My weary readers will be relieved to learn that we are nearing the end of this far too lengthy history of my school days. Previous chapters have taken the reader from my first day at prep school at the age of 8 to the penultimate term of my penultimate year at public school at the age of 16. I resume the story (which I repeat is almost entirely true) at the beginning of my last term in the lower sixth form.
I was still only sixteen, but here I was, returning to Towcester as a prefect, the only one in School House who was not yet in the upper sixth form. The appointment had been made because, astoundingly as it seemed to me at the time, I had been chosen to be Head of House for my last year at the school. In order to prepare me for the duties of that office, Mr Rolands had decided to give me a term's experience as a prefect. I was, of course, delighted with this turn of events, but it would be wrong to suggest that I had no qualms about it. My greatest concern as I strolled up the long school drive on the first day of that term was that I was to find myself in a position of authority over so many of my contemporaries. No longer would I be one of the gang of mischievous boys whose joys and tribulations I had shared for so long. Of course, I would still do my lessons with them and I would play sports with them. Friendships forged over so long a time would not, surely, be destroyed in an instant. But I was well aware that I would now be apart from them. I would not even be sharing a bedroom any more. As a prefect, I was entitled to my own room. Although that is a bit of an exaggeration since, as the most junior prefect, I was to be in charge of the junior dormitory, with no more than a cubicle in that large room in which to sleep. My chief worry, not surprisingly, was over how my old friends would react in the event of my having to punish them. These, after all, were boys with whom, on many occasions, I had got into trouble. Several of them had lined up with me outside the gym waiting for canings. Now, at least in theory, I was going to have the power to give them the black marks which could so easily put them back in the gym. And, if I was to be present, it would not be as another naughty boy about to take his punishment. No, I would only be there if I had been chosen to be the witnessing prefect.
To some extent, my fears were set at rest in my first meeting with Turner, the Head of House for the remainder of the year. I bumped into him almost as soon as I arrived. He had been back at school for two days already, working on various house administration matters. He was just about to go on a tour of the school's playing fields, to make sure they were all in order for the new term. He asked me to accompany him. As we set off together, he got straight to the heart of my concerns.
"I've been in your position, you know. This time last year I was the only prefect from the lower sixth. It was a great honour, but I also remember that I was pretty worried about having to lord it over my pals. Is that worrying you?"
"Yes, Turner, I have to admit it is. I mean, only last term you had to swish Lemming, Rowntree, Lynch and me for smoking. I'd really hate it if I caught them smoking again and had to give them three black marks."
"I know. Well don't worry about it. Do what I did. If I ever saw lower sixth formers doing something wrong I used to turn a blind eye whenever I possibly could. Take smoking for instance. You know you very rarely catch a boy smoking without setting out to do it. You don't just happen to come across them. People choose where they are going to do things like that very carefully. I know you did. What usually happens is that we prefects get to hear that a particular place is being used for smoking. Then one of us will go and lie in wait. That's what happened with you last term. I remember it happening in my first term as a prefect. I'd heard that a particular spot in the woods was being used by boys for smoking. So, one day I went there and hid behind a tree. Sure enough, after about half an hour, three boys turned up and lit up their fags. Two of them were fifth formers. The trouble was that the other was in the lower sixth. I crouched behind that tree not knowing what to do. But then I came to a conclusion. I just couldn't shop one of my mates like that. I knew they didn't know I was there. So I just stayed where I was until they had finished their fags. Then, when they'd eaten their mints and were about to go back to the school, I came out, as if I was just on a walk. They looked incredibly guilty and I'm sure they all thought they'd be bending over in the gym later that day, but I just pretended I hadn't seen anything. The two fifth formers went off on their own, probably not believing their luck, and the lower sixth former and I walked back together. I told him that if he repeated what I was about to say to him to anyone else he would be in serious trouble. He promised he wouldn't and I then explained that I'd seen the whole thing, and that two fifth formers had escaped a bloody hard swishing, just because he had been with them. Of course, he thanked me a lot, but I told him that I couldn't make a habit of it. I asked him to promise never to smoke with fifth formers again,! and he did. Obviously, if it had just been lower sixth formers, I would have waited for them to go and never said anything about it. But I thought I had to mention it that time because the fifth formers had been let off when they really shouldn't have been. Anyway, it was OK because I went back the next week and caught them on their own and they got their six each. So everything was all right in the end."
I was relieved to hear that Turner would not be expecting me to go round trying to catch my friends, but I was still worried.
"But there must be times when you just can't turn a blind eye", I said. "Suppose I just sort of bumped into Lemming and Rowntree having a fag and there was no way I could pretend I hadn't seen them. What do I do then?"
"Well then, I'm afraid, you wouldn't be able to let them off, but we've got a pretty good lower sixth this year. I can't imagine that any of them would hold it against you. After all, it's their own fault for choosing a bloody silly place to smoke."
I was still not entirely happy about all this, but I was reasonably reassured by what Turner had said. He then turned to my duties for the term. He was quick to make the point that being a prefect, and even more being a Head of House, was not just a matter of dishing out black marks and watching or giving canings. He said that discipline was very important, but good discipline was not achieved just by being harsh. He really meant it, he said, when he told new boys that prefects were there to help them. He told me that I should be ever on the alert for boys who were unhappy. I shouldn't get over friendly, but neither should I be too distant. Not everyone was happy all the time and it was a major part of the prefects' duties to work out who needed a friendly guiding hand. But he also warned me against trying to achieve popularity by being too matey with juniors.
"I'm sure you know this anyway, but if you think back to the most popular prefects in the House over the years you've been here, I bet they aren't the ones who kept letting you off to try to make you like them more. And when you take my place next term and have to swish boys, I can assure you that they won't think any the better of you if you don't make it hurt. If a boy needs a swishing, he needs a bloody sore arse. Obviously you don't cane a new boy as hard as you do a lower sixth former. That's just common sense. But even a new boy needs to know, when he's being punished, that you mean business. It's no fun, I can assure you, when you have to cane a 13 year old who's never been swished before. Your instincts will all be to go easy on him, but you have to steel yourself not to. It's not going to do him any good to give him the impression that the cane doesn't hurt. If you do that, you're only putting off the day when you have to show him that it does. Anyway, I bet you can imagine how he would be teased by his mates if his stripes aren't up to form."
This was to be only the first of a series of informal discussions with Turner in which he prepared me for my future duties. And I should point out that they weren't all about punishments and discipline. It would be boring to recount all the advice I was given about how to ensure a smoothly run House and all the tips I was given on how to perform my onerous administrative duties. But it did gradually dawn on me that a Head of House did a very great deal more than just turn up in the gym to whack boys' bottoms.
As was usual in the Summer term, the lower sixth form prefect who was to be the next Head of House was chosen to witness more canings than other prefects were. As Turner explained, it was very helpful to watch an experienced caner at work. Everyone had his own technique, he said, but if you haven't done it before you really do need to watch someone else carefully.
So it was that, only a week into the term, I found myself collecting a third form boy (a thirteen year old) from prep one evening and escorting him down to the gym. He was called Wren. I didn't know him that well, but it was already clear to me from seeing his behaviour in the dormitory, that he was a mischievous and high-spirited lad. Indeed, I had given him two of the three black marks which had led to our walk together. He was of average height for his age, slim and, it has to be said, good-looking. I had already noted, when he was changing for bed, that he was splendidly built for punishment. His bottom was round, small, firm and slim. His legs were long and slim. I would be misleading you if I didn't confess that a part of me was very much looking forward to watching Turner get to work on him.
As we walked, I did my best to keep the conversation going. Although I was looking forward to watching the beating, I was certainly not unsympathetic to his plight. I had been in his position too many times myself. I was well aware of all that would be going on in his mind as he contemplated his fate. He was, however, doing a very good job of concealing his fears. I was impressed by his fortitude. I asked him how many times Turner had swished him before. He said this was to be the fourth.
"Worst bit is", he said with a smile, "that it seems to be harder every time."
I chuckled and said that I was well aware of that.
"I suppose you must be", he was still smiling, "didn't Turner give you six last term, with a massive run up?".
"That's right, at least you're not going to get that."
When we arrived I held the door open for him and let him go in first. There, he was met with that stomach churning sight of Turner, minus jacket and sleeves rolled up, swishing the cane through the air. Funnily enough, as I saw him, I found myself experiencing something of the emotions my young charge must have been feeling. There was no logic to it. I was only there to watch, but I still felt some of the sensations that were so familiar to me from my own past punishments. In fact, though I witnessed many canings that term, that involuntary feeling of fear never quite left me whenever I showed a boy in to the gym.
Turner, as was his way, got straight down to business.
"Right Wren, you agree you've got three black marks?"
"Yes Turner", I thought his voice, still clear and unbroken, sounded surprisingly strong.
"Good, on we get then".
He removed his jacket and passed it to me. I gave him a smile and a wink and he smiled back. Then he walked quickly to the white marks on the floor (newly re-painted for the new term) and smartly bent over. The shape of his bottom was perfect. The trousers were so tight that I could see the lines of his underpants underneath. Turner walked slowly towards him and placed his hand over the proffered buttocks to carry out the ritual check for padding. Having satisfied himself, he positioned the cane across the middle of Wren's bottom, its tip about an inch beyond the right cheek. He gave a couple of preparatory taps and then stepped back three paces. As I was to discover, the length of the run up depended on the victim's age. At thirteen, Wren merited only three paces, fourteen year olds got four, fifteen year olds got five and, as I knew only too well, sixteen year olds got a far longer sprint.
Once in place, Turner slowly pulled the cane back behind his shoulder and, rising to tiptoes, launched himself forward. At the moment that his left foot landed, just to the left of Wren, the cane was swung forward and smashed into the waiting bottom. There was the usual loud crack. I looked down to see Wren's face and saw him grimace with pain and then, almost instantly, wipe the expression from his face. This is a brave lad, I thought to myself.
There were two more strokes, each as professional and, obviously, agonising as the first. Not surprisingly, I was becoming a little aroused by what I was seeing. I remember holding Wren's jacket in front of my trousers, but I am sure that my state of excitement was not so extreme as to need to do that. When he got up he did not, as nearly all other boys do, instantly rub his stinging bottom. Instead, he walked smartly towards me, retrieved his jacket and turned to thank Turner.
"OK Wren", said Turner, "slate's clean again, but do try to keep it that way for a little while, please."
Wren smiled, "Don't worry, I will Turner".
Again I held the door open for him. As we passed through it I was amused to see that his bravery did have some bounds. He must have been desperate to rub his bottom and, once out of Turner's sight, he did just that.
"So, was that harder than last time?" I asked
"I reckon so. I mean last time was four so it's not easy to tell, but I thought he was using more force this time. Anyway, it certainly hurts."
"Bet it does. Looked pretty hard to me, and I've seen a few I can tell you."
I left him at the door of his prep room and made my way to my study. I was sorely tempted to relieve the pressure in my loins straight away, but I had sworn to myself that I would do my best to restrict that activity to night time and, not without difficulty I settle down to some rather tricky Latin translation.
I was not late for my dormitory supervision duties that night. And I was rewarded, as were all his friends, with a clear view of Wren's exquisitely striped bottom. The three stripes were absolutely parallel, separated by the smallest of margins. At the right, where the tip of the cane had obviously whipped round, they were particularly vivid. He was clearly enjoying all the attention he was getting from the other third formers and I was not so mean as to draw the show to a premature close. Anyway, I was enjoying it just as much myself.
I went to bed a little earlier than I had to that night, for reasons which I fear will be obvious to my readers. As I walked in I heard whispered voices.
"Who's talking?" I called out.
Trenchard and Wren immediately owned up.
"Not you again, Wren?" I said in what I hoped sounded like an exasperated tone.
"Fraid so Lineham".
"Will you never learn? OK try to get some sleep and let's hope you can make tonight's black mark last a little longer than the last lot. One for you too Trenchard. Good night."
This was, I knew, Trenchard's second black mark, so there was every chance of my seeing another striped bottom before too long. I thoroughly enjoyed myself between the sheets that night as I thought about the evening's events and of all that lay in store for me for the rest of term.
I witnessed many more canings that term, including one of my friend Lemming, who's resolution to give up smoking had not lasted. By the end of term I had come to the conclusion that the ideal age of victim, from my point of view, was probably thirteen or fourteen. Fortunately for me, it was boys of those ages who were most frequently in trouble. And I was also delighted to see that the the third form, which would make up the next term's fourth form (always the most fruitful group in the school), looked like a thoroughly mischievous lot.
On the day before the end of term I had a long session with Turner in which he handed over the black book, the punishment book and three canes to my custody. I was obviously very familiar with the black book but, until then, I had not even been aware of the existence of the punishment book. That, it seemed was a book in which the Head of House was required to enter the details of all the canings he gave. It went back five years (the older ones were kept by the housemaster). The entries were short. There was a column for the names of the boys being punished, a column for the number of black marks they had, a column for the number of strokes given, a column for the name of the witnessing prefects and a column headed "remarks". As Turner handed it over, I looked quickly through it. I noticed that the remarks column was only infrequently used. When it was, there was just an A or an A*. I asked him what that meant.
"Oh that, it's a bit silly really. I don't know who started it, but its gone on for ages. It's just that if you think the swishing was particularly well done you put an A in the column. If you think it was outstanding, you put an A*."
Out of idle curiosity, I turned back to the previous term's entires and found that for my own caning for smoking. There were the four names, Lemming, Lineham, Lynch and Rowntree. Against each it was recorded that we had had three black marks, that we had been given six strokes and that the witnessing prefect had been Bentham. I looked down the remarks column. Against the names of Lemming, Lynch and Rowntree there was a large A written. But, against mine, there was an A*.
"I say Turner, I've just looked up what you wrote when you swished us last term for smoking. Why do I get and A* when the others only got an A?".
"You can't always explain why it is", he said after a pause, "but sometimes you just know that a swishing went incredibly well. It was like that with yours. I don't suppose it was any harder than the others', but it just felt, well, perfect I suppose. Probably doesn't make sense to you now, but you'll see what I mean next term."
I decided that I would take the punishment book home and study it more carefully during the holidays. Turner also advised me to take a cane home and do a bit of practising on a pillow or a cushion.
"The important thing", he said, "is that you must get your aim right before you do it properly for the first time. What I did was get an old pair of trousers and stuff them with padding so that I had a boy's bum shaped target. Then I tied the stuffed trousers over the back of a chair and had a few practice shots every day. Try it with and without a run up and decide which you are most comfortable with. I prefer a run up because it lets me get an extra swing in at the end, but some people can do it just as well without a run up. I'm sure you would have been swished by Pearson. Well I can remember all too well that he was an absolute demon with the cane and he never took a run up at all."
"Yes", I replied, "I can remember thinking, the first time he swished me, that it was odd that he was just as hard as Davies even though there was no run up".
"It's all to do with getting the wrist and forearm movements right", he explained, "if you can get a sort of final flick with your wrist at just the right moment you can increase the pain quite a bit."
I thought back to that day when I had watched Mr Spencer (the headmaster of my prep school) caning Campion and Green. In particular, I remembered his perfect wrist movements. I had known, from my own experience of being beaten by him, that that wrist movement was the secret of his success. I determined to try to emulate it.
There was one last duty for me to perform before the holidays. On the last morning of term I was invited to call on Mr Rolands in order to agree with him on whom should be appointed as my fellow prefects for the next school year. He had already got a preliminary list ready, but he said he would welcome my comments on it before finalising it. I glanced through it. I was pleased to see that Rowntree, Lynch and Simmonds were all included. But Lemming was not. That disappointed me. He clearly saw my frown.
"So what don't you like about it Lineham?".
"Well, Sir, I was rather hoping that Lemming would be on it. He's a first class School House chap. I mean he's done some pretty good stuff for us in the House competitions. He's never been a bully. All the juniors respect him. I know he's been foolish about smoking, but I'm sure he won't do it again. I'm convinced he's learnt his lesson."
Mr Rolands thought for a bit, then he spoke.
"Well, Lineham, I have great respect for your judgment in these matters, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here now. When I think about it, I didn't let your own foolishness with cigarettes last term stop me from appointing you. My only concern is that he did it again. That was why I didn't include him."
I was determined not to give in.
"But Sir", I protested, "you and I haven't the faintest idea how many of these other chaps on the list have been smoking and got away with it. It's a bit hard on Lemming, who's paid a very painful price for his offences, to be passed over when I bet that some others have been just as bad as him and never been punished for it at all."
He thought again.
"Very well Lineham, if you can suggest whom he should replace, I will consider appointing Lemming."
That was difficult. There was no one on the list I disliked and all would, I thought, make good prefects. It would be awful, I thought, if I suggested someone and he later found out that it had been my decision that he should not be a prefect. On the other hand, I was genuinely convinced that Lemming would be outstanding as a prefect. It was not just that he was such a good friend of mine. It was also that, over the years, I had come to look on him as being, as I had said to Mr Rolands, a first class School House chap. I pored through the list of twelve names. Then Mr Rolands interrupted my deliberations.
"If you're worried that the boy you name will find out about this conversation, you need have no fears on that count. When I speak in private to my head of house not a word of our conversations is ever repeated outside this room."
That reassured me. I had already, in fact, identified the one whom I thought to be marginally less deserving of promotion than the others. His name was Barnaby. He was perfectly pleasant, if a bit of a swot when it came to work and not as keen on sports as I thought a School House boy ought to be. He wasn't, in the school boy slang, an out and out goody-goody, but it had to be accepted that he had been punished far fewer times than the rest of us. It seemed to me that a good prefect should be able to empathise with the junior boys and I had my doubts as to whether he would be able to do that satisfactorily. In fact, I feared that he could end up as one of those rare prefects who adopted a holier than thou attitude to the juniors. He might, I thought, approach his duties in too puritanical a frame of mind. After a moment or two of reflection, I spoke again.
"Well Sir, it's very difficult because they're all splendid chaps. But, in the end, I think I'd have to go for Barnaby Sir."
"And why would that be? After all, his behavioural record is excellent, considerably better, if I may say so, than your own."
I answered immediately. "Actually Sir, that's part of the problem with him. I mean, it's very good that he's kept out of trouble so much, but the problem is that I reckon that could mean that he won't understand the juniors as much as he should. In fact, I suspect he could turn out to be a bit too strict with them."
Mr Rolands smiled. "I was certainly right to trust your judgment you know. You've identified precisely the same concern I had when I was considering the list. You might like to know that, before Lemming managed to get caught smoking again, he was very high on my list and Barnaby wasn't even on it. Very well, I will remove Barnaby and replace him with Lemming. I hope you won't mind, however, if I tell Barnaby that he was the closest runner up."
"Of course not Sir, I think he deserves to know that."
"Jolly good. So you're happy with the rest of the list are you?"
"Oh yes Sir, it's exactly as I would have chosen."
"Very well, perhaps you would be so kind as to round these twelve lads up and ask them to join me in half an hour."
I went off on that happy duty, greatly relieved that I had had my way. I didn't tell them why they were being summoned to see the House Master, but I am sure they could tell, from my beaming face, that they were in for some good news.
During the school holidays I religiously practised my caning technique, daily, on the dummy which I had made on the first day. Whether my parents thought it odd that a sound of a cane swishing through the air and hitting a pair of stuffed trousers should be so frequently heard from my room, I don't know. They never said anything about it. My sister did tell me that she thought me unutterably cruel to be putting so much effort into that part of my future duties, but that didn't deter me from my practising. By the end of the holidays, I was entirely satisfied that I had mastered the art well and I was now looking forward to doing it for real.
I had also spent many happy hours leafing through the punishment book recalling, not just my own, but other boys' punishments over the years. I counted up the number of As and A*s recorded against all the boys in my year. I was extremely pleased to find that I came out top, two ahead of Rowntree and Lemming who were in joint second place.
My holidays, I should say, were not entirely devoted to preparing for future canings and recalling past ones. I also wrote frequently to Alice and, in the week before she went to her new finishing school, she spent a few wonderfully happy days with us. We didn't repeat what had happened in the park after my last caning, but we did manage to play some pretty erotic games together, which always ended in a perfect climax. And, lest you forget that I was still a schoolboy with a future to consider, I spent many not so happy hours working at my school books. But it would be true to say that I did find my mind wandering quite often to contemplation of what it was going to feel like to stand in the gym, cane in hand, with a boy bent over and waiting.
At last the time came. As head of house I had to return two days earlier than everyone else. There was an extraordinary amount of very boring paperwork which I had to do, allocating studies, dormitories and bedrooms and deciding which jobs should be undertaken by which prefects. But I got through it all without a problem. Then, the first day of term came. That was a pretty busy day for me. As Mr Rolands was fully occupied with talking to parents of new boys, I had to be available to discuss any concerns which the parents of older boys might have. Then, when all the new boys had arrived, I had to go and address them in the assembly room.
I stood outside and listened to a sound of fairly animated chatter from within. That, I thought, was a good sign. It suggested that homesickness might not be a major problem that year. I pushed the door open and went in. There was an immediate hush. I walked slowly to the front of the room and, for a moment or two, studied the thirty new boys. I could remember so well what it had felt like to be in their position. I could easily imagine their fears and hopes for their new life: the _c_o_c_k_tail of excitement and worries in all their hearts. But most of them looked contented enough at that moment. I ran my eyes over them. I had read a little about all of them in the reports which were provided by their prep schools. Some, inevitably, had been fuller than others. There was only one whom I actually knew. Manor, unusually, had only sent one boy to Towcester that year, but I had been overjoyed when I had seen who it was. Charlton, the first new boy I had escorted round Manor all that time ago (and the boy who had managed to get himself slippered earlier, we had thought, than any other new boy at Manor) would, I was sure, be a great asset to the House. I looked around for him. Yes, five years older but still easily recognisable, there he was. His wonderfully cheeky smile was as evident as it had been all those years ago. He had grown into a tall, good-looking lad. I had read Mr Spencer's report on him with great interest. It went something like this.
"Charlton has been a real credit to Manor in his time here. I couldn't say that he does not have a mischievous disposition (I am afraid he has been in trouble a fair amount), but there is absolutely nothing evil about him. When he gets into trouble it is due solely to his high-spirited character. His school work has been very good, as demonstrated by his very high marks in the common entrance examination. On the sports field, he has been outstanding (captain of rugby and cricket last year). He was the obvious choice for head boy and, in that capacity, has matured considerably. Last, but by no means least, he was immensely popular with the other boys, both his own peers and those junior to him."
I had smiled as I read that. I seemed to remember predicting, in his very first term at Manor, that he would end up as head boy. It was reassuring to learn that my judgment, at least in those days, had been so good.
Only one of the reports had caused me any concern. It was from a school I did not know, although I had discovered that it was a day school only. The boy was called Slater. The report had read something like this.
"James" (a bad sign immediately, I had thought, to use a boy's Christian name rather than his surname) "is a very sensitive and artistic boy. He works exceptionally hard, but is rather on the shy side. His behaviour has generally been exemplary, although he has had to be given a few detentions in his time here. I am sure he will do well at Towcester once he has had time to settle in and accustom himself to boarding school life."
My heart had sunk on reading that brief report. Here was a boy who had never boarded before, who was "sensitive" and "artistic", who was "shy" and who, at least reading between the lines, had not only not been caned but had probably not even been slippered. I was not encouraged, either, by his former headmaster's conviction that, once he had accustomed himself to boarding school life, he would do well at Towcester. I looked around the room to see if I could work out which one was Slater. I noticed that one boy had not been smiling as much as the others. Maybe he was Slater. I had feared that he would be small and weedy looking with dreadful spectacles. But no one fitted that bill and the unsmiling one didn't have the physique of a weed. He looked reasonably tall and had quite a sporty appearance. Well, I would find out soon enough.
I started my talk. It went very much as Davies's had gone when I had first arrived at the school and I will not bore you by repeating that here. I hope I placed slightly more emphasis than he had done on the "caring" aspect of my job. I honestly and sincerely did want to do more than occasionally thrash these boys. Maybe I was suffering from the idealism of youth, but I did hope that these thirty boys would, by the end of my year as their head of house, look on me, not as a father figure perhaps, but as a kind and wise older brother. Of course, I stressed that there would be times when I would have to punish them, but I tried to make more of the times when I would help and guide them. I had already decided that I would make one change to the normal regime in the House. I would guarantee that, for half an hour between supper and prep, I would be in my study and available there for any boy in the House who had any problem which he wanted to discuss with me. I told them of that arrangement, and went on to say that I promised that anything they said to me at those meetings would be kept absolutely secret, unless they agreed that I could mention it to someone else. I also told them that I would be seeing them all individually over the following couple of days so that we could start to get to know each other better.
I think my talk had gone reasonably well. My next appointment was with my fellow prefects in the prefects' common room. This was an important meeting because it would enable me to lay down the law as to the approach which I wanted my prefects to take when dealing with the junior boys. I had given it a great deal of thought and made several notes. I was conscious that there was a risk I would be touching a few raw nerves. After all, all the prefects would have been qualified to do my job. I was sure that they would all have their own ideas as to how the House should be run. But I knew it was important that I should be firm from the start. There should be no doubt as to who was in charge.
I started by saying, as I had done to each of them at the end of the previous term, how pleased I was that they had all been appointed. I said that I had told Mr Rolands, when he had shown me the list, that it was exactly as I would have compiled it if left to my own devices. I knew, I said, that I had a team which would be one of the best. I actually rather cringe now when I think back to what I, a seventeen year old, was saying so pompously to a bunch of other seventeen year olds. But I was desperately serious about my new role and it all came from the heart. I will do my best to set out, so far as I can remember it, the parts of my talk which may interest you.
"I think we all agree", I said, "that this is the best house in the school. Not only are we far better at sports than any of the other houses, but we are also one of the happiest houses. Turner, in particular, did a brilliant job on cracking down on bullying of third formers by fourth and fifth formers. I really want to continue that good work. Like him, I want to make bullies my number one enemy. I know that we all went through it when we were younger and you could say that it didn't do us any harm. But I am convinced that bullying is a major evil. When I address the House this evening, I am going to make that as clear as I can. I want every boy to understand that bullying will be severely punished. How many black marks you give to boys for particular offences is very much left up to you, but I hope you won't think I am interfering if I say that I will expect any boy caught bullying a younger boy to be given three, unless the circumstances are very unusual. I don't want anyone thinking that he can get away with bullying without an immediate and painful swishing. For my part, I will almost certainly recommend to Mr Rolands that fourth form bullies should be given at least five strokes and fifth form at least six. I stress that I am talking here of real bullying, not of boys in the same year having a fight. If you come across that I leave it entirely to you to decide how many black marks to give.
"As to our general approach to discipline, I hope you will agree that our aim should be to be firm but fair. The boys need to know what the boundaries are. They need to know that, if they stray over them, they will be punished. But they also need to know that they can trust every one of us not to impose punishments which are in any way undeserved. I can remember times, when we were thirteen and fourteen, when we suspected that prefects were targeting boys with two black marks to try and get them up to three before they expired. I do not want that to happen, ever, in my year as head of house. The system is designed to give boys the chance to escape a swishing by keeping out of trouble once they have one or two black marks. The whole point of it is destroyed if prefects set out to try trap a boy into getting a third black mark. Don't get me wrong. I have no scruples about caning and caning hard. We may not have thought so at the time, but we all now know that we benefited enormously from the punishments we were given as juniors. I fully intend that the House will learn very quickly that I am no soft touch. But I don't want them to think, either, that any of us are tyrants. My ambition is for every boy I cane this year to come out of the gym thinking that he has been fairly punished. You play an important part in all this because it will be you who will be deciding, by giving black marks, which boys should be caned and which should not. Once a boy has three black marks, there is nothing I can do, apart from recommending the number of strokes, to rectify any injustice. I want you to know that now. I will never undermine your authority. But, for your part, I need to be able to trust you implicitly. Fortunately, I know I can do that.
"Now, as to new boys, I would like you to be flexible for the first few weeks. We were all broken in gently and we must do the same for them. I am not saying that you should ignore bad behaviour, but I do think we need to do our best to make sure that the new boys are allowed to settle in, learn the rules and get over any homesickness they may be feeling before they have to feel the cane on their bums. I will be seeing them all individually over the next couple of days and I hope to be able to form an impression as to which of them will settle in quickly and which may need a little more help from us. I've read their prep school reports and, on the whole, it looks as though they are a pretty promising lot. But there's one who may need some special attention. He's called Slater. As far as I can work out, he's been to a day school which didn't even use the slipper on him, let alone the cane. He's described as 'sensitive', 'artistic' and 'shy' by his former headmaster. So, go easy on him to start with. Fortunately, he's in a study with another new boy whom I know to be just the right chap to help him. He's called Charlton. Rowntree and Lynch will remember him from Manor". They nodded and smiled. "Charlton is very promising material. I can say that from first hand knowledge. When he was a new boy at Manor I was a prefect in charge of his house. He settled in quicker than any other boy that year. In fact, he managed to get the slipper earlier in his first term than any other new boy ever had. I watched him getting it and he took it very well indeed. I am sure that he will do all he can to help Slater, but we must also do our bit."
I then went on to deal with various more mundane points of house administration. At the end, I got the impression that I had carried my fellow prefects with me. Luckily, no one seemed to disagree with my aims.
One of the first new boys I saw was Charlton, simply because his initial was near the beginning of the alphabet. He was just as charming and confident as I remembered him from Manor. I told him how pleased I was that he had come to Towcester and was in my House. He said that he had been overjoyed to hear that I was head of house "though I'm not looking forward to getting swished by you". I asked him whether I would be right in thinking that he had had his fair share of canings throughout his time at Manor. He smiled and said he was "afraid so". I told him that he must expect swishings at Towcester to be rather more painful than those he was used to. He said he certainly expected that to be the case. We chatted about his sporting ambitions. Finally, I got onto the difficult question of Slater.
"Now look Charlton", I said, "what we say now is just between ourselves, ok?"
"Yes of course".
"Good, well I wanted to talk about one of your study mates, Slater. I haven't met him yet and I may be quite wrong about this, but from what I hear he may not be the sort to settle in here quite as quickly as I expect you to. He's got a very good report from his prep school, but I understand that he may be rather on the shy side. And he hasn't boarded before, so he may well be a little homesick. Also, I got the impression from his prep report that he may not have been treated quite as strictly as you and I were at Manor."
"You mean he hasn't been swished before?"
"Yes, I suspect that's true. Do you know whether it is?".
"Yes, we chatted a bit about punishments yesterday. His old school didn't even use the slipper. I think they just gave out detentions. And his father's never done more than just smack him. That's really bad luck isn't it?".
"It certainly is. Usually we can count on boys having at least been slippered and often caned at their prep schools. It can't be much fun to get to public school without having any idea of what to expect from your punishments. That's where you come in. I feel I can talk to you about all this because I know I can trust you not to let me down."
"Of course Lineham".
"The thing is, and I say again I might be wrong, I reckon Slater's going to need a bit of help in his first few weeks here. You know, things like reassurance that being swished isn't the end of the world. That sort of thing. And he might need someone to stand up for him a bit, especially if he's the quiet sort. I don't want you to molly coddle him, but I would be very grateful if you could keep an eye on him and let me know if you think there are any problems. I want you all to be happy here and I'm just a little worried that he might find it all a bit hard."
"I'll certainly do my best Lineham. He's a nice bloke. I like him and it would be good to help him if I can. But I think he's going to be all right. He's a bit quiet, but when you get him talking you can tell he's not a wimp. He was opening batsman in his prep school's first IX last term and he was captain of soccer the term before."
"Well that sounds promising. Has he played rugby yet?"
"No, but he's really keen to learn. He looks like a fast runner, so I reckon he'd be useful on the rugby pitch."
"Excellent, well I'll arrange some special training for him, and I'm sure you will do all you can for him. Thank you very much Charlton, off you go now".
I saw Slater on the next day. He did seem to be quite shy, but he answered my questions clearly and without any apparent trepidation. He was very keen to master rugby, which to my mind showed the right approach. Then we got onto punishments and discipline.
"I'm afraid school life does have some downs as well as ups Slater", I started, "I'd like to be able to say that a boy like you will be able to steer clear of trouble all the time, but I fear that isn't the case. Or probably not anyway. There are bound to be times when you do silly things and, when that happens, I am afraid you may have to be punished."
"Oh, I know that", he said, "Charlton's been filling me in on all that. He said you were a prefect at his prep school. Is that right?"
"Yes, I was the senior prefect in the junior house when he came. So what's he been saying?"
"Oh only stuff about how fair you were, but that you could be pretty strict when you had to be. He said I could be sure you would never punish unless we deserved it. And he said that you'd probably be a hard swisher but I wasn't to worry because at least it was over and done with quickly. He said it was just a sort of progression from being smacked at home. He says it hurts more, but it's really just the same thing."
"He's a sensible lad. Just remember that we've all had to go through it and it hasn't done any of us any harm. I won't pretend that the cane doesn't hurt, but you'll only get it when you deserve it, and, just as Charlton said, it's over and done with quickly. The other thing to bear in mind is that when I cane you it doesn't mean I don't like you. I'm just doing my job. It's not a pleasant job, but it's one that has to be done. On the whole, I thing it's better done by prefects, who know what its like to be on the receiving end, than by master who've probably forgotten."
I was beginning to feel happier about Slater, although I was still worried that he might be feeling a little too homesick. But I thought there was every chance that he would soon begin to blossom, especially under the influence of Charlton.
The first few days of any term were, generally, cane free. It took the boys a little while to become accustomed again to school life and, during that time, behaviour was generally pretty good. Also, there was the fact that the new boys were treated with kid gloves for a few weeks. They were not immune from black marks, but once they had two, every effort was made to avoid giving the third. That, of course, did not apply to the older boys. I am afraid I did, in those early days, check the black book with rather more frequency than was really necessary. By about half way through the second week there were several boys, mostly in the fourth form, who had two black marks. I would turn to their pages before looking at others. There was actually no need to do that, because any prefect giving a boy a third black mark would always leave a note on top of the black book to draw the head of house's attention to the fact that a boy was in need of punishment.
My big moment came on the second Friday of term. I went to my study during morning break and there, sitting on top of the black book on my desk, was a small piece of paper. My pulse quickened with excitement as I rushed forward and picked it up. Yes, at last, I was going to be able to cane a real live boy. And not just any boy. The note just had five words on it.
"Wren has three black marks".
Wren, you will recall, was the first boy whose caning I had witnessed in the previous term. He was, as far as I was concerned, one of the best lads in his year. He was mischievous, high-spirited, a good sportsman, popular and, above all, endowed with one of the best bottoms in the school. I eagerly leafed through the book to find his page. There they were. Three black marks. The first was for talking after lights out. The second was for being late for breakfast. The third was for walking on prefects' lawn. None of them the most serious offences imaginable. But, taken together, they were certainly enough to warrant a sound beating. I immediately called for a fag. Funnily enough, my call was actually answered by Wren. I was a little taken aback by seeing him, but there was no reason why he shouldn't perform the task I had in mind.
"Ah Wren, thank you. Please will you be so good as to find Mr Rolands and explain to him that I need to see him some time before prep this evening. Ask him when it would be convenient for me to see him and come back and tell me."
The boy obviously guessed what it was that I needed to discuss with his housemaster.
"Are you sure you really need to see him?", he said with an impish grin on his face.
"I'm afraid so Wren, run along."
"OK".
He returned five minutes later and told me that Mr Rolands would expect me at 6 o'clock in his study.
My next task was to choose a witness. You might have thought I'd have waited until Mr Rolands had confirmed the punishment, but I knew full well that he would only act as a rubber stamp, so there was no need to delay. The decision wasn't a difficult one. As I may have mentioned before, I had always found Rowntree's punishments some of the best in my year. I decided to reward him by letting him watch me in action for the first time. I went into prefects' corridor and walked down three doors from my own to his. I tapped lightly and he called me in.
"Hello Rowntree", I said, "there's a swishing on tonight, are you on to witness it?"
"Gosh Lineham, I wouldn't miss your first effort for all the tea in China. Who's the poor sod?"
"Wren, it'll just be four, but I hope it'll be interesting."
"Good old Wren, I might have bet that he'd be your first. Good one to start on I'd have thought. Target's the right size and shape and he's not exactly a virgin when it comes to swishings."
"Exactly my thoughts.. Ok, see you later."
I had private study sessions for the rest of the morning. I regret to say that I did not concentrate as much as I should have done on my work. My eyes kept straying to the canes hanging on the back of my study door and I found myself picturing the scene in the gym later that night as Wren bent over for his punishment. I had already decided that I would opt for a run up. That was mainly because of the added theatre which that would give to the occasion. I agreed with Turner, that a run up would necessarily produce a more painful stroke, but I knew that my victim would find the experience more memorable if he heard me sprinting towards him.
The lunch bell rang and I tidied away my largely unread school books. Just as I was about to leave, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in", I called out.
Lemming walked in.
"Hello Lineham, I gather your months of practice are going to be put to the test later". He was smiling.
"Yup, sorry you won't be the witness, but you can do the next one."
"That's ok. Can I just make a couple of entries in the black book?"
"Of course, anything interesting?"
"No, just a couple of new boys I caught talking last night. I meant to write them in this morning, but I was running late for Latin."
I handed him the book and looked over his shoulder as he leafed through it. He got to Charlton's blank page and noted the date, the offence, and one black mark. Then he leafed on to the Ss. He stopped at Slater's page and made the same entry. I raised my eyebrows.
"Slater one of the first eh? I'd never have thought that."
"No, I was surprised when he owned up. Not surprised by Charlton, but Slater's more of the quiet type. Still, I don't suppose he'll get more for a while."
I took the Under 15s rugby practice that afternoon. Wren was playing. I am sorry to say that, even though he was really too small for it, I deliberately put him in the back row of the scrum so that I could size up his bottom for later. It really was ideal. So perfectly round and slim. His games shorts were wonderfully tight and his slim, tanned and hairless legs completed a rather arousing picture which I knew would be in my mind when we were in the gym later that evening.
At 6 o'clock on the dot I knocked on Mr Rolands's door. He told me to come in. I had the black book with me. He glanced down at it.
"Ah, I guessed as much. So who is it?".
"Wren Sir, nothing bad, just three black marks. Talking after lights out, late for breakfast and walking on prefects lawn. I was going to suggest four Sir. He's in the fourth form and he's been caned a few times before."
"Yes, that should be right. So how do you feel about giving your first caning?"
"I'm not sure Sir, I mean, it's a bit of an odd feeling. It's not that long ago that I was being caned. It's a bit peculiar realising that I've got to do it to someone else."
"I know. Does it worry you that you will be causing a younger boy so much pain?"
"A bit. But then I think that it's really for his own good, and that of the House as well Sir. I try to think of that, rather than what it'll be like for him when I'm actually doing it."
"Well, if you don't mind a tip from someone who's been in this game for a very long time, all I'd say to you is that the kindest thing you can do for Wren and the rest of the House is to make sure that it really does hurt. If you let him off too lightly, he'll only be back for more much too soon. And, if you do it properly, you can be sure that the word will get around that you are not a soft touch. That can only be good for House discipline."
"Yes Sir, I realise that. It won't be fun, but I know I've got to make it a punishment he'll remember."
"That's the right attitude. I am afraid this is bound to be the first of many, but there would be far more if you went easy on him. Anyway, he's a tough little lad. He'll get over it soon enough. Ok, four it is. Good luck."
Rowntree and I were sitting in my study when the bell for prep went.
"How long are you going to give him?", my friend asked.
"Don't know, what would you suggest?"
"Well, sweating it out for a while is all part of the punishment, but I reckon it shouldn't be too long, otherwise he'll never finish his prep. About twenty minutes do you think?"
"Yes, that sounds about right". In fact, of course, I was desperate to get on with it, but I also knew that the boys expected to have to wait a bit. It added to the drama of the occasion.
The minutes seemed to drag by but, at last, the time had come. I felt surprisingly nervous as I stood and chose a cane. It was almost as if I, not Wren, was going to be on the receiving end. Once I was satisfied with my choice, I held the door open for Rowntree and he made for the fourth form prep room. I went to the gym to wait for them. I had left my jacket in my study. My sleeves were already rolled up (I remembered that seeing the head of house prepared for action in that way had always sent a shiver down my spine). As I walked down the long corridor I kept saying to myself that I had to give this my all. Strangely, despite everything, I was not aroused, or even thinking of the pleasure that you might have expected me to get out of what I was about to do. I really was thinking about the House and how important it was, for the sake of the House, that I should send Wren out of the gym eager to report to his friends that Lineham's swishings were things to be avoided. But neither was I without sympathy for him. After all, one could hardly have described his sins as being grievous. I was not full of righteous anger at his behaviour. Indeed, I felt no anger at all. And I liked the boy. He was always a pleasure to be with. His sense of humour, and of mischief, was infectious. No, I had no desire to hurt him. And yet I knew I had to. And I suppose I also knew that, once the deed was done, I would recall it with something approaching pleasure.
I stood a few yards into the gym and watched the door. Soon, I heard the footsteps approaching. I pushed the tip of the cane into the floor, bending it to show how whippy it would be. The door opened and Rowntree ushered Wren in. The fourteen year old looked much more vulnerable now, but he still managed to greet me with that cheeky smile. My heart went out to him as I remembered what it was like to be in his position. Even before I went through the required formalities, he started taking his jacket off.
"First things first Wren", I said, "do you agree that you have three black marks?"
"Yes Lineham".
"OK, well hand your jacket to Rowntree and we'll get on".
He passed the jacket over and then, no further instruction needed, he walked quickly to the white marks. He carefully placed each foot on one and then slowly bent over. I watched and thought, as I remember to this day, how small his bottom was and how painful it was about to be. A part of me really did want to stop the whole thing. But I suppose I had been brainwashed over the years by the ethos of the House and school. I knew it had to be done and I knew it had to hurt a lot. I steeled myself and walked towards him. I could already see that there was no possibility of there being any padding in his trousers. They were so tight that they showed the lines of the Y-fronts underneath. But rules were rules. I gently placed my hand on the firm young buttocks. I could feel the warmth of the flesh beneath. It was almost as if he was naked. I then transferred the cane back to my right hand and carefully placed it across his bottom, with the far end about an inch or so beyond the right cheek. I gave it a couple of taps, to make sure of my aim, and then I walked back, about four paces. He was a brave lad. I could see that his eyes were open and watching me intently. I gave the cane a couple of swishes through the air. Then I raised it, slowly, behind my shoulder. I silently prayed that my aim would not falter. Then, with a jump, I sprang forward. I covered the distance in three large strides. My eyes fixed firmly on my target throughout. On the last pace I swung the cane forward, turning my body with it. Just as it was a centimetre or so from Wren's bottom, I gave that "Boss Man" flick of my wrist. The sound of the crack was very loud in my ears. I saw Wren jerk, very slightly, from the shock of the first stroke. The cane had left a line across his dark trousers. It had been right across the middle. Perfect aim.
I paced back again. This time his eyes were tight shut. His knuckles were white from the grip on his ankles. He seemed to be biting his lip. I ran forward again. The second stroke was as good as the first had been. There was that slight jerk again. The line was marginally below the first. This, I remember thinking, was going remarkably well for a first effort. But I was also feeling for him. He would be in great pain already, and he would know that he was only half way through. That had always been the worst part of it for me, in my younger days. It gave me no pleasure to imagine his thoughts at that moment. I paced back, sized up my target again, and launched myself forward. I don't know why, but I somehow instinctively knew that the third was the best so far. There is nothing I could point to. The sound was the same. The jerk was the same. I just felt in my bones that it had been perfect.
Back in place for the final stroke I wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible, but I knew that I must not rush it. Wren would expect a longer pause before the last one. The pain of the first three had to sink in, and the agony of the beating had to be drawn out. I slowly counted to five under my breath and then I ran forward. Thank goodness, I thought, as it connected. All four bang on target, and now it was over. I gazed down at the taut buttocks and, maybe because I knew I would not be causing him any more pain, I felt the first stirrings of pleasure at what I had done. I stepped back a couple of paces and told him he could stand. I was delighted to see that, this time, he could not stop the impulsive grabbing of his bottom. He rubbed it madly for a moment or two before composing himself and thanking me for his punishment. I smiled at him and said I hoped that would be the last time that term. He grinned back and said he hoped so too. I somehow doubted whether it would be.
Rowntree took Wren back to the prep room and I returned to my study. Once there, I sat back in one of the armchairs, closed my eyes, and pictured the scene which the three of us had just enacted. Although it would be misleading if I were to give the impression that I was not, by then, becoming aroused by what I had done, it is the case that my main preoccupation, at least for half an hour or so, was to try to analyse the somewhat complex feelings I had had from start to finish. What most surprised me, I think, was the degree of sympathy I had felt for Wren and the extraordinary desire I had had to call the whole thing off. Well, I suppose the sympathy was not all that surprising. As I hope has become clear by now, I had always felt sympathy for other boys when they were subjected to corporal punishment. But I had been preparing for this moment, for the first time I was to beat a real live boy, for many months. I had often dreamed of what it would be like. Never once had it crossed my mind that I would have any hesitation about actually doing it. True, I had thought that I might be a little concerned the first time I had to cane a boy who had never been properly beaten before, but I certainly never imagined that I would have any problems with caning a cheeky fourth former like Wren. In a way, I think, I was relieved to find that a better part of me had become evident in the gym. On and off, I had had moments of terrible guilt when I had found myself imagining the pleasure I would get from exercising my new authority over younger boys. Now that I had actually done it, I realised that I was not so evil after all. Ironically, at the same moment that I was thinking those uplifting thoughts, I was also conscious that my state of arousal was becoming quite extreme. I had moved from wanting to cancel Wren's caning to being immensely excited by having done it. That was, I suppose, because the deed was now done. Wren, though no doubt still feeling uncomfortable, would have got to that stage when ! he would be longing to boast of his ordeal and to show off his wounds to his friends. If he could be happy, and I was sure he was, it could hardly matter that I also got some enjoyment out of it.
There was nothing I could do to relieve the pressure. Shortly, the bell would go for the end of prep and then, after that, I would have to take House prayers. As soon as they were over, I would have to make my evening report to Mr Rolands on another day in School House. I made a half hearted attempt to do some work. Gradually, I became limp again.
My report to Mr Rolands was not a long one. I can't now remember whether anything else of note had happened on that day. But I do remember his asking me how Wren's punishment had gone.
"Well, Sir, I think it was all right. I was just surprised how much I disliked doing it. I mean I have always believed that corporal punishment was sensible and I knew he deserved it, but I suppose I just felt uncomfortable at having to do it myself." I then worried that he might be thinking I was a wimp. "I hasten to say, Sir, that I didn't let those feelings take over. I certainly didn't go easy on him. It's just it wasn't very pleasant imagining what it was like for him."
Mr Rolands smiled at me. "Well, Lineham, I am delighted to hear you say that. I had never got you down as a sadist, but it's always a bit of a worry giving such great power to a lad of your age. I would certainly have been worried if you had told me that you had had no qualms at all. But don't worry, the first is always the most difficult. You'll never actually enjoy this part of your job, but it will definitely become easier."
I felt another twinge of guilt as he spoke those words. How unworthy I am, I thought, of this particular praise. But then I thought too that I had not lied to him. What I had said had been absolutely truthful. And maybe it was also true that, at least while actually swinging the cane, I would not enjoy the experience. What I obviously could not tell him was that I was sure I would enjoy recalling each and every caning I gave, and in a way that would probably have caused him considerable shock.
The days went by and, more and more frequently, I found myself in the gym during prep. There was usually just one boy to be punished, but it was not uncommon to have two or more to beat on the same evening. When that happened, if they were in the same year, I caned them in front of each other. That was a new practice in the House. Hitherto, a boy would only see another one being caned if they had been caught together. It seemed to me that there was no logic behind that. I had mentioned the point to Mr Rolands. He had said that he could see no objection to my new practice, so long as it was restricted to boys in the same year. I suspect that, if I really thought about my motives, I secretly hoped that I would be giving pleasure to the odd boy who shared my interest.
The term was about four weeks old. No new boy had yet been caned, although three or four of them, including Charlton, had acquired two black marks. I was still of the view that we should be careful about bringing them up to three. More than once I had turned a blind eye to some minor offence committed by a new boy at risk of a caning, and I knew that my fellow prefects had done the same. My aim was, if at all possible, to get through the first half of term without having to beat a new boy. Then, on their return from the short mid-term break, their informal immunity could come to an end. I liked Charlton very much, but I also hoped that he would be the first. I knew he would take it well and it was important that the first should, so to speak, show the way to the others. But I didn't feel strongly about who it should be, just so long, I remember thinking, as it was not Slater. Fortunately, he still only had the one black mark and that would be expiring soon. With any luck he should keep out of trouble until it did.
It was a Wednesday afternoon. Games were over and I was having a mug of tea and some crumpets in my study. There was a knock on the door and Simmonds came in.
"Have a crumpet", I mumbled through the crumbs in my mouth.
"Thanks Lineham, just what the doctor ordered. Got a black mark to write up first if that's OK."
"Sure, help yourself, the book's on the table. Who is it this time?"
"Slater I'm afraid. He was mucking about in the showers. I knew he'd only got one. If he'd had two I might have been able to pretend I hadn't seen what he was doing."
"Oh well, he should still be OK. The first one hasn't got long to go."
Having made his entry in the black book, Simmonds sat on the sofa and munched at his crumpet. It must only have been about five minutes before the next knock on the door. This time it was Lemming. I made the same offer of a crumpet to him, but he said he was in a rush. He just had to record a black mark.
"Afraid it's Slater", he said, "Couldn't ignore it. He ran straight into me in prefects corridor. Good thing he's only got one."
"Oh _s_h_i_t_", I exclaimed, bits of crumpet flying over the floor.
"What's up?" Lemming asked in surprise.
Simmonds replied for me. "Write in your black mark and you'll see."
Lemming turned the pages of the book.
"Oh _f_u_c_k_. When did he get that one?"
"About five minutes ago", I said, "you couldn't have known. But this is the last thing I wanted. Christ I hope he can take it."
"Look", said Lemming, "I don't have to write it in. I could conveniently forget."
"That's not an option and you know it", I said firmly, "he knows he's got three black marks and it won't do him any good with the other boys if he's seen to get away with it."
"I suppose you're right", said Lemming, and he reluctantly started to make the entry.
When my fellow prefects left I sat for a while thinking how awful the situation was. All my plans had been destroyed by that silly boy. It wasn't just that I didn't want to hurt him, at least yet. It was that I was terrified of his reaction to it, and how it might lead to endless teasing from his friends. But there was nothing I could do about it. I knew that, if he did not have a properly striped bottom at bed time that night he would get just as much teasing. And so it was that Lynch found me in deep despair when he became the third prefect to knock on my door that afternoon.
"What is it Lynch?", I asked in what was probably a very gloomy voice.
"Sorry, Lineham, I know you didn't want to do it this early in the term, but you're going to have to swish a new boy. I tried my hardest to overlook it, but he just made it impossible for me. It's that cheeky sod Charlton. He was wandering out of his study with both hands in his pockets. He must have been in a day dream. When he saw me he didn't even take them out. Still, I woke him up by saying that if his hands weren't out of his pockets immediately he would get a black mark. He took them out, said sorry and carried on towards the assembly room. I really don't understand him. He must have realised I was still looking at him, but he just calmly put his hands back in his pockets and went on with his day dream. I turned away, so as to pretend I hadn't seen, but then, the total idiot, he called out to me some rot about had I seen his rugby practice this afternoon. So I turned round and there were his hands in his pockets still. You might have been able to ignore that, but I just didn't see how I could. Sorry about that Lineham. I know you didn't want to swish a new boy till after half term."
I remember sitting there with an enormous grin on my face. He must have been amazed.
"Are you OK, Lineham?", he asked in a worried tone.
"Never better in my life. Good old Charlton. He ought to get a medal for this."
"What on earth are you talking about?".
He obviously hadn't heard about Slater. So I told him.
"Anyway", I went on, "I may be wholly wrong, but I wouldn't mind betting that Slater told Charlton about his three black marks and Charlton made up his mind to collect another one himself. We all know how much better it feels if you're going to get swished with a mate. Well, Charlton has just proved what a good mate he is."
"I take back all I said about him. Bloody hell I think you must be right. That was no daydream. He knew perfectly well what he was doing. What a bloody star. So you can swish him first so that Slater sees how to take it."
"Certainly not", I said without hesitation, "it's much worse having to watch someone else take it first. Anyway, Charlton wouldn't want to deprive Slater of the kudos of being the first new boy to be caned. No, just knowing that Charlton's watching will give Slater vastly more confidence. Lynch, you have brought me the best news of the day. Will you witness for me tonight?".
"Of course."
"And if Slater blubs or anything you've got to give me your word of honour that no one else will ever hear a word of it. All right?".
"Absolutely. You have it."
Those of you who are regular readers of my stories will note some similarities between what happened on that Wednesday afternoon and what happened in one of my fictional stories. I suppose it is difficult to keep one's own experiences out of fiction. But, in real life, I had no discussion with Charlton (at the time) of the sort that was found in that other story. I did, much later, have a rather coded conversation with him which tended to confirm my suspicions, but never, as far as I know, did he admit openly that he had decided to get himself caned in order to give support to a friend.
Shortly after my conversation with Lynch I made my way to Mr Rolands's study to seek his approval for the two canings. When I told him that they were both new boys and that one of them was Slater his face fell.
"This is bad Lineham. Slater's settling in surprisingly well, but I'm not at all convinced that this won't be a major setback. How on earth did it happen? These offences are hardly the sort that couldn't be overlooked."
I then explained the unfortunate timing of events that afternoon.
"Well, I suppose it can't be helped. I'd like to be able to tell you to go easy on him, but I know enough about boys to realise that that would be a mistake. The only glimmer of hope lies in the fact that Charlton will be with him. It's much easier to take a beating if a boy's got a pal with him."
"Actually Sir, that was something I wanted to tell you about. I know it'll seem odd to you, but I am sure that Charlton got his third black mark on purpose, just to be there to support Slater." I told him the circumstances of that black mark and the timing of it in relation to Slater's second and third marks. And I went on to explain what I knew of Charlton from our prep school and how I was sure that he was the best sort of boy. "You see, Sir, I thought it was something you ought to know for when he's older, when you are considering boys in his year for more responsible posts."
Mr Rolands chuckled. "You're telling me, in a very tactful way, that you think Charlton is head of house material, aren't you?"
"Well, I know that things can change a lot in four years Sir, but I just thought it was something that ought to be on his record so to speak."
"And quite right too. You needn't worry, I'm not absolutely unaware of what goes on in this House. I'd already realised that Charlton has the makings of an excellent chap. And, actually, I am not as surprised by what you've told me as you might think. Acts of generosity, perhaps not quite on this scale, are not at all uncommon amongst school boys and, I agree, Charlton is the best sort of school boy. Very well, I approve three strokes each, and I will be keeping my fingers crossed for you."
Prep seemed to come all too soon that evening. Twenty minutes in, Lynch and I were preparing to leave my study. As I took the cane from its hook and opened the door, I asked Lynch to wish me luck.
"This is something I am not at all looking forward to", I said, let's pray it goes all right."
"I know what you mean. I'm feeling as nervous as I did when I got my own first swishing. Good luck".
With that he set off to collect his two charges and I, with a heavy heart, made my way to the gym.
Lynch ushered the two boys in. Slater, hardly to my surprise, was looking pale and unhappy, but doing his best to look unconcerned. Charlton was not exactly beaming with the delights of life himself, but he still managed his cheeky grin as he acknowledged me. I didn't want to hang around.
"Slater, you first, do you agree you have three black marks?"
"Yes, Lineham", the voice was shaky, it sounded horribly like the voice of a boy who was about to burst into tears.
"Jacket off please, hand it to Lynch. I know this is your first time, but I imagine you know the form. Go and bend over."
He nodded and made for the white marks. He took a deep breath and bent over in exactly the right way. He was far from being a weed, physically. He was about the same height as Charlton and, as I knew from rugby practices, he was a fit and active lad. But as I looked down at his small round bottom I found myself gulping from some strange emotion. If I'm not careful, I thought, I'm going to be the one who starts blubbing. I pulled myself together and walked quickly towards him. I placed my hand on his bottom (it seemed large enough to cover both cheeks) and felt the now familiar warmth of a boy's buttocks protected only by thin trousers and underpants. I had an almost irresistible urge to give it a consoling pat or two, but did succeed in resisting that urge. Then I tapped him with the cane, to get the aim right, and took my four paces back. With one more gulp of air into my lungs, I pulled the cane back and started the run forward. The first stroke, I knew, would be the real test. By the time of the second and third he would know what to expect. But the shock of the first, for a boy who had only ever been smacked before (and probably not very hard), could not be underestimated. The cane slammed into his bottom. The crack reverberated around the room. He jerked forward, but only an inch or so. No sound escaped his lips. The riskiest part, I knew, was over. But I still had two more to give him and there was always the possibility that they could be the straw that would break the camel's back. I waited a little longer than usual. That was not out of sadism. I was not wanting the pain to get worse. I just wanted to give him time to regain his composure and prepare for the next stroke. Finally, I ran forward again. Once more, he took it without a murmur and, this time, with hardly any movement at all. I paced back, turned, took another deep breath and hurled myself forward for the final stroke. It was over. He remained silent. I gave him another few seconds to blink back any tear! s that might have been forming. Then I told him to stand. He jumped up instantly, grabbing his bottom and rubbing it furiously. His face was contorted with pain, but there was not a tear in sight. He walked back to recover his jacket from Lynch and I turned my attention to Charlton.
The second beating of the evening was an altogether different affair. Charlton grinned at me again as I asked him the regulation question. He handed his jacket to Lynch and walked forward, towards the white marks, with a confident step. When he bent over, although he was no bigger than Slater, I did not have the slightest fears as to the outcome. Indeed, I even allowed myself, for a moment, to imagine, with some pleasure, what his bottom would be looking like at bed time. His three strokes were as hard as Slater's. Even for him, the degree of pain must have come as a shock. But he took it without a murmur, just, in fact, as Slater had done before him. The only difference which might have been spotted by an objective observer was that he had managed to remove any sign of distress from his face before he rose at the end. But the bottom rubbing was no less vigorous than Slater's had been.
Once Charlton had been reunited with his jacket, Slater stepped forward to thank me.
"Thank you for my caning Lineham". His voice was now stronger and I thought I could even detect a twinkle in his eye.
"Thank you Lineham", Charlton echoed.
I looked at the two boys with a feeling of genuine fondness.
"Well done lads, it's never easy to get your first public school swishing, but you both took it exceptionally well. As for you Slater, anyone watching would never have guessed that you'd never had the cane before. I'm proud of you."
I was rewarded with a weak, but not forced smile and a slight blush of pleasure. Lynch took the boys off and I breathed a long sigh of relief.
That night I paid a visit to the third formers dormitory as they were preparing for bed. As I walked in I saw Slater surrounded by several obviously admiring thirteen year old boys. His pyjama bottoms were round his ankles and his small and thoroughly well striped bottom was the centre of attraction. No one had seen me and I made no sound as I watched the scene. The look of real pleasure on his face as his friends marvelled at the site was a joy to behold. I looked around to see Charlton. He had not yet taken off his school trousers. I think I almost loved him at that moment. He was letting Slater have centre stage. Of course he would show off his own stripes, but he wanted his friend to have the major part of the glory.
Tempted though I was to stay silent for ever and enjoy the site of my handiwork as much as (or probably more than) the assembled new boys, I realised I could not. I coughed and Slater looked round guiltily. I smiled at him.
"Don't worry Slater", I said, "those stripes are going to be there a little while longer. Come on boys, show's over for now. Charlton, are you thinking of going to bed some time tonight?"
That wonderful cheeky grin. "Sorry Lineham". He quickly undid his trousers, pulled them off and dropped his underpants. All eyes were on him as he turned to pick up his pyjamas from the bed. All would have registered that his stripes were no worse and no better than Slater's. Both boys had obviously been treated equally.
I had not thought, when I first realised I was to have to cane Slater, that I would recall the event with any relish when I retired to bed that night. But I was proved wrong. As I turned off the bedside light my thoughts immediately turned to the two beatings and the striped bottoms which had resulted from them. It was one of the greats.
And so the term went on. The new boys' amnesty was now over, although earlier than I had intended. I let it be known in the prefects' common room that the days of turning a blind eye to minor misdemeanours were now past. Four or five more thirteen year olds found themselves standing on the white marks before half term. By the end of term nearly all of them had been caned at least once. All thirty fourth formers had discovered, at least once, what a Lineham swishing was like and most of the fifth form were in the same boat.
Alice's departure from St Joan's had left something of a gap in my life, but it was soon to be filled. The head of her old House was a girl called Lucy. She was a wonderfully attractive blonde, slim but rounded in all the right places. One of my duties was to liaise with her over the various joint societies and clubs. It was a duty which I took to with some eagerness. So fickle is youth that I have to admit that we were not many weeks into that term before I was able to call her mine. I remember one conversation with her, after our first proper kiss, which might be of some interest to my readers. It was a day or two after Slater's caning.
She sat back and looked into my eyes. For a moment, all was silence. Then she spoke.
"You know Percy, you're a difficult bloke to understand."
"Why?", I asked in genuine bafflement. I had always thought I was, apart from my secret interest, a remarkably uncomplicated youth.
"Well, there you are kissing me with such wonderful gentleness and saying so many nice things to me, and yet it's quite possible that you will be going back to Towcester to thrash some poor little boy for some incredibly trivial offence. It just doesn't add up".
She had spoken to me before of her aversion to the strict regime at the school. I had never satisfactorily answered her. This time, I thought, I must make a real effort to get her to understand.
"I've thought about all that a lot Lucy. I mean after our last conversation. I know it must seem barbaric to you. And I thought that maybe you've got a point. Just a couple of days ago I had to cane a new boy who'd never had more than the odd smack from his father before. If the school had abolished all corporal punishment that afternoon, before I had to do it, I think I'd have been happier than I've ever been before. I really hated having to do it. He's one of the nicest boys you can imagine. He isn't even the slightest bit cheeky. He works hard and, God knows how, he's got over his homesickness surprisingly well. He didn't even go to a boarding prep and he's an only child. When I watched him bending over I just wanted to run out of the room and throw my cane away for ever. But I knew I had to do it. If I had refused, someone else would have been told to do it instead. So I did it. And it must have hurt a lot. But he took it well and now it's over and done with. But, still, it did make me think. I mean, I wondered what it would be like if we were like St Joan's, just giving the boys detentions or confining them to school grounds. I was thinking that maybe it was worth a trial run. But then, when I went to say goodnight to the new boys, I saw something that made me think again. Slater, that's the boy I caned, is a quiet lad. He's got one or two friends and no one dislikes him, but he's not one of those boys who win instant popularity from other boys. I've been longing, all term, for him to be more a part of the gang, if you know what I mean."
Lucy nodded, "Yes, we've got a couple of girls like that in my House, they're a worry."
"Exactly, well as I walked into the dorm I saw an amazing sight. Slater was surrounded by all the other new boys. They were all firing questions at him about what his punishment had been like, and the grin on his face spoke volumes. That boy, in moments, had changed from a shy reserved lad with few friends into the hero of the third form. And when he saw me, he smiled at me so openly and happily. He had no sense of grievance. He wasn't hating me for having thrashed him. That transformation would never have happened if he'd been given a detention. So I reckon that caning isn't as evil as you think. After all, if a boy like Slater can bounce back so quickly from it, who are we to say that it should be stopped?"
I'm not sure how convinced Lucy was by my argument, but she didn't go on about it. Instead she leant towards me, mouth slightly open, and began another glorious kiss. I pulled her closer to me and folded her in my arms. I gradually allowed my hands to slip down. Soon, with no protest from her, I was cupping her wonderful round, firm buttocks in my hands. Just like Alice, her bottom was still almost as slim as that of an athletic boy. I felt myself begin to harden. Then she whispered into my ear.
"At least you can't cane me, but maybe I deserve to be smacked for doing this with you."
"Mmm, now that would be something", I whispered back, "you are being a bit naughty" and I gave her a couple of playful smacks on those perfect cheeks.
She pulled herself closer to me and I felt her hands begin to stroke my own bottom. She pushed it in slightly and whispered again.
"Oh Percy, who's a naughty boy now? I've got you excited haven't I?"
She must have felt my state of arousal as my body pressed onto hers.
"Perhaps you're the one who needs a spanking", and then she smacked me twice. Sadly we were not able to progress matters any further that evening, but I came away from St Joan's feeling very pleased with myself. She was right, I did have to cane a boy that night. But it wasn't for a trivial offence. Goddard, a pleasant enough fifth former, he would have been fifteen years old, had been caught smoking. The offence had also been committed on the wrong side of the river, so he was doubly in trouble. He was a remarkably good-looking lad and stories abounded of his attraction to St Joan's girls. I hoped his trip across the bridge had been worthwhile. For the first time, I gave a boy six of the best. I knew he was an experienced recipient of the cane. Rather puritanically, bearing in mind my own recent past, I considered that his punishment was thoroughly well deserved (for smoking not trying his luck with St Joan's). I had none of my usual concerns about inflicting pain on a boy. I carried out my task with real gusto and poor Goddard left the gym with what must easily have been the sorest bottom in School House that term. But there were no hard feelings. Indeed, seeing him later in the House games room, obviously looking for someone to join him in a game of table tennis, I offered him a game and he accepted immediately. As we played, he paid me the great compliment of saying that he had never had such a hard swishing in all his time at the school.
I will not bore you with endless stories of the canings I had to administer in that final year at school. The numbers, in retrospect, were staggering. Every third former and every fourth former felt the sting of my cane on his bottom at least twice, some as many as four of five times. All the fifth formers, save for two, were caned at least once. Three lower sixth formers got six strokes each. On my last day I counted them all up. I found had given 161 canings. I did not, surprisingly perhaps, completely overcome my occasional feelings of distress when beating some boys. But I have to confess that, afterwards, I always enjoyed re-living the occasion in my mind.
My relationship with Lucy blossomed, but did not reach the dizzy heights of that cold night with Alice. To put it crudely, I never achieved penetration with Lucy, although we did get quite close. It was not until I was 19 and at the university that I got as far again, but that is another story, and not one that the readers of MMSA Stories would be likely to have a great deal of interest in.
I will end this series with an short account of my conversations with Charlton and Slater at the end of year party. It was Slater who approached me first. In a low voice, so as not to be overheard by others, he told me there was something he wanted to say to me.
"Lineham, is it OK if I say something, well, sort of personal?".
"Of course it is Slater. What's on your mind".
"Oh, it's nothing that's worrying me. No, I just wanted to thank you for being the best head of House a chap could ever have."
I think I must have blushed a little. I tried to interrupt him, but he would have none of it.
"No, honestly Lineham, I mean it. I don't mind telling you that when I came here first I was really scared of everything, of all the other boys, of the prefects and masters and of you. But you were so kind to me, straight off, and it made it so easy to get used to things. Even when you had to swish me you always seemed to be being kind, as well as being really hard. Do you know? Every time you swished me you smiled at me afterwards. There can't be many heads of houses who are like that. Anyway, sorry to be so un-stiff upper lip about it, but I just thought you had to know how grateful I am."
I was deeply touched by what he said. I did indeed count him as one of my great successes as Head of House. The shy and awkward new boy with no friends had blossomed into one of the most popular boys in his year. He had mastered rugby, to the extent that he played for both the House and the school. He had acquired a reputation for what one might call harmless mischief, always taking his punishments without any fuss or complaint. I guessed that he had a glittering career ahead of him at the school. But I also knew that I didn't deserve all the credit. And I did my best to correct him.
"Well, that's very kind of you Slater. Hearing that sort of thing somehow makes it all worthwhile. But, you know, it wasn't all me. All the prefects have been excellent this year, and all have played their part in making your lives as happy as possible. And there's one other person who deserves your thanks more than any one else."
He interrupted me, "you mean Charlton don't you?".
"Yes, I do."
"I know, he is the best friend I have ever had. I can tell you something now that'll really amaze you. Do you remember the first time you had to swish me?"
"Certainly, I hope it wasn't too bad".
"It was agony, but I deserved it. Well, anyway, even though Charlton completely denies it, I think that he got himself a third black mark that day just so that it would be easier for me to get swished with him. He knew I'd never had it before you see, and he guessed I was very frightened. He says I talk utter rot when I tell him I know. But I'm convinced."
"Something of that sort", I said, "did go through my mind at the time. I knew him from prep school. I knew he was one of the most decent boys there and it wouldn't surprise me at all if what you said was right. Keep him as a friend and you won't go far wrong in your life. Mind you, I would say the same to him. He is lucky to have you as a friend. You make a splendid team."
Shortly afterwards Charlton also approached me, just to say goodbye.
"Hello Lineham, I wanted to say goodbye and thanks for everything. Can't say I'm sad that I won't be on the wrong end of one of your swishings again, but I've really liked being in the House with you as head."
I said something about how Staughton, who was to be the next head of House, would probably be just as hard a swisher as me. He grinned and said he reckoned so. Then, as this was to be the last opportunity, I asked him about that first caning.
"I hope you don't mind me asking Charlton, but I'd be grateful if you could answer something that I've thought about a lot this year. That first swishing I gave you and Slater, I hope you remember it?".
"Never likely to forget it", he grinned, "hardest swishing of my life up till then, though you somehow managed even harder ones later. What about it?".
"Well, would I be right in thinking that you deliberately got yourself a third black mark so as to accompany Slater to the gym and give him moral support?".
He blushed, looked down at his shoes, and then chose a form of words which I will never forget.
"I was just being silly that day. Lynch had caught me with my hands in my pockets, but he let me off. I must have had something on my mind, cos after he'd told me off I put my hands back in my pockets. He didn't see but then I suddenly remembered I needed to ask him something about rugby and I called back to him. That's when he saw me again and just had to give me a black mark. I wonder what I was thinking about."
I smiled at him. He wasn't prepared to lie to me, but he wasn't going to admit to his heroism. Yes, Charlton was undoubtedly a first class Towcester boy.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Well, there it is, my school reminiscences are, to the relief of my readers, finally over. If any of you have persevered to this stage, let me just apologise for boring you, as I am sure I must have done, for such a long time. I will now set about adding further chapters to some of my earlier fictional stories (I have had a few emails from people asking me to do that). If any of you have any requests for updates on those stories, I would be most grateful to hear from you. And, as ever, I welcome your comments on these more recent stories.