A scene played itself out in the bowling alley the following night. The seven boys who had either admitted or been reported stealing drink from the pub were standing in a line down the length of the alley. Their fathers or step-fathers or the man deputed to stand in for them were sitting at small tables. John Hawthorne and George Tresize, the landlord, were also present. It was nearly closing time. The other boys and their fathers had gone home. The first successful club night was over.
John Hawthorne started. "Right. We all know why we're here. You seven have been thieving booze out of the outside cellar round the back here. And it's time we put a stop to it. George here would be well within his rights to call the cops and have the lot of you put away. But things have changed around here, so we're going to deal with it ourselves. Does that mean you're going to get a _f_u_c_k_ing good hiding with a cane? Yes, it does. Any questions?"
"Who's going to cane us?" asked Dean Pole.
"George is," said John. "It's his booze you've been thieving. Its only right that he gets a chance to take it out of your backsides."
"And then if we think you need any extra on top of what he gives you we'll give it you," said John Lewis, Deans stepfather.
"So, let's get on with it," said John Hawthorne. "Martin. Step forward."
Martin Copper stepped forward to the edge of the alley. He was a solidly built boy of medium height, dark-haired, dressed in jeans and a black tee-shirt. He was looking scared but trying very hard not to show it: the caning his father gave him after the meeting made a deep impression on him and he was anxious about getting another dose so soon. He was also aware that his father beat him a good deal less severely than he might have done. Tonight's caning was going to be worse.
Mr Copper fixed him with his gaze. "Did you steal booze from the back of the pub?"
"Yes," said Martin. Hed decided that since he was going to be punished no matter what he said there was no point trying to lie, though he was prepared to if it meant protecting another boy.
"How many times?" demanded his father.
"Only once, said Martin.
"What did you take that one time?"
"Some cider and a bottle of wine."
"And did you ever help other lads to steal booze?"
"Yes."
"Who were they?" Martin looked round at the other boys. "No," insisted his father. "Don't look at them. Who were the other boys who you helped to steal booze? "
"I dont remember." No matter what he wouldnt grass on his mates.
"Yes you do. Just tell us who they were."
Martin shook his head.
"Did you enjoy the whacking I gave you last night?" Martin shook his head. "So youre not keen for another dose. With your pants down."
Martin looked at his father for a long moment. He knew that his father would do it. "No. I don't remember."
Mr Copper nodded an acknowledgement of his sons loyalty to his friends. "Anything more, George?" he said.
"No thanks." he said. "Next one."
Martin stepped back into the line and Nick Davis, his friend, stepped up to take his place. He had a similar build to Martin, but a shock of curly blond hair gave him a very different air. Martins dad had given him the same caning as Martin got, though secretly he thought Nick deserved more, and had decided that at the earliest opportunity the boys bare bottom would be feeling his bamboo.
"Right, Nick, tell us what thieving you've been up to from the pub."
"The same as Martin really," Nick said. "Except I took stuff a couple of times. And I took a bottle of vodka."
"And did you help other boys to steal booze?"
"Yes. But I dont remember who."
Mr Copper looked angry and impatient all of a sudden. "So you want more stick and all, do you?"
"No," said Nick, trying to look the man in the eye, "but I'm not getting somebody else into trouble."
The man seemed to realise that Nick was responding in the same admirable way that his son had done. "All right, Nick. Thank you."
Nick stepped back into the line and Mr Copper nodded to Mr Sayer, who was sitting next to him.
"Right," said Darren Sayer. Craig, before you tell us about your thieving out of the pub explain why you wouldn't bend over for the stick last night."
Craig Davidstow, his wiry thirteen-year-old stepson, looked panicky. Hed expected this and had planned to defy the men to the last. Now that the moment had come though, it seemed much harder than hed reckoned on.
"Cause you ain't got no right to hit me like that. You ain't me dad. An' I aven't done anything worth getting the stick for."
John Hawthorne butted in. "You were at the meeting last night. You read the rules. If you do wrong - and by Christ, youve done more than enough to earn yourself a dose of the cane - any man on this estate can give you what's needed. Never mind your dad."
"So now you can have what you should have had last night before we deal with tonight's business," persisted Darren.
Craig couldnt help himself. Defiance seemed to be his natural response. "No. You're not _f_u_c_k_ing hitting me."
"Yes, I _f_u_c_k_ing am," said his stepfather. "Now get yourself bent over that table there."
He stood and picked up the cane from the table where it had been lying. Craig shook his head and started looking at the door, contemplating escape.
"Go on. And you can get your trousers and pants down, and all. If you'd had it last night it would have been just on your trousers, but now you can bloody well have it on your bare arse."
"I'm not _f_u_c_k_ing doing that."
"Did you see what happened to Jimmy Bolan?" Mr Hawthorne asked.
"Yes."
"And d'you want that happening to you? Held down across the table while your dad canes you? And then youve still got to take your drawers down for the rest of it? Is that what you want?"
"No." Craigs voice had faded almost to a whisper and there was a trace of a tear in his eye.
"Just accept it, lad," John said. "Things have changed round here. You do something wrong, you're going to get your arse striped. You can go along with it and take your punishment, or you can make it hard on yourself. If you fight us - your dad and everybody - it'll be so much worse you won't know what's hit you. Is that what you want?"
"No."
"Right then. Over to the table there. Drop your trousers and pants.. And bend over."
Craig looked around at the group of hard-faced men. He stood no chance. Now there was definitely a bit of a tear in his eye. He turned to the table and then went to it, unbuttoning his trousers as he went. He pushed his trousers and pants together down over his bottom and started to lower himself over the table.
"Hang on," said Darren. "Get em right down to your ankles, out of the way."
Craig had to stoop to push them down past his knees and then they fell to a puddle of clothing round his ankles. He rested his hands on the table a second, then lowered himself till he was lying flat across it with his arms hanging down the far side. Mr Sayer stepped up to him and lifted his shirt tail clear of his bottom. Craig had slim but solid buttocks that were, of course, unmarked. Mr Sayer took aim with the cane, laying it across the centre of the boy's bottom. Slowly and very hard he applied six lashing strokes. Each one produced a yell of pain from Craig, but he lay still over the table and allowed the beating to proceed without interruption.
"There," Darren said. "Now if you'd let me whack you last night it wouldn't have been half as bad as that. Get up and stand over here."
Craig struggled upright and bent to pull up his pants and trousers. He stood in front of the group of men again, trying hard not to show how much the cane hurt him by rubbing his backside.
"Right," said Darren, sitting down again. "How much thieving from the pub were you responsible for?"
"None of it," said Craig, glowering.
"Be careful, Craig. We know you were in it up to your neck and if you lie to me your arse'll be so sore you won't sit down for a fortnight. So, I'll ask you again. How many times have you nicked booze out of the back of the pub?"
"Once or twice," the boy conceded.
"You're a lying little sod. I know bloody well it's more than that. Start telling the truth or I'll have you back over that table so fast your feet won't touch the floor."
"I don't know how many times. Only a few."
"But so many that you can't remember them all. You're in this up to your bloody neck. Go on to the next one. This little bastard deserves everything he gets."
"Tell me, Craig." It was John Hawthorne again, sounding sympathetic suddenly. "Could Martin and Nick have told us that you were involved?"
"Spose so."
"So, why dyou think they didnt, eh?"
"Dont know."
"Would you have kept quiet like them? Even if you were threatened with more cane?"
"Maybe."
"Yes. I think you would. You wouldnt drop a mate in the _s_h_i_t_, would you? But the other end of that stick is that you put your hand up for what you were doing. Isnt that right?"
"Yes, I spose." There was a long pause. "Yes, all right, I nicked a load of stuff. But it was easy. Most stuff isnt even locked up."
"That dont mean you can thieve it, you little bastard," cut in George, the landlord, who was all too aware that the boy was telling the truth. Hed been careless and if the brewery found out he wouldnt be the landlord for very long.
"Thank you, Craig," said John. "Youre a brave lad. Pete."
One by one the other four boys were interrogated. By coincidence Simon Copper was the only father there. The other boys were questioned by stepfather, or mothers boyfriend, or in Lukes case, by Bill Scudder who had been given the job of supervising the boy. John Hawthorne joined in and so did George Tresize, the landlord of the pub. All of them admitted it in the end, though some had to be leant on a bit more than the others. George was feeling awkward about the whole business because he knew that hed been guilty of carelessness in the keeping of his stock. But that wasnt going to stop him taking it out of the boys rear ends.
The men looked at the line of guilty boys. Some of them hung their heads, showing at least a show of remorse.
"That's all of you," said John. "Now, you're all going to pay Mr Tresize for the booze you've nicked, and you're going to do that by working round the estate, picking up litter and stuff like that. But first, he's going to give all seven of you a dose of the stick that you'll remember. It's going to be with this cane."
He held it up so they could see it. It was nearly a metre long, about a centimetre thick and bone white.
"It'll be across your bare bums. But –"
"No." It was George. "I dont want to make em strip. Though Im not saying they dont deserve it. Ill do it across their pants."
"All right, George, if youre sure. But we don't believe that all of you should get the same number of whacks. And you're going to decide how many each of you gets. Go and sit at those tables, where there's bits of paper and pens."
Luke tried to catch Bill Scudders attention, but there was nothing doing. He had to follow the rest to their tables.
Puzzled, the boys went to sit at the tables, well spread out so that they couldn't see what the others were writing.
"That's it. Now. The one who did least is going to get six strokes of the cane. That is the one who did the least thieving. The one who only broke in once, or who didn't take much. The one who did the most – that is, the one who persuaded other boys to do it, or who broke in more than the rest – hes going to get a dozen. Understand?"
The boys nodded.
"Good. You're going to write down everybody's name except your own, and alongside it you're to write how many whacks of the cane they should get. And the least guilty one gets six. Off you go."
The boys picked up the pens and started to write. Some thought hard. Others wrote quickly. At last they had all done it and Mr Hawthorne picked up the pieces of paper. The men went into a huddle and calculated. The boys watched them apprehensively, aware that the amount of punishment they were going to get depended on the results. Mr Hawthorne faced them with the pieces of paper in his hand.
"Very interesting. This is what you think each of you should get. Martin and Simon, six apiece. Nick, seven, Wayne and Craig, eight each. Luke, nine. And Dean, a dozen. Anything to say?"
The boys looked at each other, but no-one was prepared to comment, probably because they had condemned themselves. Dean looked as though he was going to be sick. Craig, whose bottom was of course already stinging horribly, looked terrified.
"Good. In that case, I'll hand you over to George."
"Go in the bar and get a bar stool each," George ordered. "They're put ready for you."
The boys filed out of the bowling alley, through the passage and into the main bar. There were about six men drinking in the bar. They looked at the boys with amusement, knowing what awaited them out in the bowling alley. The stools were lined up in front of the bar and each boy took one.
Bob Hendricks leered at them over his pint. "Looking forward to it, lads?"
None of the boys said anything. The other men laughed.
"I'm glad I'm not in their trousers," said Bill Roper.
"Don't worry," said Bob. "They ain't gonna be in em much longer."
The men laughed again. The boys filed back to the alley carrying the stools. George pointed to the position where he wanted each stool to go by pointing to it with the cane, which he was now carrying. They were spaced out down the length of the bowling alley. He positioned each boy by a stool, facing away from the body of the room towards the wall.
"Right lads," he said. "Take your trousers down. Right down to your ankles, mind, and then lie down across the top of the stool. Hold on to the legs as far down as you can reach."
The boys did as they were told. They unbuttoned their trousers, pushed them down free of their hips and allowed them to fall to the floor. Most were wearing boxer shorts, but Nick was in a pair of scanty pants that had ridden up into the crack between his buttocks. Nervously, he pulled them down to cover himself.
Luke didnt push down his trousers. They were the same ones he had worn the night before. His mum had still not washed all his pants. Under the shabby old track suit bottoms he was naked.
"Bill – " he tried.
"What is it, Luke? Get your trousers down. Come on."
"Bill – " And he frantically beckoned the man who had caned him so thoroughly just twenty-four hours earlier.
"What is it?"
He tried to whisper, but it came out too loud. "I avent got no pants on."
"Havent you? Youll just have to get it on your bare arse again, then, wont you?"
"Thats not fair," he persisted. "The others have got pants on."
Bill suddenly addressed the line of boys. "What dyou reckon, lads? Lukes got no pants on. Should he keep his trousers on, or get his bare bum caned?"
None of them knew what to say. They certainly werent prepared to take any kind of decision about Lukes punishment. But John Hawthorne was.
"Given his _f_u_c_k_ing record, theres no way he keeps his trousers on. Get em down, Luke, and stop whining."
Without further ado – and mainly because he wasnt happy about being accused of whining – he pushed down his trousers. He had to stoop to push them down to his ankles.
There was a moment of hesitation while they looked at each other, terrified of what was happening. Nick then lowered himself over the stool and the rest followed suit. Their fathers moved round behind them and pulled their shirts up their backs, leaving their bottoms clear and available to the terrible lashing of the cane.
"Now that you know whats involved in getting your bums whacked," said John Hawthorne, "I reckon you should start trying to take your medicine without all the yelling and crying we had last night from some boys and like Craig treated us to just now. Youre not girls. Youre not being killed. Youre just getting a few stripes across your arses. So just hold still and be as brave as you can manage. Were going to make men out of you if its the last thing we do."
George started with Wayne who was down at one end of the line. He took aim with the cane and lashed it into Waynes thinly clad bottom. But George hadnt been practising like the other men and he landed the first stroke up near the waistband of the boxer shorts. The next one was better, hitting the fleshy part in the middle of his buttocks, but only really made any impact on the right one. The third was better still, low down across the band of flesh already wealed from last nights caning. Wayne whimpered slightly. The next three hit the same area, but Wayne made no sound at all, even though his feet kicked a bit.
Craig lay still over his bar stool, listening to the cane crack against his friends bottoms. His own backside was on fire from the caning Darren had given him less than fifteen minutes ago. He deserved it; he knew he did. But still, it was very painful. He could feel the lines of fire across his flesh. It had started to fade a little bit, but now he was going to get another eight!
Martin Copper was getting it. The cane was like a gun going off, but Martin wasnt making any sound, but then he hadnt been caned very hard last night. Six on his trousers was soft, compared with what some of the others had got. Craig liked Martin, though he wasnt as big a trouble-maker as some of the others – Nick, for example. He wondered what Martins arse looked like now. Six whacks, and that meant six red stripes. Theyd compared their marks in the bog at school. Lukes were the worst and now the poor bastard was going to take it on his bare arse.
The whacks started again. Nick Davies. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Right next to him. His stomach lurched. It would be him next. And his bottom was still burning.
He felt the cane touching him, low down where Darren had caned him. Please, not the same spot, he prayed. But it was. Crack! right on the worst part. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Each one worse than the last. The pain building and building till he thought he was bound to yell. No-one would blame him if he yelled. But he wasnt going to be called a girl again. And it stopped, even though he still had two to come – according to what everyone had written down. Now the fire in his rear end was a furnace, roaring pain that seemed to fill the muscles.
George moved on to Simon. He was a skinny boy and his bottom no bigger than a pair of oranges. Georges eye was well in now and all six landed in less than two inches. Simon wriggled a bit, but made no sound as he was beaten.
Luke had been caned twice last night. Once on his rather threadbare tracksuit bottoms; the second time on his naked backside. Confronted by the boys bare bottom, which was a mass of purple and black lines, he was unsure of himself. It was very different caning a boy when you could see the damage you were doing. But Bill said, "Go on George. Let the little sod have it." The same six strokes, but now each one sprang up on the boys skin in a deep scarlet line. Luke didnt make a sound, but it must have been hurting him, because he wriggled quite a lot and his right foot came free of his trousers.
And then finally, it was Dean, the ring leader. George put everything he had into beating him and the last stroke made the boy groan in the back of his throat.
For a moment there was silence. All seven boys had received six good hard strokes of the cane, and lay there still over their bar stools, all their senses concentrated on the burning pain in their backsides.
"Well, boys," John said. "Enjoying yourselves, are you?" There was no reply. "Well, lets finish this off, shall we? How many more have you got to come, Wayne?"
"Two," Wayne said, raising his head just a little.
"Pete," said John, and handed over the cane.
Pete Watson came round behind the boy, tucked the cane under his arm and yanked Waynes pants down. His small round buttocks were striped from just below his coccyx to the top of his thighs. Nowhere was there a gap bigger than an inch. Pete took aim then stepped back two good paces. He launched himself into the stroke and everyone heard the cane sing through the air. It cracked across Waynes bum with an explosion that could be heard out in the bar. Wayne gurgled in the back of his throat, but contained the scream that wanted to escape. The second was the same, and there were two small beads of blood on his skin.
Pete handed the cane on to Steve Copper and went back to his station at Waynes head.
Nicks scanty briefs came down easily, revealing a shapely backside decorated with a dozen good weals.
"How many, Nick?"
"One," said the boy, but he had resolved to tell Pete when they got back to Martins house that he needed more than that to wipe out his crimes.
Pete administered an almighty lash and Nick struggled over the bar stool.
Again the cane was passed on. This time to Darren Sayer. Craigs boxer shorts came down and two more strokes were lashed into his already desperately suffering backside. How he kept silence he never knew. The pain seemed to sear deep into the muscles and explode there.
Luke was naked already, his bottom terribly striped in red and purple and black. Bill Scudder did his duty, lashing the cane into the boy with all his power. Luke took two in more or less silence, but the third was too much. It felt as though the world was made of nothing but pain and it would last for ever.
John Lewis took the cane last and addressed himself to the task of completing Deans punishment. He hadnt planned on taking his pants down, but all the others had done, so he had no option. Deans milky coffee skin was striped and swollen, but there was no doubting that the boy was a tough customer, and he deserved every stroke of the beating that he received. There was a bit of blood by the end, but he had taken all of it without a murmur. John felt pleased and proud of the boy who, for the first time, he now really thought of as his son.