The previous chapter of this true account of my own school days introduced the reader to my public school, which I am calling Towcester School. That was an important chapter, because it explained the school rules and, in particular, attempted to describe the rather complicated punishment system used there. I urge those of you who may not have read it to do so, because otherwise you may have difficulty in following this story.
We were now into the second half of my first term at Towcester. Several more boys in the years above mine had felt Davies's cane on their bottoms. But, as yet, none of the new boys had been caned. That was partly because we were generally trying to keep out of trouble and partly because the prefects had been lenient with us on the grounds that we needed time to settle in. But, after half term, things were clearly very different. Several of us had found that our immunity from black marks had gone. Within days of returning to the school from the short break, Lemming, Rowntree and I (who shared a study together) had all acquired our first black marks. I can't now remember what the others had done to deserve the penalty, but mine had been awarded for being late for breakfast one morning. About two weeks later, when in a desperate hurry to get to prep on time, I had run in Prefects' Corridor, thinking that no one would see me. In fact, just before I got to the end, Saunders opened his study door and saw me. He was quite decent about it. He could have delayed me further by asking me to explain myself. But he clearly realised that I would then be late for prep and risk further punishment. So he just called out to me.
"Sorry Lineham, that has to be a black mark. Off you go to prep".
So now I had two black marks. The first one would not expire naturally for just over two weeks. The only other way it could be deleted from my record was to get another one during that period. If that happened, all three would be crossed out of the Black Book, but only after an equivalent number of very painful stripes had appeared on my bottom. My mind was now concentrated. Until then, as perhaps is normal for 13 year old boys, I had been looking on the prospect of my first caning from a prefect as being somewhat academic. But now it began to dawn on me that the prospect was becoming rather frighteningly real. The first thing I did was to buy a small pocket diary from the school tuck shop and to put a large X on the dates on which each of the black marks would expire, if allowed to run their natural course. I resolved to put a tick on each day which passed without my being given another black mark. I then told Rowntree and Lemming that I was going to be perfectly behaved for the next two weeks. I hoped, I explained, that they would understand if I was a bit of a killjoy should they come up with any plans for rule breaking involving me. They were both entirely sympathetic and promised that they wouldn't tempt me into any misbehaviour.
One thing was starting to worry me. It was beginning to occur to me that my own interest in corporal punishment might not be unique. In order to explain this concern I am going to have to be guilty of a bit of boasting. I apologise for that in advance, but I have set out to give as truthful an account as I can and I would be omitting something which really did trouble me if I allowed modesty to prevail. All right, here it is. I was conscious that I was a remarkably good-looking boy. I was tall and slim, without being gangly. My complexion was clear. When I smiled, I had what I judged to be rather attractive dimples in my cheeks. My legs were long and slim. But, what was chiefly on my mind at the time was that I knew that the proportions of my bottom would be particularly attractive to someone who shared my strange interest. It was firm, very slightly protuberant, gently rounded, smooth and slim. In short, I had what I knew to be an eminently whackable bum. Just suppose, I thought to myself, that one or more of the prefects felt the same way I did about canings. Might not such a prefect be very keen to do his best to arrange for my bottom to acquire some vivid stripes as soon as possible? I remembered how I, as a prefect in my prep school, had found myself looking at certain of the juniors' bottoms and sub-consciously thinking that it would be wonderful to be able to get them caned or slippered, just because they seemed so ideal for the purpose. To be fair to myself, I should make it clear that, when I found myself thinking like that, I re-doubled my resolve never to punish a boy just because of the pleasure it would give me. But it was not always easy to resist temptation. I hope I succeeded, but now I was afraid that others might not. I studied the prefects carefully to see if any would be caught casting admiring glances at my buttocks. One, Templeton, did, I thought, allow his gaze to linger on me one day in the changing rooms as I bent to pull up my games shorts. I decided that ! it would be sensible to keep out of his way for a while.
All these worries were very real to me for a good two or three days. After that, however, I began to get more confident and less concerned about my predicament. Soon, I was taking risks again. One day, in a hurry as usual, I cut a corner by walking across the Prefects' Lawn. I wasn't caught. I expect that gave me more confidence. When Lemming and Rowntree said they were going to go into one of the out of bounds cafes in the town one Saturday afternoon, I said I would come too. Both pointed out to me that, if we were caught, we would be bound to get at least two black marks, possibly even three. If I had four or five black marks I would be bound to get four or five strokes. But I didn't want to be left out of the fun and insisted on going along. Again, I was lucky. We weren't caught. So, in other words, life began to return to normal. I still crossed off each black mark free day in my diary, but I didn't allow the possibility of a caning to interfere too much with my enjoyment of life.
In the end, it wasn't Templeton. It was Saunders once more. There were six days to go before my first black mark would have been removed. It was ten minutes after lights out, a particularly dangerous time to start talking because older boys would be heading for the dormitories and, with them, supervising prefects. For some unaccountable reason I suddenly felt the need to share some thoughts with my friends. And, because I wanted Rowntree to hear as well as Lemming, I didn't whisper. I can't remember now what pressing news I had to impart. All I can remember is that I only got through a couple of sentences before the door opened and Saunders appeared in the room.
"Who was talking?" He asked.
I didn't hesitate. I knew that if I didn't own up the whole dorm would be punished. So I confessed. The result was inevitable.
Having satisfied himself that no one else had been talking, Saunders informed me that I would get a black mark. I remember thinking that he sounded incredibly calm for someone who had just sentenced a boy to the hardest caning of his life. I assumed that he did not know my predicament. Now, looking back with the benefit of my own experiences as a prefect, I realise that he must have known. All prefects, without any exception, checked the black book regularly. It simply wasn't possible that Saunders could be unaware that I did not already have two black marks. I am sure he could, at that moment, have recited the names of every boy who had one or two black marks in School House. There can be no doubt that he must have been fully aware, since no new boy had yet had the cane, that I was in the position of being most at risk.
I lay in my bed and thought of what would be happening to me on the following evening. I remember stroking my bottom and imagining what it would feel like in twenty four hours time. As I contemplated my fate I felt a strange mixture of fear and arousal. The more I thought about it, the harder I became. Within no more than a few minutes my bed springs started squeaking. Gradually, the fear subsided in the excitement of the moment. Eventually the ecstatic release came and I lay back and sighed with relief. About ten minutes after that I heard Lemming trying to attract my attention.
"Psst", he whispered, "Lineham, are you awake?"
"Yes", I whispered back.
"I can't believe you Lineham. You are so calm. I never heard of a boy wanking just after discovering he's going to get a Davies swishing. I wish I could be like you."
"Helps me get my mind off it", I lied, "I' just thought I'd rather think of a _s_e_x_y blonde than Davies's cane".
I slept fitfully that night. Each time I slipped off to sleep I would think of Davies's strong right arm swinging the cane at my defenceless bottom and then, within moments, I would wake again, sweating in anticipation of the pain I could expect. But I did manage to get some sleep. In the morning, strangely, I was not so worried. Perhaps it was that it was now light and there was the excited chatter of other boys around me. In addition, there were still many hours before I would be bending over in the gym. It seemed ages away and I determined not to let it ruin the whole day for me. Of course, I could hardly avoid thinking about it. There was only one topic of conversation as we got dressed and later over breakfast. Then, when I went to my classes and saw other third formers from different houses, I learnt how quickly news of that sort travels in a school. Everyone seemed to know that I was to be swished later that evening and everybody wanted to talk about it. Such is the mentality of the thirteen year old boy, that I seemed, at least for a while, to be able to enjoy the popularity which my forthcoming punishment was giving me without also being overly concerned about the pain I was to suffer. Throughout the morning I basked in my notoriety. At break I was even approached by several fourth form boys eager to size up the first new boy to be caned that year. The last lesson of the morning was PT. When we were changing into our PT kit I noticed more than one of my friends glancing at my unmarked bottom as I stripped off my trousers and underpants. I could imagine the thoughts going through their minds as they contemplated what it would look like later in the evening. You might think I would be offended by all this interest. But that was very far from being the case. I adored all the attention and would have been happy for it to go on for ever.
I did have a moment or two of distress. On entering the gym for PT, I caught sight of the two white marks in the centre of the floor. But then I thought how many hours were yet to pass before I would be standing on them and my odd feeling of elation returned. Even the PT master's witticism, about half the way through the lesson, did not upset me. We were playing a game called leapfrog. That involved a line of boys, separated by a few yards, bending with their hands on their knees while others "leapfrogged" over them. When setting up the game, Mr Staines, the master, took great delight in selecting me as one of the boys to be leapfrogged over and saying that I should place myself on the two white marks in the centre of the room.
"I daresay you'd welcome a little practice at bending down on those marks wouldn't you Lineham?".
Predictably, so sycophantic are schoolboys of that age, his rather feeble joke was greeted with much merriment by my classmates. Even I, as I remember, laughed heartily at his humour. Although I have to say that I did feel an involuntary shiver up my spine as I carefully placed each foot on a white mark and bent down to wait for the leapfrogging boys. Many of them, I daresay, allowed their thoughts to turn to what would happen that evening as they ran towards me and got a clear view of my shorts clad bottom ahead of them.
Back in the changing room after PT, Lemming, who was standing next to me, confided that, when I had been bending for the leapfrog game, he had thought what a "bloody good target for Davies's cane" my bum made.
At lunch, there was, again, only one topic of conversation. It was amazing, in retrospect, how so many boys could be so obsessed by the forthcoming punishment of one of their number, to the extent of apparently being unable to talk about anything else at all.
As the day wore on, my rather laid-back attitude to the punishment began to wane. Afternoon lessons, which by now I wanted to last for ever, seemed to rush past at incredible speed. They were followed by rugby practice for the school under 14 squad, taken by the captain of rugby, one Davies. He changed with us and I thought I caught him casting an appraising glance at my bottom as I stripped. Throughout the practice, I also cast many appraising glances at his muscular right arm. The biceps seemed to me to be enormous. Surprisingly, perhaps, I performed rather well that afternoon. Davies made no mention of what he was to do to me later. Instead, he was lavish with praise for my abilities as a rugby player. Despite everything, I felt a blissful feeling of contentment as I heard his words.
There may well be many good reasons for not allowing prefects to beat younger boys. Maybe it was a good thing when the practice died out in the 1970s. But it did have one great advantage for the victims, and that was demonstrated on the rugby field that afternoon. Adults who intend to punish boys almost invariably think it necessary to be angry with their victims, to show them the error of their ways. But that was certainly not so with prefects. As I was to discover during my years at Towcester, first as victim and later as punisher, it was almost unheard of for a prefect who was to wield the cane to feel or manifest any sense of anger towards his victim. Of course, there were exceptions. Serious bullying of small boys by big boys, for example, was definitely looked upon as being very bad form. But in most cases the prefects just looked upon the crimes of the junior boys with a sense of amusement. They knew that punishment was necessary, and had no compunction about giving it, but that did not mean that they had any ill feeling towards the miscreants. Far from it, they were perfectly well aware that they, themselves, had been guilty of the same sort of crimes in the very recent past, and had suffered precisely the same punishments. So it was with Davies that day. He was entirely friendly towards me throughout the rugby practice and never once made me think that my behaviour had upset him in the slightest.
After rugby we showered and changed. There was then half an hour's free time before supper. Lemming, Rowntree and I went to our study. A few minutes after we arrived our mentor, Turner, came in.
"Just thought I'd come and tell you I'll be thinking of you Lineham. Hope it's not too bad. Keep thinking it'll all be over soon. That's the only way."
I was grateful to the older boy for his kindness and, remembering what he had done for us before half term, after he had been caned, I asked him if he'd like to come and look at the stripes in our study after prep. He immediately accepted the invitation.
I ate very little during supper. My time was coming far too soon. I was fighting an uphill battle to keep an appearance of cheerfulness and unconcern, but I think I probably succeeded. Inside, I was upside down. My tummy was churning. My thoughts were only of my poor bottom and the agony it would soon be feeling. My biggest concern, however, was my fear that I would not keep my composure during the punishment. I knew that the boy who blubs during a caning was the lowest of the low. I was petrified that the pain would be too much for me. I don't mind how much it hurts, I thought, so long as I take it properly.
Prep came all too soon. I tried desperately hard to concentrate on my Latin. But I fear I did not succeed. My hands kept sweating. My mouth was dry. My tummy was full of butterflies. My thoughts were of Davies's strong arm and fearsome cane. But I only had to wait about ten minutes before I heard the slow steady footsteps approaching along the corridor. Suddenly, the door swung open and there was Templeton.
"Lineham to come to the gym please", he announced.
Unsteadily, I rose to my feet. I glanced at Lemming at the desk beside me. He gave me a wink of encouragement. I grinned back and started my shaky walk to the door. Once outside, instead of turning right for the gym, Templeton turned left. I asked him where we were going.
"Oh, didn't you know?", he said, "we've got to pick up Thompson and Wainwright too."
So concentrated had my mind been on my own predicament that I had not heard, or registered, that two other boys were in trouble too. Thompson was in the fourth form. I knew him as a friendly and helpful boy who was not above chatting to new boys. He was about my height and build. He had the sort of bottom which, with my strange interest in these things, I had already thought to be made for the cane. Wainwright, at fifteen, was in the fifth form. I knew him more by reputation than personally. I suppose I had spoken to him once or twice, but no more than that. The most interesting thing about him was that he was known to have a real live girlfriend at the girls' school. We were all deeply envious of him. He was exceptionally good-looking, hence, no doubt, his success with girls. I suppose he must have been about 5' 7" tall. He was a tremendous athlete, with a build to match (slim and muscular). He had dark hair and dark eyes which seemed to twinkle with mischief when he smiled.
I wondered what the older boys had done, but I didn't dare ask Templeton. We got to the fourth form prep room first and Templeton repeated his demand, this time saying that Thompson was required in the gym. He came out and grinned at me.
"I heard you were getting it Lineham. Bad luck. But you've only got three haven't you?"
"Yes", I said, "I spose that means I only get three strokes doesn't it?".
"Should do. I expect I'll get four. What do you think Templeton?"
"Wait and see you rascal", Templeton smiled as he spoke.
Then we got to the fifth form room and Wainwright was called for. He, too, grinned at us as he emerged. And, like Thompson, seemed to have no concerns about discussing our fate in the presence of Templeton.
"You're both totters aren't you?", he asked.
I should explain that the term "totter" was used to describe a boy who had collected his three black marks over a period, rather than all at once. In adulthood, I found it was also used by drivers who collected enough endorsements on their licences to lead to their being disqualified from driving. We confirmed that we were totters. I suspected that Thompson would know why Wainwright was being caned, but I didn't. Since free and easy chat seemed to be the norm, I asked him.
"I'm afraid I'm not a totter", he told me. "I got three black marks for going onto the girls' side of the river."
That, I knew, was a very serious offence. Both our school and the girls' school were in a constant state of terror about what would happen if boys were able to mix too freely with girls. Hence the absolutely firm rule that no boy could ever cross the river to the side on which the girls' school was situated. Wainwright went even further up in my estimation. Not only did he have a girlfriend, but he was prepared to break one of the most rigorously enforced school rules to see her.
"Gosh Wainwright", I said, "how many will you get for that?"
I was hardly surprised by the answer.
"Bound to be six", he said in an admirably straight forward tone. "From what I've heard about Davies's swishings it's not going to be much fun".
"OK lads", said Templeton as we approached the gym, "here's the form. Wainwright will be first, Thompson second and Lineham last. So Lineham and Thompson, you wait outside till you're called in. OK Wainwright, let's go in. Good luck boys." With that, he pushed open the door and they both disappeared inside.
Thompson and I remained silent as we listened for the strokes from within. We could hear a murmur of voices. Then there was a pause. After a few moments we heard the sound of Davies's feet on the wooden floor as he ran towards his target. There was a swishing sound followed instantly by a loud crack. Then, another pause, followed by a run up, a swish and another crack. My mouth was drier than ever. My palms were sticky with sweat. My legs were feeling shaky. But I kept my composure as I listened to all six strokes. As we waited for Wainwright to emerge, Thompson rubbed both his hands on his firm buttocks. I whispered "good luck" to him and he gave me another grin and a thumbs up sign. Then the door opened.
Wainwright was dry eyed, but wincing with obvious pain. But he, too, managed a grin and a "good luck" to Thompson. He was clutching his bottom with both hands. Templeton then appeared at the door.
"You're turn Thompson".
The fourteen year old stepped in and the door shut.
"Bloody hell, he's hard", said Wainwright as he jumped up and down a couple of times. "Look, we've got time, do you want to see my stripes?"
I mumbled "yes". Despite my interest, I wasn't sure that, at that particular moment, I really wanted to see what Davies's cane could do to a boy's bottom. But I recognised the honour I was being given. He quickly undid his trousers and pulled them down. Then he eased his underpants down at the back and I immediately saw the fiery red lines across his surprisingly youthful looking bottom. They looked dreadful, but they didn't seem to be bleeding. That was something, I thought.
As I was being given this show, we could hear the swishes and cracks from within. As the fourth stroke connected with Thompson's bottom, Wainwright pulled his pants and trousers back up and spoke to me again.
"I know it looks bad, but the pain goes pretty quickly. Just think of a really good rugby match or something. You'll be OK."
Then my moment arrived. Thompson, also clutching a burning bottom, came out and Templeton called me in.
I remember wondering whether my legs would carry me for the short walk. They did, of course, but I was very much afraid that the two prefects would detect the shaking of which I was all too conscious. Davies was standing in the middle of the room, cane in one hand. He was not wearing rugby kit (as he had been for Turner's beating) but his muscles were very obvious. He had taken his jacket off and his sleeves were rolled up in a very workmanlike fashion. He was swishing the cane through the air.
"Right Lineham, do you agree that you have three black marks?"
"Yes Davies", I think it came out as a sort of croak.
"Very well, I take it you know the form. Let's get it over with".
I took my jacket off and handed it to Templeton, who gave me a smile of sympathy. Then I walked, still shakily, to the two white marks. I carefully placed each foot on them and bent over. I grabbed my ankles and shut my eyes. I remember it as if it had been yesterday. I had had every intention of watching between my legs, but, at the last moment, my resolve weakened. I could hear Davies walking slowly towards me. Then I felt the warmth of his hand on my bottom as he carried out the now mandatory check for padding. Then I felt the gentle tapping of the cane as he got his aim right. Then I heard him walking back. I took a deep breath and waited. Seconds later he was bounding towards me. There was a loud swish and then the crack as the cane hit me. A split second later I felt a searing pain right across my bottom. I had had some, as I had thought, pretty bad canings at my prep school, but they were like gentle taps compared with what Davies could do. I dug my finger nails into my ankles and bit my lower lip hard, anything to try to distract my brain from the awful pain in my buttocks. Then the walk back. The pause. The run up. The swish. The crack. The agony. I blinked like mad to clear the water from my eyes. Then it all happened again. The third stroke felt about twice as painful as the first two. My bottom was stinging more than it ever had before. I prayed to every god I could imagine that I was not going to get another stroke. I heard Davies walking back. At last, he spoke.
"That's it Lineham, you can get up now".
I think I had been holding my breath throughout. I released it in a loud sigh. I stood and my hands flew to my bottom. I grabbed it and could feel the heat through the thin trousers. I needed to run and jump and howl. But I knew I could not do any of that. Fortunately, my blinking had cleared my eyes. I looked Davies straight in the face and thanked him for caning me. He smiled at me.
"You took it very well Lineham. I thought you would. You're a Manor boy after all. By the way, I thought you might like to know that I've selected you for Saturday's under 15s match. You played brilliantly this afternoon and it can't have been easy what with knowing this was going to happen. Well done."
I was still in dreadful pain, but his words gave me immeasurable pleasure. He was, I think, something of a hero to me. To be told by him that I had taken my punishment well and was going to play for the school in a team above my age group was not just music to my ears, it was Beethoven and Mozart combined. I must have looked a strange sight as I stood there clutching my throbbing bottom with both hands and grinning like a maniac. But I don't suppose that Davies and Templeton were surprised. The latter stepped towards me and handed me my jacket, forcing me to let go of my bottom. I put the jacket on and returned my hands to the seat of the pain. Templeton held the door open for me and I walked out, still grinning madly.
The pain was not fading as quickly as it had after previous canings, but it was becoming manageable. I was congratulated by both Thompson and Wainwright on getting through the ordeal. Templeton told them I'd taken the beating exceptionally well and then told them, also, of my selection for the under 15s. They congratulated me again. By the time we got back to my prep room I was feeling happier than I had done for many months. The smile on my face as I entered was not forced in any way. I was a deliriously happy, carefree, thirteen year old boy. True, when I sat at my desk I felt a surge of pain, but it quickly subsided. I longed for the end of prep, so I could give my good news to my friends. But I was _d_a_m_n_ed if I was going to get another detention (which would have prevented me playing in the match) and I set to work on my Latin with determination.
Finally, the bell rang. Within seconds, I was surrounded by the other third formers. The questions were being fired at me from all sides. "How many did you get?". "Did he take a run up?". "Did he draw blood?". "How much worse was it than prep school swishings?". I did my best to answer them all. The questioning continued as we made our way to our studies. Turner was already waiting outside the door. Finally leaving the throng behind us, Lemming, Rowntree and I went in with Turner and shut the door behind us. Before anything else, I blurted out my news about the under 15s. I just had to tell someone. They quite understood and were profuse in their congratulations. Then, without more ado, I undid my trousers, lowered them and unstuck my pants from my bottom. Just as with Turner, the caning had stuck the pants to my flesh but, as with him, it was not blood that had done that. I craned my neck round to look at the stripes. They were, without doubt, the best I had ever sported. Lemming and Rowntree gasped in admiration. Turner was the first to speak.
"Well, he certainly didn't let you off lightly. That looks like a bloody good swishing."
I ran my fingers across the stripes and felt that they were raised. No one, I thought, could be ashamed of stripes like those.
Once I had got my trousers and pants on again, I settled down to give my friends a blow by blow account of the caning. They sat in rapt attention. I left out nothing. By the end, my account had had a familiar effect on me. There was a stirring between my legs which would, I knew, lead to some glorious activity after lights out. But I also knew that I had to think of something else pretty quickly. Very soon I would be on the way to my dormitory and there, I realised, the schoolboy code would require me to display my striped bottom to all the other boys who had not yet seen it. It would not do to be in an obviously excited state with trousers and pants removed. It was not a real problem. There was the other excitement of the day to contemplate. Soon I was chatting happily about what Saturday's match would be like. As I thought of rugby and of how many tries I would score and convert, my state of arousal subsided.
Once in the dormitory, having undressed, I lay face down on my bed and a splendidly ordered queue of thirteen year old boys formed up to admire my bottom. Once again in my young life I was experiencing the unalloyed joy of the popularity that comes of being the first boy to be punished in his year. When the last of my admirers had expressed his wonder at my wounds, I put my pyjamas on and slipped between the sheets. We still had half an hour of reading to do. I tried to concentrate on my John Buchan book, but I knew I would have to re-read those pages again the following night. By the time of lights out I was fully erect again. I was determined to make it last as long as possible. I pumped as slowly as I could. My thoughts were of Thompson and Wainwright, as well as of my own beating. Gradually the pumping became faster and the springs squeaked louder. Was it my imagination, or was there rather more activity in the other beds than usual? Oh how wonderful it would be if some of the other boys were thinking the same thoughts as I was. When it was over, and ecstatically over, and I settled down to go to sleep, I think I must have been the most contented boy in the country.
I hope I will be forgiven for ending this instalment with a brief account of the under 15s rugby match (but please don't just stop reading because I can assure you I will not forget the main topic). I do so for two main reasons. First, even so many years after the event, I take some pride from our performance that day. Second, I fear that this series is giving a misleading impression of my school life. Anyone reading what I have written so far could be forgiven for thinking that the only aspect of school in which I had any interest at all was the punishment of boys. That would be wholly wrong. Yes, I own up, I did have a very great interest in that, but there were many other things going on in which I had just as much interest. In particular, I was sports mad. I loved rugby, cricket and tennis with a passion. And that love had nothing whatsoever to do with the flimsy games shorts which we all had to wear. Of course, sometimes, both my interests would combine (when seeing striped bottoms in the showers for instance). But, for the most part, my love of sport was entirely innocent and had nothing to do with my obsession with whackings. And it was not just sport. I adored acting, for instance, and the school drama productions were a wonderful opportunity for me to indulge in that. Then there was just straight forward friendship. I made many life-long friends, both at Manor and Towcester, I will for ever be grateful to those schools for that great boon. And, before you jump to any wrong conclusion, I should make it clear that those friendships involved absolutely no _s_e_x_ual content. I don't pretend, going through puberty as I was, that I was not _s_e_x_ually inquisitive (like all boys). Yes, sometimes I was aroused by the knowledge that boys in beds a few feet from my own were masturbating at the same time that I was. Of course, sometimes, I would look at other boys' members to see how they were developing compared with my own. But never once did I have the slightest desire to do anything s! exual with another boy. No, my friendships with boys were wholly innocent. The fact that they have endured for so long is, I am sure, testament to that. Indeed, another of my pleasures at school was my discovery, when I was about fourteen, of the delights to be afforded by the company of girls (and the motivation behind those friendships was not as innocent). I look back with considerable fondness on the illicit meetings I had with girls from the local girls' school (first Alice and then Lucy). My readers (if any have read this far) will be greatly relieved to hear that one of those meetings resulted in an exceptionally sore bottom. But it is hardly for that reason that I remember them with such pleasure.
Neither would it be wholly truthful to suggest that my years at school were entirely happy all the time. On the whole, I was incredibly fortunate to enjoy most of school life. But I would not have been normal if there had been no bad times as well. There were one or two masters with whom I just could not get on. A geography master, in particular, I remember. He seemed to take an instant and lasting dislike to me which, for a boy who usually (and immensely luckily) enjoyed considerable popularity with masters and boys alike, was a cause of deep distress to me. Then there were the inevitable times when my performances on the sports field or in the class room did not come up to the standards I set myself. At those times I was capable of something approaching depression but, I hasten to say, I always bounced back quickly.
Anyway, back to the story (and I promise I will include one aspect of the rugby match which will interest my readers).
My beating must have been on a Wednesday. I say that with such confidence, not because I have a remarkable memory, but because of the fact that it happened on a rugby practice day. They, almost invariably, were Wednesdays. So the match itself was three days later. By then, incidentally, Lemming had managed to acquire and lose three black marks and his bottom had changed from being milky white to being vividly striped. So my own position as the only third former to have been caned had been lost. I had duly admired his slim buttocks and had my usual nocturnal pleasure as a result. But, by Saturday morning, my thoughts were consumed by rugby. Because I was playing in an official away match I had the enormous privilege, as it seemed then, of being excused from morning lessons. We were to leave the school at 11.30 in the morning in a coach. The school we were playing (I will call it Hampton) was one of our arch rivals in all sports. Hampton was to provide us with lunch and the use of its changing rooms. All the way, in the coach, we eagerly discussed tactics. Unusually, Davies was accompanying us. That was unusual because the First XV, of which he was captain, would normally have been playing its own match. For some reason which I have now forgotten, it was not. So we had the benefit of his advice in our discussions. I had been a little nervous about the whole exercise because I knew that I was to be the only third former in the team. I feared that I might be ignored by all those fourth formers. But I need not have worried. They treated me as equals. My cause was helped, I have no doubt, by the presence of both Turner and Thompson. But even the others showed no hesitation in including me in their deliberations. I was to be playing on the wing (I wasn't big enough for the scrum). I knew that that would give me opportunities to shine as well as opportunities to mess up. I was determined to shine. The thought of returning to school in shame, as the cause of a Towcester defeat, was jus! t too awful to contemplate.
In the first half, I regret to say, I did not do myself much credit. Indeed, the very first time the ball was passed to me I managed to fumble and drop it and a Hampton boy who was marking me grabbed it before I could do anything about it. Fortunately, he was successfully tackled by Turner and no lasting harm was done. By half time, Hampton had scored one try, but not converted it. We were yet to score. Davies came on to the pitch to give us a pep talk as we sucked our halves of oranges. Surprisingly, I thought, he did not criticise me for my blunder. Looking back, I suppose it may well have been the case that that one small incident did not loom as large in the minds of the others as it did in mine. My confidence returned and I started the second half with renewed determination. It was probably, for the most part, a pretty boring match to watch. Each side had possession of the ball for roughly the same amount of time, but no one was scoring. Then, with two or three minutes to go, my chance came. Elliott passed me the ball. I was near the centre line. I looked forward. Amazingly, the route to Hampton's end of the pitch was remarkably clear of their players. But, behind me, I could hear someone thundering towards me. Then I heard Davies shouting "run Lineham, you can do it". I threw myself forward. I felt a grab at my ankles, but I shook it off. Then I saw a Hampton boy crossing from my left. He was going to intercept me. I glanced round to see to whom I could pass the ball, but all I saw was other Hampton boys. There was nothing for it but to try to dodge. I kept running straight until we were almost together. Then I feinted a move to the right. It worked. The Hampton boy lunged in that direction, but I had moved to the left. He fell harmlessly to the ground. I ran on, but another boy was approaching. This time I feinted a move to the left, but in fact went right. It worked again. Another Hampton boy was lying in the mud. I heard someone behind me, getting closer by the! second. I was almost at the line when my ankles were grabbed. I threw myself forward with all the force I could muster. I fell flat on my face, but, and this was the miracle, the ball was firmly in my hands and I was able to plant it clearly and unmistakably over the Hampton line. I had scored a try in my first match. We were now level. There was a about a minute to go. All would turn on the conversion. If we succeeded, we would have won. If we didn't, it would be a draw. I wondered whom Dawson would get to take the kick. He was holding the ball and obviously thinking hard as he looked first at Elliott and then at Mason (both known to be expert at kicking). Then another miracle happened. Davies's voice was loud from the touchline.
"Get Lineham to do it".
Dawson looked highly doubtful about the wisdom of that suggestion. But fourteen year old Towcester boys were not quick to disobey Davies. Slightly reluctantly I thought, he threw the ball to me. I swear that I was almost as nervous walking towards the spot were the ball would have to be placed as I had been when walking to the white marks in the gym. Everything depended on me, the youngest boy on the field. I felt the eyes of all twenty nine other players as though they were piercing me. A little shakily, I put the ball in place. Then I walked back. I knew there wasn't much time. I had to get the kick over and done with before the final whistle. I looked up at the goal posts and down at the ball. Then I ran forward and kicked. I remember that I didn't dare look to see where the ball went. But a second later there was a cheer from all the Towcester boys and a loud shout of "well done Lineham" from Davies on the touchline. I had done it. I had won the match for Towcester. The final whistle went and Dawson, in time honoured fashion, called for our cheers.
"Three cheers for Hampton. Hip hip hurray. Hip hip hurray. Hip hip hurray."
The Hampton captain reciprocated. Then we all began the ritual of shaking hands with our opponents. Once the civilities were completed I was surrounded by Towcester fourth formers clapping me on the shoulders and congratulating me on my achievement. I relished my popularity, bought this time without having to undergo a beating first. I remember thinking that it was important that I should show some modesty. Anyway, I honestly did think that all the credit should not go to me. I immediately protested that Elliott, who had passed the ball to me at the perfect moment, deserved just as much praise.
The match completed, we had to shower and change before going into tea with our opponents. There were two changing rooms, one for the home team and one for the away team. Between them were the communal showers. We were all hungry and looking forward to tea, so we stripped off quickly and headed into the showers. As I stood under the jets of hot water soaping myself I heard an unfamiliar voice behind me.
"Snap".
I turned to see who it was. I recognised one of the Hampton players, a boy slightly taller than me but with the same slim build.
"Sorry?", I said, not immediately grasping what he had meant.
"Your bum and mine", he replied, "snap". Snap is a children's card game in which the players place cards face up on the table in turn. When two identical cards follow each other, the first player to shout "snap" gets the pack. He turned slightly and I looked at his slim buttocks. Sure enough, right across them were three stripes, obviously relatively recently applied.
I laughed. "Oh I see", I said, "looks like Hampton and Towcester have the same approach to things".
He asked me whether mine had been given by a prefect or a master. I explained it had been Davies.
"Is that the bloke on the touchline, your captain of rugby?"
"That's him", I said, "he's head of my house too."
"Well, it looks as though he's a champion swisher. That must have hurt quite a bit."
"Yeah, he's pretty good with a cane", I conceded, "what about yours? Was that a prefect or a master?"
"Prefect. Got it last night."
"Looks as good as mine", I said.
We chatted on amicably. I pointed out Thompson's bottom to my new friend and told him how he had got four and a fifth former had got six. He asked me why I had been lucky enough to get only three. I explained that I was a new boy, a third former, and that it had been my first Towcester caning.
"What, are you only a third former? I mean you were your side's star player. How old are you?"
I blushingly admitted that I was only thirteen.
"Gosh, Towcester's lucky to have you", he said, "we haven't got any third former's in our side. You must be the youngest boy in the match. Well done."
I blushed again.
I sat next to him at tea, with Turner on my other side. I think it must have been good for my character that the conversation didn't entirely turn on my prowess on the rugby pitch. But I certainly felt a warm glow of satisfaction throughout the meal and on the coach on the way back. My day was made, however, when Davies sat next to me on the coach and told me how pleased with me he was.
"I have to say, Lineham, I was a bit worried about choosing a third former for the under 15s. But you proved me right. I wouldn't be surprised if I come back as an old boy one day and see you captaining the school. Keep it up lad."
Word soon spread around the school that we had won a famous victory against our arch rivals. And the tale of my last minute try and conversion was on everyone's lips. Once more, I went to bed as contended as any boy could be. I thought of the game and re-lived those last few minutes over and over again. Then I thought of the stripes on the Hampton boy's bottom. The reaction between my legs was almost instant. Ten minutes later I drifted off to a sleep full of dreams of rugby triumphs and terrific canings. A strange combination, you might think. But those dreams were absolutely delightful.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The next instalment, "Summer Madness", will tell of a mid-summer adventure (and its repercussions) which Rowntree, Lemming and me had in our third term at Towcester. Suffice it to say that Davies surpassed himself! Once more, I really do welcome your emails. So keep sending them.