It is a relief, in these days when corporal punishment is almost universally frowned upon, to find a man who enthusiastically and unapologetically approves of it, not only theoretically but also in practice.
The man, Eric Newberg, was a widower with an 11-year-old son. He was wealthy, running a large export concern, and always on the go. When I visited him, I noticed with interest that just about every room had a reminder of his methods of education. A cane or tawse, or both, were strategically placed from hooks on corners of the living room, kitchen, dining room and bedrooms.
The son, Jason, had his own room which, although not large, was bright and comfortable. Just above his bed, on a row of small hooks, a wide selection of canes and tawses was publicly displayed.
Jason was sitting on his bed, playing with some toy cars, when Eric and I entered. The boy immediately jumped up and stood at attention. "Good morning, sir," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
He was a handsome little boy, brown and slender, black hair and eyes, long eye lashes making the eyes seeming even larger as he blinked up at the tall figure of his father. He licked his lips. He was dressed in sport shirt, shorts and ankle socks.
Eric looked down at his son with a frown. "Werent you supposed to be doing your homework, Jason?" he asked sternly and I was surprised at the coldness in his voice.
"Yes, sir," the boy muttered, his face turning pink. "I - er - was just about to start." He looked imploringly at his father.
Eric pointed at the instruments of punishment above the bed. "Do you know what these are for?" he asked.
Jasons eyes filled with tears. "Y-yes, sir," he whispered. "But please, sir, I-"
Eric turned to me. "I have to apologise for this scene," he said, "but you must realise that Jason has specific rules to follow and when he disobeys he must be punished, regardless of who might be present."
"I understand," I said magnanimously. "Please dont let me interfere with your usual procedure. I will wait downstairs."
"No need," Eric assured me. "I want Jason to have a witness to his disgrace. It will make a more lasting impression. He must learn to follow the rules while he is young."
I nodded. "Bend the twig while young."
"Jason, take down cane No. 3 and give it to me. Then lower your shorts and kneel on the edge of the bed."
Jason, his face now brick-red, after a quick, embarrassed look at me, followed his fathers instructions. Soon he was perfectly positioned on the bed, bent over the edge with his hands on the floor, bare little bottom well up and spread. His father prodded his thighs further apart with the cane and then positioned himself, took aim and raised the cane. I stood by, my eyes glued to the boys buttocks which I noticed were already covered with angry red stripes all the way down to the thighs.
Eric, seeing my glance, smiled. "Jason was caned a couple of days ago for bad lessons," he explained. "So this caning is going to be particularly effective, with his backside still a bit tender." He brought the cane down with amazing force.
"Aaargh! Oooow!" A high-pitched wail emerged from a constricted throat. "One, sir. Thank you, sir."
Eric lowered the cane and turned to me. "The average dose for this young man is six of the best. For minor mistakes it is four. For something I dont particularly care for in his manner or behaviour, it is eight. For a bit more serious offenses it is twelve. But I insist on good comportment and polite replies to each stroke or he is awarded a few more strokes. Tell me, Jason, was your count properly delivered?"
After a short pause, the boy murmured into his pillow, "No, sir."
"So tell this gentleman what the consequences are."
Another pause, a bit longer this time. "The stroke is repeated and I get another extra."
"Good. Then we will start all over and you will get seven instead of six," his father informed the boy. I noticed the small bottom twitching in anticipation of things to come.
And they came, with a vengeance. The replies, "One, sir. Thank you, sir," followed neatly after the cut but the extra was not counted. Then followed "Two, sir. Thank you, sir."
When the third stroke landed high up across his smooth thighs, it elicited another loud gasp and whine before "number three" was heard.
"Jason," his father snapped, "you will control yourself. Now let us repeat number three and make the total eight."
A vicious swish could be heard as the cane whistled through the air and smacked the naked flesh. "Three, sir." Choke. "Thank you, sir." Gasp.
"No, Jason. You are not trying. Once more number three and make the total nine."
Jason was sobbing into his pillow by now but Eric ignored this. He waited a moment then lashed the trembling cheeks again with great enthusiasm.
"Three, sir. Thank you, sir." Then came the bonus cut without the count.
Strokes four and five were delivered across the lower buttocks of the kneeling child but this time Jason obeyed the rules and counted out clearly without hesitation as soon as he felt the hot sting in his buttocks.
CRACK! - CRACK! Two strokes in quick succession across the upper thighs brought a loud squeal from the young miscreant. Eric was not satisfied with the boys gurgled counts, so they had to be repeated. The total was now increased to eleven.
"You have six strokes more to come," Eric admonished the boy. "If you had behaved properly, six would have been your entire punishment. So better try to obey the rules or we will never finish." I laughed; it was true, but I did not really mind. The spectacle was instructive as well as entertaining.
After six and seven were repeated and the two additional gone uncounted, Jason absorbed strokes eight and nine with a stoic count. Just two more, I thought with some disappointment. I could see that the new welts across the boys backside were turning purple, almost black where the cane tip had bitten most deeply, and the small cheeks seemed to be swelling up near the thighs.
SWISH! A loud thwack could be heard as the cane landed sharply across the chubby little bottom. Jason writhed with the pain, because the cane once more whipped the upper thighs, and his agonised count was more a moan than a proper response.
"Lets do that again," Eric said, unmoved by the boys obvious pain.
CRACK! - "Ten, sir. Thank you, sir." The count sounded strained but was accepted. Another bonus followed.
CRACK! "Ah, eleven, sir. Thank you, sir."
"That was not a proper count," Eric said. Repeat."
He whipped the boy mercilessly for a second "eleven" and his extra. Both were delivered across the lower buttocks which were now obviously a little rounder than when this had started.
"Eleven, sir. Thank you, sir." - One more.
Eric waiting a few seconds longer than usual, then raised the cane high and, using his shoulder for a full swing, he brought the cane down most firmly diagonally across the buttocks crossing the many weals that ridged the flesh.
"OOOOW! AAAAH!" The boys howl reverberated throughout the small room.
"The boy will not learn," Eric said, irritated and impatient with his sons willful disobedience.
"We repeat number twelve," he said. "And if you dont take it properly, I dont mind starting your thrashing again from number one. I suggest you obey this time."
He stepped over to the other side of the kneeling boy and delivered another stinger, this time diagonally across both cheeks again, leaving a deep red "X" across the punished buttocks.
"TWELVE, SIR. THANK YOU, SIR!" came the reply, very loud and very clear and obviously the last effort of a well-disciplined young boy. The bonus stroke went across the thighs again and the punishment was over.
We stood and gazed at the bruised bottom. "Yes," Eric said, laying down the cane. "This is the sort of punishment they dont administer in schools these days. That is why I have decided to hire you as his tutor. I gave you this little demonstration so you understand what I expect from you."
"I think I understand," I said with a smile.
"I want you to make the boy work hard, at lessons as well as physical activity outdoors. I have a housekeeper who has been trained regarding the boys nutrition. He is not to have anything to eat between meals, regardless of circumstances, and nothing at his meals except what I had prescribed to Anna, the housekeeper."
"Very good. I will remember that."
"He will wear clothes such as those he wears now. Anna washes them in the evening and Jason will wear them again the next day. He wears nothing except the shirt, shorts and ankle socks. Sandals indoors and trainers outdoors. For the snow, he can wear ankle-high boots. For his outdoor exercise, he has his P. E. kit of shorts, singlet and socks for the winter. In the warmer weather, say the months of April through December, no singlet is to be worn."
"Very good," I replied. "But I suggest he does his P. E. stark naked. Its healthier for a boy."
"Excellent idea," the boys father nodded his agreement. "And I expect you to watch his behaviour very closely, at home and outside. The smallest infraction and he is to be soundly thrashed. What you saw here just now, is only a suggestion. You may make the punishments as severe as you wish within the common-sense limits. He is never to have sympathy for his pain and Anna knows how to handle him as well."
He replaced the cane on the hook above the boys bed and addressed his kneeling son.
"You may get off the bed. You will not touch your bottom if you dont want a second installment. Go into the corner and wait there until we return."
Jason slowly crawled off the bed. The small shorts had slipped off his ankles during his discipline and he picked them up, folded them neatly, and placed them on a chair. Then he stumbled towards his corner, hands behind his neck. Before he arrived there, he threw me another glance. I looked back with furrowed brow and made a universally accepted gesture with the flat of my hand - a warning that he would get similar treatment from me in the future.
Eric and I went downstairs. After a short chat and finalising the terms of my contract, I left. I was to start the following Monday. I looked forward to my new assignment.