The first anyone saw of the social worker was a strange car that toured the estate one Friday night. There was nothing for him to see because all the boys were in the bowling alley behind the pub – apart from four of the older boys who were taking their girlfriends to a film show in town. Officially, that is. Mike Hicks and his girl werent in the film show. They were behind some bushes in the park. He had finally got his way with her. Her knickers were round her ankles and his pants were round his knees, and he was in heaven. Or, as the Cat Stevens song puts it, "The first _f_u_c_k_ is the deepest."
The social worker parked in front of the pub and went into the public bar. The saloon, as always, was empty. He bought a pint and sat where he could see what was going on.
It was not very interesting. There was a group of women round the fruit machine; four men were playing darts; at the bar three men were discussing football, and there were two other groups of men, sitting drinking. Not the hotbed of violence and abuse hed been led to expect. Except, of course, that he hadnt expected to find anything that easily. As all social workers know, abuse takes place behind closed doors, in mens homes, in dark corners – definitely not in peaceful Friday night pubs.
It was wrong of Bob Hendricks to claim that he knew immediately that he was a social worker. Actually, he thought he was a plain-clothes cop. And feeling slightly edgy about the three video recorders hed got in the shed on his allotment, he went across to find out what was up. But he found out absolutely nothing. Chat about the weather gave nothing away on either side.
All would have been well if young Anthony Pattinson hadnt taken it into his head to bounce a skittles ball off Matt Greys head. His father saw what happened and wasnt prepared to be understanding. Anthony was dispatched into the bar to fetch a stool, while Archie got the cane out of the cupboard where it was kept.
Mr Ashburton, the social worker, saw Anthony fetch the stool and heard the joke that one of the men standing at the bar made about it. The door to the skittles alley also led to the toilets, and Mr Ashburton took this opportunity to visit the gents. As he emerged he heard the sound of the cane cracking across young Pattinsons backside. After three of these loud cracks he heard the boy cry out. Being a young man he had never heard the sound of a caning being administered, but a child yelling was something he thought he understood.
He opened the door to the bowling alley and was confronted with the sight of Anthony being punished. His jeans were round his ankles and he was bending tightly over the bar stool, his boxer shorts pulled tight over the muscles of his backside. A man was holding what he couldnt fail to recognise as a punishment cane, swinging it back, preparing to hit the boys bottom again. There seemed to be a large number of teenage boys sitting about watching this.
John Hawthorne saw the stranger standing in the doorway and reacted fast. He stood right in front of the man, blocking his view of the room.
"Can I help you?" he demanded, already pushing the man backwards through the door. He closed it behind him and the two men were safely in the passage. "This is a private youth club."
"Was that boy being caned?" demanded Mr Ashburton.
"And what business is that of yours?" John wasnt going to give an inch, but maybe he had met his match in the young social worker.
"I represent the social services in this area and Im not prepared to allow child abuse. What I just saw was outrageous."
John knew enough to realise that you didnt mess around with social services. Especially if they thought you were abusing children. His next door neighbour had lost two of her children when she was just suspected of harming them. He led Mr Ashburton back into the bar. The social worker was still protesting and trying to get back to where this shocking abuse was taking place, but John was determined.
At last John had him sitting down, nodded to Nick behind the bar and a pair of whiskies appeared in front of them almost immediately.
"I demand to know," Mr Ashburton started. "Was that boy being caned?"
"Yes, he was," said John. "And Ill ...."
"I knew it. It must stop immediately."
"It has done. The lads punishments over."
"That wasnt punishment. What I saw was abuse."
"No it wasnt. Let me explain what were doing here. Before, the lads on this estate were out of control. We had drugs and drinking. We had the police up here all the time. We had lads being sent off to borstal. We had girls getting pregnant, and boys of fourteen becoming fathers. And it looked as though there was nothing we as parents could do about it. The police and social services and the school were _f_u_c_k_ing useless. They could all tell us what the problems were. But nothing they did – nothing they still reckon we should be doing – was the slightest good. None of it worked.
"And wed had enough. None of your ideas worked, so we went back to what we thought had worked when we were boys. Now my dad – _f_u_c_k_ him – would thrash me from arsehole to breakfast time, and there were times when I hated him. The hidings kept me out of trouble, and I realised that Id been afraid of Stuart hating me. But thats what dads have to face up to. Weve been trying to make everything so _f_u_c_k_ing nice for kids that they think well let them do anything.
"Now, we didnt really want our sons hating us. So we started this club. And all the boys on the estate have to come at least three times a week. We make sure they work at school, and we give them a good time the rest of the week. And the other side of that is that they _f_u_c_k_ing well do as we tell them, and if not they get their arses beaten."
"But that wont work either." Mr Ashburton could keep silent no longer. "Beating children is wrong. You cant get round that. Its just wrong." He hadnt intended to get into any kind of argument, but John was very persuasive and it was too late now.
"Why is it?"
"Because it teaches them that violence is the way to get people to do what they want."
"Are you telling me that a boy cant tell the difference between beating up old ladies and getting his arse striped by his dad?"
"Theyre both violence."
"Bollocks! If a man takes a stick to his son in a controlled, sensible way its got nothing to do with violence. It _f_u_c_k_ing hurts I grant you, but the boys know that its for the best. I dare say Stuart has hated me sometimes in the last few months –" John remembered the horrible sight of his son stretched out naked over his bed with his bottom bleeding from Steve Smiths horsewhip. "But hes in there now discussing his science homework with Mr Francis from the school, and hes a hell of a lot happier than when he used to spend his evenings dossing about down by the garages."
"You mean, theres a teacher involved in this?"
John suddenly saw the trap in front of him. "Hes not involved, except to help the lads with their homework. Hes seen the benefits of what were doing, and he wants to help, not stop us from bringing up our boys the way we think we should."
"Im very surprised that a teacher would even contemplate allowing such a thing."
"He couldnt stop us. But, listen, this mans been teaching boys for over thirty years. He knows boys – forgive me – a _f_u_c_k_ing sight better than you do."
"Boys should be treated the same as girls."
"How in hells name can you say that? I dont want my son treated like a girl. The women on this estate, they run a club like this for the girls. I dont know what they do, I havent a clue how my wife disciplines our daughter, and I dont want to know. But Ill tell you this. Theres been no girl off this estate brought home drunk in the last few months. Theres been no pregnancies, so far as I know.
"And every father on the estate, except the ones whore away for whatever reason, gets involved with the lads. We all take our turns at the club. Were all determined to do the right thing for them. And Ill tell you this. Its _f_u_c_k_ing well working."
"Research has proved that whenever children are beaten theres a _s_e_x_ual element in it."
"If youre saying that I get some kind of thrill out of caning my son when he needs it youre in great danger of my fist down your throat. If you can find a single man on this estate whose dick so much as twitches while hes whacking his son then Ill let you take a stick to my arse. And the same for the lads. If you can find a single one who likes getting the stick or who gets a hard on when he does then Ill wind up the club and well go back to keeping em in and confiscating their drugs. Theyll do anything to stop their dads whacking them. Theyll even behave well and stop in of a night."
"But you recognise that some people do get a thrill out of corporal punishment."
"Of course. You obviously think because Im working class and live on a council estate that I know _f_u_c_k_ing nothing. Ive read books, you know. When I go to the dentist I even read the Daily _f_u_c_k_ing Telegraph, so dont think you can patronise me. None of that has got anything to do with what the men on this estate are doing with their boys."
"What about the boys without fathers?"
"They get looked after by the rest of us. If there is a father, even if hes in jail, he knows whats happening to his son, and hes grateful for it. Anything thatll stop his lad ending up where he is is OK by him. And if theres just a mother, then she knows its for the best. She can see the difference in her son the same as a father could."
There was silence for a while. Both men sipped at their whiskies.
"But you cant get away from the fact that hitting children is wrong."
"And so is letting them go on the way they were. This club is the best thing thats ever happened to the kids on this estate, and theyll all say that getting a hiding when they deserve it is a small price to pay. Why dont you ask them?"
"All right. I want to interview that boy who was being caned. Can I come out the back?"
"Ill do better than that. He can come in here to you. You can come in and see the club when youve spoken to a few boys. All right?"
"OK."
John got up and disappeared through the door to the bowling alley. Mr Ashburton was left alone. None of Johns arguments made the slightest difference to his thinking. He was considering how he was going to proceed. This was obviously a big thing. There would be a large number of boys who would need taking into care. He couldnt possibly leave them where they were going to be abused. He would be failing in his duty.
Bob Hendricks had been sitting at the bar listening to the conversation and now he ambled across to where the social worker was sitting.
"Youre from the social then."
"Thats right."
"You got kids of your own?"
"No. Im not married."
"Listen. You come up here trying to take my kids away from me, Ill _f_u_c_k_ing kill you, you miserable little cunt. Dyou hear me?"
But John had returned and heard him.
"Bob. Thats enough. Its not going to come to that. He didnt mean that, Mr Ashburton. He just feels that same as I do. Heres Anthony."
Anthony was a well-built, thirteen-year-old, with ginger hair. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of Madonna on the front. John pushed him down on to the stool across the table from Mr Ashburton. He said nothing but guided Bob Hendricks back to the bar, collected his drink and led him out towards the bowling alley. The few other drinkers had gone. The social worker and the boy were alone in the bar.
"Anthony. My names Giles." The boy almost sniggered. "Can you tell me what was happening earlier when I looked into the bowling alley?"
"Dont know. When did you come in? Oh, you mean when I was getting caned."
"Yes."
"Well – thats it. I got the cane."
"Can you give me some details?"
"What dyou mean?"
"Well – what were you wearing? How many times did your dad hit you? It was your dad hitting you, wasnt it?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"I was wearing the same as Im wearing now. I dont know how many times he hit me. I havent looked at meself yet."
"Did it hurt?"
"Course it _f_u_c_k_ing hurt. A whackings meant to hurt. Thats why its a punishment."
"And why did your dad hit you?"
"Cause I hit another kid with a bowling ball."
"I see. So. How do you feel about it now?"
"Feel? Well, me backside is still sore. Is that what you mean?"
"No. How do you feel about your dad hitting you. In front of everyone and all. Did you mind being punished like that?"
"Are you cracked or what? Of course I _f_u_c_k_ing minded. Whatd be the point of punishment that I liked?"
"Did you deserve to be beaten like that?"
"What would you do to your son if he hit another kid with a bowling ball?"
"I havent got a son. I wouldnt hit him though." Anthony looked pityingly at this strange man. "So you think you deserved it?"
"Yes."
"Wouldnt you rather have had a different punishment that didnt mean you getting hurt?"
"What, like sent to me room? Me pocket money stopped? Not _f_u_c_k_ing likely."
Giles Ashburton considered the boy in front of him and Anthony considered him right back.
"I can help you, Anthony. I can stop this from happening to you. And the other boys. I want to examine your buttocks."
"What for?"
"To assess the level of abuse that youve suffered."
"_f_u_c_k_ off. Youre not looking at my arse, you _f_u_c_k_ing pervert."
"But whats happening to you is wrong."
"How dyou make that out? Weve got this great club, we get help to work better at school, our dads are taking an interest in us, were not getting into trouble like we did before. And youre going to stop it happening? Yeh – right!"
The social worker saw that he had taken a wrong turning in the conversation.
"How many times has your father caned you?"
"Tonight was the second."
"Are there boys who get beaten more than you?"
"I suppose so. I mean twice in three months isnt much, is it?"
"Give me the name of a boy whos been beaten a lot."
"Why?"
"I want to talk to him."
Anthony thought about it for a few seconds. "Nah. You want to talk to someone, you better ask John Hawthorne."
"What about his son? Has he been caned a lot."
"Few times, I suppose. Look – ask John." He got up and sauntered back to the bowling alley without looking back at the social worker, who was silently shaking his head.
Stuart Hawthorne was the next boy that Giles Ashburton interviewed. Since his whipping by Steve Smith more than six weeks ago his backside had gone back to normal, despite being caned twice more by his father for different things. He didnt like the look of the social worker but tried not to be too hostile.
"How many times have you been caned, Stuart?" Giles asked once the introductions were over.
"Four," said Stuart.
"Tell me how your dad does it. Is it always a cane that he uses?"
Stuart thought about the riding crop but decided hed rather keep quiet about that. "Yes."
"OK. So what do you have to do?"
"I have to drop me pants and then he canes me arse."
"On your naked buttocks?"
"Yes."
"And how do you feel about that?"
"Well, it _f_u_c_k_ing hurts with nothing on, doesnt it. Obviously."
"But its pretty humiliating, isnt it? Having to strip off in front of your dad."
"Why? He only does it cause Ive deserved it. And I know hes doing his best to bring me up right. Id rather he walloped me than ignored me, like before."
"And what about the other boys? Do they all think that being caned is a good idea?"
"None of us likes being punished, but its a fact of life, isnt it? Boys get into trouble and their parents and teachers have to punish them. Girls too, I spose. So were going to get punished whatever. So whats the best way to punish a boy who needs it?"
There was a pause before the social worker realised he was expected to answer.
"Well, I dont know. I suppose Id talk to him first, sort of, like, discuss the situation, and then, oh, I dont know, take away something that he enjoyed, like watching television or playing football."
"That sounds pretty _f_u_c_k_ing pathetic to me. What if he just told you to _f_u_c_k_ off when you tried to discuss the situation? And Ill tell you, most boys think TV is crap, and if you stop him playing football youre punishing ten other kids as well. You suspend us from school – thats absolutely terrific, a holiday, who wouldnt enjoy it? Keep us in after school? So what? You only turn up for detention if you feel like it. Stop our pocket money? I dont get any, except for me paper round and me old man can hardly stop me doing that, can he? Send me to bed without supper? Dont make me _f_u_c_k_ing laugh.
"Until my dad took a cane to my backside I thought there was nothing he could do to me that I cared about. And it never even occurred to me that he might care about me. So, no, I dont like being caned. I _f_u_c_k_ing hate it. But its the only punishment I ever took any notice of, and the sames true of most of the other kids on this estate. Some might tell you different, but thats the truth."
"But what if a man beats a boy too hard and seriously injures him?"
"Lock him up and throw away the key. Look, theres a kid on the estate, his dad used to kick him and punch him and we reckon he used to burn him with cigarettes and all. Once he was tied to the bottom of his bed and left there for two days. Now, his dad hasnt touched him in the last three months, except with a strap across his bum when hes been naughty. Now what dyou reckon that kid thinks of beatings?"
"Whats his name?"
"_f_u_c_k_ off. I made him up."
One by one, Giles Ashburton talked to half a dozen more boys – different ages, some who had once been really badly behaved, others who had always been fairly good – but the story was consistent. And he had to admit that there was clearly no coaching going on. The boys were telling him the truth as they saw it. They behaved better now than they had done before. The club was the best thing that ever happened on the Fern Park estate. They didnt like being beaten. It was a better, more effective punishment than what they had received before. They were doing better in school. Some had been beaten a lot. Others hardly at all, but they were prepared to accept it if their dads thought they needed it.
When John Hawthorne and Archie Pattinson rejoined him, and Bob Hendricks and the others took up their stations at the bar once again they found a social worker deep in thought. What the men were doing to their sons had been deeply repugnant to him, but it was only on the borderline of being illegal – so far. Thoughts of taking the boys into care and prosecuting an estate-full of men had receded. And the boys stories had given him a huge amount to think about.
He himself had never been caned. He had always been a good boy and in any case his father and teachers had been deeply opposed to it. He had always assumed that hitting kids was wrong, and his studies in sociology and psychology had confirmed that men who hit children were doing it for their own _s_e_x_ual gratification, and therefore it had to be stopped.
But suppose ......, he was now thinking. What if ......?