I opened the locker and selected three of the junior canes and two medium. With six juniors and two lower-fifth formers to whip, I needed the spares. They all had hooked handles bound with cord to make them easier to hold. I whipped each one through the air and heard them sing. I told myself I was testing them, but really I was putting off the moment when I had to set off and meet the boys. Those ten minutes were some of the longest Id put up with, but then finally I could set off for the pavilion. I was worried about how I would cope on my own if any of them cut up rough and couldnt take their whipping bravely.
I remembered vividly the time this happened with Mr Evans and I together. It was a little lad from the second form called McCutcheon. The first we knew about it was when Mr Starling turned up at the porters room.
"Evans," he said. "I sent a boy to you yesterday, but he hasnt come back to me. Know anything?"
"No, sir," said Mr Evans. "We have seen anybody for a month or so."
"Ah. Can you sort him out for me. Hes obviously decided to try skipping his punishment. Usual thing: double strokes."
"Yes, sir. Ill see to it today."
"_f_u_c_k_ it," he said when the master had gone. "I hate it when this happens."
We had a copy of the school timetable so it was easy to work out where McCutcheon was meant to be. At that moment he was in French, but next period hed be in PT in the gym. "Well wait," Mr Evans said. "The little bastardll be half undressed then."
I carried the canes and we set off together for the gym. The form were already inside. When we went in they were lined up down the wall-bars watching a beefy little lad get his backside whacked with a wooden bat.
"Excuse me, Mr Donnelly," Mr Evans said when the lad had scampered back into line rubbing the back of his shorts. "Im looking for McCutcheon."
I could see instantly which was him because he kind of whimpered and tried to hide behind the boy next to him.
"Certainly, Mr Evans. McCutcheon – step out here."
The skinny little boy crept out a foot or two from the line where he was hiding. He looked as though he was on the point of wetting himself.
"Have you got a letter for me, McCutcheon?" Mr Evans said. The kid looked around with absolute panic in his eyes.
"No. I – I - ...."
"What, boy?" Mr Donnelly joined in and McCutcheon kind of yelped and was almost crying.
"Threw it away," he came out with.
"Come with me," Mr Evans said, and somehow the boy started across the floor of the big echoing gymnasium towards us. Mr Donnelly saw what was going to happen and was right behind him when he tried to bolt. Mr Evans got to him almost at the same moment, and the boy was doomed. He was firmly held and escape was out of the question. He was marched outside into the changing room. He pointed out his clothes and I picked the whole lot up and carried them along behind Mr Evans as we set off to the pavilion.
We went inside and Mr Evans locked the door behind us. We went straight into the tea room and I laid his clothes on one of the tables. Mr Evans stood the boy in front of him, ignoring the tears that were gushing out of him.
"How many strokes did Mr Starling say you had to have?" he demanded.
"Dont know," McCutcheon blubbed.
"Mr Johnson. Run up to Mr Starlings science lab and ask him what this lad is due to be getting."
I ran back to the school buildings and quickly discovered that our first former had been ordered six of the best, which meant that now he was going to get a full dozen. When I got back to the pavilion he was standing in the middle of the room with a bit more control over himself. He was staring at the two canes that Id laid on the table nearest to him. Mr Evans had pulled the old desk out and I was just in time to see him lift the lid and pull out two long heavy straps. They were fastened to the underside of the lid so that they could be used to fasten a boy down over the desk.
"Now then, lad," he said. "Youve done something that Mr Starling reckons is worth a whipping. Did you do it?"
"Yes, but it was an accident."
"Im not going into that. Mr Starling has done that and decided that you had to be whipped. If you dont co-operate with us and accept your whipping then youre in deep trouble, arent you?"
The boy nodded and tears threatened to run down his face again.
"Now, you are going to be whipped. I cant do anything about that. You can either co-operate so that its done as quickly as possible, or you can try to fight it, in which case itll be much harder for you. Which is it going to be?"
The boy said nothing, but his head drooped and he knew that he was beaten.
"Good. Take your clothes into the changing room, have a pee and then take off your shorts. Come back in here and Ill make your whipping as quick as I can for you."
The boy picked up all his clothes and disappeared. But five minutes later he had still not come back. We found him in the changing room, slumped on the floor, his head on his arms on the bench under his clothes. Hed taken his shorts off, but then couldnt bring himself to walk through to the punishment room.
We took an arm each and half marched, half carried him through. He was whimpering and resisting a bit, but against two of us he could do nothing. When he saw the desk where he was going to be caned he fought a bit harder. I held him down over the desk and Mr Evans brought the ends of the first strap up, buckled it and pulled it tight. It held him in the small of his back. Then the second which was a little higher over his rib cage. Now we could let him go. He tried twisting but the straps were too tight so he swung his arms back and tried to protect his bottom with his hands.
He was small but not weedy. His legs were tightly muscled and his bottom was as hard as two grapefruit. His arms were wiry and I had to pull on his wrists to keep him still.
It took Mr Evans about two minutes to administer twelve strokes. He applied the small whippy cane steadily and very hard, swinging it from behind his head every time and flicking his wrist so that the business end was travelling at maximum speed when it connected with McCutcheons helpless bottom.
McCutcheon howled and screamed and every stroke produced a spasm through the whole of his body. His feet kicked, but they couldnt interrupt the steady rhythm of the cane lashing into him.
I held his arms for another couple of minutes after it was over until he stopped thrashing and calmed down a bit. His tiny backside was a mass of bleeding weals. A dribble of blood had reached halfway to his knee. I let him go and his hands clutched at his wounded buttocks. Sobs still made his chest heave occasionally.
Then Mr Evans unbuckled the straps and released him. He fell to the floor, still clutching helplessly at the pain in his backside.
"Right, lad. Its over now. Go and have a shower in the back. Get dressed and then youll be ready to show your pals your stripes and tell them how bravely you took it."
McCutcheon looked up at him through his tears.
"Well, no-one else is going to tell them what really happened. And youre not going to get yourself another whipping, are you?"
"No," he said with real feeling.
"Off you go then."
Three days later he knocked at the porters room door. "I just wanted to say sorry for how I behaved, and thank you for being so decent," he said and dashed off before we could say anything embarrassing.
"Well, Ill go to the foot of our stairs," said Mr Evans.