Two Culprits - 1


by Denham <Astrophel33@hotmail.com>

Background: An older friend of mine, now dead, was for many years a housemaster in boarding schools. He once reminisced to me at length about his experiences of corporal punishment in one of them. It was a shared interest, so needless to say I encouraged his memories; the following is as near as I can get to what he said, though of course I have had to reconstruct the actual words. [The surnames he originally used have been altered to first names.] I've no way of knowing whether he was exaggerating or embroidering the truth, but I believed him then and on the whole still do.

'Many years ago, back in the 40's when I was a young housemaster, I was permitted to use corporal punishment, but only with the slipper - actually a heavy rubber-soled plimsoll - on the covered behind. I usually gave 3 or 4 smacks, occasionally 6: the latter, laid on hard through thin pyjama trousers, was quite a severe punishment. Later, when I was well established and knew that no questions would be asked, I sometimes used to slipper bare-bottom for more serious offences like persistent smoking. For something really serious I had to take the culprit to the headmaster for the cane. This happened perhaps three or four times a term; it was frustrating not to be empowered to use it myself but it was some consolation that I was always required to remain as a witness.

Towards the end of my first term in the house, I remember, two of my 14-year-olds went out of bounds one afternoon and broke into a garage, causing a fair amount of damage in the process; unfortunately for them the owner caught them red-handed, bundled them in his car and brought them straight back to school. Incidents like that did our local reputation no good and the headmaster was furious. I had to take the two offenders to his study after tea the following evening.

Roger was red-headed, a lively but usually quite well-behaved boy who had been led into mischief by Nicholas, certainly in my view the ring-leader. Nicky was small for his age but tough and something of a rebel, often in trouble for his wilfulness. Both of them had tasted my slipper and Nicholas had already been caned that term, for insolence to the house matron - the first beating I had to witness. He had bent over the headmaster's desk for 6 strokes across the tight seat of his trousers; they were very hard and I confess I felt a powerful excitement as they were administered. Signing the book afterwards I feared my shaking hand must be obvious to the Head, and probably other tell-tale signs too. I'm sure that they were, and that he decided now to initiate me further into the mysteries of my profession.

Anyway he gave the two culprits a tongue-lashing that even made me quail to listen. They both knew pretty well what they were in for, and in truth were lucky not to be expelled; but all the same they blenched when they heard the sentence. Roger would get 8 strokes of the cane, Nicholas 12. Worst of all (for them), the strokes would be given across their bare bottoms. As those words sunk in, I think my heart was pounding as hard as theirs - I could hardly believe what I was going to see!

Roger was first. I escorted Nick out into the corridor, stood him with his nose to the wall and returned to find Roger standing in front of the desk and obediently undoing his trousers. He dropped them, pushed his underpants down to his knees with only a slight hesitation and stretched across to grip the far side of the desk, presenting a beautifully full white bare behind for the cane. The headmaster pulled the shirt and blue school jumper right up around Roger's chest leaving him fully exposed before elaborately testing a number of canes through the air and then tapping two or three repeatedly against the centre of the cheeks until they visibly winced and shook. This process seemed to take several minutes; eventually a rod around 3 ft long, quite substantial but very flexible, was selected for the job. More tapping, this time to perfect the aim: I noticed how the poor lad's bottom kept tensing in anticipation of the stroke and relaxing when it didn't come. Suddenly with a deadly hissing through the air it did, landing plumb centre with the end whipping round almost to the right hip. There was a second's pause, then Roger's midriff lifted about a foot off the desk and he yelled as the white stripe burned across his flesh. He wasn't very brave: every stroke brought more shrieks and after three or four he was sobbing and twisting without restraint, though he never relaxed his grip on the back of the desk. The second stroke was placed just above the first, but after that the headmaster worked methodically down the buttocks before landing the last two diagonally upwards with redoubled vigour. The accuracy was impressive on a constantly moving target, and I should have studied his arm action more closely; but my eyes were fixed on that naked bottom, leaping, convulsing, clenching as it struggled to absorb the lashes, each white-hot welt flooding scarlet before the next burned below it. Part of me felt shocked at the force used in caning such a tender behind, and on the bare skin; and yet somehow...it was such a thrilling sight that I wouldn't have spared Roger a single stroke. I knew it was well deserved, and told myself it was a necessary deterrent.

Over the years I witnessed a good few beatings like that. But Nicholas' punishment was something special...'

It was indeed. His narrative to be continued - soon.


More stories by Denham