This follows on from "Robbie is sent to Borstal", which in turn is a sequel to "A Voyage Back in Time".
Robbie cried himself to sleep that night. It was not just the pain of the spanking, but the humiliation which upset him so much. A public over-the-knee bare-bottom spanking with a plimsoll is a very humiliating experience for a 17-year-old. Derek, one of the other newbies, had come up to him when they were all showering. He was a powerful stocky lad from somewhere near Bradford and, like most Yorkshiremen, he didn't mince his words. "That's not t'way to survive around 'ere, lad. My big broothers in ere and e says if tha gets ont' wrong side of Barker, tha'll wish tha wer dead."
"Yeah" said Geoff, one of Robbie's mates. "Jes make sure from now on it's yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. Oos four Durham lads are all lumped together in their eyes and we don't want you queering our pitch like. I'm not reet fond of plimsolls connec'ing wi' anywhere but feet."
Robbie realised it was often his mouth that got him into trouble. He was a bright, independent-minded youngster, but he was naturally rebellious and was fast developing a contempt for authority. The whole point of Borstals was to steer lads into a certain mould. Without realising it he was on a collision course with the Borstal authorities.
Jamie was fascinated by Robbie, with whom he felt a spiritual bond, and wanted to see if he managed to complete his sentence without further damage to his rear end. Given Robbie's form up till this point, Jamie had a strong suspicion that was highly unlikely! An encounter with the cane and maybe even the birch seemed a dead cert. He decided to do an audio-search with his state-of-the-art time-reader. He trained the machine on Robbie's end of the dormitory and programmed it to show any scene in which the word cane or birch was mentioned. Sure enough, a couple of weeks after Robbie had arrived at the Borstal, the word "cane" was picked up by the time-reader. Robbie was ruefully rubbing his bottom and recounting his tale to the others in the dorm.
Remembering his encounter with the plimsoll, Robbie had been careful to submit to the system, at least for the first few weeks. But underneath, his rebelliousness was simmering, chafing at all the petty rules and restrictions. His _c_o_c_k_y defiant attitude was noted and he was warned to watch his step several times. The daily routine at Haslar was demanding with lots of physical exercise. The one good thing about Borstal was that they all got three square meals a day, not exactly haute cuisine, but a good quantity of food - much more, in fact, than they had been getting at home. All four Durham lads felt their bodies filling out and putting on muscles. The Borstal officers were good men - even sour-faced old Barker - and generally speaking discipline, though tough, was perfectly fair and not particularly resented. Boys simply accepted that so-and-so deserved a good whacking. No one ever got whacked just for the fun of it.
So how had Robbie ended up with a well-striped bottom? Well, he had been queueing up for lunch as usual when Barker told him to get in line.
"I AM in line!" retorted Robbie.
"Don't answer back, boy, do as you're told".
Robbie stepped back a bit with a sneer on his face, while Barker gave him a "don't try your luck, boy" look and started marching off towards the other side of the dining-hall. As he turned his back, Robbie gave him a V sign and some of the other boys sniggered. Barker swung round, glaring at them.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"This one stuck 'is fingers up at ya" said one of the dinner ladies, pointing to Robbie.
"Right you. Leave your meal and come with me" said Barker.
Reluctantly Robbie left his lunch and followed Barker out of the dining-hall door. They went down the corridor and Barker opened a door at the end.
"In!" he said simply.
Robbie went in. In the centre of the room was a vaulting-horse with straps on each of the legs.
"Strip!" ordered Barker.
Reluctantly Robbie obeyed. He knew he was in for a thrashing and did not want to make things any worse.
"Bend over the horse!"
Robbie duly bent over and Barker fastened his hands and feet tightly so that he could hardly move. Barker then strode over to the wall on the left where three canes rested, each on a pair of nails. Barker selected the heaviest cane, a wicked dark brown dragon and practised swishing it through the air.
"Obviously you haven't learnt your lesson, boy. Im sick and tired of your attitude. Insolence does not pay in this establishment. You have to learn to respect your elders and betters."
Silence for a few moments.
"You will take eight strokes of the senior reformatory cane. Youve been asking for it for weeks."
Robbie felt his buttocks twitching with anticipation. He flushed as he realised that he had a growing erection. Jamie too was excited. He had set his simulator to give him an identical caning. This time he had put it on a timer, so that he could not turn the simulator off for five minutes. He wanted to identify with Robbie and, like him, have no way of escaping the cane.
Barker gently tapped his creamy white buttocks a couple of times with the cane both to take aim and to increase the tension. Suddenly he pulled his arm back and brought the cane swishing down in the middle of Robbie's buttocks, deftly adding a flick of the wrist just as the cane made contact.
"Aargh! Aargh! Yeeeoooow!!" yelled Robbie as a livid red weal appeared in the centre of both buttocks.
Jamie too was roaring in agony and his eyes started to water as his brain experienced a simulated cane stroke of equal intensity.
"Silence, boy! If you yell like that again, I'll start your punishment again from the beginning! I want complete silence – not a word, not a peep out of you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
Robbie felt tears already welling in his eyes. He had been caned once or twice at the grammar school for minor offences, but each time it had only been two or three strokes with a thin cane over trousers. This was going to be eight on bare with a dragon cane, thick but horribly flexible and swishy. The sting of the first stroke was incredible and Robbie was already sorry for his _c_o_c_k_y insolence.
Swish, thwack! The second stroke landed half an inch below the first. Robbie suppressed a yell and just a choked gasp came through his lips. The pain was so bad he thought he was being branded with a red-hot iron.
Again there was a good twenty-second gap before Barker delivered the third stroke. He certainly knew how to cane! It landed exactly half an inch below the second stroke. Only the fear of additional strokes kept Robbie from raising the roof. Robbie knew the next one would be even worse, hitting the agonising spot where buttock meets thigh. He wasn't mistaken. The merciless brown dragon came down with a terrific thwack right on the crease of his bottom. The pain was almost unbearable and tears streamed down his face.
"I'm really sorry, sir! I'll never be disrespectful to you again, sir! Please don't beat me any more, sir! Pleease!"
"Silence! You'll take another two strokes for disobeying my order not to speak!"
Another two?! Oh no! Eight was bad enough! After six, Barker ran out of virgin white flesh to hit and the last four strokes landed on already existing weals, opening a couple of them and causing blood to trickle down Robbie's thighs. The four minutes or so it took to administer ten strokes seemed to Robbie like an eternity. Barker undid the straps and ordered him to get up from the horse. Robbie found it difficult to obey. His bottom was stiff with the weals left by the cane and even the slightest movement was agony.
Barker held out his hand and Robbie realised he had to shake it. With a trembling voice he said, "Th-thank you, s-sir".
"No hard feelings, Galloway. I have a reputation for strictness, but I'm a fair man. You deserved that beating."
"Yes, sir".
"Turn round and let me wipe that blood off you". Barker wiped Robbie's wounds with surgical spirit, momentarily rekindling the agony. He noted that the boy still had a rock-hard erection. "Better deal with that, lad" he said, not unkindly.
Robbie got dressed and moved slowly and painfully out of the room. He edged down the corridor and entered the toilets, where he quickly "dealt with" his erection (as did Jamie, who watched him do it!) before returning to the dining-hall. That evening he showed his weals to the dormitory. The boys whistled at the state of his bottom. "Don't do fings by 'alves, do ya, Robbie?" said 'Smiffy', a _c_o_c_k_ney lad from Poplar in London's East End. "Blimey mate, yer gonna 'ave some permanent souvenirs from this place the rate you're goin'!"
Robbie vowed never to get the wrong side of Barker ever again. That caning was the worst experience he'd ever had in his life - worse than his Dad's belt, worse even than the plimsolling he'd had from Watkins on his first day at the Borstal. He certainly learnt something about respect!
"A caning isn't the worst thing you can get 'ere" piped up Dickie, who was probably the youngest boy in the Borstal. He was only just sixteen, but was already an accomplished burglar serving a two-year sentence.
"What could possibly be worse than what I just got?" asked Robbie.
"A public birchin, that's what" said Dickie.
Robbie made a mental note to avoid a birching at all costs as he lay face down on his bed, trying to ignore the searing pain he still felt in his buttocks.
For the next month or so Robbie did pretty well. He got the occasionally clip with a plimsoll from Watkins and was caned again for fighting (4 strokes), but that was normal for a high-spirited boy. The problem was he was always skating on thin ice. He knew just how to wind up the officers and his quick wit often had the whole Borstal in fits of laughter. About midway in his sentence he made a big mistake in giving a cheeky answer to the superintendent. The super might have overlooked it if it had been said in private, but not in public. Robbie was lucky to get away with six strokes of the cane and a warning from the super that in future if he so much as sneezed at the wrong time, he would get a public birching.
The caning and the warning were enough to set Robbie on the straight and narrow for most of the remaining half of his sentence. The weeks flew by and generally speaking he behaved himself, though once or twice he came close to another caning and his rebelliousness was always simmering below the surface. He was looking forward to being released in just a couple of weeks, when suddenly and unexpectedly disaster struck.
By now Robbie was considerably bigger and stronger than he had been when he first entered Borstal. The plain but nutritious food and the continual exercise had done wonders for his physique. The problem was he didn't realise quite how strong he was getting. One evening at dinner time two of the lads, Phil and Mickey, got into a scrap over who was first in the queue. Phil was one of the Durham lads and he was getting the worst of it. Robbie moved over to help him. He was aware of someone else near his left shoulder and instinctively turned round to punch him away. Unfortunately that someone was Watkins and Robbies fist connected with the officers chin. The force of the blow took Watkins by surprise. He slipped on a piece of food and cracked his head on the serving counter. For a few minutes he lay unconscious on the floor. At first there was a deathly hush in the dining-hall. No one could believe Robbie had somehow managed to knock out a hulk like Watkins. Then there were loud whoops and applause for Robbie and all the boys banged their knives and forks on their tables.
The other officers in the dining-hall were incensed. It was bad enough knocking out an officer, but gaining a hero-like status for doing so was intolerable. Robbie was immediately dragged by the ear to the superintendent's office, where Barker explained that Robbie had seriously assaulted Watkins.
"Please, sir. It was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt him!" pleaded Robbie.
"A likely story!" said the superintendent. "You've been in trouble before, Galloway, for disobedience and disrespect. Youve been caned for fighting on at least one occasion. You need to curb your aggression, lad. Assaulting a Borstal officer is a very serious offence. You will be confined to solitary and appear before the magistrate in two days."
Robbie duly appeared before the magistrate, a terrifying beak-nosed man, who was perusing his previous record. "Its time you learned respect for authority, young man. Clearly none of the discipline you have received hitherto has had the required effect on you. Sterner measures are therefore required. You will receive eighteen strokes of the birch."
Robbie blanched. Eighteen strokes! He could not imagine how he could possibly take such a punishment. The superintendent informed him that his sentence had to be confirmed by the Home Office, which would take another week or so. Meanwhile, he was to remain in solitary confinement. The long wait was absolute agony as Robbie contemplated his fate. Eventually the Home Office confirmed the birching – no surprise to Robbie with his record for insubordination. As the time approached for his birching, Robbie bit his nails down to the quick. He felt small beads of sweat trickle down his spine. His empty stomach gurgled.
Finally Watkins appeared and led him from the dormitory to the gymnasium dressed only in underpants, slippers and a dressing gown. All the boys were lined up round the walls. The superintendent, Barker and all the other officers stood at the far end behind a vaulting-horse. Watkins pushed Robbie forwards. Robbie was ordered to strip and drape himself over the horse. He knew the ropes and meekly did as he was told, covering his genitals with his hands in order to retain a vestige of dignity and hide his growing erection. The gym was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop on cotton wool. Barker fastened Robbie's wrists and ankles to the horse so that his bottom was tightly stretched and prominent. He then made sure Robbie was completely immobile by fastening a thick strap over his back. Kindly, he adjusted Robbie's position so that his erection was more comfortable. The Borstal doctor then examined Robbie and pronounced him fit. Robbie glanced nervously at a small table to the right of him, where two wicked-looking birch-rods had just been laid. They were dripping with water, having been left to soak for the last few days in order to increase their effectiveness.
Barker picked up one of the birches and did a few practice swishes. Robbie gulped in dread of what was coming, but he was determined to acquit himself like a man. He did not want to show himself up in front of the lads. He had a reputation for toughness, a lad who could take a stiff caning without fuss, and he was determined to show the others that the authorities could not break him. Yet his nerves were jangling and it showed.
The superintendent broke the silence: "Galloway, for striking an officer and repeated insubordination, you have been sentenced to eighteen strokes of the birch on your bare buttocks. Have you anything to say?"
"N-no, sir" stammered Robbie.
"Very well. Barker, administer the first stroke!" ordered the superintendent.
Barker took a short run and struck Robbie's bare bottom with full force. Robbie gasped, but was surprised that it did not hurt as much as he had feared. Perhaps the birch was not all it was cracked up to be. The second and third stroke followed and it was still quite bearable – in fact, less painful than the senior reformatory cane. Robbie was confident he could get through all eighteen strokes without disgracing himself. However, by the fifth stroke Robbie started to realise with horror that the effect of the birch was cumulative. Each stroke ratcheted up the pain a notch. Slowly his bottom was being set on fire. By the eighth stroke Robbie could not stop himself from crying out. For the tenth stroke Barker picked up the second birch-rod. The fresh, hitherto unused birch crashed onto Robbie's already tender buttocks, causing new heights of pain. Inexplicably his erection got harder and harder till he spontaneously ejaculated, covering the top of the horse with his cream. Yet any embarrassment he might have felt about this quickly evaporated as the birchs merciless sting enveloped his buttocks. By the twelfth stroke he was yelling lustily, abandoning all attempt at retaining his dignity. Tears and sweat poured down his face. He thought he was a tough lad, but he knew he could not win this contest. And there were six more strokes to go! By the sixteenth stroke all his self-confidence and arrogance had disappeared. He was a broken boy, sobbing and contrite, his face covered in tears and snot and his stomach sticky with his own cum. Barker, encouraged by the effect he was having, summoned up all his strength for the last two strokes. Each landed with a terrific thwack on the lower part of Robbies buttocks and each elicited an ear-splitting scream. If the aim was to deter the other lads from wrongdoing, this birching was highly effective. Not one of the lads who witnessed it failed to get the message!
Robbie lay over the horse like a limp doll, sobbing his heart out. Blood was freely streaming down his thighs and the doctor moved in swiftly with surgical spirit to staunch the flow and prevent any infection. Robbie winced as the antiseptic stung his open wounds and renewed the agony.
The curious thing about well-beaten boys is the gratitude many of them feel for their thrashing. Robbie knew he had been broken. It was a crucial moment in his life. He felt no resentment towards the Borstal authorities, just a determination to let this experience be a turning-point. He resolved never to buck the system again and never to resort to crime again even if he and his family were starving. Two years after his release he joined the army, somehow survived the Second World War, and finally retired in the 70s with the rank of captain. He remained on good terms with Barker until the death of the latter in 1975 and actually thanked him for the discipline he had received at the Borstal, even though he carried one or two permanent 'souvenirs' of that time on his bottom. Barker for his part mellowed with the years and, while he never lost his faith in the efficacy of corporal punishment, took pains to befriend boys and follow them up after their release. Many a lad had his life straightened out and looked back to his time in Borstal with a certain affection. Modern legislators now look enviously at the Borstal's low re-offending rate.
And what about Jamie? He was determined to keep the simulator on and experience Robbie's birching to the very end, and this time (with some difficulty) he managed it. Later his older brother Austin took him roughly by the ear up to his room and spanked him till he came. There was something about a real hands-on spanking that the simulator could never give. It was that warm human contact, that heady mixture of fun, pain and brotherly love, for which there is no substitute.