland, I didn't see you. It was just that I was held up by Mr Withington and I didn't want to be late for tea."
"That's hardly an excuse is it?"
"No, I s'pose not."
"I shall have to give some thought to this. See me after prep."
Why Strickland needed time to decide the obvious (a black mark) did not immediately occur to Carter. For a few moments he even thought that the prefect might be going to let him off with a warning. But, from all he knew about Strickland, he quickly realised that that was most unlikely. He was bemused.
Between tea and prep the third form boys had to attend to their fagging duties. Carter went to Robertson's study to toast the usual crumpets.
"Still keeping out of trouble are you Carter?"
"Sort of, but not for long I reckon."
"Why do you say that?"
"Strickland caught me on Pavilion Path this afternoon. He's going to tell me my punishment after prep."
Robertson laughed. "The cheeky bounder", he exclaimed. "You mustn't tell him I said that, but can you guess who is not duty prefect tonight but is duty prefect tomorrow?"
The truth suddenly dawned on Carter. "You mean he wants to put off giving me a third black mark till after prep so he can give me my swishing?".
"Nail on the head, boy. But he's not going to get away with it. Stay there, I'll be back in a minute."
Robertson left his study and set off for Strickland's. When he got there he found his fellow prefect in the process of rebuking his fag, who happened to be Lawton, for some minor misdemeanour.
"I say Strickland, can I have a word in private?"
"Sure, OK Lawton, go to Crighton's study and ask him to record your black mark for me will you?"
Lawton set off to perform this not very jolly duty and Robertson shut the door behind him.
"How come it's so easy to decide to give Lawton a black mark but you need so much time to decide on Carters?"
"Oh, you've found out. Come on Roberston, you can hardly blame me. We all want to swish Carter, it's only natural if a chap's on duty tomorrow to delay things for 24 hours."
"It may seem natural to you, but it seems downright evil to me. Just so you can have your fun, you're prepared to make him sweat all night and most of tomorrow. I won't stand for it. He's my fag and I have a duty to make sure he's fairly treated. Either you come with me now and give him his black mark immediately or I report all this to Crighton."
"Come off it Robertson, all this holier than thou stuff is a bit much isn't it. After all, who's duty prefect tonight?"
"I'm not going to pretend that swishing Carter won't be a pleasant task, but if you think I am not serious about thinking you're being a cad in trying to make him wait for twenty four hours you just don't know me."
"OK, OK, calm down. I'll give him his black mark now. Come on, let's get it over with."
So, with rather bad grace, Strickland accompanied Robertson back to his study.
When they arrived, Robertson spoke first.
"Strickland's got something to tell you Carter".
"Yup, I've thought about it, I'm afraid that, much as I would like to, I can't let you off. I'm giving you a black mark. I'll write it in the book on my way back to my study".
Having blurted this out, Strickland then left Robertson's study, slamming the door as he did so.
"Does that mean I get the swish this evening?"
"It certainly does. At least you won't have to be worrying about it for another 24 hours".
"That's a relief, I must say. Who'll be giving it to me?"
"I'm afraid it'll be me."
"That's great, I'd much rather get it from you than anyone else."
"I hope you don't think I'll give you special treatment".
"No, I didn't mean that. I'm sure you're a really hard swisher and I know you would never go easy on a boy just because you liked him. It's just that you've always been so kind to me and everyone says you're really fair so I'll know that, however much it hurts, I'll deserve it and that you will only be giving it to me for my own good."
"I'll get much too big for my boots if you go on like that much longer. Look, I'll finish the crumpets, you go off and tell your friends your news."
Robertson looked approvingly at Carter's slim young body as he got up and headed for the door. The outline of his bottom could not be seen, because he was wearing his jacket, but Robertson had admired it many times before and he had no difficulty in imagining it now. He felt slightly ashamed of himself for it, but he was definitely looking forward to prep that evening. He walked over to the cupboard by the fireplace, opened it and removed his cane. He gripped it with both hands, one at the handle end and one at the business end, and bent the ends towards each other. It really was an excellent weapon, he thought, and, once again, he silently gave thanks to Vasier, the head boy of the previous year, for bequeathing it to him. Prep would be starting in half an hour and he realised that, in all the excitement there had been about Carter's prospects of earning a caning, he had not been keeping regular checks on any other potential victims. He set off to Crighton's study to look at the black book.
Word quickly got around that Carter was to be "Got" that day. The excitement amongst prefects and lower sixth form boys was reaching fever pitch, although all were doing their best to appear uninterested. Several of the lower sixth form boys, however, made a mad rush to their prep room a good twenty minutes early in order to try to bag seats in the front row.
Carter himself was quietly resigned to his fate. There was nothing abnormal about him. He was certainly dreading the pain and, like all boys preparing for their first taste of the cane, he was desperately worried that he would not be able to take it well. But he was a sensible lad. He knew that he was going to suffer no more than generations of schoolboys before him had suffered. He realised that, at his age, there was no realistic alternative to the cane. Much as he would have liked to go on with the punishments he had had at prep school, he recognised that that would be pointless. Teenage boys, he said to himself, obviously need something more severe than the slipper. Above all, he fully acknowledged that he could only improve with the occasional thrashing: he did not doubt that the forthcoming caning, however disagreeable it would be at the time, would ultimately be for his own good.
Robertson had been pleasantly surprised to find that three other boys were due for canings that day. Dodds, a permanently cheerful fifth former who seemed quite unable to keep out of trouble, had got his second lot of three black marks that term and would therefore need six strokes. At 5' 11", he was the same height as Robertson, but his bottom was still delightfully slim, youthful and firm. Fanshawe, a fourth former who had been the previous year's equivalent of Carter, was to get four. Now he was fourteen, and his voice had broken, he could not compete with Carter in attraction, but he still had an eminently swishable bottom. Bloxham, the third former who had been at prep school with Carter, was also to get his first caning. Robertson remembered from his own younger days how much better it was to be beaten with a friend than to suffer alone and he was pleased that the two new boys would have that consolation. He was amused to note, also, that a lower sixth form boy, Gerston, had been given three black marks for smoking and would therefore have to be beaten by Crighton.
As the school clock struck 7, Robertson walked into the Lower Sixth Form prep room, cane in hand, with a procession of other prefects behind him.
"I regret to have to announce", he said, "that it will be my unfortunate duty to have to beat four boys this evening. I will carry out that duty immediately. Once the beatings have been concluded, you will all, except Gerston, resume your work. Gerston, you will go to Crighton's study where you will be given six strokes of the cane. When your punishment is over you will return here to do your prep."
Having made that announcement, Robertson asked Strickland to open the door and admit Dodds.
The four victims were standing outside the door. They had been there when the procession of prefects had arrived. Carter had seen Robertson's cane before, in the study cupboard, but this was the first time he had seen it in its master's hand. He had felt a shiver of apprehension down his spine as he stepped back to allow the prefects to pass.
The boys had not been told the order in which they were to be caned, but Dodds whispered that he was bound to be first. He guessed that he would be followed by Fanshawe and then by Bloxham. He thought Robertson would certainly leave the best to last, so it was likely that Carter would have to listen to thirteen cracks of the cane before he would be admitted.
Dodds entered the room. He looked round at the rows of expectant faces. He smiled at one or two with whom he was particularly friendly through sporting activities. Then he turned to face Robertson.
"Do you accept that you have three black marks?"
"Yes Robertson".
"Do you accept that this is the second time this term that you have had three black marks?"
"Yes".
"Do you consider that an appropriate punishment would be six strokes with the cane?"
"Yes"
"Good, remove your jacket and bend over in the normal place."
Dodds did as he was told. His trousers were suitably thin and tight. The lines of his underpants could be seen quite clearly. Robertson took aim and then administered the first stroke. He was a highly proficient caner, as several boys could testify, and the blow was quite obviously exquisitely painful. He paused for about ten seconds between each stroke. Dodds, an old hand at this, gritted his teeth and took the beating without a murmur or a movement. When it was over he waited for permission to stand. He recovered his jacket, put it on, turned to Robertson, thanked him, smiled again at his friends and then, with a slight limp, walked to the door and left the room. Once he had closed the door behind him, he allowed himself a grimace and fiercely rubbed his throbbing bottom. He smiled at his fellow victims. "Sorry to have report this lads, but he's on top form tonight."
A moment later the door opened again and Fanshawe was ushered in. The ritual questions were put to him. He gave the ritual answers. Having accepted that four strokes of the cane were required, he too bent over for his punishment. Robertson noticed with some pleasure that the fourth former's bottom was just as pert as it had been when last year's prefects had been desperate to cane him. With the same pauses between strokes and with the same force as he had used on Dodds, Robertson set about thrashing Fanshawe. He took it well. A very slight gasp could be heard as the fourth stroke connected, but there was no other sound and no movement. When he rose at the end he, unlike Dodds, did not mind showing how much it had hurt. He clutched his bottom with both hands and wrinkled his face in pain. But he recovered quickly, put on his jacket, thanked his punisher and left the room.
There was no doubt that, although most of the audience had not been unmoved by the sight of Dodds's bottom being beaten, their concentration had become significantly more marked when Fanshawe had bent over in front of them. Indeed, I am sorry to have to report that, during the pause between Fanshawe's departure and Bloxham's entrance, several boys found it necessary surreptitiously to adjust their lower clothing in order to hide the extent of their interest in the proceedings.
The air of suppressed excitement in the room was certainly not lessened by the entry of Bloxham. Like Carter, he was a virgin when it came to the cane and there was no doubt that the older boys got a particular thrill from seeing how a boy reacted to his first ever stroke of the cane. Furthermore, although Bloxham could not claim to be quite as perfect in appearance as Carter, he was definitely attractive, slim and fit. He looked suitably nervous as he came in and looked around. Not only were there the obvious concerns about how he would take his beating, but there was always a natural worry, for a boy who had never been caned before, that he might get the procedure wrong. All new boys were coached in that procedure by boys from the year above them, but there is always the fear that some critical step may be forgotten between rehearsal and the real thing. Bloxham's coaching had actually been given by Fanshawe and it had been very thorough. He played his part perfectly.
"Do you accept that you have three black marks?"
"Yes Robertson".
"Do you consider that an appropriate punishment would be three strokes with the cane?"
"Yes"
"Good, remove your jacket and bend over".
Bloxham moved to precisely the correct place, looked down to make sure that his feet were six inches apart, bent over, without bending his knees, and clutched his ankles. All eyes were on his thinly trousered bottom. The spectators involuntarily held their breath as they waited for the first stroke. Robertson stepped forward and eyed his target. He gently placed the cane across the middle of Bloxham's bottom. Then, as though with a sudden resolve, he brought the cane back behind his shoulder and swung it forward with all his might. It was a perfect shot. Bloxham did a slight jerk as he felt the pain. He gritted his teeth and waited for the next. Roberston could see the thin line of the cane left on the boy's trousers and he carefully aimed just below it. The second stroke landed with as much force as the first. The pause between second and third was slightly longer than that between first and second. When the third came, it was no less painful than the other two. Bloxham dug his finger nails into his ankles as he waited for permission to rise. Eventually it came and he immediately grabbed his bottom to try to ease the pain. Then he remembered to recover his jacket and thank Robertson before heading for the door.
Carter had now heard thirteen swishes and cracks from the other side of the door. His stomach was churning with fear and he dreaded that he might be seen to be shaking. But, outwardly, he appeared calm and composed. When Bloxham appeared he quickly asked what it had been like.
"It's pretty bad, I mean much worse than we ever got at prep school, but you needn't worry: you'll be able to take it OK".
Just then the door opened and Carter was summoned in.
"Do you accept that you have three black marks?"
"Yes Robertson".
"Do you consider that an appropriate punishment would be three strokes with the cane?"
"Yes"
"Good, remove your jacket and bend over".
Carter took his position as expertly as Bloxham had. Once he was bent over the silence in the room was broken by a couple of audible sighs of admiration from the older boys. Everyone watching was thinking the same thing. This boy had the most perfect bottom in the school. Even Robertson, who was determined to behave absolutely professionally, was momentarily stunned by the beauty of what he was seeing. But he quickly recovered and stepped forward again to execute the punishment.
Carter heard the swish as the cane was swung for the first time. A split second later he heard the crack as it smashed onto his bottom. For a fraction of a moment he felt nothing. Then he was conscious of the most dreadful searing pain he had ever felt. He ground his teeth firmly together to prevent any cry from escaping and waited for the next. It came at just the moment when he felt he was getting the pain under control. The second landed just above the first. The agony was now doubled, but he was prepared for it this time and had no difficulty in remaining still and silent. Finally, the third came crashing down. It was lower than the others and, to Carter, seemed rather harder. In fact, it was delivered with exactly the same force. It was just that he was now feeling the pain of three strokes all at once. The wait before he was given permission to rise was almost unbearable. But he managed to survive. He couldn't help, just as Bloxham had done, grabbing his bottom and rubbing it furiously. Then he took his jacket, thanked Robertson and left.
The eyes of the lower sixth formers and prefects did not leave Carter until the door separated them. The performance had been one of the best they had seen in a long time. Many were bitterly regretting the requirement to sit through the rest of prep. They longed to be alone in their rooms relieving the tension they felt between their legs. But that would have to wait.
Strickland opened the door. Gerston, without being asked, stood and walked towards it. Even he, knowing of his own fate, was conscious of a bulging in his trousers after what he had just witnessed. But it was going down quickly. Crighton and Robertson followed him to the door. As duty prefect, it was Robertson's job to witness the caning of any lower sixth former.
The two prefects and Gerston made their way to Crighton's study. Although the punishment about to be administered would be a severe one, the three boys appeared reasonably cheerful. It was understood that the beating of a lower sixth former was an altogether more informal affair than that of a junior boy. After all, in only a term and a half, Gerston could well be wielding the cane himself. As they walked down the corridor they chatted easily about how Bloxham and Carter had taken their punishments so well.
When they arrived Crighton opened the door and waved Gerston and Robertson in. He followed and shut the door behind him.
"OK Gerston, shall we get this over?"
"Yup, that's fine by me".
Gerston took his jacket off and stepped into the middle of the room.
"Is here all right?"
"I should think so, let me just check that I can get a full swing." Crighton went to his cupboard and removed his cane. He stood just to the left of Gerston and swung the cane as far back as he could. There were no obstacles. "Yes, that's great."
Gerston bent over. He was tall, slim and strong. At nearly seventeen, this would be his fourteenth caning at Borsfield. When it was over, he would have had sixty three strokes altogether. He hadn't resented a single one. Nevertheless, he did rather hope that this would be the last time. Crighton set about his task with gusto. He preferred beating younger boys, but he knew that it was just as important to do a good job on lower sixth formers. He gave it all he'd got. Gerston, of course, took the punishment entirely stoically and without any fuss. When told he could get up he rather nonchalantly passed his right hand over his throbbing bottom before picking up his jacket.
"Blimey, Crighton, that was ace. Where did you learn to swish like that?"
"I think it just comes naturally. I'm sure you'll be just as effective when your time comes."
The retiring head boy was always consulted about the appointment of new prefects. This was the clearest hint that Gerston was being favourably considered. He blushed, rather modestly, and said that he didn't imagine that he would ever be a prefect.
"Do you want a bet?" asked Crighton.
Gerston laughed and said that he never gambled. As he left the study he was almost dancing with delight at what he had just heard. He was still in pain, but he had been told, as good as _d_a_m_n_ it, that he would be a prefect in the next school year. What better news could a boy want?
Carter and Bloxham were the centre of attention in the dormitory. They generously displayed their stripes to their fellow third formers. More than one prefect also seemed to find it necessary to visit the juniors' dormitory as the boys were undressing. All were agreed that the results of the swishings were first class.
There was a general air of contentment in the school that night. Gerston was imagining his future role as a prefect. The prefects and lower sixth formers had seen a virtuoso performance with the cane by Robertson. Carter and Bloxham were delighted to have got through their first canings in an exemplary fashion. Above all, the whole school could rejoice that Carter had been Got.