It was a great nuisance. Robert Neuman, deputy administrator, had to take a leave of absence because of illness in the family. Robert was in charge of all disciplinary matters of the orphanage and I had always seen a long line of small boys waiting to be called into his study.
Now, in his absence, Matron kept bringing me her miscreants and the long line of small boys was waiting at the door of my study. Now, in the colder winter months, the boys could not be kept outdoors as long as during the rest of the year, and they seemed to misbehave more when not kept at their outdoors games to spend their energies.
"Yes, Matron?" i said, looking up at the stocky figure of Renate Duresst.
"This little scamp was caught with his sock around the ankles. Not properly pulled up," she added unnecessarily. She propelled the small figure towards my desk.
I looked at a shaking 8- or 9-year-old boy with closely cropped blond hair and large brown eyes that were already filled with tears. He had outgrown his school uniform and the shirt sleeves and shorts legs were much too short. Unfortunately, we did not enough local support to keep the boys in well-fitting clothes.
"And what do you suggest we do with this little scamp?" I asked Renate, using the favourite expression she used for her small charges.
"Six of the best," she said with determination. "With the long cane."
"Isnt that a bit severe for such a minor offence?" I asked, amused.
"I gave him a sound spanking yesterday for exactly the same offence," Matron replied. "And now I observe him again with his socks in disarray. We should not tolerate this deliberate disobedience."
I looked at the boys slender legs. Both socks were now tightly drawn up as far as they would towards the knees.
"I wish you would simply cane your boys yourself when you feel they need it," I said impatiently. "That would save me a lot of time."
"I am sorry," Matron said through tight lips. "This is not a job a woman should take on, especially not I. I am not strong enough to apply a cane with adequate force to make the punishment properly felt. The boys would laugh at their whippings."
I doubted that. Renate was quite an imposing figure and I felt sure she could make a boy blubber without even trying. And she was always trying, it seemed. I knew even Robert was complaining that Matron brought her boys for a caning at the slightest pretext and she always insisted on "helping out" which meant to make sure the boy was disciplined to her full satisfaction. He told me that on a few occasions she had reminded him that an offence merited eight strokes when he had given a small boy only six, regardless of how severe they had been. Or if she felt the strokes were not administered with enough force, she would insist that the boy receive an additional doze to make up for such "leniency."
I sighed. "Very well, then. What is your name, boy?" I asked the trembling child.
"Martin, sir," he piped.
"And how old are you, Martin?"
"Eight, sir."
"Matron says you deserve six of the best. What do you say?"
"Please, sir," the boy ventured timidly, "I was playing. I didnt notice my socks had slipped."
"That is not an excuse," Matron interjected. "It is willful disobedience. He should get two more for cheekiness, questioning my actions, Director."
"All right, Matron," I said with resignation. "Bring me a cane, would you?"
Without wasting a second, Matron marched up to the cupboard where I kept my instruments of boys instruction. She returned with the heaviest junior cane she could find. She handed it to me, saying, "Be sure you make it eight of the very best, Director. And of course on the bare; the boy has to learn."
I took the cane and turned to the boy whose face was pale and drawn with anxiety of what was to come. "You heard Matron. Take your shorts down and bend over. Grasp your ankles firmly because if you let go or otherwise move out of position, I will have no other option but to start from number one again. Understood?"
"Y-yes, sir," came the boys quavering voice as he busily unbuttoned his tight shorts and peeled them down his thighs. We dont provide underwear for economy reasons, so when the shorts were around his ankles, his bottom was quite bare as the shirt tail did not quite reach below the small of his back. He bent and took hold of his sock-clad ankles. I noticed his round, chubby little cheeks sported a number of still-fresh cane weals beneath the deeply reddened skin. Perhaps leftovers from Matrons "spankings."
I took up my position on the let and Matron took up hers by the boys head, ready to hold him down if he dared to move. I raised the cane, waiting a moment, then whipped it with full force across the boys lower buttocks. The impact shook the small boys bottom and Martin almost took a step forward. But he managed to retain his balance and just gasped as the searing pain penetrated deep into the flesh.
"Director, if your strokes are going to be love taps, perhaps you should just give him a round dozen," Matron said crossly. "I dont think the boy felt anything."
"He is only eight," I said, smiling. "This is hard enough. Look, the weal is turned dark already."
Matron just grumbled something and I proceeded with the caning. Slowly and systematically, I placed the next three strokes within a millimeter below the previous, gradually reaching the crease where buttock meets thigh. At each stroke, the bending boy cried out a little louder until the fourth when he screamed with pain.
"Ah, now he is feeling it," Matron said, a little placated now that the boy was remonstrating loudly. "Give it to him harder for the last four."
I did my best satisfy Matrons blood thirst and really swished the poor boy with all my strength. Young Martin howled full voice throughout and Matron nodded, satisfied. I put the cane down and inspected the boys backside. It was already swelling up and the welts were turning purple and black. The lower half of is bottom all the way down to the thighs were well marked, ribbed like a washboard. I kept him in position for a while longer and then said, "Get up, Martin, and pull up your shorts. You will go with Matron."
I watched them go, Matrons hand gripping the crying boys ear and pulling him roughly along. "Just wait until I get you back to the dormitory, my boy," she muttered under her breath, hoping I did not hear, "I am going to give you a spanking you will never forget. I will teach you to complain about me to the Director. You wont be sitting down comfortably for the next week, I promise you."
I smiled. Poor Martin, I didnt envy him. I was sure Matron was going to work on his little bottom regardless of the welts and bruises my caning had left. I returned the cane to the cupboard and went back to work.
But not for long. Perhaps twenty minutes later my secretary announced that there were three boys waiting outside for punishment.
"Matron has sent them Director," she said apologetically. "She said you should take the cane to all of them. She did not specify the reason."
I laughed. "Just like Matron, isnt it? She wants me cane boys for something I have no idea."
"May I suggest you just give them six each and send them back to their forms?" the secretary suggested reasonably.
"Very well, send them in."
The three culprits shuffled in, all contrite and frightened. They were around nine or ten years of age, clad in the school uniform of shirt and shorts. I took them one at a time using the same cane I had used on Martin. The other two were made to stand and watch.
I had each one take down his shorts and caned them with due force and produced loud cries and some good stripes on boyish buttocks. Once the last stroke had been applied, they had to stand and watch the other boys punishment before being allowed to pull their shorts back up. They they were sent on their way, walking very carefully, their hands on their flaming behinds.
Less than two hours later, Matron was back with two more boys. These were older, eleven and twelve, I estimated, and she insisted I give them a full dozen on the bare. She went to the cupboard and handed me the senior cane, a fearful instrument even for a twelve-year-old and a dozen strokes with such a cane is no laughing matter. Certainly, neither boy laughed when they felt it across their naked buttocks. As a matter of fact, the howled and roared with the pain so loudly even Matron seemed to be satisfied.
Boys bottoms are very small as a rule, even at the age of eleven or twelve, and I had to strike wealed skin several times even when caning the upper thighs. This produced a few small drops of blood but nothing serious. The weals turned black before they had left the study and I was sure they would show their marks to the rest of the boys when it came time for bed. They were going to be heroes even if they were now crying like babies as they struggled to get their shorts back up across their swollen backsides.
My right arm is quite tired out after just one day. I know boys need discipline and I am not against forceful thrashings when they misbehave, but it takes away so much of my time I can hardly manage with my other tasks. I wished good old Robert would come back soon.