About half the masters at Dartmoor College made regular use of the cane in their lessons. One or two, who werent approved of by their colleagues or the boys, applied their small, whippy rattans to boys outstretched palms. The rest would simply order the miscreant to remain behind after the lesson, bend him across one of the desks in the front row and administer a few strokes to his bottom. Very occasionally boys were summoned to the front of the class and beaten there and then with all their classmates watching.
It wasnt resented much because all but a handful of boys could take such a beating without turning a hair, and, in any case, it was the way things had always been done, so why should they ever change? For the first three forms at least it was very rare for a week to pass with no boys at all receiving the cane. For some boys a week with no corporal punishment at all was considered a triumph; whereas others would go a term or more without falling foul of a master. But every boy was caned sooner or later.
Mr Donnelly was different, though. As the PT master, his background was naval rather than academic. No-one was sure how he came to be teaching at Dartmoor. But there he was, and twice a week every boy spent an hour in his gym being exercised. He was a stocky individual who habitually wore a pair of white flannel trousers and white singlet that showed off his powerful physique. His head was shaved and on his mighty forearm there was a tattoo of some naval badge.
He kept a cane for the correction of serious indiscipline, but it wasnt his weapon of choice. For day to day infringements of his rules he kept a special implement that he called the whacker. It consisted of a wooden blade about the width of a table-tennis bat, but about twice the length, mounted on a handle bound with leather. There wasnt a single boy in the school who had not experienced this across his bare bottom.
Because Madman, as every boy referred to him, never ever allowed a boy any protection if he needed punishment. Off came his shorts, which had to be deposited in a special basket by the gym door, and stayed off till the end of the hour. And that was when the whacking was dispensed. The delinquent boy touched his toes and Madman handed out three or so good slaps with the wooden blade. But quite often he decided that a whole form needed some encouragement, and then all of them would strip off, touch their toes in a line down the centre of the gym and he would progress from bottom to bottom plying the whacker till each boy had received a whack, then hed stroll back to the start and do it again, and again, till he decided that they had had enough and their bottoms were the right shade of scarlet. And then the gym would be full of naked, red-bottomed boys trying desperately to be enthusiastic about the exercise.
A whacking from Madman hurt as much as any other beating boys received – if not more – but they were so common and so taken for granted that most boys didnt count them when they were tallying up how many beatings they had had. They werent recorded in a punishment book as most masters canings were, and there was no point in a boy trying to engage the interest of his friends in the state of his bottom after a whacking because the sight was too common to be interesting.
Occasionally, however, he would take particular exception to a boy and whack him repeatedly through the course of the lesson. It had happened to a boy called Luscombe in the fourth form only the previous term. What his original crime was no-one remembered, but soon after the start of the lesson his shorts were in the basket. And soon after that Madman stopped the lesson again and dispatched Luscombe to fetch the whacker from its special locker in the changing room. There and then he had to touch his toes and Madman applied four solid smacks to his muscular backside.
Madman with the whacker in his hand, as opposed to merely threatened, was a terrifying sight and the class threw themselves into the lesson. Twice more Luscombe fell foul of him. Twice more he had to touch his toes. And it was four smacks both times. Luscombe was a tall, very well-built boy, one of the few in the class with a full pubic bush. It wasnt till his third whacking that he made any sound at all, but everyone saw the deepening red of his skin, and made even greater efforts to keep on Madmans good side.
At the end of the lesson Luscombe was whacked again. This time it was six. Every one landed on skin that the whacker had already tenderised, and the boy yelled a bit on the last couple. At bedtime, more than six hours later, Luscombe said that his backside was still throbbing, and the redness had been replaced with a solid area of purple bruise.
"Come in, Mr Donnelly," said Mr Appleyard, holding out his hand across the desk. "Take a seat."
Madman had not been inside the headmasters office for more than a dozen years. Now he sat uncomfortably, almost like a boy in trouble. He had just given a second form boy called Oakes his first taste of the whacker and he was having difficulty getting out of his head the sight of the boys tiny bottom, reddened by the whacker, and the little chap dancing about the changing room with his hands clasped over his rear end while the rest of the form laughed. But Mr Appleyard was smiling.
"I want to talk to you about the boys fitness," he began. Its an interesting topic no doubt but they discussed it for half an hour, so I will spare you the details. At the end of it, however, they had agreed a programme of sporting activities that would keep boys active most days after lessons and increase their fitness levels.
"Good. Im glad were agreed on that," said Mr Appleyard. "One other thing. I understand that youre quite a disciplinarian, Mr Donnelly."
"Well, I do my best, sir," Madman replied.
"Tell me your secret."
This was too flattering to resist, but in any case it wasnt a secret. He told the headmaster about his whacker and the way he used it.
"The boys dont mind it, I find, and it certainly means that the lessons proceed in the right way," he finished up.
"I can see that they would. And you always apply your whacker to their bare bottoms. Have I got that right?"
"Yes, sir. Its the only way, in my opinion. A good whacking, hot and strong, on their bare rumps. They know whos the boss when they come to me, sir."
"And they can be naked for the majority of the lesson. Is that so?"
"Sometimes, sir, yes." Oakes had been made to shed his shorts even before he entered the gym, so hed been naked for the whole hour.
"I see. And you regard that as part of the punishment, I take it."
"Certainly, sir. Nothing like it for bringing a lad down a peg or two, having to perform with all his tackle on show."
"I would like that to change, Mr Donnelly." And suddenly the mood was more serious. "Let me explain why. I find that it has been a common custom here at Dartmoor College to beat boys on their bare bottoms. And I grant you that there are times when nothing else will suffice. Something which one boy has reason to remember, after I whipped him at the start of term. But it must only be for the most serious matters. If it becomes the usual thing then it loses its power. I think you must agree."
"Well, I –"
"Good. You will stop using your whacker on boys bare backsides, please, and they are not to be made to work with nothing on in your lessons."
"But, sir, its what they expect when they come to my gym."
"And now Id like that expectation to change. I dont know whether you had permission from Mr Langhorne to beat with nothing on, but I am now withdrawing that permission. Im sure you will find that your whacker applied with nothing but shorts for protection will have exactly the same effect. Id like you to restrict yourself to six whacks in any hour, and I would expect that on most occasions three would be perfectly adequate. I want you now to start keeping a punishment book and to record each whacking that you hand out. This is merely to bring you into line with the rest of the staff. I will look at your book periodically. As I explained to the prefects, there must be a gradation of punishment to fit the grades of offence, and the kind of misbehaviour that you are likely to find must be at the lower end of that gradation. Of course, if you find anything more serious you must use a cane, but that will also be on their clothed seat. If a boy needs chastising on his bare buttocks you must, Im afraid, send him to me."
"This is a sad day and no mistake. Ive kept good discipline in my gym all these years. I never expected to be undermined by the headmaster."
"Youre not being undermined. I still expect you to keep good discipline, as all masters do, and you must still use your whacker. Its done too much good work to abandon now. But I disapprove of boys working with nothing on, and I will not have them whacked on their bare bottoms. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir. But its a sad day. And I never thought to see it."
"Let me make myself even clearer. Should I find that you have ignored me in this, you will find yourself looking for another job. Do you wish to say anything more?"
"No, sir. A sad day indeed."
The next form that Madman taught was the lower fifth. He watched them change into their shorts with a kind of foreboding. He really believed that he had been doing these boys a favour by taking no nonsense and disciplining them, as his masters had disciplined him as a child. Now, the school was going to hell in a handcart. No good would come of being soft with these lads. You had to show them who was boss.
They ran into the gym and he followed them with the whacker in his hand. They stood waiting for his instructions. He could see nothing that he could complain of. He lined them up in their houses and inspected their shorts for whiteness. It was early in the term and there wasnt a mark on any of them.
Then for ten minutes they did physical jerks – star jumps, squats, running on the spot. None of them flagged or otherwise displeased him. But still the whacker was in his hand. He tapped the other palm with its blade. Then he had them get out the equipment. One group wheeled out the vaulting horse and placed mats for landing and the springboard for take-off; another lowered the beams; a third uncoiled the climbing ropes, and the fourth made a pile of three benches.
And now, at last, he had his chance. "Who left this beam like this?"
The boys looked, but could see nothing wrong.
"Without a wedge. Who was responsible?"
The group looked at each other. Nobody could really say that it was their fault. All of them had taken a hand in getting the beams out.
"Come on. Who left it like this? Or do I have to whack the whole group?"
"I did, sir." It was Laing – taking the blame to save the others. It looked noble, and was typical of Dartmoor boys, but others would do the same for him soon enough. It all came out equal in the end.
And Laing had already peeled down his shorts and was stepping out of them.
"Put your shorts on, Laing," Madman ordered. Puzzled, but thankful, Laing got dressed again. "Ive been told that Im no longer allowed to whack you with your shorts off. Which means, of course, that I shall be putting a little extra oomph into it to make up. Touch your toes, boy."
Laing bent over, offering his bottom to the whacker. He was a strong boy with a lean, muscular backside. His shorts were moulded to the roundness of the flesh and no-one in the gym thought they would give any serious protection. Madman stood back a good stride and threw himself into the whack. It landed with a loud SMACK. Laing gave no reaction. There were three more slow and very loud thwacks, which Laing took equally calmly – but then hed have shown the same calmness if hed been naked.
"Up, boy." Laing stood up. "Now tell us. How did that compare with my normal whackings? Did it hurt at all?"
"Oh yes, sir," said Laing, and rubbed at his bottom a little, to show that it really had hurt. The class grinned. They knew too well the sting of Madmans whacker.
And all of them renewed their acquaintance before the end of the hour. None of them really understood the excuse that he found for whacking them, but there they were in the usual line down the centre of the gym, touching their toes, shorts stretched taut across their backsides, and Madman strolling up and down whacking out his anger on them, on and on, till all had had five solid slaps. Laing, of course, had now received nine, but that was the masters secret rebellion against the pathetic restrictions of this new head. As they knew beforehand, their shorts gave very little protection; the sting was the old familiar burning, that faded as they changed and went off to maths to the old familiar warmth. Nothing had really changed.