The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles

THE INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES – PART 6

PATRICK’S FINAL TERM AT RIGBY SCHOOL

A Homoerotic Story

by

Jason Land

CHAPTER 1

Patrick Ingram-Lewis, the Head-Boy had just returned to Rigby School after the Easter holidays. It was the last time he would be returning to the school at which he had been a pupil since the age of thirteen. At the end of this, his final term, he would be leaving the place for ever to start the next phase of his life as a young adult.  As we all know, Patrick was a sexually very active young man; handsome, muscular and sexually very well endowed; he enjoyed sex with both men and women. When he was at school deprived of female company, he never missed an opportunity to fuck the butt of any of his willing classmates of the upper sixth: all boys; or rather young men, now in their final year.

Since his appointment as Head-Boy, he had, however, cut back on his sexual adventures with his contemporaries and restricted his activities to his close friend, Roderick Pennington. But towards the end of the previous term, he had also developed a new liaison with a senior prefect called Atkins. This was a particularly attractive relationship, for Atkins liked to be beaten and then have his freshly caned arse fucked hard. Patrick loved both aspects of their liaison, for he loved beating arse; and the cream on the cake was then to able to shaft what he had just beaten. For him it was a marriage in heaven of two acts which gave him great pleasure.

And, of course, we have not to forget the extraordinary relationship Patrick had with the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, for whom he had become what we, today, would call a sort of toy-boy. Mr. Godber was himself an aging, lonely homosexual whose life partner had died a few years earlier and who had found in Patrick a willing means to meet his occasional urge still to have sex. And so Patrick had found himself giving his Headmaster what was referred to in polite terms as “anal stimulation” each Sunday evening. After the first few occasions, Patrick had discovered that he had developed quite an affection for the old boy, who was to retire at the end of that term after lord knows how many years in the service of the school. But Patrick had also to thank Mr. Godber for giving him the status “in loco domini”, which, coupled with his position of Head-Boy, gave him practically full control over all corporal punishment out-of-class time at the school. And as readers of the earlier episodes of this story will know, Patrick loved thrashing boys’ arses almost as much as he enjoyed sex; almost; but not quite!

Patrick was, in spite of his young age, master of the Ingram House, the estate in Northumberland and the Ingram Family coal mining business, which he had inherited as an only child, quite a few years ago on the unexpected early death of his father. He had had to good sense to leave the management of the estate and the mining business, in which he had not the slightest interest, in capable hands and was able to sit back and enjoy the very considerable income which it brought in. Money was not a problem for Patrick Ingram-Lewis; but having it, did not mean that he was obsessed or motivated by it; not in the least! He was not always hankering after this that or the other, which only money could buy. Basically his sex life and enjoyment of it was much more important to him than money.

He had spent a very agreeable break at Ingram House, his ancestral home a few miles west of Newcastle, the nearest big city. He had been basically alone over the holidays in the house apart from his rather remote and, to his mind, miserable mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis, who went through life with a chip on her shoulder as she was not received by the great and the good of the region by virtue of the fact that the Ingram-Lewis family was what was then referred to as “trade”. At the time of this story, England was still deeply divided by class (today it pretends not to be, but in fact, it still is!) and although it was accepted to have inherited wealth, which the owner had done nothing to merit beyond being born rich, to have become rich by actually earning the cash was a definite no-no! Patrick cared not one jot for what the aristocracy thought of his family, but for his mother it was a cross she had to bear; and bear it she did: openly and never-endingly; in fact it had contributed greatly to the development of both her vinegary character and her miserable outlook on life in general.

When I say that he had been alone over the holidays, I mean that on this occasion his friend Roderick Pennington had not spent his holidays at Ingram House as Patrick’s guest. But Patrick did not in any way lack company with whom to be able to satisfy his sexual needs, for the footman, Geoffrey, and the assistant Gardener, Tom, both of whom were very nifty with their cocks, were on hand and more than willing. And as for female company the nubile nymph of a kitchen maid, Rose, made her considerable expertise available whenever Patrick felt inclined. So all in all, the holiday had been very pleasant and Patrick returned to Rigby feeling sexually quite refreshed and raring to start his final term as Head-Boy in loco domini. In a word he was more or less in charge of all discipline at Rigby school and his word was more or less equivalent to that of God.,

CHAPTER 2

It was Monday, the first day of the summer term. All the boys had arrived back and were at the first morning assembly, awaiting the customary announcements to be made by Mr. Godber, the Headmaster. He began: “It came to my notice at the end of last term, that there was still a lot of smoking going on in the dormitories at night, in spite of the strict rule that smoking is not tolerated in this school, or for that matter outside the school premises. And that applies especially to boys of the upper sixth, who being eighteen years of age, are legally allowed to smoke. However, let them be warned; whilst they are at this school, which has the responsibility in loco parentis for all its pupils, whatever their age, smoking will not be tolerated. I trust I make myself clear.”

There was utter silence from the assembly, as the boys waited for what was still to come. It was quite clear that old Godber was not intending to stop with a simple reminder of what everyone present already knew to be the rule. The Headmaster went on: “I am sure that you are all wondering why I chose today, the first day of term to remind you of a rule which I am sure you all know exists and which many of you, I am quite sure, are breaking on a regular basis. Well, gentlemen, let me tell you why I am drawing this rule to your attention today. You have all just returned from your holidays and I suspect that many of you will have taken the freedom which your absence from school has given you to acquire illicit stocks of cigarettes.”

“Now gentlemen; here is what is going to happen. There will be a seven day moratorium, starting now and ending on Sunday evening, during which time you will all hand over to your form-masters any and all cigarettes which you have in your possession. So I trust I am making myself clear. I want all cigarettes handed over by Sunday evening; I repeat: all cigarettes. There will be no punishment of any boy who obeys and hands over any cigarettes, even the odd one or two that he has in his possession must be handed over. By midnight on Sunday, Rigby School will be a cigarette-free place.”

“After next Sunday, any boy found still to be concealing cigarettes will automatically be given twelve strokes of the birch. I will repeat that, so that those of you who hard of hearing are quite certain of what I have said; twelve strokes of the birch; there will be no ifs and buts; no excuses: no extenuating circumstances. If you are found with cigarettes in your possession, then you will automatically be birched at eight o’clock in the evening that same day. Now, for any boy actually caught in the act of smoking a cigarette, the punishment will be even more severe; he will receive fifteen strokes of the birch. There will be no exception to what I have just told you. It is applicable across the entire school, from the first to the upper sixth forms and prefects are not exempt. Indeed I expect them to set an example to the rest of you. I will tolerate smoking no longer as of today in this establishment. I trust I have made myself abundantly clear.”

Mr. Godber had, however, not yet finished. “Now additionally, you all know that consumption of alcohol in any form is strictly forbidden. And that applies equally to you gentlemen of the upper sixth who, having reached the age of eighteen, are legally allowed to drink. I particularly mention the upper sixth form, as many of you, I am sure, think that you may do as you wish as far as drinking is concerned. Well so you may – out of term time; but whilst you are still at this school you will respect the no-drinking rule along with the younger boys.  There will be no exceptions to this rule: and any boy, I repeat, any boy, caught drinking, will automatically be birched. I repeat yet again so that you all understand the punishment you will incur; you will be birched.”

After the assembly, Atkins came up to Patrick and said: “The old boy’s really got the bit between his teeth on this one, it smacks very much of a witch hunt.”

“I am inclined to agree with you Atkins, but have you realised who will be obliged to enforce this. It will be we prefects who have to deal with the whole business. Where are the cigarettes? Well I can tell you they are hidden away in the dorms just as they were when I caught Tomlinson Major and Newby puffing away last term. And in case you have forgotten more than half the boys in their dorm had caches of fags hidden away. I can tell you now, my friend; this business could turn into a real bloodbath. And what’s more, old Godber won’t want to wield the birch himself; it will be me that he expects to take the skin of the arses of any boys caught.”

In general the school took seriously to heart what the Headmaster had said and by the end of the week there was quite a pile of packets of cigarettes which had been surrendered. But, as ever, certain boys always thought that they could beat the system and so quite a lot of cigarettes were still stashed away, especially in the two sixth forms. The attitude of what we might call “the hardened smokers” was that they had to be caught at it and the art was, of course, not to get caught. But lads took all sorts of stupid risks and it was on that very first day of the new term, after the assembly with the fateful warning, that three boys from the lower sixth, Baxter, Carrington and Godfrey, found themselves standing outside the punishment room in their gym strips, waiting to have their arses birched.

These three lads had decided, quite stupidly, to light up in the lavatories, where smoking had been rampant in the past. They been caught, puffing away, by one of the junior perfects who had referred them to Patrick. As you will remember, Rigby had a Prefects’ Court which dealt with punishments on a day to day basis; but as smoking was now a mandatory birching offence, and only Patrick as Head-Boy in loco domini was authorised to wield the dreaded rod, such cases were now automatically referred to him. And truly frightening were the latest versions of the birch used a Rigby. As related earlier in this story, Mr. Patterson the head gardener had come up with a new form of birch made of fine, wiry maple twigs, which in the right hands was capable of delivering excruciating pain to the bare buttocks of the recipient; and this is precisely the instrument which was to be used on these three lads this evening; they had no idea of what was in store for them!

Patrick went along to the punishment room a little earlier to check that everything was in order. As Mr. Patterson had predicted, the new version of the birch was much longer lived its classic predecessor and all three original specimens seemed to be in perfect order. That evening he again asked Atkins, who had become Deputy Head-Boy in all but name, to assist him. Promptly at eight Patrick and Atkins arrived at the punishment room to find the three penitent and unhappy looking  lads waiting their fate in the corridor. Opening up the door, Patrick said: Right lads, in you go. I want the three of you against the wall, there, shorts off completely, arses naked, hands on heads.

The three boys obeyed the instructions with a certain understandable reluctance; to stand there naked from the waist down, their hands on their heads and their cocks fully exposed was embarrassing for them. It is strange how nudity works on the mind in different circumstances. All three lads were totally at ease with each other and with their other classmates naked in the showers or in the sports changing rooms; but to be made to stand there, immobile, displaying their naked cocks, which had a mind of their own, and await punishment was a totally different matter and all three of them were clearly acutely embarrassed.

Patrick had selected the longest of the three maple birches, a truly wicked looking implement, from which he shook off the water in which it had been sitting and then swished it a few times trough the air for effect. He could see his future victimd flinching at the thought of what was now about to happen to them. Patrick looked at the three of them, and saw that the full horror of the situation had now dawned upon them and that in the case of two of them, that uncontrollable piece of meat between their legs was already showing clear signs of tumescence. By the time he had finished with them, Patrick fully expected all three lads to have total erections, for naked beating in addition to being painful was also a very homoerotic procedure, both for the beater and the beaten.

“Right; I’ll deal with you in alphabetical order; so, Baxter, if you please, kindly step forward and mount the Rigby Horse. Atkins, would you be good enough to attach Baxter’s ankles and wrists with the straps. Now, Baxter, I suggest you brace yourself as I am going to give you twelve cuts of the birch as laid down by the Headmaster. I will not pretend that this is not going to hurt, because it is; in fact it will probably be the most painful thing that has ever happened to you in your entire time at Rigby. But you have brought upon yourself by your flagrant disobedience and must suffer the consequences of your action.”

Now usually, when several boys are to be punished one after the other, it is normal practice to have those lads who are awaiting their turn, to face away from the horse and their unfortunate classmate. However, on this occasion, Patrick did not accord the two lads who were waiting even that slight courtesy. Carrington and Godfrey found themselves confronted with a full view of Baxter’s soon-to-be-birched arse. And as they watched their cocks became harder and harder until by the time the beating began, they both were fully erect. And when Patrick Ingram-Lewis, Head-Boy in loco domini wielded the birch it was not a pretty sight for the onlookers. Birching should not be turned into a spectator sport as it had been on this occasion; it is an utterly horrific experience for the recipient; the birch cuts into the naked flesh of his buttocks and the pain just builds up and up until it becomes totally excruciating for the recipient.

“Atkins: would you be good enough to call the strokes, please,” said Patrick. Atkins obliged and called the first stroke, and Patrick brought down the birch with a tremendous swish to land with a crack across the middle of Baxter’s arse. By the third stroke, Baxter was howling with pain and asking him to stop; but as we all know Patrick would deliver the twelve mandatory strokes with his usual vigour and by the time he had finished, Baxter was reduced to a sobbing wreck.

His two partners in crime had looked on, terrified by the thought of what they saw was also going to happen to them in a few minutes time. With consummate skill and with twelve strokes to deliver, Patrick was able to ensure that every square inch of Baxter’s arse was touched by the birch. When he had finished, the boy had a flaming red pair of buttocks, peppered with the small cuts made by the individual twigs of the birch. “Atkins if you would be so good as to release the straps from around Baxter’s wrists and ankles, I think that he may now be allowed to get up from the horse and rejoin his accomplices against the wall. Baxter; I want you with your hands on your head and facing the horse so that you can have the pleasure of watching the fate of your two friends here. Carrington: you’re next; come on lad, jump to it and mount the horse; we don’t have all night! And as for you Godfrey; don’t worry; your turn will come; we have not forgotten you; just be patient!”

By the time Patrick had finished with the three lads, they were all feeling very sorry for themselves. He finally told them to put their shorts back on and allowed them to leave. They were all in tears and rubbing their backsides trying, in vain, to relieve the excruciating pain which Patrick had inflicted. One had to believe, looking at the three lads that the maple birch was a very, very painful implement indeed.

CHAPTER 3

Left alone in the punishment room, Atkins said to Patrick: “You know Ingram-Lewis that was a real virtuoso performance you just put on there. I don’t think those three knew whether they were coming or going after you had finished with them. That birch is really a deadly weapon. How did Patterson ever think of making it like that? With the really whippy twigs, or shoots of the maple he used, he moved from the normal birch into realms which defy the imagination. My God, the pain that that thing is capable of delivering!”

Patrick listened to this and said to himself: “Don’t tell me that the arch masochist, Atkins, would like a taste of this new birch himself. If he thinks I’m going to thrash his arse with it, he’s out of his mind. Has he any real idea of just how painful the bloody thing is?”

But of course, Atkins was not out of his mind; far from it in fact. For someone who is not himself a masochist, it is difficult understand what the true masochists gets out of any painful encounter which he manages to have inflicted on him. The simple fact of the matter was that there was something in Atkins’s makeup which enjoyed pain; he got what we would today call a kick out of allowing someone else to inflict pain on his body. And having seen this new maple birch in action, he truly wanted to sample the joy of feeling those lissom maple shoots caress his naked arse. I am not sure that the words joy and caress are truly apposite, but that was how Atkins thought of the act which he so much wanted to be visited upon him. He was not slow in coming to the point for he had on an earlier occasion persuaded Patrick to thrash his arse with the junior willow birch (another imaginative punitive implement imagined and made by the one and only Mr. Patterson).

“Look here Ingram-Lewis, you know my weakness so why don’t you just give me a few strokes of that birch and then, in turn, you can indulge your own erotic fantasy and fuck my arse which you will have just birched. I presume that you still enjoy thrashing a guy’s arse and then fucking it; well here’s your second chance to do just that. Come on Ingram-Lewis; it’s just between you and me and we will both get something we desperately want out of it. I’ll get my arse beaten by you and you’ll have the pleasure of fucking it; and don’t now tell me that you don’t want to do that because I know you do.”

“Atkins; have you any idea what you are asking me to do. Listen man; that birch is a bloody painful implement: twice as painful as the normal birch at my guess. You cannot compare it with the thrashing I gave you last term, again at your request, with the junior willow birch. It’s chalk and cheese; you’ll be screaming for me to stop after a couple of strokes. You saw what it was like for those three I’ve just dealt with; well you’d be exactly the same.”

“But that is precisely what you do not understand, Ingram-Lewis. The fact is that I want to feel real pain: really excruciating pain in fact; that is exactly what I want. I know it’s difficult for you to understand why I want to experience it; but just accept the fact that I do. As the maxim puts it, there are horses for courses and that’s what I want. So, do be a good chap and give me a few cuts and then you can assuage your guilty feelings and fuck my butt. And then we can take it from there.” Atkins concluded, with a knowing smile.

As we all know, Atkins was quite nifty with his own cock and it was certain that what started as a birching would quickly turn into a private fuck-fest between the two young men, for they were both highly motivated sexually, as were many of the boys in the upper sixth. I keep referring to them as boys, but they were really all young men  as they were  now all aged eighteen or over.

Patrick hesitated before replying: “All right Atkins if you really insist; but on your own head be it. Look we had better get out of here and go back to my study where we will be undisturbed whilst I administer this extraordinary painful implement of discipline to your arse. But listen here, Atkins; I’m not going to strap you down and I am giving a maximum of six cuts. You will just have to bend over the Head-Boy’s beating stool (again conceived and built by the ever inventive Mr. Patterson). So, my friend, you will be free to get up whenever you wish, which I reckon will be pretty damn quick once you have felt the pain that this bloody weapon delivers.”

Once in Patrick’s study. Atkins stripped off completely. Patrick could not but admire his muscular physique and sexual endowment for Atkins was a well set-up young man and he knew it! “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, Ingram-Lewis,” said Atkins, “Then when you have finished dealing with me, you will be ready to take your reward.”

So Patrick too stripped off and the two young studs stood there, stark naked, looking lustfully at each other. By this time each of them was sporting a full erection and it was obvious that what was about to happen was to be a truly homoerotic experience for both of them. Atkins went to the beating stool and bent across it and said: “Now, Ingram-Lewis, don’t hold back. I want to feel the birch correctly applied to my arse as if you were thrashing a miscreant. So don’t hold back; just lay the bloody thing on.”

Patrick still had certain misgivings. It was not that he did not enjoy beating a boy’s backside; for he did; and it always gave him considerable erotic pleasure to see some miscreant squirm as he applied stroke after painful stroke, whilst he himself made a vain attempt to control his own burgeoning erection, which inevitably accompanied such occasions. But this was somehow different and he had to steel himself to make the first cut. However, once he got started and Atkins started making what passed for appreciative noises, he laid on the birch with his customary vigour.

After six strokes he threw the birch down and said: “Come on Atkins, up you get. I said six and I meant six and I’m not going to give you any more. You should just see your arse, man: it’s a horrible mess already.  Frankly I don’t know how you stood it. And as for how you are going to explain the state of your arse to your classmates in the showers, well, that’s your business; but kindly leave me out!”

“Ingram-Lewis, that was one of the best thrashings I have ever had; and, you know, I enjoyed every minute of it. Now, over to you. What position do you want me in for the first fuck?”

Patrick noticed that Atkins had said first fuck which was encouraging as Patrick was feeling in fine fettle for an evening of sexual excess. So Patrick led his friend into his bedroom, pushed him face down on the bed and told him to stick his arse in the air. Then with true professionalism he reached for a bottle of oil, lubricated Atkins’s anus and his own rock-hard tool before thrusting it deep into Atkins, who let out a moan of pleasure as he took Patrick’s full length inside him.

Remember that all this was taking place whilst the two young men were still at school, but both of them had become highly experienced at anal sex. Indeed, what had started as a simple act of buggery, as was the case between many of the frustrated sixth formers, had quickly developed into a serious sexual relationship. The young men were at the age when sex was very important to them and lack of any access to the opposite sex led many of them to form serious homosexual liaisons with their schoolmates: liaisons which for main part disappeared when the boys left school and entered normal society. But whilst at school many of the lads went at it like rabbits.

As Patrick was fucking Atkins, he suddenly had a feeling of guilt as he reflected on his close relationship with Roderick Pennington. What concerned Patrick at the present moment as he pounded away at his partner’s arse, was what Roderick would think if he knew what was happening. Would he be insanely jealous or would he just accept it as normal? Roderick had not been with Patrick for the holidays just gone and Patrick had had no qualms about satisfying his sexual needs whilst at home with Geoffrey, the footman, Tom the gardener and Rose. But here at school might things be different? Patrick had not yet talked to Roderick since the start of term yesterday. But fate intervened and resolved the problem and dispersed any doubts and guilt feelings that Patrick was experiencing.

Patrick had just settled down to the job of fucking his partner; he had just got into his stride; the steady powerful rhythm with long strokes of his cock, which was his style and he was intent on giving Atkins’s anus a very thorough hammering indeed. But then, when did Patrick ever do anything by halves? It was the same thing with sex as it was with beating the boys at Rigby: he put his heart and soul into such acts. When a boy had been beaten by Patrick, he knew that it was an experience he would not like to repeat; although many, stupidly, did! And when he fucked butt, his partner knew that he (or she, in the case of Rose, the kitchen maid at Ingram House) had had a rare treat, as Patrick always endeavoured to bring his partner to a climax at the same time as he himself shot his load, which few men engaged in casual sex ever do. And so Patrick was usually a welcome sex partner for any proffered arse as he gave such satisfaction to his partner.

And so, totally intent on serving Atkins, he was taken completely unawares when he suddenly felt a long hard shaft thrust against his own anal sphincter and enter his own rectum. Then a pair of hands gripped the side of his buttocks as his assailant synchronised his thrusting with that of Patrick’s. Glancing round he saw to his utter amazement that it was, of course, his close friend Roderick who had entered the bedroom unobserved and had decided to profit from the occasion and to join in the fun. And so what had begun as a two man act suddenly became a three man act with Patrick in the middle fucking Atkins and in turn being himself simultaneously fucked by Roderick.

Patrick and Roderick had together, during two holidays at Ingram house, enjoyed what I suppose were mini sex-orgies with Geoffrey, the footman and Tom, the assistant gardener and so to find himself in the middle position of a three-man fuck was nothing new for him. So both young men pressed on and all three of them managed to climax at the same time, after which they all collapsed laughing on Patrick’s bed. What the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, would have thought had he caught them in the act, lord only knows. It would, of course, have been very difficult for him to take any serious action as although he overtly stood by the school rule that sex between the boys was totally impermissible, he himself relied on Patrick each Sunday evening to give him a dose of anal stimulation.

But Mr. Godber did not catch the boys in the act; and Patrick quickly rectified the error he had made when he and Atkins had returned to his study. So eager had they been to indulge their sexual fantasies that Patrick had totally forgotten to lock his study door behind them and Roderick had simply entered quietly, thinking that he and his regular sex partner might have a little reunion. Finding his friend already  engaged he had seen no reason not to join in himself which is how the present little “ménage à trois” had come about.

And so the three young men continued for another full hour, indulging their sexual fantasies together, before retiring to their respective beds. Patrick was relieved to find that Roderick had not taken his liaison with Atkins amiss, and in fact, the three of them enjoyed several other sessions together during that final term at Rigby. What was interesting was that when they all left Rigby to continue their future post-school careers, the intimate relations that had held them together as Rigbyans, played no part in their future lives and the three young men each went their separate ways. Sex at Rigby at been a short lived necessity, fulfilling the urgent sexual needs of three well equipped young studs; but it ended when they each went they each finally left the school.

CHAPTER 4

It was just the next day that Patrick had occasion to go down into the town to buy some shaving soap. He made his purchase at a chemist’s shop and, plucking up courage whilst blushing inwardly with embarrassment and feeling his cock hardening between his legs at the utterly erotic thought of what the was about to do, he asked the sales assistant for two packets of condoms. The word condom was not then in popular use as it is today, but knew the brand as Geoffrey had provided him with them for his trysts with the lovely and nubile Rose back at Ingram house.

He was not at all sure what he would do with them for he had no female company in mind; but Geoffrey, the footman, and impressed upon him the need always to be prepared and so he bought them. To add to his embarrassment, the shop assistant asked him nonchalantly if he would like a tube of lubricant to go with his purchase. He took the shaving soap, the condoms and the proffered tube of gel, paid and hurried, red faced,  out of the shop to avoid any further embarrassment as his cock was by now quite hard and pushing the crotch of his trousers into a tent-like shape..

Luckily it had been a man who had served him for had it been a female employee, his courage would surely have failed him and he would have left empty-handed apart from the shaving soap. He noticed that the shop assistant had not raised an eyebrow when he had told him, what he wanted, for in fact, quite a few young lads in their late teens, who fucked around with any girl they could get their hands on, were regular customers and a sale was a sale. The morals of his customers had nothing to do with him! If young lads wanted to fuck the girls, then good luck to them!

It is difficult for us, living in the sexually permissive world of today, where condoms and lubricants are commonplace items and available freely on any supermarket shelf, to realise just how embarrassing the purchase of these essential items was for a young man, especially one in the Rigby School uniform of pinstripe trousers, short- tailed coat, white shirt, black bow-tie and wearing a prefect’s mortar board to boot. Such essential items were never mentioned by name and often the commonest source was the barber’s shop frequented only by men. But even there, in the all-male environment men were quite shy about making such purchases. Thinking back personally, I can remember only one occasion among dozens of times I have had my hair cut, that a customer bought a packet of condoms. It was in my student days and the guy was a uniformed airman, who asked the barber how many rubbers there were in the packet.

And I can well remember my own first purchase, as a university student, which was from one of those doubtful shops, sort of pseudo chemists, often found in run-down parts of towns, which had large Durex Transparent Latex signs in the window.  And I can tell you that like our friend Patrick I felt quite embarrassed as I made made my first purchase; and like him, I left as quickly as possible. I don’t even recollect what the proper name for them was in those long-gone days, for the word condom came into popular use much later; as lads, we crudely called them rubber Johnnies. But make no mistake, embarrassing or not though their purchase might have been, lots were nevertheless bought and there was just a much sex in the early 1900’s as there is today: it was just not so overtly talked about.

So to come back to Patrick with his shaving soap and condoms in his pocket, with no immediate use for the latter in mind, whom did he now see walking towards him as soon as he left the shop, but the Tomlinson brothers: Colin the major and Thomas the minor. Neither lad was wearing the mandatory summer headgear: a straw boater with the house ribbon around the crown. So as every Rigbyan knew, getting caught without his hat down town or for that matter anywhere outside the school grounds, meant a bare bum beating. Patrick saw the two boys, who were engaged in chatting to each other, before they saw him and he stood waiting on the pavement until they were almost upon him.

“Tomlinson major; I thought that it was you I saw approaching and I see that on this occasion you have your younger brother, Tomlinson minor, in tow. What, if I might ask, are you two boys doing down town late afternoon on a weekday? Surely you know that such visits to town are forbidden unless you have an exeat signed by a master, which I assume that you both have. And I notice also that you both seem to have forgotten your hats, which as you know the school rules state quite clearly you must wear at all times. So boys, to clarify matters perhaps you would each show me your signed exeat permitting you to be down-town at this hour on a weekday and then we will discuss the reason for your lamentable lack of head-gear.”

Tomlinson major, as ever, never sort of a word, launched himself into what he intended to be an explanation and justification of what was clearly a flagrant breach of two of the school most important rules. Patrick stopped him: “Tomlinson please spare me another of your long-winded fantasies. I simply asked to see your signed exeats. Now do you have them or not? Come on boys, hand them over if you have them.”

Patrick knew full well that neither lad had ever asked a master for an exeat or given any thought to that fact that they were not wearing their hats; they had simply decided, for some reason or other, that they would slip off into town for some as yet undefined purpose had now been caught in the act, for which both lads knew full well that they would each now have to pay a very painful price in the form of a very sore arse.

“Ingram-Lewis sir,” began Tomlinson major, as ever undeterred, “Perhaps if you would allow me to explain the circumstances which have....”

“Tomlinson; I did not ask for an explanation of your presence in town, but merely to see your signed exeats. Now do you or do you not have them?”

“Well Ingram-Lewis, we really did not think that we needed an exeat as we were....”

He was again cut short by Patrick who said: “Tomlinson major; it is clear that neither you nor your younger brother have the required exeat allowing you to be in town today at this hour. And to compound your offence, neither of you has even bothered to wear your hat. And so, I shall look forward to receiving you both in my study this evening at eight sharp, immediately after supper, when we shall thrash this matter out once and for all in the time honoured manner. And as usual for such appointments kindly note that you should arrive wearing your gym strips and no underwear. I trust I have made myself abundantly clear. Oh, and please don’t forget to bring your bums with you, for they are going, as ever, to play an important part in the proceedings.”

But Tomlinson major was still not finished and attempted to have the last word now that he could see that the die was cast and that he and his younger brother were not going to escape a beating that very evening: “Ingram-Lewis sir, I realise that you are going to punish us for breaking the rules, but please, sir, the fault is entirely mine. I persuaded my younger brother to come with me into town and it was really against his will; honestly it was sir; so he is actually a completely innocent party in this affair and you should not punish him as he does not deserve it: truly he does not, sir.”

“Tomlinson, it really is very noble of you to shoulder the entire blame for this unfortunate lack of respect for the school rules yourself, but I think that your brother is old enough to know that when he agreed to come down town with you he was breaking a cardinal rule of the school, not to mention the lack of any head gear, which simply makes matters worse. So I am afraid, Tomlinson, that I shall require you both to attend tonight’s meeting when you will both suffer the consequences of your joint lapses of judgement. So until this evening: eight sharp in my study in your gym strips. Now both of you; get back to school before another prefect catches you breaking the rules.”

Patrick was secretly a great admirer of Tomlinson major in spite of the numerous beatings he had given the boy. Colin Tomlinson did not have a bad bone in his body and had always taken his punishment with good grace and without question. He was, in fact, not a bad boy or a bad student in anyway; it was just the he was mischievous and disregarded any rule which did not suite his purpose at any given moment. And so he often ran down the school corridors, in the full knowledge, that if caught, he would get this arse thrashed, which happened on regular occasions; Patrick and other prefects had caught him in the act on numerous occasions and had had the pleasure of beating the boy’s arse. But that did not deter him from running in the corridors in the least.

But to return to the present infraction; the two Tomlinson brothers duly presented themselves in their gym strips at Patrick’s study that evening. The younger Thomas Tomlinson had asked his brother what he thought would happen to them that evening after his elder brother, had attempted to take the entire blame on his own shoulders. To this question he received a not very reassuring reply to the effect that knowing the Head-Boy as he did, they were both likely to get their arses thoroughly roasted. “Ingram-Lewis is a really hard caner in my experience,” said Tomlinson major to his brother. “So I reckon we’ll both come away with twelve strokes at least as that’s the minimum he ever gives. Pull yourself together, Tom, as we are both in for a bloody good hiding as Ingram-Lewis really does know how to lay it on with the cane.”

Knowing what was about to happen to them, it was not surprising that the two boys entered Patrick’s study in a state of extreme nervousness. Patrick was sitting behind his desk looking very serious. He had decided, for dramatic effect, that he would beat the two lads together, to which end he had already placed in the centre of the room, two chairs, back to back, but with large space between them. Across the seat of one of the chairs one of Mr. Godber’s mature canes was ready in waiting. Patrick had chosen a light junior cane, but one which had seen many years use and was very flexible and closely knotted along its length: a really viciously effective instrument of punishment; one guaranteed to inflict great pain in spite of its lightness.

“Well, gentlemen, thank you for presenting ourselves so punctually this evening. Now just to get things quite clear, you are both aware, I presume that by going into town today you broke two of the school’s cardinal rules. Neither of you had a requisite exeat allowing you to go into town and neither of you were wearing our school boater. So, to be quite clear, both of you were fully aware that you were breaking the rules and that if caught you would be punished.”  Patrick paused and waited until both boys admitted that they had known what they were doing at the potential painful consequences of their actions.

He was about to continue when Tomlinson major, ever ready to proffer some far-fetched excuse in an attempt to salvage what was obviously a lost cause, decided to make one very last attempt to divert Patrick from his purpose and said: “Ingram-Lewis, sir, if you would perhaps just allow me to explain, then I think that you will see that the whole thing is a complete misunderstanding. You see sir......”

Patrick cut him short and said: “Tomlinson, the only

misunderstanding is yours, in that you think you can smart talk your way out of any unpleasant situation entirely of your own making. You chose to break the rules and you are now going to pay the price for your actions. There is nothing to explain, Tomlinson, so kindly shut up as I do not want to listen to another of your long-winded, feeble excuses.”

Patrick picked up the cane which was exceptionally long, some some 36 inches, and very, very flexible. Patrick demonstrated to the two boys just how the cane could be bent into a complete circle without breaking: “So you see gentlemen, that when this splendid implement from a bygone age mates with its targets, to wit your arses, the free end bends around and ensures that the flank of the further buttock is also included in the stroke. And as you will each shortly appreciate, this type of cane guarantees extremely good value from each and every stroke.”

“But enough of this talk and let’s get down to business. The two of you, step out of your shorts and bend across the chairs there. Tomlinson minor, I want you on the left and your brother on the right. Come on now, quick about it; bend well over the chair, keep your hands on the seat and both of you stick your arses well up so that I can see what I am doing. We don’t want things to go off half-cock do we? I always aim to deliver an artistically well beaten arse; one that I can be proud of as Head-Boy and one which the bearer can be equally proud when he shows off his battle scars to his classmates.”

But having got both boys in the appropriate position to beat their arses, Patrick still went on with his monologue. “I see, gentlemen, looking at your backsides, that you clearly did not misbehave at home during the recent holidays and that your father did not have occasion to correct either of you. So, your bums are both in perfect condition to be reintroduced to a dose of the Rigby Rigour. Tomlinson major, it is indeed fortunate that your arse and my cane are going to commune together so early in the new term, for to miss an early intervention with you would be like a day without sunshine for me. So I can tell you, that your presence, today, is much appreciated and I shall do my very best to put a little colour back into what is a rather pallid looking pair of cheeks. Rest assured Tomlinson major, that I shall leave you with an arse which will be the talk of the dormitory tonight when your classmates examine your stripes in the showers. But don’t you worry, Tomlinson minor that your brother is getting all the attention; your needs will not be forgotten and I can assure you that you too will be the proud bearer of your battle scars in the showers this evening.”

Whether either of the Tomlinson brothers much appreciated Patrick’s long-winded remarks, extolling the artistic masterpieces into which he was about to turn their arses we shall never know; but to judge by the expressions on their faces they were both increasingly terrified by what was about to be visited on their posteriors. And they had good cause to feel apprehensive; as already observed, Patrick was a hard caner and always laid on the strokes with the maximum force, but which he judged would not break the skin of its target.

His philosophy was that if a boy was to be punished, then it had to hurt, otherwise what was the point. And so, no matter what the offence or the age of the victim, Patrick always laid on the cane with vigour; the Tomlinson brothers were just about to be treated to one of the most painful experiences in their lives. Of course, for the older boys he used a senior cane, of which he had a good selection of mature specimens, provided to him at the beginning of the school year by the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, himself a true believer in the beneficial effects of the cane on a boy’s backside.

“So, gentlemen, if you are both ready shall we begin? Now, as you were both caught red-handed together, I thought it appropriate and would be of some comfort for the pair of you if I were to beat you together. And so, I shall begin by giving you, Tomlinson minor, your first stroke and then do the same for your brother. And then I shall give each of you strokes alternately. Oh; I’m so sorry; for I seem to have forgotten to tell you; you are each getting twelve, which should guaranteed each of you a well warmed arse to take to bed tonight. I have decided to be lenient with you in spite of your two offences, both of which under normal circumstances would merit twelve strokes. So as you will appreciate. I am letting the pair of you off very lightly. (Lightly? Twelve strokes of a flexible rattan cane across a naked arse and Patrick called that “lightly”). Gentlemen, brace yourselves, keep your hands on the seat of the chair and do not move until I have finished. If either of you resists or moves, then I shall be obliged to begin again.”

Patrick placed himself between the two boys and checked that he could, from that position, apply the cane exactly where he wished. He intended to start by applying strokes forehand to the younger brother and then backhand to the elder boy, He had been practising this technique and now felt that he could place his backhand strokes as accurately as those given forehand. He was particularly keen about this, as it was a matter of pride to him to be able to place twelve evenly spaced cuts across a boy’s buttocks with no stroke ever overlapping, In a word, Patrick saw himself as an artist with the cane and wanted, each time he beat a boy, to have the satisfaction of seeing a neatly beaten arse with good clean stripes: a sort of temporary work of art. The recipients would probably have disagreed with this view had they been aware of it.

Patrick began by first tapping the cane several times lightly across the younger Tomlinson’s arse, before settling on a central spot to place the first cut. As he tapped, he could see the boy’s arse muscles flexing and relaxing again in quick succession, in anticipation of what was about to happen to him. “Relax your arse, Tomlinson” he said. “You will find it best that way.” Finally Patrick raised the cane above his head and brought it down with a tremendous swish directly onto the centre of the boy’s bum. The young lad drew in an enormous breath and then let out a howl of pain. Patrick then paused for a few seconds before addressing his brother’s expectant backside.

This time he placed the cane exactly in the centre and then without any further preparation, brought it down with another resounding crack precisely on the intended spot. In both cases the end of the cane wrapped itself over the further buttock and prolonged the painful cut still further. Then with slow and deliberate strokes, each separated by what he fancily thought of as a pause of appreciation, he continued the ritual for another five strokes, by which time neither boy could hold back his tears.

Patrick then repositioned himself on the opposite side between the two suppliant lads, now making Tomlinson major his forehand target. He then continued to administer the other six cuts, by which time both boys were howling with pain. He surveyed his handiwork which was in the form of twelve neatly placed deep red welts on each boy’s arse. No welt touched another and with twelve cuts, Patrick had effectively covered the entire surface of each boys arse with painful stripes. It was quite clear that the two lads had undergone an excruciatingly painful beating and well they knew it.

“Well gentlemen. I think that concludes our business for today; so you may now both get up and put your shorts back on. I hope that you have learned a lesson and will in future observe the rules. However, knowing you as I do, Tomlinson major, I have little doubt that we shall probably have another encounter during the term. After all this is only the second day and already you have broken two rules. Now let me just say this to you; if I have to bring you in here for another beating within the next month, then I shall have no hesitation in upping your punishment to twelve strokes of the willow birch, no matter what the offence. You Tomlinson are an inveterate recidivist: a piece of mischief just looking for somewhere to happen and you have to be brought to heel.”

“As for you Tomlinson minor, I suggest that you do not emulate your elder brother or allow yourself to be persuaded by him to enter into any of his hare-brained activities, otherwise you too will find yourself with a perpetually sore arse. Make no mistake boys; if I catch either of you breaking the rules again, any rule at all, then I shall have no hesitation in beating you. Now you may thank me for correcting you and get off to your respective dormitories and take what solace you can from your classmates’ undoubted admiration of my artistic work on your bums.”

The two lads left, massaging their painful backsides in a somewhat futile attempt to ease the agony of the beating. Young Thomas said plaintively to his brother: “Colin; why did we go down town in the first place? We didn’t actually buy anything and all we have as a result of looking in shop windows is a killingly sore bum each. So why did we go in the first place? Ingram-Lewis is right, Colin; I shall paddle my own canoe from now on. I don’t want anything more to do with any of your hare-brained ideas. Jesus, man, my arse is absolutely killing me; I don’t think I’ll be able to sit down for days; and it was all for nothing!”

For once his brother was lost for words.

CHAPTER 5

The second week in term bore witness to a radical change in Patrick’s sex life.  Hitherto, when at school, as was also the case with his fellow sixth formers, Patrick’s sex life had been limited to acts of anal sex with certain of his classmates.  But Patrick had gained considerable experience of sex with a woman thanks to his footman, Geoffrey, who had introduced him to Rose, the nubile and highly sexed kitchen maid at Ingram House, who during his holidays at home in Northumberland had proved an excellent teacher for Patrick. And so, here he was aged eighteen pushing nineteen, sexually experienced way beyond his age, but stuck in an all male environment. Whilst he loved fucking his school-mates, he really felt that he would like to widen his sexual horizons to include more encounters with members of the opposite sex,  as he had truly enjoyed having sex with Rose.  In fact, Patrick was equally at home in his sexual activities with either men or women and here he was, highly frustrated, confined to a boys’ school with not a nubile female in sight: or so he thought. 

But he was wrong as he discovered quite by accident.  The school had its own laundry, which worked five days a week washing not only the bed linen linen but also the shirts, underwear and socks for the boys, every item of which had its owner’s a name tag sewn to it.  It was when he received his week’s clean clothes from the laundry that he discovered a shirt was missing and so he went to the laundry himself to find out what might have happened to it.

The laundry was in a completely separate building into which under normal circumstances the boys themselves never ventured. Indeed it would be safe to say that most of them were totally unaware that a school laundry existed. They packed up their dirty washing each week in a wicker hamper and received a replacement back with their clean things each Friday.  And so it was that Patrick, enquiring after his lost shirt, discovered that there were, in fact, female staff at the school and that one of them, the very girl who dealt with him was an extremely attractive young thing somewhere about twenty years of age.  Patrick  he looked at her and she looked at him it was clear that they found each other mutually attractive; it was not a case of lust rather than love at first sight. But once having located his lost shirt, he said goodbye to the girl and returned to his study.

But he could not, nevertheless, get the girl of his mind as he had clearly discerned her interest in him in much the same way that a knowing look over the dinner table at Ingram House had brought him and the footman, Geoffrey together; and we all know what the consequences of that one look had been. I suppose today we would say that there was some immediate chemistry between them, but such high flown ideas were then unknown.  Patrick racked his brain trying to think how he could find out who the girl was and how he might meet her, but he drew a blank until that marvellous thing, chance, came into play.

It was on the Saturday afternoon that Patrick had gone into town to make a few purchases of writing materials, when leaving the stationer’s shop, he ran slap into the laundry girl, who more or less finished up in his arms.  They each recognised the other and laughed; Patrick apologised for his clumsiness and not unnaturally then walked at her side for a short way. Patrick was as captivated by the girl now as he had been when he met her the previous day in the school laundry and it was evident from the easy way that she allowed him to walk beside her that she was not at all shy and that she also found him attractive.  This was not at all surprising, for Patrick was a well set-up young man with those general sort of handsome good looks guaranteed to set any girl’s heart pounding.  In modern parlance Patrick was a very attractive hunk.   

Passing a tea shop, Patrick asked the girl, whose name he still did not know, if she would like to have tea, to which she agreed with alacrity.  And so it was over tea that the two young people got to know each other and Patrick, by now totally smitten by what he could see of Carole, for that was her name, began what I suppose was his first seduction.  He could already feel a certain stirring between his legs and it was quite clear that his companion felt the same about him. Carole Whitaker, to give her her full name, was nineteen years old and had been working in the school laundry since she left school aged thirteen.  She hailed from a remote village in North Yorkshire and now lived by herself in a room she rented in the town centre.

Tea over, they left the teashop and Patrick wondered what would happen next, for he did not want to leave Carole at that moment,  but he had no idea what the two of them could do, walking together down the street as they now were.  He just knew that he desperately wanted to have sex with this girl; but in spite of her apparent openness towards him, did she reciprocate the feeling? But he need not have feared that the embryo seduction was about to fail, for for Carole clearly felt the same as him about what was happening. She now took up the reigns and coyly asked Patrick if he would like to see where she lived: “It will be quite quiet now,” she said, “As my landlady works late on Saturday evenings; so we won’t be disturbed.”  We won’t be disturbed!  Could anything have been sweeter to Patrick’s ears? The girl was obviously as keen to pursue whatever was about to happen as he was.  Patrick jumped for joy inwardly, as Carole uttered those deliciously inviting words: “We won’t be disturbed.”  

Patrick  drank in this piece of new with an inward feeling of euphoria; it was clear that Carole was as attracted to him as he was to her and what was, in fact, his first attempt at seducing a young lady appeared to be progressing swimmingly. Once inside Carole’s room, which was quite spacious and really pleasantly furnished, the two young people could not keep their hands of each other and it was obvious that Carole needed no encouragement: in today’s idiom, she really had the hots for him as much as he had for her.  But for Patrick there was the problem of coming to terms, for the first time, with the paraphernalia of clothing which ladies wore in 1900. 

In his previous amorous encounters with Rose, his kitchen maid, she had always arrived in his bedroom in a state of almost total undress or was already naked in his bed before he himself arrived. But now things were different. He was confronted by a fully clothed young female with whom he had every intention of having sex, but he first had to get her clothes off and her into bed.  It is difficult today for us to imagine just now complicated was the female dress of that period. Zip fasteners, Velcro and the like had not been invented and dressing and undressing was always an elaborate ritual:  multiple buttons had to be undone, hooks and eyes separated, cross lacing loosened to enable foundation garments to be removed. It was not surprising that grand ladies needed a maid to help them with their labours. To say that Patrick stripped the girl (as today might well have been the case) and lifted her into bed (which he ultimately did) would have been the understatement of the year.

Once Carole was finally freed of her multiple skirts, petticoats, vests, bloomers and lord know what else,  Patrick saw for the first time that he was in the presence of a lovely and desirable young woman, whom he simply could not wait to fuck. With Carol now in bed, he shed his own clothes with no embarrassment at all and Carole made appreciative noises as she viewed her prospective lover. And well merited her appreciation was, for in his nakedness, Patrick was a muscularly handsome young stud with a very large and, for Carole, desirable “endowment” which was already rock hard and raring to go.

And it was now for the first time that Patrick fully appreciated the wisdom of his footman, Geoffrey, who had told him always to carry condoms on him and be prepared, as one never knew what unexpected opportunity might present itself.  Today, by chance, here was just the opportunity he had been dreamed of, which had simply walked unexpectedly into his life that afternoon. And even though he did not really know Carole at all, there was something which had clicked between them and she was clearly willing a party as to what was about to happen. As he lay down at her side, Patrick was under no illusion that he was about to deflower his first virgin, for it was obvious that Carole was a girl, who like Rose, had certainly some experience with men.

Now Patrick felt that he was fully conversant with gay sex and knew exactly what he was doing and in the light of his numerous encounters Rose he did not feel at nervous to be with only his second girl ever.  But even the slightest trace of nervousness which he might have had, disappeared as soon as he touched Carole, for she literally melted into his arms.  Here was a dream girl who clearly wanted sex as much as he did and he was in a position to give it to her.  Rose had taught him not to rush things; to treat a woman gently, and not to forget to coax her private parts to life with his fingers before attempting to penetrate her.  But Carole really did have the hots for him, for he had barely touched her clitoris before he realised that she was already fully lubricating and ready for him.  So he rolled on the rubber and with Carole willingly on her back with her legs spread wide open to receive him, he very gently eased his large cock into her and gave her a few gentle but firm thrusts to test out the new territory.

So Patrick and Carole made ardent love in her room for the first time that afternoon. He was very gentle with her, but nevertheless used firm and long strokes of his cock to bring her and himself to a simultaneous climax. Rose had taught him to try to bring his partner to orgasm at the same moment as he himself shot his load and with his considerable experience at gay anal sex, he had learned to control his cock and his emotions so that he could delay his own climax until he judged his partner too was ready. To his credit he managed to do this and at the climactic moment, Carole clung to him and shook with emotion as she experience a shuddering orgasm; he pumped his sperm into her: sperm which was caught in that all important piece of transparent latex he was wearing.  As a first act of sex between them it was a divine and utterly successful occasion.  When it was over, Carole clung to him like a limpet until they both calmed down.

It was, for him, an absolutely heavenly experience to penetrate so deeply such a willing partner; a sentiment that was echoed by her, judging by the appreciative moans she made.  And for the first time his partner addressed him by his Christian name alone with no honorific: “Patrick,” she said, “You are so big and gentle; you are utterly divine. I have never felt anyone like you.”  This confirmed to him that he was not the first person to enter her private domain; but to be fair, he was not exactly a beginner himself and what the hell, Carole was utterly delicious and he revelled in the way in which she simply melted into him. So even though he realised that he was with an experienced partner, he did not in any way disdain her for that.

Suddenly, Carole was holding Patrick’s cock in her hand and she started gently to massage it. Patrick was, of course, totally unable to control himself as his man-meat responded automatically to Carole’s ministrations. Within a minute his cock was again rock-hard and Carole then slid down and took his cock head in her mouth.  This was a shock for Patrick as it was the first time that anyone had ever actually sucked his cock: a new experience which became ever more delicious and enjoyable as Carole persisted with her tongue.  As he lay there letting the girl service him with what we would today call a blow job, he reflected on the fact that, much like Rose,  Carole was clearly a sexually very experienced young woman who enjoyed what she was doing enormously. 

After a few minute, by which time he was in a great state of arousal, Patrick suddenly rolled over on top of Carole, reached out to the side table where he had placed his condoms, rolled on a fresh rubber and with no warning thrust his cock deep into her again.  This time he gave Carole a really hard and vigorous fuck in contrast with the gentle way in which their first coupling had taken place.  As he grew ever more forceful, Carole urged him on: “Yes, yes Patrick, don’t stop; go on; I like it really hard; do it: do it: do it; Patrick you are just so hard and big; I just love what you are doing to me; please don’t stop.”

Patrick, who by now needed no urging, could not have stopped had he been asked to do so.  On and on he went, until he again climaxed and shot his second mighty wad, as his cock sank deeply into his partner. Carole climaxed simultaneously again and clung to him as she shuddered with that incredible feeling which only a true orgasm can give to a woman.  And it is precisely that feeling of ecstasy which only a man can truly produce in a normal heterosexual woman, which Carole clearly was. It is exactly this feeling which, once experienced, becomes like a drug for many women; they cannot do without it and it often keeps them together with a man whom they basically hate. In a word they enjoy being fucked by a guy who can satisfy them and love does not really enter into the equation: it becomes just raw sex.

Lying there together, arms and legs entwined in what I suppose must be called post-coital bliss, Patrick said: “Carole, you really are a girl of hidden talents; that was just about the best sex I’ve ever had. Where the hell did you learn what you know?”

His question as to Carole’s experience went unanswered and was met with: “Patrick, for a guy still at school, you truly do know what you are doing.  You know, I don’t want you to get the idea that I am a whore who has sex with men for money; I don’t, but I just have certain sexual needs which I have to satisfy and I have met them with several different lovers. But you, Patrick are the tops: the absolute tops; and don’t pretend that you are inexperienced either because you are certainly not.  You are a highly competent lover and I enjoyed every minute of having you deep inside me; I didn’t want it ever to stop.”

Carole then went and surprised Patrick with her perceptivity: “I know that we have become what are called “lovers”, but realistically and I am a realist, Patrick, what we have is a mutual sexual attraction and I know that you will leave the school at the end of this term, never to return. But what I hope we might be able to do is to spend the next few weeks together doing something we both clearly like;  So what do you say; shall we make hay whilst the sun is shining can we make a habit of Saturday afternoons here?”

Patrick could not believe his ears when he heard Carole’s proposal.  This girl was half a century ahead of her time, proposing to him that they become sex partners of convenience for a brief period.  He almost fell in love with the girl there and then. And before anything more was said, he was again on top of this delightful young female, fucking her as hard and vigorously as he had done a little while ago.  My goodness, how delicious sex was and especially so with such a soft and welcoming partner, who clearly enjoyed taking it as much as he enjoyed giving. It was an afternoon made in heaven and it had all happened by chance; and all thanks to a shirt lost in the school laundry. Chance was such an important feature in life!

So Carole and Patrick become regular Saturday afternoon lovers for the rest of his term at Rigby. The day before he left the school for ever, he went into town to Carole’s room and spent the entire night with her in a monumental frenzy of sex.  As Carole had said; what they had together was not love but a mutual enjoyment in satisfying each other’s sexual needs and neither of them ever regretted for one moment what they had done.  For 1900, or even for a half a century later, they were a very forward thinking young pair.  Patrick bought her a modest gold pendant and necklace by way of a farewell gift. After that final night together, they never saw each other again, but Carole was someone Patrick remembered with fondness for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER 6

Back at school and at supper that evening. Patrick would have dearly loved to boast about his conquest.  It was quite common for the lads of the upper sixth, in their final year at Rigby, to boast about their sexual experiences with women; it was, for the main part, just a load of hot air. But Patrick held his tongue, deciding that there was some sense in the old maxim: “Discretion is the better part of valour”  So his sexual exploits with the delicious Carole remained a secret between her and him and no one ever knew that the Head-Boy had had a regular female lover during his last term at school.

But today was Saturday and Patrick had already received a note from the Headmaster in his pigeonhole inviting him to a start of term with supper the following evening.  Patrick sighed somewhat as he read the missive.  He knew that Mr. Godber would want to discuss the term’s arrangements with him, but he also knew equally well that he would be called upon to render his usual Sunday evening service to his lonely, sex- starved old Headmaster; once again he would be expected to fuck the old boy’ s arse. It was not that he minded as he enjoyed sex in any form, and he had become quite fond of the Headmaster, who had treated him very well as Head-Boy of the school; but after the time he had just spent with Carole, he would have preferred a Sunday evening with her rather than exercising his cock on the Headmaster’s arse.  But “Needs must when the devil drives”, and he saw no way of avoiding what had, after the last two terms, become a Sunday ritual.

As ever, the Headmaster and Patrick sat together and first discussed the school’s business. Mr. Godber was remarkably well informed as to what Patrick’s activities had encompassed during the first week. Patrick wondered from where he obtained his information and, more alarmingly, how much more he might know about Patrick’s illicit sexual activities.  “Well Ingram-Lewis, at the first assembly as you heard, I proposed coming down very hard of term on the question of smoking  and drinking, both of which I want stamped out completely.”

Patrick said nothing but asked himself how the Headmaster reconciled his edict against alcohol with the fact that he would probably offer him a glass of sherry before they sat down to supper, which would then be accompanied by a glass of wine and some port to finish off the meal.  A modified version of Tennyson’s famous verse came to mind as he mused over the Headmaster’s thinking on matters of alcohol: “Ours is not to reason why, but to accept things as they are.”  So Patrick abandoned any hope of understanding the Headmaster on the subject of alcohol,  but accepted the fact, that for some reason, it was acceptable for him, Patrick, the Head-Boy, to consume sherry, table wine and port in the presence of the very man who had publicly strictly forbidden their consumption by the pupils of the school. “If it were anyone else,” mused Patrick to himself, “He would be slated for a birching.”

“So Ingram-Lewis, I gather that the words were barely out of my mouth when you found three senior boys smoking, I presume that you dealt with them as I had said at the school assembly and birched them.  As I told you at the beginning of term, as Head-Boy in loco domini, you do not need to refer to me if you feel a boy deserves to be birched,  Just do it; thrash his  deserving backside and send him off wondering why he ever broke the rules. Yes, Ingram-Lewis, I am a great believer in the beneficial effects of the birch; well applied to the naked buttocks, it is a very salutary experience: one most boys don’t wish to repeat.  I remember birching you myself when you were younger and that put you on the right track; and just look at what you have achieved. (If only he really knew!) I hope that you gave them the full tariff of twelve cuts each and as they were senior boys and I hope that you visited that that new fangled thing that Mr. Patterson made from maple twigs; very effective I thought it would be when I saw it.”

Patrick replied: “Well sir, you are very well informed. It was a junior prefect who caught the three boys from the lower sixth smoking in the lavatories. However as the punishment is now a mandatory birching, they were referred immediately to me to deal with, rather than being sent to the Prefects’ Court as would normally have happened.  The maple birch is reserved for the punishment room but I do maintain a lighter willow birch, also a confection of Mr Patterson, in my own study; otherwise only the cane is used in the Prefects’ Court.  But I am happy to confirm to you Headmaster that the three boys in question were each given twelve cuts of the birch as per your order. As you observed sir, the new maple birch of Mr. Patterson’s is a remarkably efficient and painful implement.  Oh and just one small point sir; as they were caught in the act of smoking, they should have received fifteen cuts according to your announcement.  However, as they were caught before the expiry of the moratorium period of one week,  I felt I should  be lenient and gave them just twelve each. But I can tell you sir; they left the punishment room feeling very, very sorry for themselves indeed. If I might be forgiven a vulgarity sir, the boys left with flaming hot arses, wondering what had just hit them. I doubt they will ever be back for more.”

Mr Godber had listened approvingly to this account and said: “Well Ingram-Lewis you do seem to have matters in hand and I have to say that what you did sounds to have been very satisfactory.  I just want to be sure that in this final term for both of us, we do not turn soft on the boys and let our rigorous standards slip. You know my philosophy, “Give them and inch and they’ll take a mile” and that is the very last thing we want to happen.”

“The enforcement of the school rules and strict discipline in the form of corporal punishment are the backbones of the success of Rigby.  Not for nothing is the expression, Rigby Rigour, well known among the public school fraternity and it is the discipline and its enforcement that is our strength and which gives the parents of our boys the assurance, that in sending their sons here, they will receive a good, formal education and emerge as young gentlemen. And let me add, in my view it is largely due to the liberal use of the cane and the birch that we maintain our reputation.  We shall both be quitting Rigby for good at the end of this term and it is my intention to hand over to my successor, a well run and well disciplined school and I look to you, Ingram-Lewis, as my Head-Boy, to help me in this task. Now what else had happened this week which I should know about?”

“Well sir, I did myself catch red-handed two junior boys, the ever mischievous Tomlinson brothers, down town without exeats and without their boaters. And so, I dealt with them in the normal manner. I gave each of them twelve with the cane and sent them off to bed with well beaten backsides and feeling very sorry for themselves.”

“Just one small point, Ingram-Lewis; you always beat the boys bare I presume; I don’t want to retrogress and allow them to wear their shorts or trousers when being punished. I insist on the traditional Rigby method; the cane and the birch must both be applied directly to naked buttocks. We must not allow our standards to drop otherwise we shall find ourselves emulating the state schools, where where caning bare is rare; and the next thing we know, we shall be applying the cane to the palm of boys’ hands.   No Ingram-Lewis, we must maintain our standards: all punishment directly to the bare buttocks and twelve strokes the standard tariff. The boys have got to know that if they break the rules, they will be well and truly punished; it’s got to hurt and hurt a lot. A sore arse, as you put it, never did any boy any harm.”

Patrick went on: “Otherwise sir, the Court of Prefects has caned a couple of boys with punishment slip referrals from their masters but it has been a relatively quiet week.”

“Well, Ingram-Lewis you seem, as ever, to have things well in hand so that I can once again breathe easily and leave things in your capable hands as far as keeping the boys under control is concerned. As I say, don’t hesitate to thrash any miscreant, you will always have my support. Just come down on them like a ton of bricks.  But to change the subject, tell me now, as I am curious to know, what do you intend to do yourself after Rigby? You will be leaving at the end of this term; have you obtained the offer of a place at either Oxford or Cambridge? I presume that you are intending to go on to University or are you thinking of the Civil Service?”

“Headmaster I am intending to go neither to University nor into the Civil Service.  I have decided that after my time at Rigby, I am not an intellectual who would benefit from a university education. Frankly I doubt that I could knuckle down and do the work. Remember Headmaster that the expression used is to “read for degree” and I am afraid that is something that left to my own devices I would not do too well. Nor am I interested in moving into one of the Civil Service departments as many Rigbyans do.  Searching my own mind as to what I would do for a career, I decided that I would prefer a much more hands-on occupation, And so, Headmaster, off my own bat entirely and with no discussion either with any of my masters or my mother, I have applied for a place as a cadet at Dartmouth Naval College with a view to obtaining a commission in the Royal Navy and becoming a regular serving commissioned officer.”

“Headmaster, I do not know how much you know about my family, but on the early death of my father several years ago, I became head of the Ingram-Lewis family and owner of Ingram house and its estate,  where my mother lives. More importantly I also became sole owner of the family coal mining business in Northumberland. In this I have no personal interest or intention to become involved and I have for the past several years left its management in the very capable hands of a Managing Director, who has been with the business for over thirty years and who does a good job.  And so I shall be more or less turning my back on all that I own and taking off in a new direction.”

“It must be evident to you, sir, that I do not have to worry about money and so I am as free as I wish to be.  My mother does not yet know of my decision and I can tell you that she will be appalled to learn that I am not intending to run the family business. But at the end of the day, my life is my own and she will have to come to terms with my decision. In fact, for her, my decision to join the Navy will not affect her life at all as she lives alone with a paid female companion at Ingram House and is surrounded by a bevy of indoor and outdoor staff.  I shall, of course, still visit my ancestral home when my schedule in the Navy permits and the ownership of the Ingram-Lewis interests will remain mine to dispose of eventually as I see fit.”

Mr Godber had listened in silence to this exposition of Patrick’s intention and then said: “Well young man, I have no idea whether or not you have made a wise decision or not, but I admire you tremendously for being so clear in what you intend to do after leaving this school.  If you feel the Navy is the place for you, then by all means take that path. And who knows; perhaps one day we shall welcome Admiral Ingram-Lewis as a distinguished old boy of the school. Now I see the butler has brought in the sherry decanter, newly replenished; so shall we take a glass before dinner?”

The dinner was, as ever, very good and Mr. Godber produced and excellent bottle of claret to accompany the main course. Port was served with the dessert; and then as ever, Ingram-Lewis became Patrick, which was the signal to retire to Mr. Godber’s bedroom and for Patrick to fulfil what had become a regular Sunday ritual and provide his Headmaster with his weekly dose of “anal stimulation”.  What had hitherto happened on such occasions was that the Headmaster had retired to his bedroom, had undressed and installed himself in his bed. Patrick had then followed and done his duty, so to speak, after which he had left with no further discussion. Patrick had, in fact, grown quite fond of the old boy, who demanded nothing more than being given a good hard fuck. But on this occasion, when Patrick had satisfied his bodily needs, the Headmaster rolled over onto his back and engaged Patrick in what promised to become an embarrassing conversation.

Mr. Godber now moved back into his Ingram-Lewis mode, for to call him Patrick evidently appeared, in the Headmaster’s eyes, only appropriate for their more intimate moments, which he clearly now considered to be over for that evening, Mr. Godber began: “You know Ingram-Lewis, at the assembly the other day, I set out very clearly the punishments which all boys would receive if they broke the smoking and drinking rules of the school, both of which I am determined to  stamp out completely. And so I was delighted that you had already had occasion to use the birch on three boys you caught smoking.  So I was just wondering whether I should make it clear to the boys that any of them caught in unnatural sexual acts with each other would also be birched. Now I know that acts of buggery, sodomy, love, sex, call it what you will, do go on between boys and I know that I can preach abstinence until I am blue in the face and that I shall not stop it. You must realise this yourself, Ingram-Lewis, for you are quite a well equipped and competent performer in this respect, as I can vouch from my own experience with you.  And I suspect that I am not the only person in this school with whom you have regular sexual relations. Indeed if I were, I would start wondering if there was something wrong with you. But what do you think about my formalising the punishment for boys caught in the act, in the way I have done for smoking and drinking?”

By this time, Patrick was feeling very uneasy, for the Headmaster was beginning to discuss Patrick’s own sexual activities, which were not only forbidden by the school but were also illegal under the then law of the land. And he also found it hard to comprehend how the Headmaster could justify offering him alcoholic drinks without a qualm, when any other boy would be thrashed for drinking any form of alcohol.  Add to this that the Headmaster clearly understood that sex was such an unstoppable force in the lives of many senior boys, that come what may it would have to be tolerated or ignored unless the culprits were actually caught in the act by a master or prefect.   But even then, Patrick found it difficult to stomach a prefect thrashing a boy for buggery, when he knew full well that many of the prefects themselves indulged in the pastime: he himself included. What made the whole thing worse was that here he was, the Head-Boy, lying in bed with the Headmaster whose arse he had just fucked and who prior to that had been feeding him with the forbidden drink – and plenty of it at that!

Patrick began: “Headmaster, forgive me if I say so, but I think that we are in risk of going places with this conversation which neither of us should wish to visit. I know I certainly do not. And sir, being utterly realistic, if you look at what you and I have just done together this evening and have done every Sunday evening for the past two terms, forgive me, sir, if I tell you frankly, that I do feel somewhat hypocritical in the outward face which I have to show to the boys as Head-Boy in loco domini. I have already thrashed three lads with the birch for smoking and will probably find myself obliged to have to thrash several more both for smoking and drinking before the term ends. And I do hope you will understand when I look at where our personal liaison has led, where you provide me with drink and we indulge in sex together, I would find it hard to accept that boys succumbing to their sexual desires would be automatically punished.”

“And Headmaster, if boys are to be birched for drinking, why should I too not receive the same punishment for accepting the drinks you offer to me? So Headmaster if I were you, I would not extend the birching edict to sex activities.  As you so rightly say, you will not stamp it out, so just tolerate it. If there is a case of boys involved in sexual activities in public places and they are caught in flagrante, then, of course, we can thrash them to show that the rules are being upheld. It would add a veneer of respectability to what is, sir, in my view, a very murky area. If I might venture and opinion, sir, I think that you would be well advised, in this case, to let sleeping dogs to lie.”

“Finally, if I might just set your mind at rest, sir, I have never mentioned to anyone the relations which you and I have enjoyed for the past months.  No one other than we ourselves knows anything about what we do together. No one has faintest idea that you offer me alcoholic drinks or that we indulge in sexual intimacy. And on one final point  to answer what I know is an unasked question, but to which I am sure you would like and answer; yes I do indulge in sexual relations with other boys both at school and at home and I also have certain female liaisons,. So you see sir, I am in fact completely normal in this respect. I am not ashamed of what I do, as I am now a young man and have a young man’s urges and bodily needs, as do many of my classmates in the upper sixth, which I am sure you fully understand, sir.”

Having said his piece, Patrick now shut up and wondered what the Headmaster would reply having been more or less told by his Head-Boy that he was a hypocrite. Patrick had not actually labelled the Headmaster as such, but by inference in saying that he himself felt hypocritical, he had sort of tarred Mr. Godber with the same brush.

“Ingram-Lewis,” said Mr, Godber, “You truly are an amazing young man in that you have seriously thought about the way we do things at this school. And I take your point, that there is more than a touch of hypocrisy in our relationship where we indulge in things forbidden to others; even to those young men, your classmates, of the same age as you. But Ingram-Lewis, life is, alas like that; it is full of inequalities.  You know, young man, when you leave this place, you will find in the wider world that hypocrisy is everywhere. “Do as I say, not as I myself do,” is a sentiment not often spoken out loud, but so very often implied. I am afraid, young man, that I have no solution to offer you. In many ways, I think one just has to accept that there are many injustices  which one is powerless to put right and that the only solution is to accept the world for what it is,”

“I think you enjoy, as do I, what we do together, even though it is forbidden to others; and not only forbidden to others but forbidden by me personally.  So I suggest that you swallow your admirable principles for once and let things continue as they are. In other words young man, let us both follow your advice and let sleeping dogs lie. And if I might just end our conversation with the following piece of advice: don’t cut of your nose to spite your face. And if it is any consolation to you to know, my dear Patrick, (the change of name and the term of endearment!) speaking as an aged and somewhat lonely homosexual, which I am, you young man are just about the best lover I have ever had and you have brought a great deal of joy into my life this last year.  I absolutely adore our Sunday evenings together and so to hell with the rules, even though I make them. Let’s both strike whilst the iron is hot, for it is not going to be hot all that much longer for either of us here at Rigby  and for me, possibly not much longer at all.”

CHAPTER 7

It seemed that fate threw Patrick and Colin Tomlinson, Tomlinson major, together in all sorts of unexpected circumstances.  Their regular encounters over the recent past, where Patrick found himself falling on Tomlinson misbehaving, had led Patrick to a close  familiarity with the boy's arse; an arse which he had thoroughly enjoyed caning on several occasions and indeed also had the undoubted pleasure of birching.  Patrick was, in fact, completely honest in admitting to himself that he derived a certain pleasure from inflicting pain on his school mates. He knew that it was morally wrong, but he could not deny what he knew to be true. In the first week of the term, Patrick had caned both the Tomlinson brothers for going into town without permission and for not wearing their boaters, which was a school rule rigidly enforced and always resulted in severe punishment for those boys who were caught disregarding it.

And so, it might have been reasonable to suppose that Tomlinson major whose arse had just recently been thrashed for precisely these offences, would have learned something from his recent experiences; But had he? Well no; he had not!  And yet again it fell to Patrick himself to come upon Tomlinson at the end of his latest illicit adventure; or should it simply be called a delinquency?  Patrick began to think that such meetings were preordained as they occurred with monotonous regularity. Not he he minded much, for as we all know, Patrick, like the other prefects, enjoyed beating boys.  But to be fair to him, he did not abuse his position and take the cane to any boy on a false pretext: the boy had to be breaking the rules. Patrick was then perfectly happy to let the wrath of God, in the form of a severe beating of the unfortunate lad’s arse, bring reality to Mr. Godber’s edicts, which were tantamount to being carved in stone.

On this occasion, which occurred in the third week of term, Patrick happened to be passing the main gate of the school just after four in the afternoon, when whom did he see slipping surreptitiously re-entering the school but our friend Tomlinson major.  Tomlinson did not realise that he had been observed sneaking back into the school until he was suddenly pulled up sharply by Patrick, who had become his de facto nemesis. If Tomlinson was shocked or surprised by this confrontation, he did not show it, but began simply by greeting the Head-Boy: “Good afternoon, Ingram-Lewis sir.”

And then began a protracted question and answer session in which Patrick tried to determine why Tomlinson, this time, albeit, wearing his boater, had been into town during class-time in the afternoon. “Good afternoon to you too, Tomlinson. Now perhaps you would care to explain to me why I find you coming into the school, evidently from town, at four in the afternoon, a time when you should have been in class. What were you doing in town, Tomlinson?” Patrick waited to see what implausible story the boy would come up with and he was not disappointed by the speed of Tomlinson’s fertile imagination, which seemed always to rise to every occasion

“Well Ingram-Lewis sir, it was like this. I had an upset stomach after lunch and so I decided to go into town to the chemist’s shop to get something to settle it.”

“And why did you not go and see matron and asked her to give you something? After all that is what she is here for and she would probably have let you rest in the sick bay until you felt better.”

“Well Ingram-Lewis sir, I really didn’t want to bother matron and so I thought that it would be better if I went and got something myself in town.”

“And so instead you asked the master taking the class when you began to feel sick to give you an exeat to allow you to go down town in the middle of the afternoon to go to get your medicine at the chemist’s shop.”

By now even loquacious, word-ready Tomlinson had begun to realise, that he was yet again on a sticky wicket and that he had been caught again red-handed down town without any written permission to go there.  “Well Ingram-Lewis sir, I did not want to bother the master so I just sort of went. And I am sure as you will realise that it was a medical emergency and I felt that I had to take immediate action.”

Patrick, who as we know, really quite liked Tomlinson, in spite of the number of beatings he had give him, and smiled inwardly to himself as he went on with his inquest, making the boy squirm more and more as he did so. “So Tomlinson, if I understand you correctly, you went down town with no exeat authorising you to do so. Is that right?”

“Well yes, Ingram-Lewis sir, I suppose it is; but as I told you, it did seem like a medical emergency and I thought I had better act quickly before matters got worse and I might have to be taken to hospital.”

“So, to be quite clear Tomlinson, you cannot show me an exeat as you were in haste to deal with what you saw as a potential medical emergency.”

“Yes, Ingram-Lewis sir, that’s it exactly. You really have understood the whole situation sir.”

“Well Tomlinson, I’m glad that you seem to have got your problem cleared up so quickly.” Knowing full well by now that Tomlinson was, as ever, off on one of his tall stories, Patrick nevertheless led the boy on: “What exactly did you get from the chemist’s for it obviously is very good as you look and sound perfectly normal to me now? Perhaps I too should get some for myself, to keep in case I too ever suffer from an upset stomach.”

“Well that’s just it Ingram-Lewis sir; I had just got down town when the pain more or less stopped quite suddenly and I no longer felt ill, and so I never went into the chemist’s to get anything to help me as I felt all right again.”  Here Tomlinson paused for thought as he racked his brain wondering what he could say to Patrick. When it came it was a pure piece of Tomlinsoniana: a flight of fancy: an explanation thought up on the spur of the moment, but one which showed what an agile mind Tomlinson possessed. “In fact sir, I think it was just gas pains which caused the problem and when they suddenly disappeared, the problem with my stomach suddenly ended and I immediately felt quite well again.”

“And why Tomlinson, do you think that the pains suddenly stopped?”

“Well Ingram-Lewis sir, it’s a bit embarrassing for me to tell you what happened. But you know how gas pains can suddenly release themselves sir, don’t you? We all have experienced it, I think.”

Patrick could barely stop himself from laughing out loud at Tomlinson lightening fast inventiveness; but he kept a straight face and went on: “My dear Tomlinson, I am totally intrigued to know how this miracle of a cure happened. Why don’t you just tell me what occurred?”

“Oh Ingram-Lewis sir, if you really do insist and can pardon the vulgarity, I just farted and it was all over; all the gas was gone and with it the pain. So you see, it is all now over and I wonder if I might go and get some tea, sir.”

“Not so fast Tomlinson; you boy, have a lot to answer for. You know Tomlinson, I am one of the greatest admirers of your agile mind which enables you to pull totally fantastic and imaginary explanations for your behaviour out of the air at the the drop of a hat.  But as you and I both know full well, Tomlinson, the fairy tale you have just told me is a load of nonsense. You never had a stomach problem and you simply decided to cut classes ago off and play truant for the afternoon. Well, Tomlinson, that will not do. Once again you have flouted the school rules and your offence today greatly outweighs your last adventure when you and your brother went off down town, hatless and with no exeat.” 

“And so Tomlinson, I think you know what is now going to happen. But to answer your question; no you may not go and have tea. You will go to your dormitory and change into your gym strip and report to my study on the double,  I expect you there within fifteen minutes, suitably attired for the continuation of these proceedings  I shall await you there and I can promise you something much more warming than a cup of tea. Believe me. Tomlinson, when I say that if your fart did not properly settle your stomach, what I have in mind for you most certainly will; in fact as you will see, it will settle more than your stomach.”

By this time the boy had realised that all hope was lost and that he was facing yet another thrashing.  He stood there, downcast, in front of Patrick, looking at the ground and for once, words failed him. Patrick then said, very briskly:  “Well, Tomlinson, get on with it boy; go and get changed; I don’t have all day; I want you in my study in your gym strip in fifteen minutes.  Is that clear boy?”  Tomlinson, now entirely deflated, nodded a silent yes.

Patrick had every intention of giving Tomlinson the worst beating of his life, as he had decided that he boy need finally to be brought into the land of reality.  Tomlinson duly arrived at Patrick’s study, where Patrick began:  “Tomlinson, as I recollect, it is barely three weeks since I had the doubtful pleasure of correcting you and your brother in this very study for much the same offence as you have committed today. But in fact, your offence today is much worse; not only did you flout the school rules and go off into town without permission, but you did it simply because you had decided to absent yourself from the afternoon lessons.  I hope I have got the facts right, Tomlinson. And then to cover your tracks you invented a cock and bull tale about a stomach problem:  yet another figment of your fertile brain. I am right, aren’t I Tomlinson?  Correct me, boy, if I have misread the situation.”

Poor Tomlinson, now totally deflated, just stood there nodded his head, meekly agreeing with what the Head-Boy had just said.

“Now, Tomlinson, perhaps you would repeat to me what I promised you on the last occasion that I thrashed you in this very room.  What did I promise you, boy?”

Tomlinson now recalled Patrick’s warning and was filled with horror with the realisation that that promise was now, in all probability, going to be kept.  In a final attempt to salvage something from what was clearly developing into a major percussive disaster for him, Tomlinson wracked his brain for something palliative to say but finally  came up with a feeble:  “I’m very sorry, Ingram-Lewis, but you know,  I don’t quite recollect what you said on the occasion.”

“I see, Tomlinson that you have clearly had a lapse of memory; but given what it was I said to you, I am not at all surprised that you have erased it from your mind.  Well let me refresh it for you, for I recollect exactly what I said.  I promised you that if I had occasion to correct you again within one month, then I would birch you. Does that now ring a distant bell?”

“Oh yes, Ingram-Lewis, I do remember now.” And then a piece of pure Tomlinsoniana: “But please don’t feel you have to keep that specific promise; you could modify it if you wish.”

Patrick had a hard time stopping himself laughing out loud at Tomlinson mental agility, but went on:  “No Tomlinson I made you a promise and I intend, as a gentleman, to keep it.”  Tomlinson did not look particularly enthusiastic about what was clearly going to happen to him as Patrick said to him: “Well young man, the moment of truth has arrive, so if you would kindly step out of your gym shorts and bend yourself across the birching bench there, I shall be pleased to offer your backside a taste of the willow birch, an implement whose tender caresses you have not yet experienced. But you do, of course, know the unique qualities of the birch in general, do you not, Tomlinson? As I recollect it, I gave you a sound thrashing with the maple birch, after I caught you smoking last term. So come on lad; out of your shorts and let me see you bare arse across that birching bench.”

Tomlinson slowly obeyed and when Patrick returned from his bathroom where he kept the instrument of punishment in a bucket of water, Tomlinson was in position across the bench, his bare bum poised in the air awaiting its fate. Patrick looked at the lad’s arse and said: “Tomlinson, someone has beaten you since I did at the beginning of term, as I see some quite distinct marks of the cane still remaining.”

“Oh yes Ingram-Lewis sir; it was one of the junior prefects who caught me running in the corridor and gave me six there and then.”

“Tomlinson, Tomlinson, Tomlinson; when will you ever learn a lesson?  How many times since the start of the school year have you been beaten for running in the corridor?”

Tomlinson thought for a moment and said: “Six times, I think Ingram- Lewis sir…..  No; wait a minute it is seven times, Yes ; that’s it sir; seven times for running in the corridor.”

“Tomlinson, keep perfectly still. You are going to receive twelve of the birch which I intend to apply to your naked arse as hard as I possibly can, in the hope, no doubt ill-founded, that as a result of this beating you will reform and stop committing your totally stupid acts. I trust that I have made myself clear Tomlinson.”

Patrick then began very steadily to thrash the very inviting naked arse before him.  With twelve strokes in view, he knew full well that by the time he had finished with Tomlinson’s anatomy, not one square inch of it would be free of pain; Patrick always took care to see that both the back and the flanks of the recipient’s buttocks were subjected to the scourge of the birch. He was, as we all know by now, a consummate artist with both the cane and the birch and under his vigorous expertise with the latter implement, he rapidly turned Tomlinson’s arse into a painful, raw-looking, red field, flecked with the myriad of small welts left  by the individual twigs of the willow.  Even though the willow birch was not to be compared with the senior maple birch in terms of the pain it could deliver, it was capable of leaving the recipient’s arse in a state of great pain.  As stroke followed stroke, Tomlinson first of all tried to hold back his cries, but finally the pain just became so excruciating, that the lad howled at every strike.

When he had finished, Patrick told the boy to get up and put back on his shorts: “Tomlinson, let that be a final lesson to you. I know that you have a very sore arse; but you know, boy, you truly deserved it.  Now; let me just tell you that if, for any reason whatsoever, you break the rules and I have to correct you yet again, you will get twelve cuts of the senior birch, the maple birch, across your naked arse strapped to the Rigby Horse in the punishment  room. Believe me, Tomlinson, I am not joking and that is a firm promise, which I suggest you keep in mind.  So mend your ways, boy, otherwise you will have another sore arse to contend with.”

Tomlinson was, along with most other boys fully aware of the horror of the maple birch, that implement of torture put together by Mr. Patterson, the head gardener, which had acquired a mythical reputation as being the all time killer to be avoided at all costs.  And so, chastened and somewhat penitent looking, Tomlinson eased back on his shorts, itself a painful business, as his arse was just so very sore and went off tearfully to get dressed for supper.. That, of course, in the normal way of events would have been that for the boy; he had sinned and had paid the price for his sins. But, alas on this occasion, the matter was still not over.

It was the next day that Patrick received a note from the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, asking him to see him in his study immediately after lunch: “Ah, Ingram-Lewis, thank you for coming so promptly to see me, I have been looking over the punishment book and I see that Tomlinson major’s name seems to make very regular appearances; much too regular in my view. I see that just yesterday, for instance you yourself gave the boy a thorough birching. Now what was that about? Something quite serious, I imagine to give the lad twelve of the birch so early in the term.  What exactly was his sin?”

So Patrick was obliged to tell the whole story of Tomlinson’s stupid truancy to Mr. Godber, who took a very grave view of the lad’s misdemeanour:  “Ingram-Lewis, I think that it is time that Tomlinson major was taken firmly in hand.  I have here a letter from his father, Colonel Tomlinson, who says that his elder son is a walking disaster. It is as if he goes out of his way to get into trouble: a backside in search of a beating, so to speak. The colonel asks us to try to ensure that his son obeys rules and urges us to take the necessary remedial action whenever necessary to see that the lad treads the straight and narrow at all times. He is, himself, totally convinced of the beneficial effects of corporal punishment, which he regularly inflicts on delinquent recruits in his regiment and he suggests that we adopt the same unbending approach with his elder son.”

Let me just read you a snippet of what he says:

“And so, Headmaster, do not hesitate to thrash my elder son if you feel it necessary. He will always try, with his glib tongue, to talk his way out of any situation, but do not listen to him; if you deem it necessary, do not hesitate in the slightest to thrash his backside; I am a great believer in the beneficial effects of the cane and the birch and I think that my son Colin could probably benefit from their more regular application to his bare backside. And so, Headmaster, I have not the slightest hesitation in leaving my son’s anatomy to your tender care.”

Patrick had really no clear idea of what the Headmaster’s intentions were, but these were made abundantly clear as Mr. Godber continued:  “Ingram-Lewis, I think that the time has come for our friend Tomlinson to meet what might figuratively be described as his Waterloo. I view his latest infraction, truancy, as a very serious matter and I think that on this occasion some further attention needs to be given to the boy’s lower anatomy, over and above the birching you gave him yesterday.”

“In fact, Ingram-Lewis, I believe the boy merits the most severe punishment that the school rules allow: a maximum of twenty four strokes on any one occasion for any one offense.  And so, I propose to have Tomlinson in here this evening after supper and to give him a further twelve strokes of the cane across his naked buttocks.  In the old days, before your time, it was a procedure I often adopted; I would birch a boy and then apply the cane to what might be described as his pre-conditioned buttocks, to add a number of clear welts which the birch itself does not produce. And that, Ingram-Lewis, is what I propose for Tomlinson, to try to knock some sense into the lad.”

Patrick had listened to the Headmaster without comment, but with a feeling of foreboding building up as the full horror of what was proposed became clear.  At the end of the day, as we know, Patrick had quite a soft spot for Tomlinson whom he quite liked personally and he wondered what he could do to palliate the proposed additional punishment. Also, knowing how the Headmaster had stopped completely using the cane himself and had expected Patrick to administer punishments on his behalf, he was not looking forward to having to beat Tomlinson again for the same offence, whether the school rules allowed it or not.

So Patrick made a vain attempt to temper the Headmaster’s obvious ardour:  “If you will forgive me, Headmaster, I think that Tomlinson may have learned his lesson after what I gave him yesterday and I wonder if it is wise to call him back and give him yet another thrashing. He went to bed last night which a very, very painful bottom, I can assure you; but if you insist, then perhaps you might consider reducing the number of the strokes to six rather than giving him the full twelve.”

“Oh, nonsense, Ingram-Lewis! The boy needs a short sharp shock to bring him into the real world; and that is exactly what he is going to get. A well beaten bottom never did any lad any harm. Twelve strokes of the cane it will be and I shall have the pleasure of administering them myself. So, Ingram-Lewis, please inform Tomlinson that I want him here before me in my study in his gym strip at eight thirty this evening. This will really be a case of striking whilst the iron is hot. Oh and Ingram-Lewis; I want you in attendance whilst I carry out the punishment.”

Patrick heaved an inward sigh of relief as he learned that the  Headmaster was intending to wield the cane himself: at least that was something. He earnestly hoped that when it came to the actual moment that the Headmaster would not suddenly ask him to take over. But he now had to face the horrible task of telling Tomlinson of his fate. He caught Tomlinson immediately after classes that afternoon: “Tomlinson, the Headmaster has asked be to tell you that he wishes to see you at eight-thirty this evening in his study.” And then came the killer corollary: “And he wants you to wear your gym strip.”

Poor Tomlinson blanched as Patrick delivered this news with everything which it implied.  To be summoned by Headmaster was one thing, but to be summoned and told to wear one’s gym strip mean one thing and one thing alone: a thrashing. “Ingram-Lewis sir, why does the Headmaster wish to see me and why do I have to wear my gym strip? I haven’t done anything. Is he going to beat me? I don’t think I could stand it; my bum is still very sore after what you did to me yesterday. I still can’t sit down without it hurting me; it really does hurt me a lot Ingram-Lewis sir; and really I haven’t done anything; truly I haven’t.”

“Tomlinson, I am sorry. Believe me when I tell you that I have had no hand whatsoever in what the Headmaster intends to do to you; I have merely been ordered to give you the message; and so I suggest that you be there on time in order not to make matters worse.  The Headmaster himself will make everything clear to you himself.”

And so poor Tomlinson (and who could not help feeling sorry for the lad in view of what was about to be inflicted on him)  passed an uncomfortable few hours doing his prep, trying to eat his supper and wondering what was in store for him at eight thirty. He arrived promptly at the Headmaster’s study and was told to enter; Ingram-Lewis was already there.  Any doubt as to what was about to happen disappeared as he saw the low chair used by the Headmaster for beating boys, with a wicked looking cane lying across its seat, already set in the centre of the room.  He did not have long to wait to learn of precisely why he had been summoned and what was going to happen to him.

The Headmaster began: “Tomlinson major; you, boy, have been a thorn in the flesh of this school ever since your arrival here nearly two years go. You are never out of trouble. You have been thrashed more often than any other boy I can remember in my long career at this school: all to no avail. And now we have your latest escapade: playing truant for a full afternoon: totally outrageous and totally inexcusable!  Now I understand that Ingram-Lewis, who, by chance, happened to catch you sneaking back into the school, gave you a thorough birching to try to teach you a lesson. Well, Tomlinson, allow me to tell you that I do not think that twelve cuts of the birch is anyway near an adequate punishment for your flagrant disregard for the cardinal rules of this school.  Boys at Rigby do not simply duck out of class when they feel so inclined and go off doing who knows what, gallivanting around the town.”

“And so, Tomlinson, I now intend to throw the book at you. In case you do not understand what that means, let me tell you. It means that I shall punish you to the full extent that the school rules allow.  You Tomlinson are to receive twelve cuts of that cane that is lying there across that chair, across your naked buttocks. So step out of your gym shorts, boy, bend across the chair and I will begin.  I have to tell you, Tomlinson, that the Head-Boy did intercede on your behalf and asked me to be lenient with you, but I am afraid I refused;  I think that for once you deserve a thorough beating to put you on the straight and narrow path if that is at all possible. Over the chair boy and let’s get started.”

Tomlinson, trembling with fear at what he had just heard and faced with the horror of taking twelve cuts of the cane across his still ragingly painful tail, as ever, made a vain effort to salvage something from the occasion. “Please sir, I don’t think my father would approve of what you intend to do to me. I have already been severely punished by Ingram-Lewis and now you want to punish me again for the same offence. I am sure he would not approve, sir. It just isn’t fair, sir.”

“Tomlinson; let me disabuse you of the idea that your father would disapprove of what is now going to happen to you. Let me just read to you an extract from a letter he wrote to me about the problems of keeping you in order.”  Mr. Godber then read out to Tomlinson that same extract from the letter he had received from Colonel Tomlinson.  “As you can see boy, your father knows exactly what we are up against with you and approves totally of your being thrashed whenever necessary. And, Tomlinson, let us be clear; you are not being punished twice for the same offence: indeed not!  You are being given a  complement of twelve cuts to bring your total punishment up to the maximum accepted level of the twenty-four strokes allowed by the school rules, which I personally think is totally justified in the present case. So, get across the chair boy and keep still whilst I deal with your backside.”

Tomlinson could do nothing but obey the Headmaster. So overtly trembling, he took off his shorts and bent across the chair, allowing his bum to be inspected by Mr. Godber. The Headmaster looked carefully at the boy’s inflamed and obviously still painful arse and said to Patrick: “Well Ingram-Lewis, you are to be congratulated on having done an excellent job with the birch on this boy’s bottom. You have managed, as should always be the case, to see that his entire posterior, both his buns and flanks have been well and truly birched. It only remains for me to add the twelve additional cuts with the cane, which will leave this miscreant with a ragingly painful backside, which is exactly what he deserves. Hopefully he will decide once and for all to mend his wayward tendencies.”

Patrick looked on with a mixed sense of pity, awe and admiration as Mr. Godber started to apply his cane to the unfortunate Tomlinson’s arse. He was secretly relieved that the Headmaster had gone ahead and picked up the cane himself, for he had feared that at the last moment he would once again be called upon to take over and that was the last thing he wanted.  Mr. Godber proved himself still to be a master with the cane. In his earlier days at Rigby, Patrick had often felt the Headmaster’s power with both the cane and the birch on his own backside, before he himself decided to reform. But on those numerous occasions he had not actually seen the Headmaster in action, as he had himself always been bent double, arse naked across a chair.

But now, for the first time watching the old man in action, he realised that practically forty years of experience did, after all count for something, for old Mr, Godber was a true master in the art of beating. He did not bother with any of the preliminary tapping, finding his bearings as it were, but simply brought down the rod with incredible precision and force, landing stroke after painful stroke on Tomlinson’s arse. The Headmaster started at the top of the buttocks and by the time he had applied ten cuts, he was already in that painfully sensitive sit-spot area, where the buttock join the legs. And all the strokes were parallel to each other. By the third stroke, Tomlinson had been reduced to a howling tearful mess, begging the Headmaster to stop; but it was to no avail as Mr. Godber pressed on. Finally after the tenth stroke, Mr. Godber reviewed his handiwork and said: “Tomlinson, I always believe in giving a boy something he can be proud to show to his classmates, so I will conclude your punishment with two final diagonal cross cuts to pull the whole picture together.  Your backside, my boy, will look like an impressionist painting.”

It was all finally over and Tomlinson and Patrick left the Headmaster’s study together, Tomlinson was in such extreme pain that he found it hard to walk without limping.  Patrick felt very sorry for the boy and said to him: “Come back to my study Tomlinson and I will apply a little ointment which will sooth your arse a bit. You’re going to be sore for several days, you know, but it will pass and it’s all over now and you will get over it. I know just how painful it must be and I hope that you have finally learned your lesson and will improve your ways. You know Tomlinson; I was rather like you in my early years at Rigby. Old Godber thrashed me on numerous occasions so I know exactly how you feel. But let me tell you it all ended for me when he gave me a monumental birching after which I decided I had had enough. I could barely sit down for nearly a week and that was what settled matters. And since that I have never been caned again.”

In his study, Tomlinson gratefully allowed Ingram-Lewis to rub, very gently as it was all so painful, some ointment into his flaming backside. When he finally left to show his “trophy wounds” to his classmates, he turned to Patrick and said: “You know, Ingram-Lewis, in spite of everything you have done to me I bear you no ill-will; you know Ingram-Lewis; you’re a real sport.”  And that was, in fact the last time that Patrick ever spoke to the boy.

The truly painful experience which Tomlinson had undergone as a result of his truancy finally did make the boy realise that he could no longer continue flouting the school rules in the way he had hitherto done. His birching and subsequent caning by Mr. Godber together brought Tomlinson to a sort of epiphany: a moment when he saw the light and decided to reform.  It was much the same experience as that of Ingram-Lewis years earlier, when he, after a sound thrashing from Mr. Godber, had changed track and had become a model pupil and was now Head-Boy of the school. So this gruesomely painful experience was the turning point in Tomlinson’s life at Rigby, and it was, in fact the last time that he was beaten whilst at the school.

Tomlinson major became more serious and by the time he was in the lower sixth, both the then Headmaster on the advice of his colleagues, realised his worth and he was appointed a junior prefect. Then in his final year he was appointed Head-Boy by the Headmaster himself. And in that function he dished out beatings left, right and centre in the same way as his predecessors had always done. He truly believed in Rigby Rigour as it was called and stoutly maintained for the rest of his life that the beatings he had taken at school had never done him any harm. And as Head-Boy he exercised that philosophy on the naked arses of countless boys.

Tomlinson went on to read Greats at New College, Oxford, where he took a first class honours degree before joining the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. There he spent his entire working life, rose to considerable heights and was knighted by King George VI. He died in his 90’s in 1983. Such was the life of a man, who as a boy had been perpetually in trouble during his first two years at Rigby School.

CHAPTER 8

The rest of the term passed fairly uneventfully until the very last week.  The Court of Prefects met each evening and beat any boys who had been handed a punishment note by the masters. And from time to time prefects individually beat one boy or other boys for this or that reason; often for some trivial or imagined infraction. Any reason however tenuous was enough to justify making a lad drop his pants and present his bare arse to the cane. No one resented it or thought badly of the prefects. It was all part and parcel of the life at Rigby and the lads who had been beaten looked forward to the day when they too might be prefects and could take their revenge on their younger schoolmates.

But to come back to the last week of term.  It was Saturday evening around eight; supper had been served and eaten and the boys were free until bedtime which, for the upper sixth was ten o’clock. Quite by chance, Mr. Godber, the Headmaster happened to go into town; a highly unusual occurrence for him at that hour, but he was on his way to see a retired member of the domestic staff, his old butler, who stilled lived locally and who had been unwell of late. As he approached the King’s Head public house, he saw the tail coat of a boy, who was clearly a Rigbyan, disappearing into the door of the place. 

Now Mr. Godber had never in his life stepped inside the King’s Head but he felt he had to investigate and see what the boy was up to. To his utter surprise when he entered he found five boys at the bar, already smoking and drinking and the sixth boy, who had evidently only just arrived but he already had a cigarette in his lips and was ordering a drink from the landlord.  Looking at the boys, it was evident that they had already been there for quite some time, for they were clearly three sheets to the wind.

Engrossed as they were in their own affairs, the boys did not immediately notice the arrival of their Headmaster but suddenly one of them turned and found an irate Mr. Godber glaring at them.  They group fell silent as the Headmaster stared at them; no one spoke a word.  The other customers standing at the bar suddenly realised that something was horribly wrong. The silence became deafening and it would be safe to say, in crude modern day language, that the six lads  suddenly looked as though they were shitting bricks.

Mr. Godber said: “I want the six of you out of here and back at school immediately; it is now almost half past eight and I want the six of you, in your gym strips, in my study at nine o’clock. Now get out of here, the lot of you.” Turning to the landlord, he said: “Landlord, if you will forgive me saying so, I am surprised and shocked that you should be serving boys from the school in a public bar with alcoholic drinks.  All boys from Rigby School no matter what their age, are strictly forbidden to consume alcohol or to smoke cigarettes, either on or off the school premises.”

The landlord looked at Mr. Goder, whom he did not know and said: “Sir, the young men in Rigby School clothing I have just served are all of legal age to consume alcohol. When I raised an eyebrow seeing that the lads were from the school, they all claimed to be over the age of eighteen and so why should I refuse to serve them?  After all, sir, I’m running a business here selling beer to earn my living.  And if I may say so sir, it is not for me to enforce the school rules, with which I’m not familiar. So you see sir, I don’t think that I have done anything wrong.  If he lads have broken the rules, then it is for you, sir, to take them to task, and from what I have just heard you say to them, I reckon that they are going to rue the day they came in here and pay a very painful price for their disobedience. However, sir, now that I know the school rules if any other boys from the school ever come in here, I will send them packing immediately, sir. What more can I say fairer than that, sir?”

Mr. Godber accepted the landlord’s apologies, realising that he had a point. His visit to his old butler was forgotten as he himself hastened to return to the school and to find Patrick Ingram-Lewis, his Head-Boy. He needed Patrick’s assistance urgently, as he intended to give the six miscreants the soundest thrashing they had ever had in their entire school career. As he entered the school he saw Tomlinson major in the corridor: “Tomlinson,” he said, “Kindly go and find the Head-Boy and ask him to come to my study immediately.”

Tomlinson soon located Patrick in the Prefects’ common room where they usually held court:  “Ingram-Lewis, sir, the Headmaster has sent me to find you; he wants to see you in his study immediately.”

This announcement, made in front of several of the other prefects, who also happened to be present as Tomlinson delivered his message the news that something was “up” quickly went round he school.  But why had Ingram-Lewis been suddenly summoned to see the Headmaster? What was the reason? The school was soon burning with curiosity to find out.

Patrick himself had no idea why he had been called at such a late hour and with such urgency to the Headmaster’s study, but clearly something important was afoot; but what?  He soon found out when Mr. Godber told him of his chance encounter with the six boys from the upper sixth in the King’s Head. He was at pains to explain to Patrick that it was by purest chance that he had seen one of the lads entering the pub and had himself followed the boy and found him and his classmates drinking and smoking at the bar. On hearing the names of the delinquents, Patrick heaved an inward sigh of relief that neither Roderick Pennington, his closest friend nor any prefect was involved. All six lads were from the upper sixth and aged over eighteen and so, as the landlord had said, he had not served alcohol to boys under the legal age.

“Ingram-Lewis,” began the Headmaster, “The six boys in question will be here in a few minutes and I have to tell you that I intend to inflict on them the maximum and most severe punishment the school rules permit. And so, I wish you to give each of these lads twelve strokes of the of the maple birch, and when I say twelve strokes, I mean twelve really hard cuts so that these young miscreants realise that they cannot flout the school rules even though they are eighteen and about to leave Rigby: they are still at school and will obey the rules and if they break them bear the consequences as they are now about to learn.”

“The argument that they are of legal age to smoke and drinking cuts no ice with me. They all know that the school rules forbid what they were doing and they are going to pay the price for their actions;  and let me tell you, Ingram-Lewis, the price is going to be very, very painful. After you have birched the lads, I myself, as my swan-song as Headmaster, intend to give each lad’s arse another twelve cuts of the senior cane, of which I have a good selection still available. Believe me Ingram-Lewis, these six young men are going to wish they had never been born when they leave here tonight.”

“Can you imagine the damage done to the prestige and standing of the school by the fact that these six lads, in school attire, went into the leading public house of the town, no less, and stood brazenly around smoking and drinking at the bar for all and sundry to watch?  No, Ingram-Lewis, it will not do and they are going to realise the error of their ways in a few moments. Now, in view of the heavy load we both have to bear in the coming minutes, if I might suggest you co-opt another prefect to help you in the punishment room as I do not want any disorderliness.”

Patrick had listened to the Headmaster without interrupting him. He realised from the passionate way in which Mr. Godber had spoke that he was incensed by the action of members of the upper sixth and that he had little chance to palliate matters. He fully understood both sides of the argument. The sixth formers were of age and had broken no law of the land in smoking and drinking in the public house and as it was near the end of the final term, they saw nothing wrong in what they were doing. But they were nevertheless still under the protection of the school until they left at the end of term in little more than a week’s time.  In loco parentis, as the school still was, it was the school which was responsible for the well-being of the boys and had anything untoward happened in the pub then it was the school which would have been responsible.

Patrick wished that he could in some way diminish the punishment that the Headmaster was clearly intent in inflicting the six lads; but having heard his impassioned delivery, he sighed inwardly and thought to himself that the idiots would just have to grin and bear it. Grin and bear it, an expression easy to say, but in view of what was now about to happen to them, possibly a little hard to stomach when the lads finally confronted the reality of their situation.  Patrick had in principle no problem with being asked to give each of the lads a dozen cuts of the birch; in fact he was actually quite looking forwards to wielding the deadly maple rod on a series of mature buttocks. There was something very satisfying about beating a mature naked arse as distinct from the smaller anatomies of the younger boys.

Patrick went back to the prefects’ common room and found his de facto deputy, Atkins, whom he motioned to come with him.  The other prefects and indeed the entire the school were wondering what precisely was in the air.

Patrick quickly put Atkins in the picture and they went together to make sure that everything was in order in the punishment room;  both the birchings and the canings would be administered there with each of the recipients mounted, arse naked on the dreaded Rigby Horse. Patrick wondered if any of the lads realised what was in store for them. That they were going to get their arses beaten must have been evident, as they had been ordered to appear before the Headmaster in their gym strips. But did they have any idea of the severity of the punishment which they were about to receive?

The news that no less than six upper-sixth formers were appearing before the Headmaster in their gym strips, flashed liked greased lightning around the school.  One of the prefects had hung around in the corridor near the Headmaster’s study and had seen the six lads enter.  So the whole school now knew: six sixth formers were about to be beaten; but why? And what neither the boys about to be punished nor the school in general knew, was just how severe the punishments were to be. This was to be the greatest bloodbath of the year, which in retrospect would make every boy shiver as he thought of what the Headmaster was still capable of inflicting on his charges.

The six delinquents, their names unimportant other than that of “Taffy” Evans, a barrister’s son from Cardiff, who saw himself as spokesman for the group, stood there in a row in front of a very cross-looking Headmaster in his study.  Evans made a valiant attempt to mitigate what was clearly had all the makings of a painful  disaster for the six of them; just how painful they had as yet know idea, but they were shortly to find out: “Headmaster, if I might just be permitted to explain our point of view, sir. We are all eighteen years of age and therefore legally allowed both to smoke and drink and we really do not see why we should not, on occasions, frequent a…..”

“Stop right there, boy. I am not interested in the legalities of the situation in which I found you this evening, only in the fact that you were all breaking two of the school’s cardinal rules: the prohibition of both drinking and smoking.  Now, unless you are all deaf or were asleep when I announced, at the beginning of term, that any boy breaking these rules would be severely punished, you were all fully aware of the potential consequences of your actions when you entered the King’s Head this evening.  Moreover, in so doing you brought the school into disrepute in front of lord knows how many town’s people, who expect better behaviour from pupil of Rigby school.”

“But sir…..” 

“Evans, kindly hold your tongue, young man. There is no excuse, none at all, for what you have just done and for that you are all now going to pay a very painful price. Drinking and smoking, both strictly forbidden, each carry a tariff of twelve strokes of the cane or birch, as I made clear to you all at the start of term and that, gentlemen is what you are now going to receive. So, gentlemen, to be quite clear and to ensure that you each understand exactly what is going to happen to you let me explain.  Ingram-Lewis, as Head-Boy in loco domini, is first going to give each of you twelve strokes of the senior birch: the maple birch.”

“We will then take a fifteen minute pause, after which I personally shall give each of you twelve cuts across the naked buttocks with a senior cane, to ensure that each of you leaves here tonight with a well striped bottom: a testimony to your disregard of the rules. And believe me gentlemen, in view of the serious nature of your transgressions, I propose to use my very finest, mature cane, which I have over the years used with complete satisfaction on the bottoms of dozens of boys. I think I can promise you that those of you who had thought that I was getting too old to wield the cane will find themselves sadly mistaken; believe me gentlemen, you will all go to bed tonight not knowing where to do with your your backsides. I intend to make this an occasion you will remember for a long time to come. Ingram-Lewis, might I suggest that we now get started on this unpleasant task. Gentlemen, you will all kindly follow the Head-Boy to the punishment room, where the excellent maple birch awaits you.”

Patrick and his deputy, Atkins, led the way to the punishment room. All six lads were told to enter, to take off their gym shorts and to stand facing the wall with their hands on their on their heads, their naked arses fully visible. The sixth formers were all members of the senior rugby team and as such had well developed buttocks: the ideal target for the birch. Patrick was, in fact, now quite looking forward to beating the lads as he fully agreed with the Headmaster that they had seriously let down the school. By now, any earlier feelings of sympathy he might have had for them having illicit drag and a drink in the pub had evaporated and he fully intend to make sure that each and every one of the lads experienced the full pain of the birch across his naked arse.

The room was quite large and apart from the Rigby Horse and a couple of low chairs, was bare of furniture. The birches were to be seen immersed in deep pails of water. Taffy Evans again made an attempt to protest only to be silenced by Mr. Godber. The six boys stood as ordered, arse naked facing the wall, waiting their fate.

Mr. Godber took charge of matters and said: “You first Evans; come on boy, quick about it. Mount the horse lad and let’s get started. Atkins, if you please; make sure that this miscreant is securely restrained with the leg and wrist straps with which this admirable apparatus is provided.  I do not want any jumping around whilst Ingram-Lewis applies the birch.”

Evans blanched as he realised that the moment of truth had now arrived and trembling like a leaf, mounted the horse and allowed Atkins to attach the straps to his ankles and wrists. Patrick now picked up the birch, shook off the water and advanced on Evans’s attendant buttocks. He looked with a certain pleasure when he saw what a well muscled arse was presented to him. There was always a great deal more erotic pleasure in thrashing a senior rather than a junior boy, And let’s face it, the members of the upper sixth, Patrick himself included, although still at school were all young men.

Patrick was also relieved that Mr. Godber had taken lead and was instructing him, in loco domini: in place of the master, to administer the most severe punishment the school had to offer.  He felt, somehow, absolved of any responsibility for what was about to happen: for what he was about to do; he was just an instrument in the hands of the Headmaster, who himself was totally responsible for the bloodbath which was about to take place. At least that is what Patrick tried to convince himself as he prepared to make the first stroke.

“Ingram-Lewis; please now kindly do our duty and proceed as ordered.  I want you to see that this boy’s buttocks are thoroughly birched all over, so feel free to move around to ensure that every part of this lad’s anatomy experiences the therapeutic effects of the of the birch. I want him and his friends to realise just how seriously I view their iconoclastic actions. So, Ingram-Lewis; in your own time when you are ready; please begin and lay on the birch with as much force as you judge necessary. I want this to be a very painful start to this evening’s punishment schedule.  Atkins: if you please, young man: kindly call out the strokes. Evans; brace yourself, boy, as you are about to experience one of the most painfully awful moments of your entire school career. And let me emphasise that what you are now about to receive this is just the first half of this evening’s programme. You have indeed a lot to look forward to; and that goes for the lot of you!”

Listening to the Headmaster’s words, brought home to Patrick just how strongly the old boy felt about the damage to the standing and prestige of the school these six lads had wrought by their stupid action.  For a usually mild man, the Headmaster was clearly so incensed, that was out for their blood his evening and nothing was going to stop him getting it. Patrick could never remember in all his time at Rigby, ever having seen Mr. Godber so seething with rage as he was today.

The first stroke of the birch landed forcibly across the exact middle of Evans’s arse. The young man drew a deep audible breath as he felt the full horror of the birch mating with his naked flesh. Many observers remark that the first two or three stokes are not so bad and that that pain with the birch takes time to build up, but judging from the howls that Evans emitted from the second stroke onwards, this was clearly not the case at present.  Patrick brought down the rod systematically in a serious of carefully timed and targeted strokes across the entire surface and flanks of Evans’s arse. When he had finished and Atkins released the straps, Evans’s backside was a rich, flaming red colour all over and was covered with the small superficial bruises so characteristic of a well birched arse.

The Headmaster said:  “Ingram-Lewis; that was a truly stellar performance you just gave Evans with the birch, Now that is what I call, to be vulgar, a truly well-birched arse and I am sure that Evans feels the same. Now Evans, go back and stand with your classmates, face to the wall and keep your hands on your head;  I want no massaging of your backside; is that clear?” Then pointing to the next lad in line, he went on: “Come on lad; you’re next; so quick about. Get onto the horse and let the dog see the hare; or rather the birch your bottom.  Atkins: if you please and Ingram-Lewis, when you ready, please begin and help this lad to repent the error of his ways.  Make sure that he gets the thorough thrashing, which he so richly deserves.”

And so for about three quarters of an hour, the time it took to birch the six lads, all of them had to suffer the indignity of standing there with their arses naked, first waiting to be told to mount the Rigby Horse horse; and then in agony, with their backsides raw from the birch until the Headmaster finally decided after some fifteen minutes pause, that it was time to move on to the next stage of their punishment. “Ingram-Lewis, I seem to have left my cane in my study; could I trouble you to go and fetch it for me as I intend to beat the boys over the Rigby Horse: it just seems so appropriate.”

Cane in hand, the Headmaster told Evans to remount the horse, which Evans did with some understandable reluctance “Come on boy, get back up there. I haven’t got all night to spend on you, with five of your classmates eagerly awaiting their turn.”  A discerning observer would have been hard pressed to detect any trace of eagerness in the demeanour of the waiting boys. Fear would have been a better description of what filled their faces. “So Evans, let’s get on with it.  And just to remind you in case you have already forgotten;you are to receive a further twelve cuts of this cane to bring up your total punishment for your appalling disregard of two cardinal rules of this school to the maximum of twenty-four strokes as allowed by the school rules. And just let me tell you, Evans, that I consider twenty-four cuts a very modest punishment in view of what you have done. Now boy, brace yourself whilst I apply the cane to your backside. I have to say, Ingram-Lewis, that you have done a sterling job with the birch and this boy’s bottom is in perfect condition for a complementary, therapeutic dose of the cane.”

And with that the Headmaster applied the first stroke of his cane directly across the midpoint of Evans’s arse; everyone, including Patrick, Atkins and Evans’s waiting classmates winced, as the cane mated with a resounding thwack with Evans’s naked flesh. The lad took a sharp breath before letting out a howl of pain.  Patrick had for the first time seen the Headmaster himself wield the cane fairly recently when he had decided to give Tomlinson major’s arse a complementary beating for his truancy.  He had then marvelled at the accuracy and speed with Mr Godber handled the cane.

But today Mr Godber was like a man possessed. The vigour, speed and force with which he applied the cane was way beyond what he had done to Tomlinson. Patrick looked on with awe and admiration as the Headmaster thrashed Evans’s naked arse. He was reminded of the maxim “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” and thought how appropriate a modification would be:  “Hell hath no fury like the Headmaster disobeyed.” The Headmaster judged every stroke and applied it with the maximum force; a force so expertly judged as to impart the maximum possible pain to the recipient’s buttocks, but always without breaking the skin.

Poor Evans howled, protested and yelped with pain, all to no avail as cut followed searing cut; the pain the boy was enduring was intense; Patrick had never seen anyone beaten so thoroughly in his life and he sighed inwardly with relief that he was not in line for a dose of the Headmaster’s fury. It was quite clear that the Headmaster had decided that Evans and his classmates were going to rue the day when they had broken his rules and would serve as an example to the rest of the boys as to what would happen to them if they were caught drinking or smoking.

Today the Headmaster’s promises made at the first assembly of term were being acted upon. If anyone had thought that they were just words, then the present demonstration made the whole thing real: break the cardinal rules and arses would be birched and caned. The other five lads, standing, hands on head, their birched arses naked and already painfully raw, were trembling with fear as they realised that they were about to undergo the same treatment in a few minutes time; their moment in hell was not far away and it was not a very pleasant  prospect.

Evans’s beating was finally over: he was completely in tears, which is not surprising in view of the nightmare he had just experienced. But he was still made to do further penance in being made to resume his place against the wall, hands on head, his flaming arse, still naked,  but now richly embellished with the the livid stripes from the Headmaster’s cane. The Headmaster had exercised his considerable skill and superimposed upon Patrick’s birching a series of ten evenly spaced parallel welts with his cane, and had finished off with two diagonal cross cuts, drawing the whole together. Patrick realised that he had just witnessed an example of truly virtuoso caning, the likes of which he had never before seen; nor was he ever likely to see the like again.  Truly Mr. Godber, when he set his mind to it, was still an absolute crack.

And so the punishment continued as each of the other five boys in turn was made to mount the Rigby Horse and offer his already sore backside to the excruciating ministrations of the Headmaster.  If ever anything warranted the description “bloodbath” this had to be it. When it was all over, the six tearful young men, each wondering if his arse would ever feel the same again, were told to put back on their shorts and leave.

As they were leaving and limping back tearfully to the showers, where their backsides would be the centre of attention, Mr. Godber said: “Well, gentlemen; let that be a lesson to you; actions speak louder than words as I think you now appreciate. But make no mistake; even though the end of term is near, if any of you break another rule, you will be back in this room and will again enjoy the doubtful pleasure of mounting the Rigby Horse. I trust I make myself clear:  I will neither the school rules nor my words taken in vain!”

Mr. Godber thanked Patrick and Atkins for their part in the the proceedings and then went off to his own quarters.  Atkins said to Patrick:  “My God, Ingram-Lewis that was one hell of a punishment session we just witnessed. I never realised that old Godber was such an expert with the cane. He beat me several times when I was younger, but I never remember such severity; the old boy was clearly hopping mad.  But you know, that was one of the most erotic things I have ever experienced, I had a hard time keeping my cock down as Godber laid on his cane.  Ingram-Lewis, I don’t know about you but I need a bit of relaxation after that; how about you?”

“You know Atkins, I don’t know what you mean by relaxation, but if it is a quick fuck you are looking for, then let’s get to it.” Which is exactly what the two young men did. They went back to Patrick’s study, locked the door behind them and it was after midnight and a delicious couple of  hours of mutually gratifying copulation, that Atkins quietly crept away back to his own bed. As he saw his partner leave, Patrick reflected on the injustice life at the school. He and Atkins had just participated in a monumental beating session of six of their schoolmates and had then gone on themselves to break yet another of the school’s cardinal rules; but they did not get caught: that was the difference. As Mr. Godber had told him; one had to accept and live with the hypocrisies of life.

CHAPTER 9

The mass beating of the upper sixth formers was the focal point of the end of the school year; it defined discipline and punishment at Rigby School for the coming year: It was the legacy which Mr. Godber left for his, as yet unnamed, successor.  Mr. Godber, retired at the end of the school year, after some forty odd years in the service of the school. The new Headmaster would find a well run, well disciplined and obedient establishment on which he could make his own mark; something he surely would do, both literally and metaphorically;  for make no mistake the cane and the birch would remain very much in regular use at Rigby for or many, many years to come.

Evans and company served as an example to the entire school, for never had any group of boys been so severely punished.  After that exceptional evening when seventy two strokes of  the senior maple birch, wielded by Patrick Ingram-Lewis,  followed by seventy two strokes of the senior cane wielded by the Headmaster, the whole school went in aware of what might happen to them if the crossed the fine red line and broke any rule.  It was a watershed moment, as it brought home to everyone how the Sword of Damocles was hanging  over all their heads  and it conditioned their behaviour for months to come.

As or Evans and his friends; well they nursed their wounds as boys since time immemorial have done at English public schools and ultimately rationalised their feelings, again as boys do. They acknowledged that they had been stupid to break such cardinal rules and accepted the fact that having decided to flout the rules, they had stupidly allowed themselves to be taken in flagrante, so to speak by flaunting their defiance of the rules in the principal public house of the town. Their arses were sore for a good week but by the end of term all six lads were again fit and well with no ill effects or scars of what had been an exceptional dose of corporal punishment. And with the attitude which boys so often show towards their masters, even after being punished, they bore neither the Headmaster nor the Head-Boy in loco domini any ill will. In fact they were a prime example of what Mr. Godber hoped to turn out from his school: young gentlemen.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis left Rigby aged eighteen plus at the end of that term and embarked on the next step of his career as an adult: the Royal Navy. He had not yet told his mother of his plans and that was the next hurdle he had to face.  But at the end of the day, sour as vinegar thought she was, she had to be faced down. Patrick was his own man and he had no intention of allowing the mildewed character and views of his mother to influence his future life.

And so Patrick arrived back at Ingram House, looking forward to the summer spent renewing his activities with with Geoffrey, the footman and Tom the assistant gardener, not forgetting of course, the nubile kitchen-maid, Rose. As he descended from the horse drawn cab which had brought him from the station, he surveyed his home and felt sure that for the next few months, until time came to take up his cadetship in the Royal Navy, he would have enough to occupy his mind, not to mention other more important parts of his anatomy.

 THIS CONCLUDES THE INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES.