Here, have a cup of tea and make yourself comfy. I have something to tell you.
Now, this all took place a long, long time ago – your mummy wasn’t even born then, dear child.
You never met Great Grandpa. He was such a lithe and chipper sort – played cricket for his regiment, you know, that sort. Did three years in India for the Foreign Service – after Great Grandma had passed on - she had consumption when I was very young. It was so sad, watching her fade away, hearing that wretched cough at all hours. Very sad.
Well, your great grandpa – my daddy – had to do something. Me and little Thomas – your great uncle Tommy - had to be looked after for a while. The plan was that daddy would go back to India for the rest of his duty there, Tommy would go to a boarding school – one that came with high praise for the sons of officers - and I would stay with my Uncle Percy and have a tutor until daddy came back.
Uncle Percival was the most despicable cad I ever met in my life! No, I cannot tell you what he did, or rather, what he tried to do. All I will say it was quite unacceptable. Taking advantage of a fourteen year old girl! If I had ever met him when I was older, I would have taken a horse whip to him!
But what to do? My daddy was on a boat half way around the world, and I had no money of my own – not back in those days.
Well, I shall tell you what we did. It was Uncle Tommy’s idea – I would spend the first term at his school, pretending to be him! No – no one at the school had ever seen either of us, so they would not know. Him? Well, even though he was only thirteen, he would be able to make it safely to Aunt Emily – she had a boarding house in Blackpool – and stay there with her. It didn’t go quite as smooth as that, but that is for some other time.
So, dressed in Tommy’s school clothes, I turned up at Kempton and no-one had any idea that I was not just another new boy. I think that they thought that my voice was simply late in breaking, but it was for several other boys.
I was a chump with the cricket ball, but could swing a useful bat. And by the time the Rugby season arrived, I would have skipped that particular ship. So I fitted in, and tried to get to grips with a young man’s education.
The classrooms were deadly dull. But with huge masters who knew how to make sure we endured the boredom without complaint.
Discipline was dreadful. Really dreadful. And it was not just a matter of having to copy reams of Latin. The stick was almost a daily thing. A quick rap across the seat of the pants for breaking one of several thousand rules, and then carry on as if nothing had happened. Yes, of course it hurt! That was the very point.
It was Doctor Barnard. The headmaster. He was our nightmare. He didn’t have a stick, but wielded a huge and nasty birch rod. No, not stick of birch wood. It was a bundle of silver birch twigs, fastened together. I do not know why it was called a rod, that was just the name they gave it.
We don’t have them anymore today. Except, I think, in some of the women’s jails. If they still use the birch there, whatever the offense was that gets a prisoner a taste of it, that offense will never be repeated, I am bound.
As I was saying, Doctor Barnard would birch boys who got sent to him. Mainly seniors. The masters and prefects tended to deal with us juniors themselves with instant justice. But the threat of Doctor Barnard was always there - hanging over us like a sword of Damocles.
I had some chums, and we shared a dorm and each other’s tuck. But one boy, the son of Lord Clancy – we called him “Flash” because of his gaudy clothes – but never to his face of course – he didn’t seem to take to me. Within a week, he made it very clear that he did not like me. Very clear. But I only needed to last out for three months, so I was not too concerned.
Flash lived locally – that is, his father’s manor was only a couple of miles from Kempton. Flash slept in his own room at the school, even though not a prefect. His father had made it clear that his son should have his own room from the very first day, and so it was.
I was very surprised to be invited by Flash to go that manor to spend a Sunday afternoon there. I was so excited at the thought of getting out of two hours of prep, I leaped at it.
Now, this all took place a long, long time ago – your mummy wasn’t even born then, dear child.
You never met Great Grandpa. He was such a lithe and chipper sort – played cricket for his regiment, you know, that sort. Did three years in India for the Foreign Service – after Great Grandma had passed on - she had consumption when I was very young. It was so sad, watching her fade away, hearing that wretched cough at all hours. Very sad.
Well, your great grandpa – my daddy – had to do something. Me and little Thomas – your great uncle Tommy - had to be looked after for a while. The plan was that daddy would go back to India for the rest of his duty there, Tommy would go to a boarding school – one that came with high praise for the sons of officers - and I would stay with my Uncle Percy and have a tutor until daddy came back.
Uncle Percival was the most despicable cad I ever met in my life! No, I cannot tell you what he did, or rather, what he tried to do. All I will say it was quite unacceptable. Taking advantage of a fourteen year old girl! If I had ever met him when I was older, I would have taken a horse whip to him!
But what to do? My daddy was on a boat half way around the world, and I had no money of my own – not back in those days.
Well, I shall tell you what we did. It was Uncle Tommy’s idea – I would spend the first term at his school, pretending to be him! No – no one at the school had ever seen either of us, so they would not know. Him? Well, even though he was only thirteen, he would be able to make it safely to Aunt Emily – she had a boarding house in Blackpool – and stay there with her. It didn’t go quite as smooth as that, but that is for some other time.
So, dressed in Tommy’s school clothes, I turned up at Kempton and no-one had any idea that I was not just another new boy. I think that they thought that my voice was simply late in breaking, but it was for several other boys.
I was a chump with the cricket ball, but could swing a useful bat. And by the time the Rugby season arrived, I would have skipped that particular ship. So I fitted in, and tried to get to grips with a young man’s education.
The classrooms were deadly dull. But with huge masters who knew how to make sure we endured the boredom without complaint.
Discipline was dreadful. Really dreadful. And it was not just a matter of having to copy reams of Latin. The stick was almost a daily thing. A quick rap across the seat of the pants for breaking one of several thousand rules, and then carry on as if nothing had happened. Yes, of course it hurt! That was the very point.
It was Doctor Barnard. The headmaster. He was our nightmare. He didn’t have a stick, but wielded a huge and nasty birch rod. No, not stick of birch wood. It was a bundle of silver birch twigs, fastened together. I do not know why it was called a rod, that was just the name they gave it.
We don’t have them anymore today. Except, I think, in some of the women’s jails. If they still use the birch there, whatever the offense was that gets a prisoner a taste of it, that offense will never be repeated, I am bound.
As I was saying, Doctor Barnard would birch boys who got sent to him. Mainly seniors. The masters and prefects tended to deal with us juniors themselves with instant justice. But the threat of Doctor Barnard was always there - hanging over us like a sword of Damocles.
I had some chums, and we shared a dorm and each other’s tuck. But one boy, the son of Lord Clancy – we called him “Flash” because of his gaudy clothes – but never to his face of course – he didn’t seem to take to me. Within a week, he made it very clear that he did not like me. Very clear. But I only needed to last out for three months, so I was not too concerned.
Flash lived locally – that is, his father’s manor was only a couple of miles from Kempton. Flash slept in his own room at the school, even though not a prefect. His father had made it clear that his son should have his own room from the very first day, and so it was.
I was very surprised to be invited by Flash to go that manor to spend a Sunday afternoon there. I was so excited at the thought of getting out of two hours of prep, I leaped at it.
Doctor Barnard himself signed the day pass giving me permission to be off school grounds.
Flash and I traveled in style, sharing a horse-drawn cab –
for back then, there were no motor cars at all.
Yes, really.
We arrived in time for afternoon tea. Little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and some cream cakes. It was very nice. And then Flash and I were sent off to amuse ourselves, until dinner time.
While showing me around the stables, Flash revealed what his plan was really all about. There is a ritual, more like a torture at Kempton, that the senior boys inflict on juniors who go too far from acceptable behavior. It is, it was, called a “cherry bumming”. The victim was beaten with a very light piece of stick, as close as possible to the very center of the bottom. At first it would be nothing but a mild annoyance, but as the tally rose, so did the pain. Until eventually the agony would bring out screams of pain. Yes, that is disgusting, but it Is how things were done then. In some boarding schools.
Flash intended to tie me across a trestle, take down my britches, and give me a cherry bumming. His invitation to dinner was just a ruse to get me away from Kempton, so that no one would stop him carrying out his nasty little trick. And no one in the house would hear screams from the stable block, after all the doors were shut.
I knew that If he managed to pull down my britches, he would see that I was a girl. Heavens knows what price I would have to pay for his silence, if there was even any price that could be offered, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
I leaped on to the back of a wagon, pulled out the buggy whip, cracked the horse’s rump and set off on a mad cap chase across town. I do not know how I controlled it. We were flying all over the place – several times I nearly fell off. And behind, in the distance, I was aware of Flash giving chase on a pony.
Well, I arrived at the gates of Kempton; half threw a rein around a gate post, and ran past a proctor as I flew back to my dorm. I sat on my bed, and said not a word to anyone. Flash stormed in, a face of fury, took one look, and stormed out again.
No, that was not the end of the affair. We are getting to the important bit. Do sit down straight and stop wriggling about.
The following morning, Doctor Barnard sent for me. I marched out of the classroom, with everyone staring at me. I could feel myself blushing.
Doctor Barnard was not happy. He had received a note from Lord Clancy, stating that I had risked the life of his horse, and whipped it until it had almost lost blood. No – I had not done either – you should know better of me than to do those sorts of things.
But I simply waited, for nothing I said was likely to do anything except make Doctor Barnard even madder. Lord Clancy had no idea why I had taken leave of my senses, he told me. Lord Clancy did not think expulsion was necessary for what I had done. But Lord Clancy expected me to be dealt with properly.
Doctor Barnard pushed repeatedly for me to explain myself. I just stood with head bowed, hands behind my back, waiting for his judgment.
It was pretty much as I expected – a birching. But I did not expect to be told that it would not take place until 4 pm. So that Lord Clancy would have time to arrive and witness my beating.
Yes, of course I thought of telling him I was a girl – but I knew that route led straight back to Uncle Percival’s clutches. And many girls of my age, and older, had been birched. Painful, dreadful, but the alternative was far worse. Yes, I am sure you would have revealed your secret to avoid such pain, but I am not you.
Well, when I arrived back at the study at the due hour, Lord Clancy was sitting on the edge of his chair, a silver capped black walking stick being used as a support. Flash was standing by his side. I looked at Doctor Barnard. He told me that since Lord Clancy was going to be a witness, it seemed appropriate that his son should take the role of prefect.
Flash led me over to a waist high bench, and indicated that I should bend right over it. Before I could do so, Doctor Barnard said “unbutton”. That was a command. I was to drop my britches to my upper thigh and present my bare buttocks to these three males. I had my back to them, so they could not see how furiously I was blushing.
Once in place, I gripped the cross rail near to the floor. Flash stood to one side. His only duty was to hold me back down if I tried to stand up before Doctor Barnard was done with me.
He bent down and placed a strip of leather against my mouth. He told me to bite on it, so that I could stand the pain better. Afterwards, I realized that all that gag did was keep my silent, so that Doctor Barnard applied ever harder pressure to try to break me of my apparent stubbornness.
He stood directly behind me, and then delivered six cuts from left to right in between six cuts from right to left. I do not have words to describe how painful they were. My bottom hurt dreadfully.
Somewhere around six or seven, I spat the gag out and roared loudly and piteously.
When the Doctor had finished, Lord Clancy asked if that was all, if the Doctor thought that twelve would suffice. The Doctor replied “anyone can see the boy has suffered more than enough”. And until daddy returned, I was treated exactly the same as any other boy. So it all worked out right, in the end.
So, sometimes we have to face our punishment and then get on with our lives. Do you see that?
Why have I told you all this? Well, dear child, it was to show you that I am quite aware how painful and embarrassing a bare bottom caning would be for you, if you were ever to get one.
But you did borrow that ten shilling note without asking me or telling me. And it will be a month before your parents will return here to learn about it.
So please fetch me that cane from beside the mantel, and join me over there by the sofa.
We arrived in time for afternoon tea. Little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and some cream cakes. It was very nice. And then Flash and I were sent off to amuse ourselves, until dinner time.
While showing me around the stables, Flash revealed what his plan was really all about. There is a ritual, more like a torture at Kempton, that the senior boys inflict on juniors who go too far from acceptable behavior. It is, it was, called a “cherry bumming”. The victim was beaten with a very light piece of stick, as close as possible to the very center of the bottom. At first it would be nothing but a mild annoyance, but as the tally rose, so did the pain. Until eventually the agony would bring out screams of pain. Yes, that is disgusting, but it Is how things were done then. In some boarding schools.
Flash intended to tie me across a trestle, take down my britches, and give me a cherry bumming. His invitation to dinner was just a ruse to get me away from Kempton, so that no one would stop him carrying out his nasty little trick. And no one in the house would hear screams from the stable block, after all the doors were shut.
I knew that If he managed to pull down my britches, he would see that I was a girl. Heavens knows what price I would have to pay for his silence, if there was even any price that could be offered, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
I leaped on to the back of a wagon, pulled out the buggy whip, cracked the horse’s rump and set off on a mad cap chase across town. I do not know how I controlled it. We were flying all over the place – several times I nearly fell off. And behind, in the distance, I was aware of Flash giving chase on a pony.
Well, I arrived at the gates of Kempton; half threw a rein around a gate post, and ran past a proctor as I flew back to my dorm. I sat on my bed, and said not a word to anyone. Flash stormed in, a face of fury, took one look, and stormed out again.
No, that was not the end of the affair. We are getting to the important bit. Do sit down straight and stop wriggling about.
The following morning, Doctor Barnard sent for me. I marched out of the classroom, with everyone staring at me. I could feel myself blushing.
Doctor Barnard was not happy. He had received a note from Lord Clancy, stating that I had risked the life of his horse, and whipped it until it had almost lost blood. No – I had not done either – you should know better of me than to do those sorts of things.
But I simply waited, for nothing I said was likely to do anything except make Doctor Barnard even madder. Lord Clancy had no idea why I had taken leave of my senses, he told me. Lord Clancy did not think expulsion was necessary for what I had done. But Lord Clancy expected me to be dealt with properly.
Doctor Barnard pushed repeatedly for me to explain myself. I just stood with head bowed, hands behind my back, waiting for his judgment.
It was pretty much as I expected – a birching. But I did not expect to be told that it would not take place until 4 pm. So that Lord Clancy would have time to arrive and witness my beating.
Yes, of course I thought of telling him I was a girl – but I knew that route led straight back to Uncle Percival’s clutches. And many girls of my age, and older, had been birched. Painful, dreadful, but the alternative was far worse. Yes, I am sure you would have revealed your secret to avoid such pain, but I am not you.
Well, when I arrived back at the study at the due hour, Lord Clancy was sitting on the edge of his chair, a silver capped black walking stick being used as a support. Flash was standing by his side. I looked at Doctor Barnard. He told me that since Lord Clancy was going to be a witness, it seemed appropriate that his son should take the role of prefect.
Flash led me over to a waist high bench, and indicated that I should bend right over it. Before I could do so, Doctor Barnard said “unbutton”. That was a command. I was to drop my britches to my upper thigh and present my bare buttocks to these three males. I had my back to them, so they could not see how furiously I was blushing.
Once in place, I gripped the cross rail near to the floor. Flash stood to one side. His only duty was to hold me back down if I tried to stand up before Doctor Barnard was done with me.
He bent down and placed a strip of leather against my mouth. He told me to bite on it, so that I could stand the pain better. Afterwards, I realized that all that gag did was keep my silent, so that Doctor Barnard applied ever harder pressure to try to break me of my apparent stubbornness.
He stood directly behind me, and then delivered six cuts from left to right in between six cuts from right to left. I do not have words to describe how painful they were. My bottom hurt dreadfully.
Somewhere around six or seven, I spat the gag out and roared loudly and piteously.
When the Doctor had finished, Lord Clancy asked if that was all, if the Doctor thought that twelve would suffice. The Doctor replied “anyone can see the boy has suffered more than enough”. And until daddy returned, I was treated exactly the same as any other boy. So it all worked out right, in the end.
So, sometimes we have to face our punishment and then get on with our lives. Do you see that?
Why have I told you all this? Well, dear child, it was to show you that I am quite aware how painful and embarrassing a bare bottom caning would be for you, if you were ever to get one.
But you did borrow that ten shilling note without asking me or telling me. And it will be a month before your parents will return here to learn about it.
So please fetch me that cane from beside the mantel, and join me over there by the sofa.
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