Barton Middle School, though private, was hardly in the same league as Eton. To start with, it only took boys between the ages of 11 and 16, whereas the great public schools take boys from 13 to 18. Neither was it very large. There were 80 boys in the school, 20 in each year. The social backgrounds of the boys could not be compared with those of most Etonians. The majority of the boys were the sons of junior army officers (from the less exclusive regiments) or NCOs who were posted abroad and who, as a result, were given financial assistance to enable their children to go to boarding schools in England. The fees were kept low, to ensure that parents relying on the army's education allowances did not have to pay extra. That meant that the headmaster was not able to engage as many masters as he would like. And those whom he was able to engage tended either to be towards the end of their careers in teaching or right at the beginning.
But, despite its limitations, the school did remarkably well. The teaching was not exactly inspired, but the boys were adequately taught. O level results were generally good and most of the boys went on to sixth forms in other schools well prepared for studying for their A levels. In one area the school was generally considered to be outstanding. Standards of discipline were extraordinarily high. Scruffiness was not tolerated and visitors to the school were always impressed by the boys' tidy and neat appearance. As most of the boys came from military backgrounds the insistence on obedience to authority was not something they found difficult to live with. Indeed, it was one of the attractions of the school, to the parents, that discipline was a high priority.
Physical education was also taken very seriously. Barton was not a school for the physically weak. Throughout the year, whatever the weather, the boys' days started with a five mile cross country run at 6 a. m. And they could not wrap up warm for it. The only clothes allowed were short-sleeved running shirts and thin cotton gym shorts (without underpants) On their return they were permitted the luxury of a warmish shower, but, once clean, they were required to stand under a cold shower for two minutes (that may not sound long but two minutes under freezing water when the temperature outside is below zero is no laughing matter). There was a gym lesson every day and organised sports were also played daily after lessons (with the same showering routine afterwards).
The CCF, not surprisingly, played an important part in school life. There was a minimum of two hours military training every week for every boy. In addition, there were frequent weekend camps and two long camps in the school holidays. A great many Barton boys went on to have distinguished careers in the armed services.
I should say a little more about discipline. The events which I will describe took place in 1995. By then, the corporal punishment of children in state schools had been abolished for some time. It was still legal in private schools, but, with a few exceptions, was pretty well obsolete. Barton was one of the exceptions. Mr Hardman, the appropriately named headmaster, was a firm believer in the efficacy of the rod when it came to the rearing of boys. He was well aware, of course, that his views on the subject were out of tune with received opinion in the country, but he also knew that many parents shared them. He had no desire to inflict his methods on boys whose parents did not approve of them. Accordingly, he made no secret, in the school's prospectus, of the reliance he placed on physical punishment. All too often, in the days when corporal punishment was legal, the schools which used it tended to give the impression, even if it was not true, that it was hardly ever used, and then only as a last resort. At Barton it was the principal punishment and Mr Hardman did not want parents to be under misconceptions about that when deciding whether to enrol their sons in the school. The relevant section in the prospectus was brief but accurate. This is what it said:
"No boys' school can operate efficiently without rules. If boys break rules there must be sanctions. For minor offences, boys may be required to undertake punishment runs or press ups. For most offences, however, the preferred sanction is corporal punishment. All masters are empowered to cane boys. The headmaster may give up to six strokes to boys of all ages. Other masters may only give a maximum of four strokes to 11 year old boys, five strokes to 12 year old boys and six strokes to older boys. In less serious cases, especially where the boy is young, masters may elect to use a plimsoll. In those cases the maximum number of strokes for all ages is six. Parents considering sending boys to Barton should be aware that the chances of any boy avoiding the cane during his time here are very remote indeed.."
So, no prospective parent was left in any doubt on the point. But Mr Hardman was not content simply to leave it there. It was not enough, for him, that a boy's parents did not object to physical punishment. He also had to be satisfied himself, before admitting any boy, that the applicant's character and personality were such that corporal punishment would be beneficial for him. With that in mind, he always insisted on conducting an interview with the boy, without the parents being present, to enable him to make a judgment on the point. It was one of his proud boasts that he had hardly ever got the judgment wrong. It may interest you to know how a typical interview went. Since a thirteen year old boy called Mark Elliott features a fair amount in the history I will be relating, I will set out a transcript of his interview with Mr Hardman when, as an eleven year old, he was being considered for entry to the school. Before doing so, however, I should describe the boy as he then appeared.
Mark was of average height for his age. His build was slim, but athletic. He had short dark hair and brown eyes. He was wearing slim fitting blue jeans and T shirt. He had a confident smile as he was greeted by Mr Hardman and directed to a chair in front of the desk.
"So, Mark", Mr Hardman began, "have you read our prospectus?"
"Yes Sir"
"Good, so tell me what you think the good parts of the school are."
Mark thought for a moment and then replied. "I'm really keen on sports Sir so all that looks brilliant. And when I grow up I want to go in the army, so the CCF looks wicked Sir."
"And what about the bad bits?"
"I didn't really think there were any Sir. I mean obviously all schools have to make you work hard and behave and all that and it's sometimes not all that fun when that happens. But like I said Sir, you get that in every school."
"You know what those are for Mark?", Mr Hardman pointed to three canes propped up in the corner of the room.
"Yes Sir, they're for whacking boys with when they are naughty."
"Did you read the part about discipline in the prospectus?"
Mark grinned rather sheepishly. "Actually, Sir, that was the first bit I read."
"And what did you make of it?"
"It sounded sort of strict but fair Sir. Well, that's what I thought."
"You can speak frankly to me Mark. Lots of people think that that kind of punishment ought not to be allowed these days. Do you agree with them?"
Mark looked surprised by the question. He gave it some thought and then answered. "Well Sir, no one likes being whacked, but if you've been naughty, well, you have to be punished somehow and getting whacked seems the obvious thing. Anyway, it would be rather unfair on boys at day schools if you didn't have whacking at boarding schools. I mean, day boys can always get whacked by their fathers at home in term time. It wouldn't really be right for boarders to be able to get away with things when day boys can't."
"Good point Mark, but you do know that the cane is rather more painful than the average punishment given by fathers, don't you?".
"Oh yes Sir, my father's told me that. He says the cane is really awesome. He says you feel mega sore, but it's really good for you in the end. He says it teaches you to take the rough with the smooth. He says that boys who can take a really good caning without blubbing are half way to being men."
"There's a lot in that Mark. And do you think you'll be able to take a really good caning without blubbing?"
Mark looked slightly offended by the question. "Oh yes Sir. I'm sure I will. I mean I know it'll be incredibly painful and all that, but my father whacks well hard and I haven't blubbed during one of his whackings for just ages."
Mr Hardman didn't have to be a genius, of course, to work out that Mark's character was such that he would thrive in the highly disciplined regime of Barton. With many boys the interviews were not quite so simple. Many eleven year old boys these days are embarrassed to admit that they are used to being spanked at home and, with them, Mr Hardman had to work a little harder in his efforts to assess their likely reaction to old fashioned discipline. But he was well practised in his methods and, as I say, he was able to boast that he nearly always got it right in the end.
On with the story. Mark's interview had taken place two years earlier, in 1993. He had now been at the school for two years. He had not felt the sting of the cane on his small bottom until his second term (in his first he had had the odd two or three strokes with a plimsoll, but no more than that). Despite his confident answers to Mr Hardman, he had, not unnaturally, been frightened by the thought of bending over for the cane. But he hadn't let that fear dominate his thoughts. When the moment had at last come he had been incredibly nervous as he had waited outside his form master's room, knowing that a caning was inevitable. But he had taken the three strokes as well as he had predicted he would and, once it was over, he had felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Now he knew what it was like. It had, indeed, hurt a great deal, but the pain had passed quite quickly and it had been followed by the wonderful ritual of showing off the stripes in the dorm. He had said to himself that he would certainly do his best, whenever he could, to avoid the cane, but when it had to happen he now knew that he could take it like a man, and get over it rapidly.
By the time we join Mark again, at the beginning of his third year at Barton, he had suffered no more than an average number of beatings for a boy of his age at that school. In two years, he had only been caned nine times, always getting three or four strokes. He had lost count of the number of times he had been punished with the plimsoll in gym and the CCF. But I have followed his career at Barton with some interest and I am able to tell you that he had had the plimsoll twenty four times. That may sound a lot to you, but you should bear in mind that the punishments were usually no more than two or three wallops applied instantly and with no great fuss.
There is another person to whom I must now introduce you. Jonathan Richardson had just come down from Bristol University with a reasonable 2.1 in History. He was 21 years old, tall, dark and handsome. He was a good all round sportsman who, mainly because he wanted to continue his sporting activities, had resolved on a career in teaching. His first appointment was as form master of the third form at Barton. In most respects he was cut out to be a great success in his new career. But, right at the beginning, he had one problem. He had rather progressive and liberal ideas about school discipline. He knew, of course, that Barton's methods were exceptionally old fashioned. For a day or two, when the job offer had come through, he had wondered whether it would be right for him to work in such a place. Then he had thought of it as a challenge. He would be able, he hoped, to bring about some changes. Other masters would see how much he could achieve without relying on fear. He was, as you can see, rather idealistic in his approach. Mr Hardman had recognised the problem at interview, but it was one he was used to. As the years had rolled by more and more applicants for posts as junior masters at Barton had, inevitably, no personal experience of the type of punishments favoured at the school. Jonathan was by no means the first new master who had joined the staff determined to reform Barton. Indeed, Mr Hardman was often inclined to prefer such people to those who announced their conviction that the cane should be liberally used on young boys. He knew perfectly well that there were quite a few school masters who obtained rather too much pleasure from beating boys. Most, he was sure, were capable of keeping their personal feelings at bay. But he was always conscious that he might end up with a master who went too far and caned for pleasure even when the punishment was not merited.
Jonathan had been to schools which had, long before he had been a pupil, given up corporal punishment. At home, he had only been spanked once, at the age of ten. So his personal experience was very limited. Despite that, however, Mr Hardman would have been surprised to discover that the young master was far from being unaffected by thoughts of boys being spanked or caned. Even at those most pleasurable moments when he shared his girlfriend's bed he sometimes allowed his imagination to wander to thoughts of boys being traditionally punished. I suspect that the pleasure he got from those thoughts may have had something to do with his determination to discipline the boys at Barton by more liberal methods. Guilt was playing its part in his decision.
As a matter of course masters at Barton would take one vital tool into every class. Each would carry his cane into lessons, ready for use at a moment's notice. The practice paid dividends. Any boy who might be inclined to play up during a lesson would be bound to think twice on seeing the dreaded instrument of punishment being placed carefully on the master's desk. Jonathan, however, came into lessons unarmed. As a result, there was no visible reminder to the boys in his class of the consequences of misbehaviour. Of course, he was not completely deranged and he did make it plain, at an early stage, that boys who behaved badly would be punished. In particular, he explained that he would be introducing detentions for his class, to be held during the one hour of free time between the end of games and tea. Detentions, I should say, were not used by other masters at Barton. When Jonathan made the announcement he was pleased with the audible groan from the boys. Detentions, it seemed, were not considered to be "soft" and, he hoped, the threat of that penalty would be as much of a deterrent as was the threat of the cane. Sadly for his progressive theories, he was to be proved wrong all too soon.
Although Jonathan was a historian by training, he was expected to teach all the core subjects (English, Latin, History, Geography and Maths) to the third form. French was taught by M. Berot, who taught the subject to every form. Mr Hardman, in addition to being form master for the fifth form, taught Divinity to every year. So the twenty thirteen year old boys in the third form would be spending most of the day under the supervision of Jonathan. In addition, he was one of three masters who supervised games for the whole school and, one night a week, he was duty master with responsibility for all the boys after lights out in the dormitories.
The trouble started on the second day of term. It was the first lesson of the day. Jonathan arrived in the third form classroom to find two boys, Mark and a boy called Tomlinson, in the middle of a wrestling match. Any other master, as the boys well knew, would have given the two miscreants three strokes of the cane each and then proceeded with the lesson. With any other master, the boys would have been very careful, as a result, to ensure that there fooling around was over and done with before the expected time of the master's arrival. But the fight had been a close one and neither boy was eager to call it off before a victory could be claimed. Both realised that they were not at risk of the cane. Although both hated the idea of detention, the threat did not, somehow, seem so immediate as did the cane. As a result, the contest went on too long.
Of course, the second they became aware of Jonathan's arrival, the two boys stood up, brushed themselves down and returned to their desks. Jonathan glared at them.
"Elliott, Tomlinson. Detention this afternoon."
The culprits looked suitably crestfallen and Jonathan got on with the Geography lesson. Halfway through it he became aware, when writing on the blackboard, of subdued giggling behind him. He swung round, but whatever had been going on had stopped. He returned his attention to the blackboard. A minute later the giggling started again. He turned again. He saw nothing again. On the third occasion he was quicker. Just as he turned Layton threw another paper pellet at Lawson. Jonathan saw.
"Layton, you will be joining Elliott and Tomlinson in detention".
The rest of the Geography lesson passed without incident. But there was trouble in Latin. Simpkins and Turner decided to have a competition to see who could produce the loudest breaking of wind (I am sorry but I have to be truthful and you must bear in mind that they were thirteen year old boys). Jonathan allowed the first couple of farts to pass without comment, reasoning to himself that they might well be involuntary. But that only encouraged the boys and, inevitably, they found that they, too, would be in detention in the afternoon.
I fear it was becoming a bit of a game for the boys. Three more earned detentions during History. Over lunch, the third form agreed that it would be tremendous fun if they could manage things so that everyone was given a detention. They succeeded. All twenty boys spent a dreary hour in the classroom listening to the happy sounds of other boys playing outside.
Things weren't so bad on the following day. No one had liked being in detention during free time and most made an effort to behave. But five failed. So Jonathan had to supervise another detention session.
After two weeks Jonathan found that on only three days had there been no detentions at all. His inquiries revealed that the numbers of punishments imposed in other forms had been minimal compared with the third form. At first, he assumed that the problem could be that he was actually being too strict and that he was punishing boys for minor misdemeanours which other masters would let pass. But that theory did not stand up to analysis. Indeed, when he was supervising after games showers one day and inquired of two twelve year olds what they had done to earn the three neat stripes across their small bottoms he learnt that their offence had been exactly the same as Mark's and Tomlinson's, the only difference having been that their form master had, rather inconsiderately, arrived in the classroom five minutes early.
It was Mark who explained things to Jonathan. During rugby practice one afternoon Mark had become a little over eager. In the heat of the moment (and this was very much out of character) he had deliberately kicked another boy, who had just tackled him, in the shin. Jonathan had seen. With what Mark thought of as a "normal" master there would have been a quick and painful application of plimsoll to bottom, probably three or four wallops, and that would have been that. But not with Jonathan.
"Elliott, I will not stand for behaviour like that. You will do 150 press ups before your shower."
Jonathan had to supervise the other boys' showers before he could watch Mark's press ups. The effect of that was that Mark was detained for a considerable amount of his afternoon free time. He had to wait while all the others showered and changed. Then he had to start the press ups. Only he and Jonathan were in the changing room for the punishment. Mark was told to remove his shirt, shoes and socks. He was dressed only in his thin blue games shorts. They were tight and very short. As he watched the boy's small round bottom going up and down with each press up, Jonathan couldn't help wondering what it would have been like, instead, to have slippered him. He tried to banish the thought from his mind. But the sight of Mark's slim form and his perfectly proportioned buttocks made it impossible to do that. Eventually, after 100 press ups, Jonathan decided that he would have to stop the punishment before his overwhelming desire to slap Mark's bottom got the better of him.
"OK Elliott, I'm in a good mood today. That will be enough".
Mark gratefully collapsed onto the floor. "Thank you Sir. And I'm really sorry about kicking Palmer."
"Well just make sure it doesn't happen again. We don't want to have to do this again do we?"
"No Sir." Mark was silent for a moment as he stood up and headed towards his locker. Then he turned and spoke again. "Sir, will you be really cross with me if I say something about your punishments?"
"I doubt it Elliott, but I can hardly say for sure until I've heard what it is."
"Well, Sir, I can't help noticing that you never seem to swish, sorry I mean cane us or slipper us Sir. I was just sort of wondering why that is Sir? Only cos I was thinking that maybe we wouldn't get in so much trouble if we knew we were going to get the cane."
Jonathan liked Mark a lot. It would have been difficult not to. Some masters might have thought it cheeky of a thirteen year old boy to question their disciplinary methods, but Jonathan was actually quite grateful for the opportunity to talk things through. One or two of his fellow masters had made the occasional comment to the effect that it was a bit odd that he never seemed to beat boys, but he had not yet had a proper discussion about the subject with anyone at the school and he felt that the time had come for such a discussion to take place.
"Well, first thing is, Elliott, that I'm not cross you asked the question. I think it's an interesting one and I will do my best to answer it. But it might take a little while. Don't you want to get showered and changed so you can play with your friends?".
"No, that's ok Sir. If you've got time I certainly have Sir".
"Very well, sit on the bench and we'll have a chat".
Jonathan, who needed to be able to walk up and down to gather his arguments together in his mind, remained standing. Mark sat on the bench, cross-legged and still dressed only in his brief shorts.
Jonathan paced the length of the room twice before speaking again.
"Ok Mark", he thought the use of the boy's Christian name might make the conversation easier, "what I say now is just between the two of us. I will speak very frankly to you, and you can speak just as frankly to me. Is that agreed?"
"Yes Sir".
"Good. Well, there's been a lot written about corporal punishment and whether it's a good idea. Most of the experts these days think it's not. There are various arguments for that view. First, many people think that caning boys is bad because it gives them the idea that it is all right to be violent. Then there are people who say that it is a demeaning and humiliating punishment to give. And another argument is that it makes boys so frightened that they can suffer lasting psychological harm. While it might work for many boys, in the sense of stopping them from misbehaving because of the fear of the pain they will suffer, it only does so because of that fear. Boys shouldn't have to live in a perpetual state of fear. And there a few boys for whom it doesn't work at all. Being caned doesn't seem to stop them behaving badly. They just keep coming back for more punishment." He looked at Mark to see how he was reacting to these revolutionary arguments. He could see that the boy was not impressed. "It doesn't look as though you are convinced Mark. Tell me what you think so far."
"Ok Sir. I'll try, but I'm not very good at explaining things like you do Sir. I hope you don't mind me saying so Sir, but what you said about caning teaching you that it is all right to be violent seems pretty odd to me. Take bullying Sir. Everyone here knows that if you bully younger boys you get in mega trouble. I mean that's 6 from the head straight off. And I reckon that's one of the main reasons why we don't have bullying here Sir. So it's the opposite of what you said. Getting the cane teaches you that being violent is well bad Sir. That's why you get it if you see what I mean. Anyway, you could say that about any punishment. Getting detentions for instance. I mean, you could say that if you get detentions that teaches you that it is all right to lock people in stuffy rooms when they want to be out playing. But that would be silly. We all know that it's wrong to do things like that unless it's your job to keep the person in order and he deserves it cos he's done something wrong. Just like we know it's wrong to hit people unless it's your job to keep them in order and they've done something wrong to deserve it. Sorry Sir, I'm not making much sense am I?"
"You're making perfect sense Mark. Go on. What about demeaning and humiliating?"
"I just don't understand that Sir. What's humiliating about getting the cane?"
"Just think about it Mark. You do something wrong, let's say talking after lights out, and a master catches you and makes you bend over in front of your friends and then hits your bottom with a stick. That must make you feel humiliated, surely?"
"I'm sorry to disagree with you Sir, but I don't see that at all. I mean, when I watch another boy getting swished I don't think badly about him. I just think 'ok he's got caught and he's getting swished for it' it's just normal. It happens to us all sometimes. Why should we be humiliated? I can see if you got swished in front of girls or something that might be humiliating, but not at an all boys' school like this."
"But what about the master doing the caning. Isn't it demeaning for a grown man to hit a boy's bottom?"
"That's difficult Sir. I'm only a boy after all, so I don't know what it feels like to swish someone. But I don't see why it should be demeaning. It's just a job after all. Mr Walsh was my form master last year and he had to swish quite a bit cos second formers are always quite naughty. But he never looked as though he was demeaned by it. He just sort of did it. And he's well good at it too Sir. I reckon he just thought he had a job to do and it was good that he could do it so well."
"You're putting forward a pretty good case Mark, but what about the lasting psychological harm?"
"That's the bit about us all being terrified all the time cos we might get the cane?"
"That's right, what do you make of that?"
"Well I don't know anyone here who's that frightened. I mean obviously you feel worried when you've been caught doing something bad and the master says he's going to swish you for it, especially if you have to wait for the punishment. But the longest I've ever had to wait is about an hour and I can't see how thinking about a swishing for an hour is going to make you a loony. Anyway, usually it's just sort of 'Elliott, come to the front and bend over'. You know, it's just moments of fear."
"But there must be other times, when you haven't done something wrong and you think to yourself 'gosh I'd better watch my step or else I'm going to end up being beaten'?"
"Not really Sir. Well, obviously if you are thinking of doing something bad you think 'is it worth the risk of getting caught and being swished?' But that's why swishing's a good punishment. Thinking you might get it stops you being bad. You don't sort of sit there shaking like a leaf and in terror. You just think 'well it might have been fun to do that naughty thing but I'm not going to cos I don't really want to have a sore bum'. I mean bottom Sir, sorry Sir."
"Don't worry Mark, I've heard rather worse words than bum in my time. What about those boys who just go on offending, however much they are caned? You can't really say caning works for them, can you?"
"I'm just trying to think if there are any boys like that here Sir. Ok, so there's Lester", a fourteen year old fourth form boy, "I know he seems to get swished more than most boys. But it's only cos he's such a good sport. I mean he's always up for anything. But I know that he does think twice about some things cos he doesn't want to get swished. Anyway, I bet he'd be much worse if he knew that all he'd get would be a detention."
"Well Mark, you seem to have done a pretty good job of knocking all my arguments out. But see if you can convince me that there are good reasons for using the cane, rather than things like detention. After all, I'm pretty sure that none of you like detentions, so they must be quite a good punishment."
"Oh yes Sir, everyone really hates detentions and you really feel you've been punished after you've spent an hour in your class room during free time. But the trouble is that when you are sort of tempted to be naughty you don't say to yourself 'I'd better not do it cos otherwise I'll get a detention this afternoon'. You just think 'well a detention never hurt anyone and anyway I might not get caught' and you go on and do the bad thing and then you get caught and it's only then that you really remember how nasty being in detention is. But when you know that if you get caught you'll get a well hard swishing that makes you think much more about whether it's worth the risk. I mean, some of those silly games we sometimes play when you're writing on the blackboard. Well, most of them we'd never do if we could see your cane on the desk."
Jonathan looked at his watch. "Gosh, it's nearly tea time. You'd better have your shower.".
"Yes Sir" and, perhaps reinforcing the point about boys not being humiliated by corporal punishment, he jumped up, pulled his shorts down and revealed the faded, but still visible, stripes across his bottom which he had acquired from M. Berot a few days before. As he stood under the warm shower he felt no embarrassment at all knowing that Jonathan was watching him and could see the evidence of the caning.
After a few minutes, Jonathan moved towards the temperature control to turn the water to cold, in accordance with time honoured Barton practice. Mark felt the icy jet of water and braced himself for two minutes of extreme discomfort. But, much to his delight, the agony lasted for no more than fifteen seconds before Jonathan turned the tap off.
"You'd better not tell anyone I did that Mark, but it's the least I can do for you after all you've given me to think about."
"Thank you Sir. Does that mean you'll start swishing us now?"
"You're not telling me you actually want to be caned are you?"
Mark grinned. "'Course not Sir. No one wants the cane. But I s'pose, in a way, it would be quite cool if you swished. Just cos I reckon we'd behave better and then we wouldn't be getting punished like every day".
"Well, all I will say is that I won't dismiss your arguments out of hand. I will think very carefully about all you've said."
It was Jonathan's evening off that day. He had arranged to go, with Mr Walsh, to the village pub for a drink. Mr Walsh, who, you will remember, was the second form master, was far from being typical of Barton teaching staff. Most masters were either very young, like Jonathan, or decidedly ageing. It was a school for first and last jobs, not really for mid-career jobs. But Mr Walsh was thirty. He had been teaching for over eight years and he had spent the last five of them at Barton. Why he had stayed so long was something of a mystery to Jonathan, who knew how poor the pay was and how good a teacher Mr Walsh was. The truth was, I am afraid, that Mr Walsh was very reluctant to leave a school where it was perfectly acceptable to whack the bottoms of young boys. Please don't get me wrong. Never once had he caned a boy without cause and neither was he one of those men who got pleasure from excessive beating. He caned hard, but hardly ever gave more than three strokes. Indeed, only once had he ever given a boy six. That had been a fifth former, aged sixteen, who had been caught smoking. But it is true to say that the act of caning a boy was one which did give him pleasure. And he knew that his chances of finding a place in another school which still used corporal punishment were remote in the extreme. Indeed, nearly all of those few schools which retained the cane limited its use to the headmaster alone. So, for him, Barton was perfect. And the low salary was not a great problem. He had a modest private income which, together with his salary, was quite adequate for all his needs. In fact, it was large enough to ensure that when, as was his ambition, he married and had children he would be able to support his family comfortably.
As the two men sat at a corner table in the pub with their pints of bitter, Jonathan mentioned his conversation with Mark.
"I must tell you Charles", which was Mr Walsh's Christian name, "I had a fascinating conversation with Elliott this afternoon. You know, he really is a most delightful boy, and pretty bright too".
"Couldn't agree more. He was a delight to teach last year. Can be a bit mischievous of course, but easily dealt with. So what were you talking about?"
"Well, strange though it may seem, I think he was trying to persuade me to start using the cane."
"Doesn't seem strange to me. All your detentions seem much stranger. Let me guess, he said he didn't want to be caned, but he was fed up with getting detentions all the time. Probably said that if they knew you were prepared to cane them they would stop getting in trouble all the time. How am I doing?".
"Spot on. I put all the standard arguments to him for being against corporal punishment, and he knocked them down one by one."
"So what did he say about caning leading to _s_e_x_ual perversion?" Charles grinned as he asked the question.
"Well, I left that one out actually. But he dealt with all the others. You'd have liked his answer to the suggestion that it was demeaning for a man to have to whack a boy's bottom. He said it was difficult for him, a boy, to comment on that, but then he thought a bit and he said that you had done a lot of swishing of the second form last year and he didn't think you looked demeaned at all. In fact, according to him, you treated it as a job that had to be done and you took some pride in the fact that you did it so well. As he put it 'Mr Walsh is well good at swishing'."
"I'm delighted to have made such an impression on him. If I say it myself, I reckon that one or two of the canings I've given him really were pretty good. Don't know what it is about him. Of course, his arse is a good size and shape for the cane, but with all the exercise they take that's true of pretty well all of them. It may have something to do with the fact that you know bloody well that he'd never have hard feelings about getting a swishing. I know it's the same with the others, but somehow it feels almost palpable when its Elliott bending over. So, has he convinced you?"
"Put it this way, I'm not as convinced the other way as I was before we had our chat. But I'm still not itching to get my hands on a cane. It just seems to me that ninety nine percent of schools in this country manage perfectly all right without beating their pupils. All my instincts tell me that if you can keep order without resorting to inflicting physical pain, that's what you ought to do."
"Well, I'm not going to preach to you. We all have our different styles and I'm sure you'll work out just as good a way of teaching as any of the rest of us. All I'd say is that I don't envy you all those hours of supervising detentions."
"That doesn't worry me. Well, I won't pretend that it's not a bit of a bore, but it's a price I'm prepared to pay if it's in the best interests of the boys."
"Fair enough, but don't expect the boys to think that you're doing them a good turn."
"Oh come on Charles, you're not seriously suggesting that the boys would rather I beat them than put them in detention?".
"Well, as I understand it, that's exactly what Elliott was saying to you. And, quite frankly, I'm not in the least bits surprised. Bear in mind that Barton boys aren't exactly typical of late 20th century lads. I doubt whether there's a single one of them who hasn't been brought up on physical punishment from the word go. Long before they got here they got used to the idea that being naughty resulted in a sore bottom. They all have to get through the Hardman interview before they are admitted and that, I can assure you, is primarily directed at ensuring that they are absolutely suited to the rather dated regime he runs. I promise you, he turns boys away unless he's convinced that they'll be able to take the cane without being traumatised by it. So you're in charge of 20 boys every one of whom firmly expects to be caned or slippered when he misbehaves. There's nothing more conservative than your thirteen year old schoolboy. He absolutely detests change and, in this case, you can take it from me that those boys, stuck in detention for an hour, will just be seething with irritation at your so-called reform. Of course they hate the pain of a beating, but it's what they are used to, and they know that it's over quickly. A punishment that lasts for an hour is, to them, nothing short of barbaric. They're probably plotting to take you to the European Court of Human Rights as we speak."
Jonathan sipped his beer as he tried to take it all in. Putting together what Mark had told him earlier and what Charles was now saying, it was dawning on him that it was just possible that his approach to discipline, at least for Barton boys, might be wrong. But he still had the nagging doubt caused by his conviction that, if he engaged in it, caning boys was likely to give him a guilty pleasure. That was not a point which he could mention openly to anyone, but he could approach it in a roundabout manner.
"Ok Charles, maybe you and Elliott are right about all that, but what about that part of the debate which I didn't raise with him? We all know there are people out there who get _s_e_x_ual pleasure from corporal punishment. If we cane the boys, especially when they are entering puberty, aren't we at risk of turning them into sado-masochists?"
Charles laughed out loud. "You really are an innocent aren't you Jonathan? I've come across a few chaps with a predilection for walloping boys' bottoms and most of them, I can promise you, never had more than the occasional light spanking as children, and that had usually stopped long before puberty. No, there may well be boys here who think about canings when they masturbate, but that's got nothing to do with the way they are treated at school. It's in their genes. Anyway, in most cases it's absolutely harmless. Ok, they get erections when they see a pal bending over for the cane, but that's as far as it goes. Maybe, when they set about losing their virginity, they get some assistance in 'keeping it up' by thinking about that sort of thing. But most of them go on to have perfectly healthy normal _s_e_x_ lives. And another thing, those who end up teaching here and being allowed to act out their fantasies have all been models of moderation when it comes to dishing out punishment." He could, of course, have added that he was one of them, but he saw no point in complicating matters.
Jonathan thought again. He realised that Charles was quite right about the seed of the "perversion", as he thought of it, being planted before puberty and being able to take root without any assistance from schoolmasters or parents. After all, he himself had never been hit as a punishment, other than that one relatively light spanking at the age of ten, and yet he had a passionate interest in the subject. And Charles had also answered his unasked question. So what if he enjoyed caning boys? So long as he never did it unless it was merited. The more he thought about it, the idea of becoming a more traditional Barton master began to appeal.
Charles was watching his young friend carefully. He had guessed that Jonathan was probably secretly turned on by corporal punishment. It takes one to know one, as they say, and he had noticed Jonathan's occasional lingering look at some of the very spankable bottoms at Barton. He had been sure that the new master had no interest in buggering the boys. After all, he had an exceptionally attractive girlfriend with whom, it was quite obvious, he enjoyed a highly active _s_e_x_ life. That really only left an interest in corporal punishment. If he was right in his suspicions, he was pretty confident that Jonathan's real concern was that it would be wrong for him, with his "interest", to beat boys. That was why Charles had gone on to say what he had about masters with the same interest being "models of moderation". As he looked into Jonathan's eyes he could see that his advocacy had worked.
Charles looked at his watch. "Have you ever actually seen a boy being caned?", he asked.
"No. I've seen the end result often enough when they are in the showers. Looks pretty awful to me."
"They wouldn't have it any different. That's the bit they really like, showing off their stripes to their mates, and the more gruesome the better. Anyway, I've just had a thought. On my way here I saw Lester sneaking off to Long Field", Long Field was a part of the grounds which was firmly out of bounds to the boys, "fortunately he didn't see me, so I didn't have to delay my drink to deal with him. I was going to haul him up tomorrow morning. But if we drink up quickly we can get back in time for me to beat him tonight. I'll do it in the masters' common room and you can just happen to be there and watch the proceedings. It'll help you to have seen it done. Might show you, too, that it can't be too bad for them if they can take it so well."
Jonathan didn't need any persuasion. Lester was obviously going to be caned at some time, whatever he felt about it, and he had to admit to himself that the fourteen year old's physique was just crying out for the treatment. Actually watching a real live caning would, he knew, be an experience to be treasured. So he downed the rest of his beer and they set off at a fast pace back to the school.
As they walked in through the front door they saw Turner, one of the third form boys, in the hall. Charles called out to him.
"Turner, would you please find Lester and ask him to report to me in the masters common room immediately?".
"Yes Sir" said the boy, with a shiver of pleasure at the prospect of delivering such a summons to another boy (he knew it could only mean one thing) and he rushed off in search of the victim.
Charles and Jonathan continued on their way to the common room. Once there, Charles spoke again.
"Right, now you must remember to watch very carefully. If you're going to take up caning them, you've got to be bloody good at it. No namby pamby stuff. Never give more strokes than are absolutely necessary, but give them bloody hard. And another tip, especially when you're beating a boy in class, remember they love a bit of theatre. You can work out your own style, but whatever it is, make sure it sends shivers down their backs as they watch it. And never rush it. Slow build up and good long pauses between strokes. At the end, make them stay bent over for a good ten seconds. All they want to do is rub their little bums and they can't do that while they're bending over. If you feel guilty about it, just remember that a few minutes later they'll be feeling fine again and just longing to drop their trousers to show off their stripes."
At that moment there was a knock on the door. Charles pointed to one of the armchairs and suggested that Jonathan sit in it. Then he called out.
"Come in".
The door slowly opened and a rather worried looking Lester walked in. As prep was over, he was no longer wearing a jacket. His white shirt was neatly tucked into his tight grey trousers. Although a tall boy, he did look decidedly vulnerable as he looked questioningly at Charles.
"Do you know why you're here Lester?"
"No Sir, sorry Sir I don't".
"Think boy. What have you been doing since tea?"
"Just the usual Sir".
"I hope for your sake it's not the 'usual'. Where did you spend the time between tea and prep?"
A sudden look of understanding came over the boy. He averted his gaze from the master and appeared to take a great interest in his own shoes.
"Come on. I haven't got all night. Answer the question".
Lester looked up again. Jonathan, whose chair was behind the boy, noticed one hand involuntarily straying to the slim round bottom and gently stroking it in anticipation of what he must have realised was inevitable.
"I see Sir. Well I suppose I might have, sort of by mistake, got into Long Field."
"By mistake eh? How can you get into Long Field by mistake pray? It requires quite a high climb over a wall I seem to remember."
"Yes Sir, I suppose it does Sir. I'm sorry Sir."
"I bet you are. You're going to be even sorrier in a moment. I think you know where the canes are. Perhaps you would be kind enough to choose one".
Lester grimaced and walked slowly over to the umbrella stand in which four canes, all identical, were standing. He looked down at them, grimaced again, and pulled one out by its tip. Then, carrying it as though it were an unexploded bomb, he walked slowly back to Charles and handed it to him. Charles held it with one hand at each end and slowly and deliberately bent it into an arc. Then he let go of the bottom end and swished it up and down through the air three times.
"A reasonable choice I think Lester. Thank you. Is there anything else you want to say to me before we put it to use?".
"No Sir, thank you Sir", it came out almost as a whisper.
"Very well. Face the window and bend over."
Lester needed no instruction as to how to bend over. He was quite used to the experience, but he still, always, hated this moment before a caning. He took a deep breath and slowly bent, his knees absolutely straight, his feet a few inches apart, and clutched his ankles tightly.
Charles was standing just to the left of the bent boy. Jonathan's chair, also facing the window, was to the right. His view was perfect. He hoped that the involuntary sigh he let out as he saw the trousers tighten over the magnificent small bottom was not audible to Charles. He carefully placed a newspaper on his lap, just in case he had another sort of reaction as proceedings continued.
Charles looked down at the boy and moved slightly closer.
"This is one of those occasions, Lester, when I don't mind a boy's shirt tail being untucked", and he gently eased the shirt tail from the waistband of the trousers and folded it slightly back. Then he stepped back again and examined his target with care. Seemingly satisfied, he raised the cane and placed it gently against the waiting bottom. He let it rest there for a moment and then gently tapped it three times before pulling it right back behind his back. There was total silence for about ten seconds and then he swung it forward with all his might. It swished through the air and connected with a loud crack which echoed round the room. Jonathan, for years, had made sure of watching any film or television production which might have a caning in it. He had seen several. Some had depicted really hard looking strokes, others much less so. He had often wondered what the real thing was like. He could see now that it was the harder ones which had been more realistic. He winced as the first blow struck and he was amazed that Lester seemed not to react at all. The boy prided himself on his ability to take a swishing without flinching. In fact, of course, he was in considerable pain, but he was expert at not showing it. He was digging his finger nails into his ankles and biting his bottom lip. But he allowed himself no other movement.
Charles was slowly pulling the cane back. There must have been about ten seconds before the second stroke slammed down with equal ferocity. Lester did move incredibly slightly as he felt the sharp sting of the cane biting into his buttocks. But Jonathan would never have detected the movement if he hadn't being watching the boy's bottom with intense concentration.
The whole process was repeated twice more. After the fourth stroke Charles lifted the cane again, as if to give a fifth. In fact, however, after another ten second pause, he spoke gently to his victim.
"Ok Lester, it's over now. You can stand up."
The boy jumped instantly to his feet and grabbed his bottom with both hands.
"Tuck your shirt in boy".
Lester eased the shirt back into the waistband of his trousers. Jonathan noticed that the hand seemed to go a little lower than was necessary. He assumed, rightly, that Lester was feeling the welts on his bottom.
"Perhaps", said Charles, "you would be kind enough to return the cane".
Lester took it and walked, rather more quickly this time, to the umbrella stand.
"Ok lad, off you go, and no more mistaken outings to Long Field".
Lester smiled. "No Sir, I won't be going there again. Good night Sir", and he turned to Jonathan as well, "good night Sir".
Jonathan felt he ought to say something. "Oh yes, good night Lester, and by the way, that was a terrific try you scored this afternoon."
"Thanks Sir. I was quite pleased with it I have to say."
He hurried out of the room.
"So what did you make of it Jonathan?".
"All I can say is I'm glad I got through my childhood without being on the receiving end. But I must say, you were quite right, he took it incredibly well."
"Barton boys always do. It's a matter of pride I think. So, do you think you'll try your hand at it?"
"I'm still thinking about it, but I guess I might."
"Good for you. Look, no one's about, why not have a practice on a cushion or something. It's vital that you've got your aim in before you take on a real live boy." He walked over to the umbrella stand, retrieved a cane and handed it to Jonathan.
In fact, during his teens, Jonathan had often acted out being a school master caning boys whenever he had been left alone in the house. He had perfected his aim in those days and was fairly confident that he wouldn't have lost his touch. But that was hardly something he was going to admit to Charles. He took the cane, placed a cushion on the arm of a chair, and set about punishing it. Charles watched approvingly. He gave a few more tips, but said, when the practice was over, that he was sure the new master's technique would be greatly admired by the boys.
Jonathan decided that he would not just suddenly turn up in class with a cane. Charles agreed that that might look like a sudden capitulation.
"I tell you what you should do. If I were you I'd wait for Elliott to misbehave in class. They are all decent lads and all can take a swishing well, but Elliott is one of the best. It'd be a good idea for you to start on him. When the opportunity arises, just send him to the second form to borrow my cane." Charles grinned. "I'd love to see his face when you tell him."
Jonathan only had to wait two days. It was a classic. He was facing the blackboard. He heard a movement. He swung round just in time to see Mark trying to pass a note to Turner.
"Elliott, no need to make Turner bring me your work, bring it up yourself."
"Um, well, it's not really work Sir. So I'll just hang onto it."
"No you won't Elliott. Bring it up here."
"Oh please Sir, it's really not interesting at all."
"Elliott", Jonathan's voice had risen, "this is your last chance. Bring it here now."
Mark, looking miserable, slowly walked up to the front of the class room and handed over the offending piece of paper. He waited for the eruption as Jonathan read it.
This is what the note said: "bet the stud gave Lucy one last night."
Jonathan managed to suppress a smile and continue to look suitably school masterly. He knew that his nickname was the stud. In fact, he was rather pleased with it, realising that it had been coined because of the boys' great approval of his glamorous girlfriend, Lucy. On the previous evening she had arrived at the school to be taken out to dinner by Jonathan. No doubt the two of them had been spotted leaving the school grounds together.
Jonathan decided that the safest thing was not to make any reference to what was written in the note. He slowly tore it in small pieces and threw them in the waste paper basket.
"I see your point Elliott. It doesn't seem to have anything to do with the lesson at all."
"No Sir, sorry Sir."
"Very well. I accept your apology. Now, perhaps you would do something for me Elliott?"
Mark was amazed that the dreaded word "detention" had not yet passed Jonathan's lips. He couldn't believe he was being let off.
"Yes, of course Sir, whatever you want."
"That's very kind of you. Just pop along to the second form and ask Mr Walsh very politely if he would mind lending me his cane and then bring it here."
Mark's mouth fell open in astonishment as he grasped what was happening. Every boy in the room was staring wide eyed at Jonathan. It was, for a moment, as though the room was populated only by statues. Jonathan broke the silence.
"Come along boy. We haven't got all day".
Mark gulped and then headed for the door. As he walked along the passage he pressed his hands into the firm warm flesh of his bottom and began to think that he had been really foolish to say all he had said to Jonathan in the changing room. He reached the second form and stood for a moment outside the door before knocking.
"Come in", Mr Walsh's voice.
He turned the handle and walked in. Twenty twelve year old boys were all staring at him.
"Hello Elliott, what can I do for you?".
"Um, Sir, um, well, the thing is ..."
"Spit it out boy".
"Mr Richardson says could he please borrow your cane Sir?".
Charles managed not to smile. He pointed at his desk. "Certainly. There it is. Perhaps you could bring it back as soon as he's finished with it."
"Yes Sir, of course Sir."
As he walked towards the desk, the sound of suppressed giggling could be heard from the second form boys.
"As you can tell Elliott", said Charles in a slightly menacing tone, "I may well need to use it on certain second form boys quite soon."
There was immediate silence. Mark picked up the cane and left the room.
Back in the third form class room Jonathan, remembering Charles's words about the need for theatre, was setting the stage.
"Palmer", he addressed a boy in the front row.
"Yes Sir".
"Have you got a six inch ruler?"
"Yes Sir".
"Good, bring it out here please."
The boy rose and stepped out to the front of the class clutching the ruler.
"I want you to put two chalk crosses six inches apart on the floor just in front of my desk".
Palmer, slightly perplexed, crouched down on the floor and carried out this strange instruction.
"Thank you, give me the chalk back please".
Palmer did so. A moment later Mark came back in with the cane.
"Ah, Elliott, thank you. Put it on my desk will you."
Mark did as he was told.
"Now, I think you and I need to remove our jackets for the next part. You can put yours on the back of my chair."
Mark took off his jacket and draped it over the chair. At the same time, Jonathan removed his jacket and placed it on top of Mark's. Then, with everyone watching him closely, he slowly undid the cufflink on his right arm and, just as slowly and deliberately, started rolling up his shirt sleeve until it reached the bulging biceps. That done, he picked up the cane and swished it a couple of times. He glared at Mark.
"In fairness Elliott, I suppose I'd better ask you whether you have some innocent explanation for your note?"
Mark looked down at his feet and mumbled "no Sir, I haven't".
"Very well, you will now do me the kindness of standing on those two chalk crosses, facing the blackboard and bending over."
Mark stepped forward and carefully placed a foot on each cross. Then, resignedly, he bent over and clutched his ankles.
To Jonathan's eyes Mark's small tightly clad bottom was even more delightful for the task in hand than Lester's had been. He slowly walked forward and took up his position just to the right of the boy. Then he placed the cane across the bottom, carefully lining it up so that the tip was just far enough past the right buttock to ensure that it would whip round properly. Satisfied that it was in the right position, he gave Mark a couple of gentle taps with it and then did something no one was expecting. He raised the cane slightly in his hand and started rubbing chalk on that part of it which would come in contact with Mark's bottom.
Everything set, he brought the cane back behind his shoulder and eyed up his target again. Then, with a suddenness which brought a gasp from the watching boys, he swung the cane forward and slammed it into Mark's flesh.
Mark heard the crack and then, a split second later, he felt the burning sting across his bottom. "The stud", he said to himself, "is a bloody expert".
As Jonathan had hoped, the chalk covered cane had left a neat white line across the middle of Mark's trouser seat. Like a snooker player, he slowly and carefully re-chalked the cane before drawing it back again. This was to be the real test. He wanted the second stroke to be just above the first. He concentrated with all his might as he swung it forward again. Once more Mark felt the agonising stinging. Jonathan saw that the stroke had landed exactly where he wanted. A second white line had appeared above the first. Again, he re-chalked the instrument and slowly raised it above his shoulder. By now, Mark was blinking furiously so as to ensure there were no tears in his eyes. He knew there would be bound to be at least one more. He was praying that that would be it.
Jonathan paused a little longer as he held the cane high in the air. Then he lurched forward, putting all the weight of his body behind the third stroke. And it was a great success. The third white line was just below the first. It was as he had prayed would be the case. Mark had three neat and parallel white lines across his bottom. As for Mark himself, he was still unsure whether another stroke was coming his way. If it did, he knew quite well that this would be easily the hardest caning of his life. Even after three he was feeling as much pain as he had with four from Mr Walsh. He waited, holding his breath and praying.
In fact, Jonathan was carefully cleaning the remaining chalk off the cane with his handkerchief. When he had finished he spoke.
"All right Elliott, that's your lot. Stand up."
Mark let out his breath in a loud sigh of relief and grabbed his throbbing bottom. But only for a moment. He always tried to avoid doing that in front of a master who had just caned him. But it had been impossible not to this time. Jonathan noted that he had only slightly smudged the chalk stripes. Before Mark could recover his jacket he handed him the cane.
"Take it back to Mr Walsh please, and thank him very much for the loan. You can tell him it was exactly what was needed. You can put your jacket back on when you get back."
A few moments later, still with dreadfully stinging bottom, but now beginning to feel a lot better, Mark was again knocking on the second form class room door. He was again called in.
"Mr Richardson said to thank you very much and to say that it was exactly what was needed Sir", he said, walking towards the desk to replace the cane.
"So I see", said Charles, looking down at the white striped trouser seat, "looks like pretty good aiming to me".
The second formers started giggling again. He turned on them sharply.
"Next boy to giggle will find out what Elliott's backside feels like."
Silence was restored.
For the rest of the morning no third form boy so much as whispered out of turn in class. They all knew they had seen an exceptionally effective caner at work and not one of them wanted to be the next to be on the receiving end.
There was fifteen minutes free time after lunch. The whole third form eagerly crowded into the changing room for their first look at a bottom caned by the stud. And they were not disappointed. The stripes were perfect. They were still red. They were raised, with just a hint of the blue bruising which would replace the red and gradually fade over the next few days. The stud, everyone agreed, was a master to be reckoned with. He was already popular (other than during the dreaded detentions), but now he had achieved heroism.
Jonathan himself got his first look at his handiwork in the showers after games. "Not bad for a first effort", he said to himself as he admired the vivid stripes across the slim bottom.
Fortunately, it was not Jonathan's duty night. But neither was it his evening off. He would go off duty at 9.30. Normally, he would stay at the school and chat in the masters common room. That night, however, he had an urgent need to see Lucy. They went to her flat. Time was limited. They were in bed by 10. Of course he thought of her, but he also thought of Mark's bottom and the cane slamming into it. Twenty minutes later she whispered in his ear "I can see why they call you the stud, that was just out of this world". He smiled to himself as he contemplated the weeks ahead and the fun he was going to have.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I have not abandoned the other series. This was one which I wrote a while ago but never got round to putting on MMSA Stories. Hope you like it. Do email me.