In the last instalment of this history I told of some of my experiences as an eleven year old at Manor School. I will now move on to my last year at that school. I had said that I would start this instalment in my last term at Manor and move on to my first at public school (for the benefit of non-British readers a public school is a private secondary school), but, on reflection, it seems to me that I ought to start it a little earlier and leave the beginning of public school to the next instalment. After all, the appointment of a boy as a prefect was a big moment in his life and it would be sad not to record how that happened to me and what my feelings were.
It was the first day of my last year at Manor School. I was 12 years old, soon to be 13. During the school holidays a letter had arrived from Mr Spencer, the headmaster. It was addressed to my parents. I remember picking it up from the doormat and recognising the familiar school coat of arms embossed on the back of the envelope. My first reaction was to assume that I was being reported to my parents for some misdemeanour. That had never happened before (because the school had ample powers of punishment) but maybe, I thought, some discovery had been made after I had left for home at the end of term. It was tempting to throw the letter away before my parents saw it, or perhaps to steam it open and decide whether it was suitable for disclosure to them. But good sense eventually prevailed. I realised that, if I was indeed being reported for a crime, it was highly likely that Mr Spencer would follow up his communication to discover what had been done about it. Should it then transpire that I had disposed of the letter without showing it to my parents I could expect to be in even greater trouble. Furthermore, I was far from confident that I would be able to steam open the envelope, read the contents and then reseal it without being detected. So it was with a heavy heart that I took the letter into the breakfast room. My mother was there on her own. That, I remember thinking, would at least give me some chance of being able to plead for mercy. I put the letter on the table in front of her. At first, she did no more than acknowledge the fact that I had brought her the post. She went on reading her newspaper. I stood watching her. Finally she looked up.
"Aren't you going to get some cereal Percy?" She asked.
"Oh, um I spose so", I muttered, eyes still firmly fixed on the terrifying missive.
"What on earth are you staring at?"
"Sorry Mum, it's just that I think that letter's from school."
"So it is", she said as she picked it up. "I wonder what it can be. We've already had your report. I hope it's not another tragedy."
Those who have read earlier instalments may recall that my first headmaster had died at the end of my first year at the school, information which had been communicated by letters to parents during the holidays. My mother's reminder of that sad occasion considerably raised my hopes. Wouldn't it be wonderful, I thought, if Mr Spencer has died. I hasten to say that I had nothing but respect and admiration for my headmaster (however hard a "swisher" he was) and I certainly would not have wished for his premature death. But at that moment news of his untimely passing would have been much preferable to communication of some dreadful crime.
She opened the letter. I could see that it was quite short. She quickly read it through and then looked up at me with a rather stern expression on her face.
"What do you think it says Percy?"
"I don't know Mum, but if it's something bad I am sure I can explain it, so don't tell Dad yet. Please."
She continued to look at me, and to frown. This was not good news. I must have looked a picture of misery. Finally, she relented and smiled broadly at me.
"Well done. You're going to be a prefect next term."
I instantly forgot my earlier fears and jumped up and down with joy.
"Oh Mum that is just brill. I never though, after that midnight feast last term that I'd make prefect. This is just the greatest news ever."
"Well I'm sure you deserve it darling. I'm not saying you didn't also deserve the caning you got for the midnight feast, but Mr Spencer is a good headmaster and I know that he wouldn't hold something like that against you after you'd been punished for it."
I remember those summer holidays as being blissful. The thought that, at their end, I would be returning to a position of such authority was in my mind through all my waking moments (and in quite a few dreams too). My only concern was that the holidays seemed to be going on far too long. For the first time in my life I actually desperately wanted to get back to school. I remember forcing my mother to buy me my prefects' ties as soon as possible. When I went to bed at night I used to get them out and gaze at them with a no doubt rather stupid grin on my face as I contemplated the delights ahead of me.
Eventually the first day of term arrived. I remember waiting impatiently in the hall for my parents to get ready to drive me to Paddington Station so that I could catch the school train. I was longing to present myself to my friends in my wonderful new tie. I was terrified of missing the train, even though there was ample time to get to the station. I walked up and down, occasionally shouting out for my parents to hurry. Finally, they emerged and we went out to the car. During the fifteen minute journey I kept looking at my watch, convinced that we were going to be late.
"Can't you go faster Dad", I begged. But he just smiled and continued at the same speed.
The car drew up outside the station. I threw open the door and only just remembered, before running into the station, to kiss my mother and shake hands with my father. Then I turned and flew into the ticket hall and through it to the main concourse. My trunk and tuck box had been sent PLA ("Passenger Luggage in Advance"). So I only had one small case to carry with me. I scanned the board to see which platform the train would leave from. Then I turned my eyes to the big station clock. There were twenty minutes to go before the train was due to depart. But that didn't lessen my haste. I dashed for platform one and ran its length until I found the three reserved carriages for Manor boys. By tradition, the most senior boys always went for the front carriage and that was where I headed. The trains were the old fashioned sort, with individual compartments separated from the corridor by sliding doors. Each compartment could take eight occupants (four facing the direction of travel and four facing backwards). There would be, I knew, eight prefects and so, naturally, they would occupy the very front compartment. As I walked along I looked into each window looking for boys I knew. There were a few there already, and I carefully lingered by any window of a compartment which was occupied, so that they could see my tie. Looking ahead, I saw my old friend Rowntree standing by the first compartment. As I got closer, I saw that he was wearing an identical tie to mine. I had been slightly apprehensive about whether he would have been appointed. I had thought of writing to him to tell him my news, but had decided not to, in case he did not have the same news to impart. If he had not, that would have put a bit of a dampener on the occasion. But he obviously had, and I grinned with genuine delight as I greeted him.
We stood together outside the train, so that as many boys as possible would be able to see us in our prefects' ties, and chatted animatedly about what the new term would hold for us. We were soon joined by Truefit and Lynch, also sporting prefects' ties. I was disappointed when Johnson and Chapman, both good friends, appeared on the platform in ordinary school ties. But they were generous in their congratulations to us and didn't show their own disappointment at being passed over. The train was due to leave in five minutes and so we decided to get into our compartment. It looked as though the other four prefects were not going to be on the train and we invited Johnson and Chapman to join us.
The journey took about two and a half hours. Despite its length, the conversation didn't falter. We continued to talk, nineteen to the dozen, for the whole time. We speculated about who the other prefects might be and about who would be head boy and deputy head boy. We wondered which houses we would be attached to. I remember saying that I hoped to be given Junior House because that would enable me to be a good influence, as I hoped, on the new boys and to ensure that they quickly developed into solid Manor Boys. We discussed how we would exercise our disciplinary powers. The four of us all expressed our desire to be strict but fair. We fully agreed that being too lenient would be disastrous, but that it would be equally bad to use our authority to bully smaller boys. Funnily enough, I am sure we were absolutely genuine in our desire to use our powers to improve the school. You mustn't get me wrong. We weren't angels. We were boys. It would be misleading to pretend that we did not get a little frisson of excitement at the prospect of being able to decide that boys should be caned or slippered. For that, in effect, is what we would be doing. Technically, of course, the decision would be made by the master to whom we sent the boy. But the reality was, as we well knew, that, unless we were guilty of gross abuse of power, no master to whom we sent a boy would dream of not carrying out the punishment which we obviously intended. To have power like that, at our tender age, was a thing most wonderful for us to contemplate. I am sure we all took great pleasure in doing so. I am not saying that my fellow prefects had the same interest I had in the punishment of boys. Some may have done, but I did not know that. Indeed, by then, I assumed that my secret interest was not shared by any of the others. But, despite the absence of my added interest in these things, I have no doubt that they were just as keen as I was on exercising their new powers.
There was, to someone like me, one down side to being a prefect. Non-prefects had more prospect of actually witnessing punishments than did prefects. If two or more boys got into trouble together they would, generally speaking, be punished together. I had always dreaded the pain of the cane or slipper, but it had been a great consolation to me that, more often than not, being beaten meant watching one or more of my friends being punished as well. While I was now very unlikely to have to suffer the pain of punishment myself (it was a very rare thing for a prefect to be caned), I would also be deprived of the opportunity of watching others getting their just desserts. But I did not let that thought cloud my enjoyment of my new life. After all, I reasoned to myself, there would still be plenty of opportunity, when supervising bed time in the dormitories and showers after games, to see the striped bottoms which gave me such pleasure. In fact, as will shortly transpire, there was to be a change that term which would work very much to my advantage. But I did not know that then.
On arrival at the school we prefects were told to present ourselves to the Boss Man in his study. Even though we knew that the interview would be entirely pleasant, I suspect I was not the only one who felt an involuntary shiver down my spine as I once more stood outside that imposing door and looked up at the green light which indicated that the headmaster was free to see us. One of us knocked and we heard the familiar voice calling us in. The room was laid out in preparation for receiving new boys' parents. The comfortable armchairs and sofa which were usually against the walls, were now placed around the fireplace. I glanced at the umbrella stand where the canes were normally to be seen and noticed that none was in sight. I smiled as I realised that Mr Spencer must have hidden them from view so as not to frighten the mothers of new boys (I assumed that most of the fathers would have had no qualms at seeing them). He beckoned us forward, pointing to the chairs and sofa, and we all sat down. I was in the middle of the sofa with Rowntree on one side and Taylor, another friend, on the other. The other three prefects who had not been on the train were Smith Major, Mitchell and Baker. Once we were all comfortable (or as comfortable as schoolboys ever can be in their headmaster's study), the Boss Man began to address us.
"Well, boys, I am delighted that you have all accepted my invitation to be prefects. It's always difficult choosing boys for such an important job. This year it was as hard as ever. I am sure you will be the first to agree that there are several other boys in your year who would make excellent prefects. I would dearly have loved to appoint several more, but we can't have all chiefs and no indians. I had to restrict myself to eight and you boys are the ones I eventually decided on. I am sure that you will amply justify my decision during the year ahead. Now, I am not going to give you a long pep talk about the grave responsibilities you now have. If I thought you did not understand that for yourselves, you wouldn't be sitting where you are now." With that, he went on to give just such a pep talk. I am sure you can imagine the things he said. We were told that the morale of the houses and the whole school depended on the calibre of the prefects. We were not just there to punish our juniors. We were there to help them, to befriend them when they were sad and to encourage them when they were struggling to keep their heads above water. There was a lot more like that. Finally, he got on to our particular posts.
"The most difficult task I always have is to choose one of you to be head boy and one to be deputy head. I have agonised over those appointments for a considerable time. In the end I decided, at least for this term, that the head boy will be you Taylor. As such, you will not be attached to any one house. Your responsibilities will embrace the whole school. In the past, the deputy head boy has also not been attached to a house, but that is going to change this term. I have decided that Junior House is to have three prefects, headed by the deputy head boy. He will be you, Lineham". As I heard those words I remember feeling a definite increase in my heart rate. Not only was I a prefect, but I was also deputy head boy and in charge of Junior House, I could not believe my good fortune. My pleasure was only increased when I learnt that Rowntree was also to be in Junior House. The third appointment to the House was Lynch, an extremely popular boy whom everyone liked.
Once all the appointments had been made, Mr Spencer gave the other piece of news which was to hearten me yet more.
"The organisation of disciplinary measures will remain the same as last year, with one exception. I have been becoming a little concerned about the length of time some boys have to wait between being reported for misdemeanours and being punished for them. Some delay is inevitable. I can't have masters available at every moment of the day to punish miscreants. Some crimes clearly require that I should administer the punishments and I, in particular, cannot possibly make myself available at the drop of a hat. Similarly, the housemasters (Mr Spencer had given up being housemaster of Senior House so there were now three housemasters) have many calls on their time and it wouldn't be fair on them to add to their duties by making them deal with disciplinary problems at times other than morning break and after tea. That means that dormitory offences will have to continue to be dealt with on the following day. But it does seem to me that it should not be a problem to arrange for boys who muck about in prep (something that seems to be prevalent) to be dealt with earlier. From now on, if you consider that a boy's behaviour in prep merits punishment by a master, you will not report him to his housemaster. Instead, there will be one duty master available immediately after prep to administer justice straight away. He will be in the Green Room for fifteen minutes from the end of prep. Any boys whom you wish to report for prep offences should go with you to the Green Room as soon as the bell for the end of prep rings. If the red light is on, you will wait for it to be green. You can then knock and enter, taking your charges in with you. If there are two or more prefects reporting offenders, the ones with the most junior boys will go first. You will then explain each boy's offence and the duty master will decide whether punishment is merited. If he concludes that one or more boy needs to be slippered or caned, he will give the punishment immediately. Once the punishments have been completed, you should! escort the boy or boys concerned back to the appropriate common room. Although Junior House boys will continue to be beaten on their bare bottoms by Mr Sadham, they will keep their shorts on for prep punishments."
So, the only thing that might have slightly (but only very slightly) depressed me about my new job (no longer seeing beatings) was not to be a problem after all. I knew that Mr Spencer was quite right about the prevalence of prep offences. It was quite common for at least one boy to be reported for mucking about in prep. Now, when that happened, the supervising prefect would actually watch the punishment being given. My cup was overflowing.
When our pep talk was over, we had to go to the main hall to show new boys around the school while their parents met Mr Spencer. I was looking forward to that, because it would give me my first glimpse of some of my new charges. There was a boy, with his parents, already waiting when I got there. Mr Sadham was, as he had been on my own first day, supervising the arrivals. He greeted me warmly.
"Ah, Lineham, I am absolutely delighted to discover that you will be helping me in Junior House. I'm sure we will make a great team." He turned to the new boys' parents. "This is Percival Lineham. He is deputy head boy and the senior prefect in Junior House. He is an excellent chap."
I think I blushed slightly at this introduction. But I soon recovered and proudly put my hand forward to be shaken by Mr and Mrs Charlton, the parents of James Charlton, the first new boy I was to take on a brief tour of the school. I looked him up and down. First impressions really are, frequently, very reliable and my first impressions of Charlton were nothing but good. He was a tall, slim, fit looking boy with dark curly hair. He seemed not at all in awe as he smiled happily on being introduced to me. But his confidence (much greater than mine had been in his position) did not look as though it would develop into cheek. I took him off on the tour which I had been given a few years earlier by a prefect called Davies.
Charlton was soon chatting happily. It was clear to me that he must have read almost every schoolboy story of the time. He wanted to know about pillow fights and midnight feasts. Was it true, he said, that sometimes boys set traps for masters, like balancing buckets of water on the tops of doors? When we got to his dormitory, instead of looking glum, as I am sure I did in his position, he beamed and said "gosh I bet you can have some really good rags in here". As we passed Mr Spencer's study, he smiled again. "Wow, is that where we go to get a jolly good swishing when we've been naughty?" I am honestly not exaggerating. Charlton really did talk in that way. Now, of course, he had taken our conversation to the area in which I was most interested. I didn't change the subject.
"Well, it's unlikely that you'll be caned by the Boss Man, that's what we call him, for quite a long time. You have to be really bad to get a Boss Man's swishing. Most of your punishments will be given by Mr Sadham. He's the master you met in the hall. He's housemaster of Junior House. And you probably won't get the cane from him till next year anyway. Most new boys just get the slipper in their first year."
I swear to you, he almost looked disappointed at this news. I suppose that the cane was actually part of the romance of the school stories on which he had obviously been brought up. Now he was being told that he would not be feeling the sting of the cane on hi bottom for quite a long time. But I quickly reassured him.
"But I ought to tell you that the slipper is no laughing matter, especially when it's Mr Sadham giving it. It isn't really a slipper at all. It's a very big gym shoe and it stings like anything."
"I bet it does", Charlton replied, "do we have to drop our bags for it?"
"Well, when your getting a housemaster's slippering or swishing in Junior House, you do. But not when you're older and not if you get punished by the duty prep master."
"What's the duty prep master?"
"He's the master who punishes boys who muck about in prep. He does it straight after prep. What happens is that each year does prep in a prep room together and there's a prefect who supervises you. If you muck about the prefect can take you to the duty master straight after prep so you can get the cane or the slipper for it."
"Does anyone ever blub when they get the cane here?"
"Certainly not", I replied with a note of shock in my voice at hearing such a dreadful suggestion, "Manor boys are tougher than that."
"That's what I thought. I've been practising", he said proudly. "Twice last hols I needed to be whacked for being naughty and Papa said that now I was going to prep school he was going to use the slipper. So I didn't make a fuss like when I was small. I took my shorts and pants down and I bent over my bed and Papa really whacked my bum hard and I didn't cry at all. I mean I'm sure I'll get it much harder from Mr Sadham but at least I know I can get it without blubbing."
"Jolly good show", I congratulated him, "I reckon you're going to be a real Manor boy".
Just then I noticed that someone had carelessly dropped a chocolate wrapper on the floor. I pointed to it and asked Charlton to pick it up. He gladly bent down to perform the task and I took the opportunity to admire the shape of his small round bottom. That, I thought to myself, is going to be perfect for slipper and cane.
As we got closer to the hall I realised that our delightful conversation was soon to come to an end. But it did not do so before he amazed me yet again.
"Um, Lineham, I've been wondering. How long is it before new boys usually get the slipper for the first time?"
"Well, we go pretty easy on you in the first few weeks. I mean we don't come down hard on you cos we know that learning new rules and things isn't that easy. Let me think. I was the first boy in my year to get the slipper and that was about three weeks into my first term."
"Wow, it must be great to be the first boy to get a whacking. I hope I can be. I know it'll be really horrid and all that but it must be fantastic if you get to be the first."
I smiled. He reminded me so much of Staughton in his first term. Staughton was in the year below me. I had been his mentor in his first term and he, like Charlton, had been desperately keen to be the first of his year to get the slipper. His ambition had been achieved. I wouldn't be surprised, I thought, if Charlton's was as well. There was, I knew, a sort of unwritten rule that prefects should be wary of reporting new boys for punishment until at least one of their number had got through the ordeal satisfactorily. It was important that the first victim should be one who had settled in well to school life. Reporting a boy for the slipper when he was suffering from serious homesickness, for instance, would generally be frowned upon. What one wanted, in a first victim, was a cheerful lad whom one could be sure would taken the punishment well, maybe not like water off a duck's back, but at least with an outward show of confidence. Once all the new boys had seen for themselves that one of their number had been able to take a beating without being greatly distressed by the experience, it was surprising how quickly they would all begin to follow suit. Charlton seemed to me, and I was sure he would to my fellow prefects, to be the ideal candidate. I replied jocularly.
"Well I daresay I might be able to help you there Charlton".
"Oh", for the first time he did not look entirely happy, "I didn't mean that Lineham."
"Don't worry. I was only joking. You won't get punished in my house unless you deserve it". How good that sounded to me. "My house", not Junior House, or Mr Sadham's house, but "my house".
He smiled again and we arrived in the main hall just as his parents did as well. He rushed up to them.
"Papa, Mamma, Lineham's ever so kind and he's told me just everything I need to know and shown me all around. I know I'm going to love this school."
I handed Charlton over to his parents, telling him that, once he had said good bye, he should return to the junior common room. I remembered how I had got hopelessly lost when trying to find it on my first day, so I reminded him where it was. Then I took another boy on the tour.
After tea I had to give my first talk, as senior prefect in Junior House, to all twenty new boys. I looked around and studied them carefully before I began. I had taken seven of them on the tour, so knew a little about those ones, but I hadn't yet spoken to the others. They looked, I thought, to be a pretty good bunch. One seemed a bit flabby, but I reckoned that a term of good healthy sporting activity would probably do the trick there. The rest of them all looked fit and healthy. Most were doing their best to look cheerful, but I realised that the majority were probably feeling a bit down as they thought of their parents driving home and leaving them in this strange new place. I looked for Charlton. Yes, there he was, in the second row, with his wide grin as evident as ever. I gave him a wink, as if to say "you and I understand each other", cleared my throat and started my talk.
I won't bore you with a repetition, so many years after the event, of what I said then. It was modelled very much on what I had heard when I first came to the school, but I did try to add my own touch here and there.
Later that evening, after the first and second form boys had gone to bed, Rowntree, Lynch and I compared notes on our first impressions of the new boys. I was hardly surprised to learn that we all agreed that Charlton seemed to be the outstanding one. It seemed that he had approached both my fellow prefects during the day and chatted happily to them, showing no signs of homesickness and an exceptional amount of excitement about what the future held for him at Manor School. I remember Lynch's contribution in particular.
"Well, if we were having a bet on who's going to be the first to get the slipper my money would go on Charlton." He said.
"There's no way I'd take that bet on", said Rowntree, "it's almost a racing certainty. I'd say that if he did something wrong tomorrow and I caught him I wouldn't have any worries about reporting him. He's a first class lad."
We also agreed that, Sinclair, a very timid and shy seeming boy, would need to be nurtured carefully. We guessed that, if any of them were now sobbing under the bed clothes, Sinclair almost certainly would be. I said I would have a word with Bates, Sinclair's mentor in the second form to make sure he had the right approach to his charge.
It was eight days into the new term. I was supervising first form prep. All was uneventful until something attracted my attention at the back of the room. It was a sudden movement. It was over in a split second and I didn't immediately recognise it for what it was. But I guessed it was something I ought to be interested in. I didn't move my head up, but I peered out of the corner of my eye in case it should be repeated. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, I saw the unmistakable shape of a paper dart flying through the air. It had taken off from the direction of Charlton's desk. I moved very slightly so that I could see him without, I hoped, his noticing that I was looking. Another minute or so passed. He seemed to be busying himself with something on his desk. Then he looked up in my direction, appeared to be satisfied that I was engrossed in the book I was reading, and launched another dart in the direction of a window.
"How many paper darts will you be picking up from outside later on Charlton?" I asked.
He looked up with a start (as did nineteen other boys). He didn't speak for a moment or two. But then he replied.
"Four Lineham. Sorry".
"I might be able to overlook one or two", I said in what I hoped was a suitably stern voice, "but four would be difficult. You and I will be visiting the Green Room after prep. Now get on with your work."
"Yes Lineham".
I could guess what he was feeling like for that last half an hour of prep. Indeed, I knew the feeling all too well myself. But he showed no outward sign of the turmoil within. When the bell went he stood calmly and waited for me as the other boys drifted out, giving him glances of sympathy as they passed.
When we were alone I spoke again. "I'm sorry about this Charlton, but that was way over the top. Looks like you're going to get your ambition of being the first in your year to get the slipper."
"That's OK Lineham. I know I deserve it."
"Let's go then", I said, "we don't want to miss Mr Jenkins do we?"
"I wouldn't mind", he said with a cheeky grin, "but I spose you're right."
With that, we set off together. We arrived at the door at the same time as Baker, who was accompanied by Staughton. I gave the latter a grin of sympathy (he remained a firm friend of mine). The light turned to green.
"We're first I think," I said, and knocked on the door. We were told to enter.
Mr Jenkins was sitting on an armchair reading a newspaper and puffing at his ever present pipe. On a table in the corner I could see his cane and a large gym shoe.
"Come in lads, shut the door. Right, how can I help Lineham?"
"It's Charlton, Sir, I am afraid I caught him throwing paper darts during prep. He's owned up to throwing four Sir. I thought I couldn't really let him off."
"Quite right Lineham. Very well Charlton, anything to say for yourself?"
"No Sir, except sorry Sir."
"Well, I suspect you'll be feeling even sorrier in a minute or two". He slowly removed the pipe from his mouth, placed it on the table beside him and pulled himself to his feet. He ambled over to the corner table and allowed his hand to rest, for a second or two, on the cane. I saw Charlton's eyes widening with fear. Then the master's hand moved to the right and he picked up the gym shoe. Charlton looked extraordinarily relieved for an eight year old who was about to be given a very good hiding. I knew very well how painful it was going to be. I had, more than once, been on the receiving end of that shoe. I felt a strange mixture of sympathy and elation as the scene unfolded in front of me.
"Remove your jacket Charlton and hand it to Lineham".
He took it off and handed it to me.
"Middle of the room. Bend over. Feet a few inches apart. You can clutch your ankles but don't bend your knees. Stay there until I tell you to get up."
Charlton's shorts were stretched tightly across his firm young buttocks. I say they were firm because it was quite clear that he had no flab on him at all. His bottom was small and slightly rounded. Once again, I told myself how perfect he was for punishment. I felt a slight stirring in my loins, but I was also conscious of a great feeling of sympathy for the small boy as he prepared to receive his first proper school whacking. Mr Jenkins was in no hurry. He flexed the large shoe in his hands. Then he slowly moved towards his victim, head slightly to one side as he sized up the target. Funnily enough, although I had been beaten by Mr Jenkins a few times, I had never before watched him beating another boy. I was now transfixed as I studied his slow and deliberate approach to the job. Once he reached Charlton (which seemed to take an age) he very gently placed the sole of the shoe across the boy's bottom, slightly moving it first this way then that until he was satisfied with the position. Next, he lifted the shoe slightly and gave a couple of pats to the waiting bottom. I could see Charlton flinching as, each time, he must have been assuming that the first proper stroke was coming. Finally, Mr Jenkins raised the shoe way above his shoulder and, head still slightly to one side, brought it smashing down with an extraordinarily loud crack.
"As you can probably tell Charlton", Mr Jenkins said in a gentle rather matter of fact voice, "I am not a subscriber to the strange view that one should go easy when punishing a new boy. If you deserve a beating, it has to hurt. It might stop a return visit."
Charlton had only moved slightly as the first stroke hit him. But I could see that his fingers were pressing hard into his ankles as he waited for the next. The wait did seem to go on a long time. Then, just as suddenly as before, the slipper slammed into the small bottom. Again, there was practically no movement from the victim. But I knew the agony he must have been in and I really did feel sorry for him.
"Another thing Charlton", the same gentle voice, "as Lineham will be able to confirm, I have never given any boy fewer than three strokes. I am not going to break that rule today."
The third, and final, stroke was a real masterpiece. Looking back now, I never fail to be amazed at how boys as young as eight could take those beatings without uttering a sound. Charlton certainly took his immensely well. He waited to be told to stand. Again, Mr Jenkins was in no hurry. He ambled over to the corner table and carefully replaced the shoe. Then he turned back and wandered back to the chair where he had been sitting earlier. He picked up his pipe, struck a match and puffed a couple of times before, at last, telling the unfortunate eight year old that he could stand. Charlton jumped up as though on a spring. He grabbed his bottom with both hands. He was clearly, and understandably, in great pain. But his eyes were dry. I handed him his jacket and we left the room. As we did so, the light turned green and Baker waved Staughton in.
I was in no hurry to get Charlton back to the junior common room. I rather hoped that we might be able to linger and hear what was happening to my friend Staughton. Clearly Charlton had the same thought.
"Wow, Lineham, that really hurt. Do you think Staughton's going to get swished?"
"I expect so. Do you want to wait here and listen?"
"Oh could we? That would be fantastic. I mean I've never heard a swishing before. Gosh, it must hurt trillions. That slippering was just the most painful thing I've ever had."
"Well you took it splendidly Charlton. I was proud of you."
He blushed and smiled broadly at the same time.
"Thanks Lineham. Wow, did you see the way Mr Jenkins nearly picked up the cane instead of the slipper?"
"He was just doing that to frighten you."
"Well he certainly did frighten me."
I held my finger to my lips. "Let's listen now. It must be about to happen".
Sure enough, we both heard the swish of cane through the air and the pistol shot crack as it connected with Staughton's bottom. Charlton winced at each of the four strokes. But he was obviously fascinated by what he was hearing. After the last stroke we waited for Staughton and Baker to emerge. We could imagine the scene inside. Mr Jenkins was, we assumed, making his slow walk to return the cane to its table and then returning to his chair and lighting his pipe before, at last, telling the hapless Staughton to rise. I pictured my friend rubbing his stinging bottom before replacing his jacket. Then the door opened and the two boys emerged. Staughton was still rubbing his bottom, but he gave Charlton and me a thin smile. It was typical of him that his first words were to the new boy.
"Well done Charlton, that sounded like a really hard slippering. You obviously took it very well."
I agreed. "He certainly did. He's definitely a Manor Boy".
I then escorted a deliriously happy Charlton to the junior common room where he was received by his enormously admiring peers.
I made sure that I supervised the new boys' bed time that night and was rewarded with a splendid display of Charlton's small red bottom. As I walked in, the first thing I saw, though, was another boy, Taylor, bending over as if about to receive the slipper. Charlton had clearly been giving him instructions and he had achieved the standard Manor position of legs a few inches apart and gripping ankles. He didn't see my entrance and I'm afraid I just couldn't resist the temptation to deliver a stinging smack to his naked bottom. It just looked so inviting. It was slim, firm and creamy white. I quickly stepped forward and, swinging as hard as I could, landed a very satisfying smack right in the middle. I just had time to see his bottom turning pink before Taylor jumped up with a screech of "hey what do you think you're doing?". Then he saw who had assaulted him. "Sorry Lineham, didn't realise it was you."
"You're lucky it was", I said, "some other prefects might have given you an appointment with Mr Sadham tomorrow. No more mucking about boys, into the washroom."
They all turned and made for the washroom. All, of course, were naked. It was then that I got my first sight of Charlton's vividly coloured bottom. Mr Jenkins had done an excellent job. The flesh was still predominantly red, but there was blue bruising becoming evident as well. Charlton would be able proudly to display this badge of honour for a day or two at least, I thought. I made sure to repeat my congratulations to him on the manner in which he had taken his punishment. He blushed again. I knew perfectly well that he would be in seventh heaven for some time. But, more importantly from my point of view, his performance, and my praise of it, would be bound to lead to other boys taking more risks with their behaviour in future. He had successfully ended the amnesty on slipperings for new boys.
As soon as the first formers were in bed and their lights turned off, I went in search of Staughton. He was, as I expected him to be, in the senior common room. As he saw me enter he came straight over to me and whispered: "senior changing room in five minutes". I smiled. It was a relief to me that he did not see my elevated office as a bar to our old relationship. I think I had been given a privileged view of his bottom after every one of his punishments. The practice was obviously going to continue.
Five minutes later I was waiting in the senior changing room when Staughton joined me. Baker had already told me that my friend's offence had been that he had been reading a comic instead of doing his Latin prep. I thought Mr Jenkins had been rather hard on him. It seemed to me that three strokes would have been entirely sufficient. I said as much to him.
"I thought he was a bit hard too, but I spose I can't complain. I was caught fair and square. I'd never been swished by him before. He's bloody hard isn't he?".
"He certainly is. I reckon he gave me the hardest swishing I've ever had last term. Come on, let's see the damage".
Staughton undid his trousers and pulled them down. He pulled his underpants down to his knees and revealed his most whackable bottom in all its glory. The four weals were neatly placed within centimetres of each other across the middle. They were slightly raised and had already turned a deep purple colour.
"Bloody good aim. That must have hurt a lot."
"Sure did. But it's not too bad now. Hey, that Charlton's quick off the mark isn't he? I don't think I can remember a new boy getting the slipper this early in his first term before."
"I wouldn't be surprised if it's a record", I agreed, "he's a really good bloke. I'd be prepared to bet that he'll be head boy one day."
I went to bed that night reflecting on a splendid day. I regret to say that my thoughts were such that I soon found that I had "made it happen" again. I still felt very guilty about these strange feelings I got when I thought about punishments. Usually, despite great temptation, I managed to avoid committing the great sin. But that night the temptation was much too powerful and I was soon happily, if guiltily, pumping away.
That first term as a prefect seemed to pass far too quickly. Junior House was, in my opinion, having one of its best terms ever. Several of the new boys were showing some remarkable sporting ability. There was a feeling of community in the house which seemed to make everyone happy. Behaviour, on the whole, was pretty good. But, I was relieved to find, it was not so good that punishment was not required. By the end of term most of the new boys had felt the slipper on their bottoms at least once. Charlton and one or two others managed to be punished three times. Several more had to bend over twice. All the second form boys were caned at least once. Most of the punishments were given in private (or witnessed only by other boys also being punished at the same time), but I did manage to watch a dozen or so prep slipperings and canings. I think the highlight of the rest of the term was the time when I stood in for another prefect, who was ill, and supervised prep for the 11 year old boys. I arrived a few moments late, because I had been sorting out some administrative problem in Junior House. As I opened the door I saw two boys, both tall, slim and good-looking, wrestling with each other on the floor. They were Campion and Green, both were boys whom I had often thought had ideal physiques for the cane. I had no hesitation in telling them to accompany me to the Green Room after prep. I think there must have been a bug going around, because two of the masters were also ill. I was delighted to find that, as a result, the Boss Man himself was acting as duty master that evening. For the first time, I was able to watch a Boss Man's swishing without knowing that I was about to get one or having the discomfort of having just had one. I marvelled at his technique. Years later, when I was to be a head of house in my public school, I was to remember that evening when developing my own caning technique. But that was a long time ahead. At the time, I merely thought my headmaster to be an extraordina! rily competent caner. Campion and Green took their punishments stoically, but I could tell that the four strokes they each got were considerably more painful than they were used to. Both rubbed their small round bottoms with a fury that revealed the pain they were in. I didn't see the stripes until showers after games on the following day, but they were still some of the best I ever saw in Manor School.
The final two terms passed even more quickly than the first had done. I wish, now, that I had kept a record of the number of boys I sent for the slipper and cane. My guess is that the tally came to about a hundred over the whole year. You might have thought that that would tend to reduce my popularity with the junior boys. But I am not boasting when I say that I was confident, when I left Manor School, that I had got through my term of office and emerged as one of the most popular boys in the school. I had also, of course, gone for a whole year without being caned. It is true that I was not treated with such respect at home. I think I felt my father's slipper a couple of times during holidays. But, nevertheless, I had enjoyed a respite from school punishment. That was very soon to come to an end. Public school was looming, and with it some of the most memorable canings of my boyhood.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The next instalment, A New Boy Again, will describe my first term at public school and, in particular, my first caning from a muscular 17 year old prefect. Once again, do email me with any complaints 9or even compliments).