Skinners backside was solid and full of meat. For a change, hed been behaving himself too because there wasnt a single mark on his skin. The porter fastened these huge straps over his back to hold him down and then put more straps on his ankles, and I thought being strapped down like that would be worse than the beating. It was kind of barbaric to tie us down, but I suppose he didnt have any alternative. If wed had it in us to rush him, we could have stopped him whipping us, but then it wasnt hard to imagine what would be done to us then.
He stepped back two or three steps, then sort of threw himself into it. The cane cracked like a gun going off and this line of dark red appeared instantly across Skinners arse. Skinner yelled, which showed him up after hed been boasting to all of us how hed taken the porters whippings without a whimper. In fact, he did take one stroke without yelling. But for the rest he nearly lifted the roof. The third or fourth started him bleeding. I knew that a whipping drew blood because wed all seen boys backsides after theyd been whipped, but the sight of Skinners blood kind of brought it home that the cane was going to make me bleed. I noticed that the last two crossed the others at an angle, and that made Skinner howl twice as much as the rest.
The porter released all the straps that were holding him down and made him stand facing the honours board with his hands on his head. By the time he was in position, the weals across his arse had turned black and purple and begun to swell up into sort of ropes across both cheeks.
Next up was Pole who was a different type physically from Skinner. His arse was slim and hard with muscle and you could see the blue lines in two sections, one on each cheek, where Boggle Starling had caned him two days ago. He was dark skinned, like a Spaniard or something but the cane still made the same really vivid weals and he bled really easily: there were a couple of fresh spots after every stroke. He didnt yell till the fifth, which I thought was pretty impressive. I knew I wouldnt be able to last out that long. The last three made him howl though and Im not surprised because the last two crossed the rest at an angle so there was even more bleeding. When he was standing facing the honours board we could all see the cuts across his arse.
Then Lawford stepped forward for his whipping. He always looks kind of weedy with his glasses and all and the way he squints, but when you see him stripped off you can see how strong he really is.
"Dyou want to take your glasses off?" the porter asked, and Lawford took them off and put them on the table in front of the window. He went to the desk and lay down over it and the porter strapped him down. I thought maybe it would be better not being able to see properly while you were being whipped – but then again, it wouldnt make any difference to the pain in your backside.
There wasnt an ounce of fat on his arse and I knew hed been swished loads of times though there wasnt a mark on him now. Mr Johnson stepped back and lay it into him the same as hed done for the first two. Lawford howled straight away and bucked against the desk, but the straps held him firmly and the rest of the whipping was handed out no matter how much he was yelling. All eight were down low where it hurts the most. I suppose Mr Johnson had got his eye in and was landing more and more strokes across the same narrow band of skin. I started to wish Id gone earlier.
I was surprised how much he yelled but then you can never tell how any particular boy is going to take his punishment. Sometimes a really weedy kid will take a good hiding without a murmur and then some tough customer howls the place down. I dont blame Lawford for yelling at all. All of us yelled, but most of us held out for the first few strokes anyway.
When he was unstrapped and stood over by the honours board, I stepped forward for my turn, but Davis was standing right where he could see him and he got picked to go next. He was the smallest of us and his blond hair and cheeky grin and the fact that hed got no pubes at all made him look so innocent, but once he was strapped down over the desk we could see the patches of blue bruise on both cheeks of his arse. This was his second whacking of the day since hed been slippered after chapel. Needless to say Mr Johnson landed the cane right across the bruised part of his backside and he was nearly screaming before it was finished and there was a dribble of blood down his right thigh.
It must have been the bucking against the straps every time the cane landed, I suppose, but when he stood up his skinny little _c_o_c_k_ was standing up as hard as you like. Id have been really embarrassed, but I guess all his attention was focussed on the pain in his arse because he didnt seem to notice.
I made sure he picked me next. I couldnt have explained why logically, but I really didnt want to be last. I lay down over the desk and he fastened the straps over my back. Id never been held down for a whacking before. All the boys who had said it was horrible, maybe even worse than the whipping itself. That sounded just daft and the straps didnt seem all that terrible. But then he took my ankles and the fastenings held them pulled apart the width of the desks legs. And then the same with my wrists. I wasn't trying to break out or anything but when I pulled against the straps I found that I couldnt move an inch. Not an inch. That was truly terrifying. I was determined already that I would never, ever again earn myself a whipping like this. And the cane hadnt even hit me yet.
Normally when you get the cane they lay it across your bum so you can feel where its going to land, but not this bastard. I suppose his eye was so well in that he didnt need to. The first warning I got was the sharp swishing sound a fraction of a second before it lashed into me. There was no delay in the pain at all, just this searing agony across the full width of my backside, right on the point about two thirds of the way down. I dont think I yelled for that one, even though the shock of going from no pain at all to that in an instant was as much as anyone should have to put up with.
The second was lower and doubled the agony, but somehow not so bad because I was burning so much already from the first.
Over the years Ive taken part in many discussions about corporal punishment and like most boys I think its the best way of punishing us. It gets it over quickly and theres no lingering feeling of disapproval. You just bend over, take your whacking and the business is over and forgotten. Ive never been put off doing something that I knew was wrong merely because it would get me a beating. And I suppose thats the main thing against it, if you believe that the point of a punishment is to stop a boy from doing the same thing again. But on the other hand, boys are going to break the rules anyway, so a short sharp punishment is the best kind.
Or so I had believed until that cane lashed into my poor naked backside. The third – fourth – fifth – sixth strokes filled in the area between the first two so that it felt like a strap of fire wrapped around my rear end and burning deep into the muscles as though reaching for the very centre of my body. Ive no idea whether I was yelling or not. Everyone else did, so I suppose I must have been. The pain was so bad that I didnt care one way or the other. I wasnt bothered any more about looking brave as I took my medicine. It was a matter of survival only. Could I get through this appalling punishment and somehow endure into the rest of my life.
Just when I thought I was going to get through it all right, the last two ripped into my backside, lifting me to new levels of agony. I discovered afterwards that they crossed all the others, drawing more blood and driving the fire so deep into the muscles that it seemed as though it would burn there for the rest of my life.
I didnt feel anything as he undid the straps and I had to force my feet to carry me over to the honours board to join the others. I stood there with my hands on my head and there was nothing in the whole world besides the acid burning the cane had made in my flesh. Some level of my brain registered that T F W Jenkinson had been captain of the Colts eleven in 1934, because his name was right in front of my eyes, and I even wondered if T F W Jenkinson had ever stood here stark naked with his arse on fire. And then I heard Shelley being whipped behind me. So I suppose that meant that the pain was starting to subside to the level where I could experience something besides, but I couldnt really tell the difference.
Shelley squealed like a piglet on the first stroke, but then he took the next four in silence. After that he started yelling and his cries got worse and worse till the eight strokes were over. There was silence while he was unstrapped and then he was alongside me, breathing hard, his elbow briefly touching mine.
"Ashford," the porter said and we heard him being strapped down over the desk, though I thought I heard him say that he could stay bending down without being restrained. There was no chance of that though. "Turn around," Mr Johnson ordered and we all turned round so we could watch the Lower Fifth formers get their whipping. He made us all come round behind him so wed get the best view of his arse.
Ashford had a solid meaty backside. If it was true what the rumour said about his being whipped every day for a week, there was no sign of it now. Mr Johnson had fastened his legs just above the knee rather than round his ankles, so his thighs were stretched apart and we could all see his bollocks hanging down. I hoped to hell that I hadnt been as exposed as that when I was over the desk. I felt really sorry for him, even though I knew he had to be whipped, and probably it was fair that he was getting a hell of lot worse than we had had.
Mr Johnson picked up the bigger cane and took up position. My God, Im not looking forward to getting my arse striped with that, let alone with the senior one. I determined there and then that I would never do anything to earn it.
Like he did with us he applied the cane steadily and as hard as hell. It whistled through the air and cracked like a rifle across Ashfords naked flesh. He took the first six without a sound, which I thought was pretty bloody impressive. The marks came up almost immediately, thick and red, and there were tiny smudges of blood down the right had side of his bottom. But then he started on the second six, and he was landing them at a bit of an angle so that they crossed all the others. Ashfords head shot up and he was sort of straining against the straps with his feet kicking up and down in a weird kind of dance, but there was nowhere he could move. The next one made him yell, and I think if hed been able to get any kind of purchase on the floor the whole desk, with him strapped to it, would have moved. His yells got worse and worse, and the last couple made him roar. By then there was a little dribble of blood down his right leg.
Mr Johnson unstrapped him and he staggered to his feet. He didnt clap his hands to his arse like I expected. He just stood there with his back to us. He was ordered to stand in front of the honours board and as he half-turned we all saw that hed got the most enormous hard-on Id ever seen, which I couldnt understand at all. Anyway he limped over to the board and stood there with his hands on his head like we had done with his lacerated bum on show.
And then, finally, it was Passmores turn. I felt quite sorry for him because hed tried to get us to leave the quarry and not make a noise, but we took no notice and we all got caught. He was a powerfully built boy with a mass of ginger hair. When the porter had strapped him down, his backside was slim and tight with muscle. Not an ounce of fat on him.
I dont know how he managed it, but he took all twelve without a murmur. His bottom was just as much of a mess as Ashfords, with blood all over the place, but somehow he did it without even a quiet little yell. I think Mr Johnson was put out by that because he really lay on the last few. He released Passmore who just walked over to the board as though hed had nothing worse than one of Boggle Starlings sixes. I was dead impressed.
So it was over. We all went down to the showers and cleaned ourselves up. There was a bit of comparing the marks, but not much because they were all the same – apart from the lower fifth formers – and anyway they were still hurting too much. Then we went back upstairs and bent over again for him to paint the witch hazel on the stripes. I dont think it does much good, but everyone does it, so I went along with the ritual. The weals were still hurting so much that I never felt his finger putting it on.
Walking back from the pavilion, for some reason, all of us went off in different directions. I suppose none of us wanted to talk about it until the agony had died down a bit.
Was it fair? Is it ever fair to whip a boy as badly as that? Well, it certainly didnt seem fair at the time. How could it when my backside felt like it was going up in flames for the whole of the rest of the day, and sitting down was painful for about three days?
But we had broken a serious school rule, and the quarry was dangerous and we knew what would happen to us if we got caught. And we cant complain about the way it was done. There was no messing about from the porter or silly comments like you get sometimes from prefects about the shape of your backside or something. He did his job efficiently and from the schools point of view he did it well. Some of the others were going on about what a bastard he was, but he wasnt really. If boys have to be whipped then someone has to do it, and Id rather him do it like that, than some cunt of a prefect feeling you up and making it drag out for half an hour.
And its not as if were treated so much worse than other boys. In some schools they still use a birch, which must be the worst of all. Im really glad that we dont get that. And boys in the navy get caned badly, and I bet in Borstal you get whipped ten times worse than us.
Even though it hurt so much, I still think that whacking is the best punishment for a boy. Its quick and easy, hurts like _f_u_c_k_ for a while, but then its forgotten. The day after he whipped us I passed Mr Johnson in the corridor and it was as though it never happened. The rest say they agree with me, even Skinner whos had more whippings than anybody. But hes a madman. The Sunday after we were whipped he went swimming up in the quarry again. What can you do with a boy like that? I know it was _f_u_c_k_ing hot, but not as hot as his backside would have been if hed been caught.