Discipline at St Enodoc's Academy

Discipline at St. Enodoc’s Academy  

An erotic story

by

Jason Land 

CHAPTER 1

St. Enodoc’s Academy for Boys was, and still is, for that matter, a small but very exclusive public school located near the Cornish town of the same name. Cornwall has quite a number of local saints with peculiar sounding names; to non-Cornish ears that is; but who exactly St. Enodoc was, when he lived and what he had done to deserve being elevated to the Sainthood, remain somewhat of a mystery; no mention of this blesséd man (we have to assume that he was blesséd, otherwise why would he have become a saint?) is to be found in the literature; nor does he appear to have a Saint’s Day; certainly the school did not celebrate his name on a given day as one might have supposed: there was no St. Enodoc’s Day. But I suppose we have to accept that the fellow did exist otherwise why would a town have been named after him? So much for St. Enodoc!

St. Enodoc’s Academy is located on the outskirts of the town and was founded early in the nineteenth century. It is an extremely well-endowed establishment with a reputation for academic excellence rivalling that of more famous and larger schools such as Eton and Winchester. But it was particularly noted for the strict discipline which it applied rigorously, vigorously, regularly and painfully to the backsides of its boys. Certainly had there been a comparative “beating index” St. Enodoc’s would have been  up there with the very best; in fact, it might well have been “top of the league”. Both the cane and the birch were in regular use throughout the year. There was no school in the land which took quite so seriously to heart the old aphorism; “Spare the rod and spoil the boy.” And it is quite safe to say that no boy was ever spoiled at St. Enodoc’s.

With such stellar credentials and a century old reputation, it is not at all surprising that the great and the good of the county sent their male offspring to St. Enodoc’s to be educated and to be beaten (literally!) into shape. The fact that the school did not lack money (from its endowments) did not stop the governors from charging eye-wateringly high fees and the bursar rejoiced each term as he prepared the bills to be sent to the parents of the boys in its care. But spaces were limited; the school numbered only about two hundred and forty boys in total and there was never any problem finding parents who were more than willing to open their wallets and foot the bills.

In common with other top schools, St. Enodoc’s was, in fact, fully subscribed for years in advance as parents rushed to reserve an entry place on the birth of their sons. So the fate of most of the pupils had been decided literally as they emerged from the womb. The poor future Endocians (stress on the “o” by the way and the “c” is pronounced, by tradition, as an “s”) as they were known, had no idea what they had to look forward to (in a word: very sore backsides!) as they entered the school at the unusually tender age of eleven; of which more later.

In the year 1900, when we first make our acquaintance with St. Enodoc’s, the school was under the direction of its then Headmaster, the Reverend Doctor Septimus Cuthbert Divine MA Cantab, DD. The Reverend Dr. Divine was, as his name implies, the seventh son of a large Victorian family; he had been born in 1835 so that he was now sixty-five years years old and had been a teacher at St. Enodoc’s for forty years and Headmaster for the past twenty-five.  Dr. Divine was a bachelor; now don’t jump to what I am sure you see as the obvious inference, for you would be totally wrong; the good doctor was more interested in beating boys’ arses than in copulation and he was most certainly not one of “them”.

 In fact, there was nothing Dr. Divine enjoyed more than thrashing the naked backsides of his charges, either with the cane or the birch; and after fifteen years as classics master followed by nigh on twenty-five years as Headmaster, it has to be said that he was an expert with both implements; literally hundreds of boys could testify to his flagellation expertise; and I am happy to say for the most part, without any rancour. At the end of the day, it is quite amazing how popular and well-liked by the boys in their care, men like Dr. Divine so often were. Aged sixty-five, as he now was, he still had another five years to go, for the retirement age at the school was seventy. In fact anyone who had had occasion to see Dr. Divine wield one of his many rods, would have concluded, that in spite of his age, he was, nevertheless, at the absolute pinnacle of his flagellating powers; powers that he exercised on regular occasions on boys of all ages.

It is therefore not very surprising that we first encounter Dr. Divine looking over his stock of punishment canes one afternoon in late August, in preparation for the forthcoming school year which would begin in September. Dr. Divine, devoted to, and convinced as he was, of the benefits of the cane, would have hated to find himself short of the appropriate rod for every type of posterior. He was particularly careful to ensure that the cane matched and was suited to its target backside, before visiting its therapeutic benefits on the naked flesh of the intended “correctee”: a word he had coined himself. 

Each year, he ordered a mixed selection of new rattans from the supply house he used, as he wanted to be sure that he always had available the latest “state of the art” rods.  It might seem a piffling detail, but the school supply houses vied with each other in offering a selection of canes made from the latest imports of carefully selected rattan.  It may well be that the differences in the quality and what I suppose one might call the “pain delivery index” were imaginary rather than real. But at St. Enodoc’s, given the high fees that the school charged, cost was not a consideration;  Dr. Divine felt that his pupils deserved to be thrashed with the very best canes available.  So he was one what might term a “soft sell” when the commercial traveller from the school supply house came by.  He always left with an order, thereby assuring himself of his commission.

And this year was no exception as Dr. Divine had just received his latest order in the form of two long cardboard boxes each containing a dozen assorted, extra-long canes. He had, in fact, fallen prey to the supply house’s promotional literature which extolled the virtues of the longer cane; they gave a better swing and were even more painful, if that were possible, than the shorter versions; or so the supplier claimed.

Anyway, Dr. Divine, who was suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms, not having had the pleasure of thrashing a boy since the start of the summer holidays in July, spent a pleasant afternoon looking over his stock, contemplating the new term and the arses he would thrash.  He became quite hard in just thinking about the prospect; and that, apart from having the odd jerk-off when he had just thrashed some lad, was sexually about as far as Dr. Divine ever got.

He then turned his attention to the supply of that other indispensable implement; the birch.  Dr. Divine felt that a school without the birch was like a day without sunshine; it seems doubtful if those poor lads who were treated to a dose of that awful implement would have subscribed to this metaphor; but what did that matter? Their view was totally unimportant. Dr. Divine considered that the birch was an integral and key element of the school’s identity and he took considerable pride in ensuring that freshly cut examples were always available to meet whatever demand arose.

So it was in this context he went, that same afternoon, to see his head gardener, a man called Thomas Jennings, who had been at the school almost as long as he himself had. Jennings had for the past twenty years delivered two freshly cut birches to the Headmaster’s study each Monday morning in term time. But the Headmaster, wishing to be sure that the arrangement still stood, went to see Jennings and to look personally over the trees from which the necessary twigs would be cut. He need have had no fear that the faithful Jennings had forgotten his duty; Jennings was in fact, ahead of him in his thinking.

“Ah, Headmaster, Dr. Divine sir; how nice to see you after the long holiday. I thought that you would be around to ask after the birches for the new school year, sir. Well sir, I’m ahead of you as I have been thinking about the matter and I think that I have come up with a better version of the birch than those which I usually made.  You know sir, that the birch is traditionally made of twigs from a tree of the same name and that those twigs are really very fragile so that the implement needs regular replacement. Well, the other day, looking around the school grounds, I came across a pollarded willow tree which had sent up a host of fine shoots, dead straight and very strong and whippy sir; so I have made up a trial birch, as I suppose we will call it, from them to see what you think.”

With that, Jennings went into his shed and came back bearing the new “birch” which he proudly showed to the Headmaster. Now anyone with half an eye could see that the new rod was better than the old version and the Headmaster was duly impressed with it. As Jennings had said, the twigs were dead straight and fanned out beautifully when they came down against a solid surface; it certainly looked like an excellent improvement on the old model and the Headmaster could barely wait to try it out on the arse of some deserving (or for that matter, undeserving) boy.

“You know, Headmaster, I think that this new version will have a longer useful life than the old birch I used to make for you, sir. I think that it might need replacing only once every month, sir.”

“Jennings; you know you may be right. This certainly does look like a great improvement on the old variety. So I’ll take this trial one you have made and test it out and see how I get on with it. The school starts next Monday and I am sure, that as ever, a suitable candidate will present himself for what I suppose might be described as the opening of the birching season.”

With that the Headmaster went back to his study, carrying his new toy with him.  Once alone, he tried out the new birch by applying a few strokes the the padded arm of a chair and was duly impressed by the crack it made as it landed. Yes indeed, this truly did look like and excellent addition to the armoury of instruments of chastisement. The Headmaster could barely wait to try it out on a real live subject.

CHAPTER 2

Before we move on to the school and its pupils who would be arriving in a few days, it is worth looking at the rooms occupied by Dr. Divine. As we already know he was a bachelor and as Headmaster he enjoyed a very spacious apartment. In addition to his study, he had a separate room where he carried out the more severe of the punishments he inflicted on his charges. This he called the Birching Room; equipped as it was with a professionally made adjustable, birching horse, it struck fear into the heart of any boy unfortunate enough to be summoned to enter it.  And well it might; for a birching from Dr. Divine was not an experience which anyone would opt for voluntarily. Nevertheless, in the course of a normal term, the room saw regular use.

In addition to his study and the birching room, the Headmaster had a spacious drawing room, a dining room seating twelve people, a kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom. He was waited on by a butler, a valet, a cook and for large dinner parties, had call upon a part-time footman who served at table. Yes, all in all, Dr. Divine led a charmed existence for a bachelor and he was at least as well lodged and looked after as the Master of a College at Oxford or Cambridge.

And, the cream on the cake was that in the year 1900, the school had electric lighting. It is hard for us today to imagine what life was like before the general availability of electricity; but in 1900, few houses had it and in the town of St. Enodoc, the idea had barely surfaced. But the school, richly endowed as it was, had had its own gas-fired electrical generator installed and the whole place had been wired for lighting.

Like most public schools, St. Enodoc’s had a house system.  Boys were allocated to a given house to which they belonged throughout their entire time at the school. The difference was that at St. Enodoc’s, the boys took their meals in the main school, which much like a college at Oxford or Cambridge had a huge dining hall or refectory, which accommodated all its pupils at one sitting.  Boys were allocated to eight bed dormitories in each house at the time they arrived and stayed with the same schoolmates throughout their time at the school. In the upper sixth form, each boy was allocated to his own study bedroom. Thus the competitive spirit was encouraged not only by dividing the boys into houses, but by segregating them into smaller sleeping units within each house; in this way  a great sense of loyalty was inculcated into the lads, both at the dormitory level and above that, at the house level.

But perhaps the most peculiar thing about St. Enodoc’s was that fact that its yearly intake was of eleven-year-old boys rather than the thirteen-year-olds as was the norm in most other public schools. Thus a boy entered the school aged eleven and left aged eighteen pushing nineteen, during which entire period he was subject to the strict discipline enforced by the Reverend Dr. Divine.  In order not to confuse matters, the first two forms, which were of boys aged eleven and twelve were designated P1 and P2, the letter P indicating preparatory.

For their third year, now aged thirteen, the boys moved into a form called the “First Form” so that although the pupils spent an extra two years at the school they still finished up in a form called “ The Sixth Form”. Of course  the young lads aged eleven and twelve in P1 and P2 were like lads everywhere: mischievous; as such these two first years were a valuable source of “cannon fodder” for the good Doctor’s corrective inclinations on which, as you might well imagine, he rarely stinted.

But an added complexity was the fact that each form had an A version and a B version so that the class numbers could be limited to about fifteen or sixteen boys in any one class. This ensured that detailed supervision was available for all boys and the masters came to know their charges and their foibles, their strengths and weaknesses, in great detail; it was this small class size which was largely responsible for the excellent academic results the school achieved.  Of course it necessitated a larger teaching staff, which partly – but by no means completely – justified the high fees the school charged.

Dr. Divine was such a devotee of the cane and its beneficial  effects on the boys, that he set aside time every day to deal with any miscreants who were referred to him by any of the teaching staff or whom he himself caught misbehaving. Dr. Divine’s philosophy was one which drew together elements from several well known aphorisms, all of which seemed apposite to the question of beating boys’ bottoms.

Strike whilst the iron is hot

There is no time like the present

He who hesitates is lost

Don’t let grass grow under your feet

Nip this in the bud

So Dr. Divine never hesitated to beat a boy and brought down his cane on the miscreant’s backside whilst the “crime” for which he was being punished was still hot. He certainly did not let any grass grown under his feet.

The whole school knew exactly the procedure to follow if summoned to Dr. Divine’s study. There was the appropriate attire, which was “de rigueur”: gym shorts and gym vests with no underwear; bare feet with slippers and a dressing gown; the perfect attire for a boy who was to be made to present his naked backside for correction to the Headmaster.  It really did make things so simple, not to have to fiddle taking off one’s coat, trousers, underwear, shoes etc.  Any latter day practitioner of time-and-motion study would have hailed the arrangement as a beacon of efficiency. 

And the dressing gown was a thoughtful touch, for often a boy would find his post-correction backside just so painful that he could not bear to put back on his shorts; so he could depart, with his modesty intact in his dressing gown, carrying his shorts, to find his bed where he could nurse his war wounds. But woe betide any boy who dared to arrive dressed other than in the regulation kit. An occasional rebel did and then went away with a backside so sore that he sincerely wished it belonged to someone else.

Dr. Divine’s appointed hour to dispense justice which he liked to think of as “corrective therapy” was between eight-thirty and nine each weekday evening.  P1, P2, first, second and third formers had to present themselves at his study at eight thirty sharp and the older boys at nine. There were of course, some evenings when there were no “clients” but the Headmaster was always there ready to do his duty as he saw it! Indeed it would be safe to say that the Headmaster derived considerable satisfaction, dare we say satisfaction bordering on pleasure, from doing his duty; and of course, if the need arose, he was also willing to sacrifice both his Saturday and Sunday evenings to set an errant lad on the right track.

CHAPTER 3

The first day of term arrived and all the boys were present and correct. The day at St. Enodoc’s was much the same as the day at any other public school. The boys went from breakfast to their form room; answered the roll-call; went to the daily assembly in the main hall; sang a hymn; listened, usually without paying attention, to the biblical text for the day; heard the Headmaster’s announcements and then went back to their first lesson of the day.

It was on the first day of term, during the mid-morning break, that Dr. Divine, looking by chance out of the window, saw two new boys engaged in a fight. The two lads were going hell-for-leather at each other and three six formers, whom he knew by name, were laughing as they observed the fisticuffs. Now fighting was strictly forbidden in the school and Dr. Divine was incensed to see that the three older lads, far from attempting to stop the fight, were clearly enjoying the spectacle. As he watched a fourth boy appeared on the scene: a prefect and he quickly pulled the two young lads apart, addressed them a few words and then everyone dispersed. The Headmaster, however, had no intention of letting the incident pass unpunished and noted down the names of the three sixth formers who had stood idly by: Trevelyan, Evans and Teague.

The next day: the second day of the new term, at the morning assembly, the Headmaster, having made his customary announcements, paused and said: “Now, I want the two new boys who were fighting in the grounds during the morning break yesterday, each to raise a hand and give me their names.”  There was a deathly hush which came over the assembly and for a moment nothing happened; then very timidly two hands were raised and the culprits identified themselves as Tremayne and Elliot.

The Headmaster went on: “As you two boys, along with everyone else assembled here this morning, are aware, fighting is strictly forbidden in the school. This is an establishment where we turn out young gentlemen and not street hoodlums; I trust I make myself clear. So you two young men will report to my study at eight thirty this evening, suitably attired for the occasion. Now, Trevelyan, Evans and Teague, you three young men there in the back row, I would also like to see you three of you in my study at nine this evening.  You also should present yourselves suitably attired.” Not a word of an explanation for the summons was proffered.

The Headmaster then closed the assembly and the boys all left to go to their respective classes. And with that, he and the other masters who were on the platform all left the hall.  A suppressed hubbub filled the hall as the boys dispersed to their lessons; but you can imagine what the excitement the Headmaster’s announcement had created.  Here they were on the second day of term and already, by all appearances, no less than five boys were to be beaten that evening.

The unfortunate new boys received little consolation from their classmates; one of the second year boys ventured from his own personal experience, that they would almost certainly be “hassocked” by the Headmaster that evening.  When asked what he meant the only reply was “You’ll find out this evening.”

One of the prefects went along to see the two young lads after class and explained to them the implications of what a summons to the Headmaster’s study entailed; in particular he told them exactly what they were expected to wear as appropriate attire.  He told them that the old boy was certainly going to beat them and that they had better be prepared. “It’s going to hurt.” he said.  “The Headmaster always lays it on, but you’ll survive and you’ll soon get used to life here at the school. Believe me, the first time is always the worst.”

But if the two young lads were nervous by the summons to present themselves to the Headmaster that evening, the three sixth formers were totally perplexed. Evans said to his two classmates: “Why the hell has the old boy summoned us to his study this evening; and in the appropriate attire, as he so nicely puts it. It fucking well looks as though we are in for a beating; but why? What have we done? Nothing that I know of.”  But of course the three lads were totally unaware of the Headmaster’s lateral thinking; they would have to wait until the evening when all would be made clear to them before they were obliged to drop their shorts and submit their naked arses to his painful ministrations.

It was eight-thirty that evening and the two first formers, Tremayne and Elliot, presented themselves at the Headmaster’s study.  It is safe to say that dressed as they were only in their gym short and singlets and barefooted, they were both in a high state of nervousness.  This was heightened when they entered the study and saw laid out on Headmaster’s desk a selection of rattan canes and, in the middle of the floor, a hassock. But as yet they still did not know the awful significance of the hassock and the part it would soon play in their penance,

“Boys,” began the Headmaster, “Yesterday I saw the two of you, with my own eyes, fighting each other in grounds beneath my window.  Now yesterday was the very first day of term and your very first day as pupils of St. Enodoc’s.  As you know, fighting is strictly forbidden and the reason you are here right now is that you deserve to be punished for your disobedience; in short boys you are both going to experience a few moments of painful retribution for your actions in the hope that this punishment will set you on the straight and narrow.  I don’t want to know why you were fighting each other; but I do want you to know that if I catch either of you at it again, then you will be back in this room before you can blink an eyelid, and the punishment will be double that which you are now about to suffer. Make no mistake boys; here at St. Enodoc’s we have no qualms about applying the cane to teach errant boys a lesson.  I take it that you understand what I have just said.”

Then began the classically pointless attempt by the lads to stave off the inevitable.  Tremayne was the self-appointed spokesmen for the two of them, whilst Elliot simply nodded his head in agreement:  “Please sir, we are both very, very sorry for fighting and we promise you truly, cross our hearts and hope to die, sir, that we will never again fight each other; really we won’t sir.  So sir, as we are new at the school and as it was just our first day, could you please be lenient with us and perhaps let us off this time with a warning.  Sir, we really don’t want to be beaten and we do promise, sir, never ever to fight each other ever again sir.”

The Headmaster listened to this plea; a plea he had heard and ignored, times-without-number and this was times-without- number plus one! No boy ever wanted to be beaten and it was totally understandable that the lads would try to talk themselves out of the predicament in which they now found themselves. But Dr. Divine was a hard and strict disciplinarian and he had no intention of letting the two young lads escape scot-free. Moreover, he was also looking forward to ending his own withdrawal symptoms brought on by the long summer vacation, where he had not been able to beat a single arse for six weeks. So Tremayne and Elliot were in for a real treat, as the Headmaster assuaged his frustration on them; they were both going to go to bed with very sore arses, come what may.

“Boys; I have to tell you that in this school, any, and I do mean any, disobedience or flouting of the school rules by any boy across the entire school, is always, and I do mean always, punished.  Now, I had already decided that as this is your first offence, I would be very lenient, very lenient indeed, with the pair of you.”

On hearing these words the boys visibly brightened up, only to have their hopes dashed to the ground in the next second as they heard what Dr. Divine considered to be lenient: “Yes, indeed; I am going to be lenient with you. Now the standard punishment for any offence in this school is twelve strokes of the cane applied to the offender’s bare buttocks, but as you are new boys, I have decided, exceptionally, to reduce this to only six strokes.  So boys if you would now step out of your slippers and remove your shorts, I think we are ready to proceed.”

On hearing this “generous” offer, the two lads were horrified by what they now realised they had to endure. Neither boy had known until now, that they would have to take the cane on their naked arses and as far as being lenient, six cuts of the cane still sounded quite horrific; which it was!  Tremayne again spoke up for the pair of them: “Sir you don’t mean that you are going to cane our bottoms bare, without our shorts on, do you sir?  Sir, that will really hurt terribly; it really will sir,”

“Young man, the whole purpose of applying a cane to a boy’s backside is to impart a painful sensation; that is what the beating is all about; it is intended to hurt; and as you will very shortly find out, it does; that is the retribution you suffer for having broken the rules.  Now as for applying the cane on the bare, well, boys, you just need to get accustomed to the fact that in this school as in many others like it, the cane is always applied to a boy’s bare bottom; it’s the same for everyone across the entire school no matter who does the beating: I myself, a housemaster or even a prefect; boys are always beaten on their bare bottoms. After all, we are beating the boy and not his clothing! So do as I say and step out of your shorts and let us get on with it.”

Reluctantly the two lads realised that they were defeated and that their pleas had been ignored and so they did as they had been directed. “You first, Tremayne and you, Elliot, stand against the wall with your hands on your head and observe the procedure.”

The full horror of what was called a “hassocking” now unfolded. “Tremayne; advance to the hassock in the middle of the room and kneel on it, please.” The young lad did as he was told and knelt there wondering what he should now do; he did not have long to wait, as the Headmaster then said: “Now Tremayne, roll forward on your knees and bend over completely until your head and hands touch the floor in front of you; then place your hands, firmly on the floor and remain perfectly still in that position until I have finished applying the rod to your bottom.”

Can you imagine a more uncomfortable position to have to adopt to have your arse beaten?   For Tremayne, the lad about to be caned, it was very uncomfortable, although his arse it is true was now perfectly positioned for a beating.  Today we would all remark on the similarity between this position and that which devout Muslim men adopt when they kneel in prayer, except that this was much worse; the boy was bent literally double, as his head had descended the full height of the hassock and his knees were well above the level of the floor. The only thing one could say, is that the position did have certain ecclesiastical overtones, which given the vocation of the good Dr. Divine, was possibly why he had adopted it.  However one looked at it, it was a truly horrible position for any boy to have to adopt and hold for several minutes whilst the cane descended on his naked buttocks.

Elliot, meanwhile was forced to stand there naked, his hands on his head and watch as this grotesque operation was enacted before his eyes, in the knowledge that he too, in a few minutes’ time, would be forced into the same undignified procedure. 

Dr. Divine now examined Tremayne’s backside to see what the lad had presented to him by way of a target.  Luckily the lad had a very meaty pair of buns for his age; totally unblemished as they were, the Headmaster knew that by the time he had finished with the boy, he would leave with what is commonly known as a “well-beaten arse”. The lad was going to suffer very painful retribution for the fight in which he had engaged; and so was his class-mate, Elliot.

Dr. Divine went over to his desk and looked over the selection of canes which he had placed there. He finally selected a brand new rattan, perfectly smooth and of a light grade, but very supple and capable, nevertheless, in the right hands, of inflicting considerable pain without too leaving any permanent damage; and no hand was more capable than that of Dr. Divine. In traditional fashion, he flexed the cane, which he could bend almost into a full circle and swished it through the air a few times to set the scene for what was to follow; and what did follow was a series of well placed, parallel strokes, each applied with maximum severity from top to bottom of the lad’s arse. After each stroke, the good Doctor waited some fifteen seconds, before continuing; an eternity for Tremayne, or so it seemed; allowing him to appreciate the full painful effect of what he had just received.

And so stroke followed stroke until all six cuts had been applied. By the time he was finished, the Headmaster considered that the boy had a truly artistic, six-cut arse. Of course, Dr. Divine did not use the word “arse”, even in his thoughts. In fact, there is a distinct possibility that the good doctor was totally ignorant of this vulgar name for a boy’s bottom. All the cuts were strictly parallel and went from the bottom of the lad’s back to the top of his thighs. For an eleven-year-old lad who had just joined the school, this was a truly well-beaten arse to show off to his classmates later. Tremayne begged the Headmaster to stop after three strokes, so great was the pain, but it was, of course to no avail; the young lad had had to suffer all six cuts before being told to get up from the hassock. There was little doubt that his “hassocking”, as it was known throughout the school, had been the worst experience of his young life to date.

Tremayne was then told to stand by the wall, his hands on his head, whilst his class-mate Elliot suffered the same fate.  Poor Elliot who had been forced to watch Tremayne being beaten was already trembling with fear as he now knew what was about to happen to him. His eyes were already filling with tears, even as he knelt on the hassock and prepared himself for the pain that he knew was about to be visited upon him.  He then endured, in complete silence, the six cuts delivered by Dr. Divine with his customary care and vigour. But when he arose some minutes later with a backside which felt as though it was on fire, he finally cried and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Dr. Divine had said that it would hurt and it had; never had a truer word been spoken.

The proceedings were brought to an end by the Headmaster: “Well there you are boys; that’s it; it’s all over. You now see what happens to boys at this school when they break the rules: they go to bed with very sore bottoms. Now, I suggest that you behave ourselves correctly for the rest of this term, if that is at all possible; but make no mistake; if I catch either of you breaking any rule or being in any way disorderly or rude, I shall have no hesitation in putting you across the hassock again and the next time it will be the full twelve cuts that you will receive.  Now boys, you can put back on your shorts and go to your dormitories, where I am sure your class-mates will be waiting with bated breath to view the marks of your “war-wounds”. You will both be heroes of the moment; so make the most of your moment of glory, for it will not last long!” He opened the door of his study to show them out to find that the three older lads were already waiting there.

CHAPTER 4

The three sixth formers, Trevelyan, Evans and Teague, had arrive somewhat early outside the Headmaster’s study and had heard, through the closed door, the clear crack of the cane landing on naked buttocks and the accompanying yelps of pain from Elliot as he was being beaten.  Trevelyan said: “Sounds as though the old boy is on form this evening to judge from what we can hear.  I wonder why he has called us here; what have we done?”  In fact, the three of them had been asking themselves the same question all day without coming up with an answer.  As far as they knew, they were innocent of any disobedience; of any crime; of any misdemeanour; they had done nothing wrong; so why were they here?  That they were going to be beaten was clear, as they had been told to come “suitably attired” which meant only one thing: the cane. But why, why, why, were they here?

All was now to be revealed as Dr. Divine welcomed them into his study. Like the two lads who had just been beaten, they all shuddered inwardly as they saw the array of canes lying there on Dr. Divine’s desk.  The Headmaster began: “Well gentlemen, I suppose that you know why you are here tonight?” The three of them looked inquiringly at the Headmaster.

Evans decided that he would act as spokesman for the group and said: “Headmaster sir, perhaps you could enlighten us, for honestly sir, we have no idea why you have called us here this evening. That you intend to beat us sir, that much is clear; but sir, we have no idea why you intend to beat us; what is our offence sir? We have all been scratching our heads all day about it sir, but we can think of nothing. Sir, we have done to merit a beating.”

“Ah,” said Dr. Divine “You say that you have done nothing and that, gentlemen, is precisely where your problem lies; or more precisely stated, you did nothing when in fact, you should have done something. Does the fact that you saw two sadly chastened young boys leave my study just now, not tell you anything?”  The three lads looked blank. “Well let me enlighten you and all will become clear. You three stood by at break yesterday morning as those two boys whom I have just caned, were fighting each other. Now as sixth formers you simply stood by and watched the fight, clearly enjoying the spectacle of two young lads going hell-for-leather at each other. It was your duty as senior boys of the school to stop the fight, but instead you just stood there and did nothing; it was not until a prefect chanced to pass by, that the fight was stopped. All this I saw with my own eyes from that very window there. And so boys, you three are going to be beaten for doing nothing when you should, in fact, have done something to stop the fight.”

“Trevelyan, if you would be so good as to move the hassock to the side and place the chair from over there in the middle of the room we shall be ready to being. So gentlemen, I invite you all to step out of your shorts, stand over there with your hands on your heads, whilst I select a suitable cane with which to chastise you.”  The Headmaster turned to his desk and selected a well worn senior cane with lots of knots, turned to the three boys, all of whom were extremely embarrassed, not to say nervous, at being made to stand there with their young men’s genitals exposed to the Headmaster’s gaze.

“Trevelyan: if you please sir, kindly approach the chair and bend across its back, placing your hands on its seat in the time honoured fashion with which I know you are completely familiar; I will then give myself the pleasure of rewarding your backside with what it truly merits: twelve strokes of this splendid cane!” Trevelyan knew better than to argue with Dr. Divine. His goose was cooked, as it was for the other two also; and this was by no means the first time that the three lads had presented their bare arses to the Headmaster for “correction”.  

Trevelyan, full aware of what was coming, gritted his teeth and endeavoured to remain calm and composed as Dr. Divine delivered twelve crashing cuts of the senior cane across his naked arse: ten parallel and two diagonal. When he had finished, Trevelyan’s gated arse, was covered with an artistic pattern of welts, all of which were rapidly turning crimson and would in, the fullness of time become purplish-blue. Then, one after the other, Evans and Teague suffered the same fate.

It was particularly salutary for the three lads to be obliged to watch as the cane cracked down time after time with unerring precision on the naked flesh of one or another of their class-mates. Later that night, in the showers when the three lads were obliged, as ever, to show off their “battle scars” no one could believe that what they were looking at was the result of a punishment for having done nothing. One lives and learns as the saying goes, but this surely had to be a first at St. Enodoc’s.

 Dr. Divine, well satisfied with his evening’s handiwork, filled out the punishment book and then copied the statistics into his daily beating index. Here he recorded just the number of strokes he had given on any given day and, in a side column, the running total of the year to date. So for the new school year which was only two days old, he was able to enter a total of forty-eight strokes.  Dr. Divine then went to his drawing room cupboard, where his butler always left a decanter of port; he poured himself a glass and sat contemplating the dying embers of an early fire; the day had been cold for the time of the year, but he had warmed a good few arses that evening. It was a good start for the year and he was well pleased with his efforts as he sipped his wine.

CHAPTER 5

Dr. Divine was, as you will by now have gathered, a man of the old school; a man who stood no nonsense from his pupils and encouraged his housemasters and prefects to do the same.  

St. Enodoc’s being a small school there were only four houses, each of some sixty or so boys with each house named after some Cornish saint: St. Ives, St. Mawes, St. Austell and St. Petroc. Each house had a housemaster and three prefects, one of whom was the House Captain   So in addition to the ever vigilant Headmaster, who never missed an opportunity to correct any of his pupils, there was a total seventeen others who were authorised to use the cane: four housemasters, twelve prefects and the Head-Boy.

And make no mistake, all of these worthies exercised their right to beat to the full; not one of them could be accused of shirking his responsibilities. Indeed in some cases one might have said that their zeal erred on the excessive side. Zero tolerance, to inject a modern expression, was the by-word at St. Enodoc’s and the crack of the cane landing on the naked buttocks of some unfortunate boy was a regular sound to be heard.

But the situation was more complicated than this, for St. Enodoc’s had a very unique system of appointing its prefects. As we have just seen there was a total of twelve prefects plus the Head-Boy. Now that was true for the first two terms of the school year. However, in the summer term, the third and final term of the school year, another twelve boys from the lower sixth form were elevated to the status of junior prefect.  The thinking was that these boys would serve what amounted to an apprenticeship to the prefectorial duties during this term and would then be fully capable of carrying out their duties in the following year when they themselves moved into their final year in the upper sixth.

It goes without saying that the junior prefects were permitted to apply the cane on their junior schoolmates for the first time.  Their caning power was strictly limited during this probation period, to the three lowest forms made up of boys aged from eleven to thirteen. And the caning was limited to six strokes and even then only with the junior cane.  Each year the thirteen year-olds in the first form and their younger brethren in the two preparatory forms dreaded the advent of the summer term; there were now some twenty-four prefects plus the Head-Boy who had access to their naked backsides with the cane.  And make no mistake; newly appointed junior prefects they might well be, but they wasted no time in familiarising themselves with the joys of beating the naked arses of their underlings.  The crack of the cane landing on the naked buttocks of some unfortunate lad became more or less a daily event.

So at St. Enodoc’s there was a clear hierarchical structure: a pecking order, which everyone respected.  The Headmaster was at the apex, followed by the four Housemasters, each with equal status, followed by the Head-Boy, followed by the four House-Captains. And then at the bottom of what I suppose one could call the “St. Enodoc’s flagellation team”, came the twelve prefects and, for the summer term the twelve junior prefects.  Again when it came to practicalities, there was a hierarchical structure defining who was allowed to do what. Only the Headmaster himself could visit the full maximum penalty of twenty-four strokes of the cane or birch on a boy; the housemasters and the Head-Boy were limited to twelve strokes and the prefects to six and the the juniors were limited to six with the junior cane.

So the Headmaster reserved all truly serious beatings for himself; offences such a smoking or drinking of alcohol were always referred to him, irrespective of who caught the offenders; this was a mandatory rule.  And God help the offenders who were caught smoking or drinking, for when the Headmaster was fully aroused, what happened to the lads may not exactly have been a blood bath, but it was certainly a good second!  This is not to say that any beatings were light; six well-placed cuts across a naked arse, given by a muscular, sixth-form prefect, were not something to be taken lightly: they really did hurt, as many a young lad found out!  

Basically the teaching staff, none of whom wielded the cane themselves, referred any errant boys to the Headmaster for punishment. They were the chief source of the Headmaster’s nightly therapy sessions with the cane.  Each Housemaster dealt with any miscreants he encountered in his house. But after the Headmaster, the bulk of the punishment was handled by the prefects under the aegis of the Head-Boy, at that time, an odious and brutal young-man called called Clive Benson.  In fact, most of the punishments which took place in the houses were handled by the prefects; they were in constant contact with their younger brethren and made every effort to detect and punish any offence they detected.  Benson himself was an absolute terror and had no compunction at all in thrashing any boy who even looked as though he had committed a “crime”.

Typically, the prefects would take turns in the evening inspecting the dormitories to see if any forbidden acts were being committed. It was not unusual for a prefect to make a whole dormitory of eight lads, get out of their beds on the flimsiest of pretexts, bend across the end of their beds, lift up their night shirts and offer up their bare buttocks for the cane. This was particularly so among the two entry classes. It is safe to say that by end of the autumn term, the vast majority of the newly arrived eleven year-old lads had had their arses thrashed, and thrashed hard, by a prefect: dormitory canings were par for the course at St. Enodoc’s!  And no one; absolutely no one at all, ever questioned the beatings which were delivered; they were just accepted by all and sundry as the way of life.

At St. Enodoc’s fagging was practised; all the young lads aged eleven in the entry form were at the beck and call of the prefects and the sixth formers. The fags had to perform all sorts of menial tasks: none very onerous; but nevertheless time consuming: cleaning of shoes, making and serving cups of tea, (one asks oneself how the country could have functioned without the regular availability of this beverage, which, across all classes, was more or less an addiction ; it still is, by the way), taking and fetching the laundry, pressing trousers and so forth.

But at St. Enodoc’s, much to the chagrin of the sixth formers and prefects, fags were not allocated to individuals, but functioned as a pool.  When a prefect or sixth former yelled “fag”, whoever was available had to appear and do the the bidding of the caller.  And if the call was ignored, then the cane was ready in waiting to correct the offenders,  Much to the annoyance of the non-prefect sixth formers, they were not allowed to beat their schoolmates themselves as was then commonly the case in other public schools; this could only be done by the prefects. But errant boys could be given demerit marks by the sixth formers and these, when cumulated, could lead to an order to the young delinquent to visit the prefect’s common room where the ever ready cane was laid onto his naked arse. It is safe to say that by the end of the first term virtually the entire new intake of boys aged eleven, had had a dose of the cane.

The First Lord Acton some twenty-five years earlier had said:

“Power corrupts: absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

And in its own small way, St. Enodoc’s was a living testimony to this observation. Fags allocated to the Head-Boy and House Captains, could, depending on the humour of their fag-master, be treated practically as slaves; and no one stopped the abuse to which they were subjected; it was all considered part and parcel of the life at St. Enodoc’s. The cane was used liberally and vigorously, often for trumped up reasons, of which the most common was “the wrong attitude”.

But at the time of this story, it was the Head-Boy, Clive Benson, who was the most feared and probably the most abusive of all the prefects. It was the Headmaster, Dr. Divine alone, who nominated the prefects after consultation with his teaching staff.  The general consensus had been that although Benson, a handsome young-man, was highly capable: captain of the rugby team: all-round sportsman and good at his studies; he was basically a bully. He was tolerated by his classmates, but liked by few. When the Headmaster appointed him to the position, in spite of the negative views expressed to him by his staff, some did ask themselves the question whether or not Benson  “had something” on the Headmaster. But at St. Enodoc’s the word was with Dr. Divine, who played the role of God superbly well; and so, in spite of many reservations expressed by the teaching staff, the Headmaster prevailed and Benson was duly made Head-Boy; so that was that.

CHAPTER 6

One thing was sure: Benson was as fond of using the cane as was Dr. Divine himself; he missed no opportunity to beat a bare arse whenever he could.  And it was to serve as fag to this unappetizing young man, that a newly arrived eleven year-old, Petroc Penhaligon, a true Cornishman if ever there was one, had been appointed.

The first meeting between fag and master had been all sweet light; Benson had painted a charming picture of what Penhaligon’s life running and fetching and generally doing for him would be like. All would be well and Penhaligon’s arse would remain sacrosanct and exempt from the joys of the cane, provided that he always did exactly as he was requested; and not only did it as requested, but did it successfully; mistakes were not allowed; perfection was the key word. Oh, and punctuality was also a critical factor if Penhaligon wished to maintain the sanctity and virgin integrity of his arse.

“Penhaligon; what I require from you is utter obedience and perfect execution of the tasks I give to you. I am a stickler for punctuality and tidiness; so if you bear those two points in mind as you go about your duties, then our life together will be delightful.” Benson then went on to outline all the services that he expected from his fag and ended by saying: “Well there you are, Penhaligon; as you can see life with me is really quite straightforward and so I look forward to seeing how you get on this first week. We will then conduct an assessment of your progress on Sunday morning after chapel, when I will decide whether any corrective action is needed on my part to set you on the straight and narrow.”

Poor Penhaligon did not really know what to make of this; he had been told so many things he had to do for his fag-master on a daily basis that he was not at all sure he remembered all of them.  But surely Benson would point out the error of his ways to him during the week and things would improve a he became more accustomed to what was nothing more than an unpaid job.  Alas, that was not at all the way things turned out, for as he quickly discovered that Benson was a hard task master and a nitpicking fault finder. 

One has to remember that Petroc Penhaligon was only eleven years old and, like most of his schoolmates, had come from an upper middle-class family, where there was, at all times, a full complement of servants. So as such he had no real idea of how to do anything: making tea, cleaning shoes, ironing trousers and all the other little jobs that Benson expected him to do, were all a mystery to young Petroc. So it is not very surprising that very many things went wrong.

Benson as Head-Boy had almost the status of a master and had his own study, a separate bedroom and washroom, and he expected his fag to go to the refectory and fetch him his breakfast, which he ate in solitary splendour at seven thirty each morning; or eight on Sundays.  So the first mistake that Penhaligon made was to arrive too late at the refectory and have to wait in the queue to be served with the result that he was five minutes late in arriving with the food for his fag-master.

“When I say seven-thirty, Penhaligon, I mean seven-thirty and not seven-thirty-five.”  Of course it was a waste of time trying to explain that there had been a long queue of boys being served and that he had had to wait his turn. But when he nevertheless did make the attempt, he was simply told to get their earlier in future.  And so it went on all week.  Benson went out of his way to find fault with practically everything his fag did for him. And as you might well imagine, given Benson’s flawed character, many faults were imaginary. So not surprisingly, things went from bad to worse all week, to reach  their climax on Saturday afternoon,  when Benson had decided to entertain the captains of the four houses to tea in his study in order to discuss disciplinary arrangements with them: a subject dear to all their hearts, it has to be said!

“I expect you to serve tea for the five of us at four-thirty, Penhaligon; and make sure that there are scones and cake and that there are enough cups and plates to go round.”  Of course the young lad had no idea at all how to make tea; for him in his life to date, tea had been something which simply came out of a teapot but how it was made was a mystery to him. And so it is not at all surprising that when he finally arrived fifteen minutes late with the tray loaded with the crockery, the teapot, and the food, Benson was already in a foul mood.

I thought I told you I wanted tea serving at four thirty and here it is already a quarter to five.  Now get on with it; set the table and pour the tea for my guests.  It was only now that the fag saw that he and forgotten to bring both the milk and the sugar, but he nevertheless went ahead and poured the tea, which as he filled the first cup he saw was an utter disaster; the poor lad had not allowed the water to boil in the fag’s kitchen and the tea was full of floating un-brewed tea-leaves.  “For goodness sakes Penhaligon, take that away and make a fresh pot properly this time and be quick about it; and while you are at it, I suggest you  bring the milk and sugar with you as you seem to have forgotten them.”

Of course, there was no boiling water ready and the fag had to wait for the kettle to boil; and if a watched pot never boils, then this was a case in point. So it was nearly five o’clock before he returned with the tea and was able to serve it. Of course he was clumsy in handing around the cups and tipped half a cup of hot tea over the trousers of the house-captain of his names-sake house: St. Petroc’s. And then, after he had mopped up the mess with his own handkerchief, there was no knife with which to cut the cake; so he had again to rush to the kitchen to find one. All in all the tea party was an unmitigated disaster.

“Go on, Penhaligon; get out of here for the moment and come back at five-thirty to clear away the mess you have made.  You and I have got a lot to discuss tomorrow after chapel; I want you here at eleven-thirty for your day of reckoning!”

As Penhaligon crept away, totally quashed by events, he overheard the following exchange between one of the house-captains and his fag-master, Benson.

“You know, Benson, your fag really is too awful for words; quite beyond the pale in fact. If he were mine I’d give him at least six on the bare right now after his performance this afternoon.”

“Trevithick you don’t know the half of it,” replied Benson, “This week has been an utter disaster of which today’s fiasco is the ultimate incident: the final straw which has broken the camel’s back. That young man has a lot to answer for tomorrow morning after chapel; make no mistake he’s going to have a very sore arse when I’ve finished with him.”

Try to imagine how poor Penhaligon felt in the light of what he had just heard.  All that evening and all night and then the long winded chapel service to endure the following morning, after which he would have to face his very irate fag-master and learn his fate. He knew exactly how a condemned man felt as he was waiting to be led to the gallows; it did not bear thinking about and he wept bitterly to himself.  But his fagging duties had not yet ended for the day as he still had to lay out Benson’s Sunday best on the dresser before the Head-Boy retired for the night. He truly did not relish seeing his fag-master again that day. He knew he had made a mess of the tea-party; but all week he had been pushed from pillar to post by Benson’s hectoring bullying; the lad was truly at his wits’ end.

So at about eight that evening, Penhaligon again returned to Benson’s study to lay out the clothes for the next day. The door was slightly ajar but Benson did not seem to be there. So the boy went towards the bedroom where he was supposed to attend to his fag-master’s Sunday clothes. As he approached the bedroom door, he heard some grunting and snorting coming from the room. He very gently opened the door to find Benson and the St. Petroc’s house-captain, Jeffa Penmethen, both naked on the bed, engaged in an activity, which he had never before seen and which he did not understand. As he watched, he saw that Benson was thrusting his cock in and out of the other young man’s arse.

Now Penhaligon had not the faintest idea what the two young men were doing; as an eleven-year old first former he had not even the vaguest notion of sex and the concept of buggery, which is of course what Benson and his companion were engaged in, was totally unknown to him. But he was, nevertheless, fascinated by what was going on and so for a few brief seconds he watched the pair fucking.  Benson was very vigorous and thrust his cock, with long firm strokes in and out of his partner’s hole.  But then, realising that he was witnessing something which was not destined for his eyes, Penhaligon quietly withdrew, without either of the copulating protagonists knowing that they had been observed.

And that is how the young lad had his first encounter with sex. Sex in the form he had seen it, was, of course, quite common between sixth-formers at St. Enodoc’s. Like most public schools, the boys were cloistered away and had no contact at all with members of the opposite sex. So as young men aged eighteen, with their sexual desires awakened, they did what so many lads both before and since have done and indeed still do; they relieved their pent-up sexual frustrations by fucking one another’s arses. Penhaligon, of course, knew none of this but would in the fullness of time become fully conversant with all that happened at St. Enodoc’s; indeed, in the fullness of time, several years later he would, like so many of his classmates  indulge in and enjoy the activity himself.  But for the moment he was totally innocent and unknowing; and, moreover, completely unaware of the fact that Benson and his friend Penmethen were star turns at the gentle art of buggery in the sixth form.

Sex, or unnatural acts as the school preferred to call it, was officially strictly forbidden at St. Enodoc’s; but as in many other similar schools, a blind eye was turned on buggery, provided that the boys indulging themselves in the act of anal sex were not actually caught “in flagrante”: in the act. This attitude was adopted as many enlightened masters realised that the sex drive was just so strong that you could legislate and forbid until you were blue in the face, but you would never ever stop it. If two young-men wanted to have sex with each other, then they would do so and to hell with the consequences.

Penhaligon, of course, told his classmates mates about what he had seen, but they were as ignorant as he himself was in that they had no idea at all about sexual behaviour of any kind  let alone homosexual sex between two sixth formers. However, the general consensus among the boys was that Penhaligon would best allow sleeping dogs to lie and not say anything at all to Benson for fear of arousing his wrath and making matters worse. All his classmates knew that Penhaligon was to be corrected after chapel on Sunday and sympathised with him. But at the same time there was a tinge of secret Schadenfreude which crept in as they contemplated with a frisson of excitement what his punishment might be. and how his backside would look later.

Sunday morning arrived; the chapel service was over and Penhaligon went to Benson’s study as ordered. But when he got there, he found he was not alone, for there was a fifth- former, called Butterworth , already waiting outside the door: a door which had been purposely left slightly ajar so that the two of them could hear what was happening to some luckless lad already in there with Benson.  Crack after crack of the cane as it landed on the naked backside of the poor boy being punished, accompanied by howls of pain, issued from within. As the last stroke resounded, Butterworth, who was attired only in a pair of gym shorts and gym vest, which struck Penhaligon as being strange in the extreme, but which was of course the way boys who were to be beaten had to present themselves for their punishment, turned to Penhaligon and said: “That was twelve cuts he has just given to whomever is in there with him and he really sounds to be on form judging by the howls. I can’t say I am looking forward to going in there myself. By the way; what are you here for?

Penhaligon told his older school-fellow what had happened during the week, fagging for Benson; how everything had managed to go wrong, culminating in the disastrous tea-party just yesterday. “You know, Butterworth, Benson is not very forgiving  so I guess I’m in for it and frankly, I’m dead scared; I’ve never ever been caned before and I don’t know if I will be able to stand it. Does it hurt awfully?”

Butterworth looked at Penhaligon with some sympathy before answering: “Look here; think of it like this; sooner or later pretty every one of us here in this school gets his arse beaten; so it’s just one of those things you have to accept as part and parcel of being an Endocian. And does it hurt? Well yes, I’m afraid it bloody well does; but you will find that you can bear it and you will quickly get over it; and then you will feel that you are truly a member of the school: a true Endocian. Somehow after one’s first beating, and I remember mine as if it were just yesterday, one becomes calmer about the way things happen and one accepts that punishments are a way of life in this place and have to be endured.”

“We are in a school which believes in the virtues of the cane; in fact, it is the credo of our “revered” Headmaster, Dr. Divine, who is one of its most ardent and, I might also add, efficient, practitioners. So I guess you have to grin and bear it.  Unless you are brain-dead, my friend, which I guess you are not, then in the course of your years here, you will probably have your arse beaten many times. Not to say, of course, that you should not try to avoid it, But listen, Penhaligon, if you are just a normal lad who enjoys life, you’ll find that you will get whacked quite often; we all do. Only those who sleep-walk through life avoid being caned.  So cheer up; it’s not really as bad as it seems and you will get through it and feel more at ease with yourself once you have experienced the sting of the cane for the first time. It’ll change your outlook on life; you’ll see!”

After listening to this noble attempt to paint an encouraging picture of what seemed to him to be a not very encouraging prospect of life at St. Enodoc’s, Penhaligon’s first thoughts were that he would prefer not to have his outlook on life changed. But there it was; it was going to happen and there was not a damned thing he could do to avoid it; he shivered at the thought of what was now to come.

Butterworth ended his discourse discourse just as Benson opened the door to eject his first “client” of the day. “In you come Butterworth; and as for you Penhaligon; well at least you are on time, I see; so just wait there and I’ll deal with you next.”

Penhaligon looked at the tearful figure who had just left Benson’s study after twelve cuts of the cane across his backside. He was rubbing his buns hard with his hands to try to ease the pain and his eyes were full of tears. He said nothing to Penhaligon as he limped away down the corridor to tend to his wounds before lunch. Penhaligon thought about the things that Butterworth had said to him and tried to come to terms with the fact that he was going to have his first beating whether he liked it or not.

He found it very hard, however, to think about the matter dispassionately, as he stood there waiting his fate, hearing crack after crack of the cane as it descended on Butterworth’s naked arse. Not surprisingly, he was still very scared and visibly trembling with fear when, a few minutes later, Butterworth emerged, also massaging his arse; he managed nevertheless to give Penhaligon a smile  and wished him good luck as he was now called in to face his fate.

“Come in Penhaligon and let’s get you dealt with.” was the somewhat depressing opening remark as Benson beckoned the boy to enter his study.  Penhaligon saw two canes lying on Benson’s desk a thicker senior cane, which clearly had just been used on the two preceding lads, and a slimmer junior cane which was evidently intended for him.  In the middle of the room stood a chair, over which the other two “victims” had been invited to bend to receive their thrashing.

“Well Penhaligon, your first week as my fag was not exactly a great success was it? I have to say that I have been most disappointed by the way in which you have gone about what are, in fact, just a few simple tasks. You did not manage to bring me my breakfast on time during the entire week; and yet I had told you that I was a stickler for punctuality; and then there were my shoes, which on two days had not been polished at all;  at least not as far as I could see.”

On and on Benson went, in an ever more hectoring manner, nit-picking over every detail of Penhaligon’s activities, none of which, according to him, had been correctly executed. And then he came to the Saturday afternoon tea-party: “I think that you will agree, Penhaligon, your performance yesterday afternoon left everything to be desired: it was an utter fiasco from start to finish. I have never seen such incompetence in my life; and in front of all the House-Captains; Lord only knows what they thought.  But I can tell you Penhaligon, that one of them suggested that I thrash you there and then; on the spot in front of everyone!  Penhaligon you have indeed a lot to answer for and I am sure you will not think me unjust if I tell you that you merit serious correction, which is precisely why you are in front of me right now.”

Whether or not Penhaligon thought that Benson was being unjust or not we shall never know; but in an effort to salvage what he already knew in his heart of hearts was a lost  cause, he tried his best to excuse his incompetence:  “Benson, I am truly sorry that things went so badly during my first week as your fag, but I promise you that I have learned from experience and that nothing like that will ever happen again and I will be a really good fag for you; really I will Benson.  I know now what you expect and I shall do it to your satisfaction, starting tomorrow morning with your breakfast which will I will make sure is on time: really I will Benson. So please Benson, if you could just excuse me for the first week and not beat me. I’ve never ever been beaten and I am just so afraid of it. So please could you be lenient and let me off with a warning and I promise you I will be the very best fag that ever was; really I will Benson.”

Benson listened stony faced to the pleas of his fag. He had, of course, not the slightest intention of letting of letting Penhaligon off the hook and and every intention of giving him a very sore bottom in the next few minutes. And the beating of his fag, to which he was looking forward with some pleasure, had just been rendered even more alluring by the fact that he had just learned that he would shortly be beating what might be described as a “virgin arse”: one hitherto unsullied by the cane or the birch. It was a very exciting  prospect to be the first to show the boy how things were done at St. Enodoc’s and give him an idea of what he, as new Enodocian, had to look forward to over the coming years.

“Penhaligon, I am afraid that after the fiasco that was your first week as my fag, I cannot let you off scot-free with just a warning. You have to be corrected otherwise in spite of your best intentions, which I am sure you sincerely believe, you will never learn how things have to be done; thing will just begin to slip again, unless you are aware that a dose of painful retribution awaits your backside. Now in this school, the way we correct boys is by beating their bottoms with a cane; and that young man, is, I am afraid, what I am now going to to you.”

“Now I am not at all an unreasonable sort of character (in fact quite the opposite was true: he was totally unreasonable.) and as you are a new boy, I am going to be quite lenient with you, As you know (he didn’t until that moment) the standard tariff is twelve strokes of the cane; however in your case I am going to reduce your punishment to just six strokes of the junior cane; the one you see lying there on my desk. So Penhaligon, make yourself useful and move that tall chair from the middle of the room and place it back against the wall; then put in its place the lower backed chair over which you will more easily be able to bend to present your backside to me for correction.”

Poor Penhaligon, seeing that the die was now cast, could none other than obey his fag-master. Then, with the low-backed chair in position, Benson said to him: “Now Penhaligon, remove your coat and waistcoat and lay them neatly on the table over there; then go and stand behind the chair, facing its   back.” 

Perhaps I should digress slightly here to tell you that the school uniform (not a word of which Dr. Divine much approved; he preferred the expression “school attire”) at St. Enodoc’s consisted of a pair of pin-striped black trousers similar to those some modern-day solicitors still wear, accompanied by a white shirt,  a silk bow-tie and a silk waistcoat, both in the boy’s house colours.  The coat was a modified tail-coat, but with a very short tail which just covered a lad’s bum. This outfit was finished off by a cap which was itself a sort of pillbox with no neb but with a short tassel, again in the boy’s house colour. In a word; when a boy was correctly attired in his full regalia, he looked vaguely absurd; even in 1900.

And of course, a “sine qua non” of the school rules, was that the cap be worn by all boys at all times when they were outside the school premises and be raised in deference to any older person whom they met and knew. These were two strict rules, both of which when broken led immediately to a very sore arse for the delinquent lad. So I am sure that you can understand, given this somewhat onerous and complex wardrobe in which the lads were garbed, each and every boy of the school when slated for punishment, was required to present himself dressed, as had been Butterworth, in what was called the “appropriate attire”: a pair of gym shorts and a gym vest and nothing else; in short clothing which could be pulled off in an instant and access given to the naked arse of the unfortunate delinquent.

Of course, our hero, Penhaligon, was blissfully unaware of this rule and had turned up at Benson’s study in his normal clothes.  Luckily Benson did not, hold this against him. Knowing Benson as we do one really asks oneself the question why? Anyway, for some reason or other he didn’t make a fuss about the “incorrect attire” in which Penhaligon had arrived, so Penhaligon now found himself standing behind the low chair in his shirt and trousers, having had to divest himself of his his coat and waistcoat.  He now waited, trembling inwardly, for the next instruction from Benson, which, when it came, shook him to the core with a frisson of fear.

“Well I think we are now almost ready, Penhaligon for the first communion of your bum with my cane; so drop your trousers and underpants and bend across the back of the chair and let me see your naked arse.”  It is worth noting that Benson along with most other prefects often referred crudely to a boy’s buttocks as his “arse”. And in fact, by the time a boy reached the third form, this was the terminology used universally by all the boys. “He’s going to beat my arse” was a commonly heard expression at St. Enodoc’s, given the penchant for the regular application of the cane to that part of a boy’s anatomy. The younger boys, however, tended to refer to their posteriors as their “bum”.  Terminology apart, Penhaligon was stunned by what he had just been told to do; he had had no idea, until that very moment that the cane was to be applied directly to his naked bottom.

“Please Benson, you’re not going to cane me directly on my bare bum, are you?” he said with an audible tremor in his voice.

“I most certainly am young man; don’t tell me that you were unaware of the fact that all punishment, both cane and birch, are applied on the bare in this school; and that goes for all of us, no matter what form we are in. So you see, if by some stroke of misfortune, the Headmaster decided to beat me his Head-Boy, then I too would have to present my naked arse to him for attention.  Little did he know how prophetic this remark to his fag would turn out to be; but that is for later in this story. So Penhaligon, just do as you are told; it’s the way we do things around her and you will just have to accept it: get your trousers and underpants down and bend across the back of the chair and let me get on with it.”

Penhaligon now realised  that he could do nothing but obey his fag-master, who surveyed with a certain relish, which he concealed only with difficulty, the pair of virgin buns he was about to thrash.  Now as he had said he was going to be  lenient with his fag; but for an eleven year old boy, six well applied cuts across his bare arse were nevertheless, a horrible initiation to the doubtful joys of the cane.  As he waited for the first stroke to land on his naked flesh, Penhaligon was absolutely terrified by the prospect of what was about to happen to him. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he waited for the shock of that first stroke of the cane: the stroke which would herald his initiation into the disciplinary world of St. Enodoc’s Academy.

And when that first stroke came, which it did with considerable force, it made him let out an enormous breath, followed, a split second later, by a howl of pain. The young lad gasped for breath as he felt for the very first time the searing pain which a well applied cut of even a slender junior cane can deliver.  It was hard for Penhaligon to describe the horrible pain of that first ever cut of the cane he had just taken across his naked arse; he just knew that it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced in his life to date;  he wondered if he could bear the further five cuts which he knew were coming; cuts over which he had no control; but bear them he had to; and so like many before him, he was obliged to endure one stinging cut after the other; each successive stroke seeming worse and more severe than the last; and it has to be said that Benson, with his  sadistic tendencies, did not stint on the severity of the strokes he gave to his young fag.  But then, Benson never ever stinted when he used the cane; he may have told him that he was being lenient, but for Penhaligon it was an initiation into a world of utter agony, prolonged of course by Benson, who allowed some fifteen seconds  “appreciation pause” between each stroke.  Benson spaced his six cuts evenly across Penhaligon’s buns, starting at the top and finishing with three resoundingly painful cuts on the very sensitive sitting area. By the time he had finished, he had, with the classic “six of the best” left his fag with what, by any standards, had to be described as a “well-beaten arse”.

“You may get up now Penhaligon and get dressed. And as you do not yet know the form, you are now supposed to thank me for having corrected you. So you will now know what to do on future occasions when you have been beaten.”  And with that Benson held out his hand for Penhaligon to shake as the lad tried to say the required words of appreciation to his fag-master; they came with great difficulty as the poor lad was sobbing with the pain which had just been inflicted upon him. 

Never ever again, thought Penhaligon as he struggled to pull his underpants and trousers back on over his burning buttocks, where the pain was just so great he could barely bear to touch himself. There was no doubt about it at all though; Benson’s beating of his fag had given him a rigorous and realistic introduction to the strict discipline which was applied to errant boys at St. Enodoc’s. It was safe to say that Penhaligon had been well and truly baptised into the St. Enodoc tradition of beating; life for him would never be quite the same again.

And yet in some perverse way, in in spite of a throbbing backside, he felt and more confident of the future in front of his classmates who had not yet had their first encounter with the cane: a pleasure to be anticipated! As he went into lunch that Sunday immediately following his beating, he found he could not bear to sit down and stood at his place at table. It was then that he saw that he was not alone; Butterworth was standing at his place and the other lad, whom Benson had thrashed, was also standing rather than sitting; but that was not all; evidently several other lads across the entire school spectrum had clearly been thrashed that same Sunday morning; as at least six other boys were standing to eat their lunch.  In a way, Penhaligon felt very satisfied to belong to this elite group of boys who had clearly “arrived”: boys who were “in the system”: boys who knew “what was what.” In spite of the horrible pain in his arse, Penhaligon felt somehow superior to his other classmates, all of whom would be clamouring to examine his backside after lunch was over.

CHAPTER 6

Each term at St. Enodoc’s there were one or two beatings which captured the imagination of the entire school.  Usually some boy or group of boys did something totally extraordinary which raised the wrath of the Headmaster to such a level that he inflicted the maximum punishment upon them that the school rules permitted: twenty-four strokes of cane or birch.

William Whitman was in the sixth form; he was the brightest of all the boys in his year and was good at all sports. In fact he was one of those lads who are good at everything they do. He was also very popular and had lots of friends.  But Whitman had one fault which got him into trouble time after time; he could not refrain from indulging in some sort of joke or prank or other; jokes which often had a tendency to go horribly wrong and which inevitably led to his backside having painful encounters with Dr. Divine and his cane.

In fact, it is safe to say that Whitman as the cleverest lad of his year and a boy who was universally liked  by staff and schoolmates equally, was also the boy whose arse had, throughout his entire career at St. Enodoc’s,  taken more beatings than any other.  But did the fact that he was regularly being invited to present this naked backside to be caned deter him? Did he learn from his experience? No, he certainly did not. And so Whitman was forever concocting some sort of trick or jape, most of which failed utterly and gave him yet another sore arse.

In the final year, a gentle soul, a Mr. Cyril Bartholomew, an elderly and scholarly master, taught the boys of the sixth from what was then loosely called Natural Sciences.  This was a very ill-defined course which covered all sorts of subjects in a rambling sort of way. Mr Bartholomew had talked to his class about plants and the pests which attack them and had attempted to explain to his largely disinterested audience what is known as the Linnaean Classification: an internationally accepted method of naming all living organism with two Latin names: the first the genus or general group to which the organism belongs and the second the species which is the specific organism within that genus and is totally unique. For example; what we in England call the dandelion is known pissenlit in France and Löwenzahn in Germany, whilst its official Linnaean name is Taraxacum officinale. And that is the official name which British, French and German scientist would use when talking about it together: Taraxacum, the genus and officinale, the species.

Disinterested the majority of the boys might well have been, but not our friend Whitman, who for some unknown reason   fell in love with these two-part Latin names. And so he memorised the names of countless insects, fungi and plants and started spouting them poetically to anyone who would listen. Now, it has to be admitted that many of them were very splendid to listen to as they rolled with limpid liquidity off Whitman’s tongue; it was as if he was giving a performance of some ancient play in Latin. For instance; what we call the Colorado Beetle has the splendidly sonorous Latin name of Leptinotarsa decemlineata.  And having mastered quite a large number of such names, Whitman, ever out to have a bit of fun, suddenly came up with the idea of introducing some of these names into the school’s pre-prandial grace. Where this idea came from who knows? But once having got it into his head, there was no stopping the lad as he prepared his latest party piece.

Dr. Divine, the Headmaster and a small number of other masters on a rota basis, dined with the entire school in the refectory each Sunday evening, on which occasion the School Grace was read out by one of the sixth formers before the boys sat down to dinner.  The grace was written in Latin; but a fact unknown to the boys and indeed to most of the teaching staff, was that the St. Enodoc’s School Grace had in fact been composed, or rather cobbled together, by the good Dr. Divine himself. As a Cambridge man, he had simply taken bits from the individual graces which were said each day in each of the Cambridge Colleges before the evening meal and had produced his own version, which he had christened The St. Enodoc Grace.

Where Whitman got the crazy idea of interpolating some of the more poetic sounding Latin names into the actual grace, no one knows. But had he been aware that his Headmaster, a veteran and ardent flagellator of his pupils, was the author of the grace, he might have thought twice before going ahead with his plan. But he was unaware of this fact, as was everyone else: boys and teaching staff included; so he went ahead. 

The graces of the Cambridge and, for that matter the Oxford Colleges are all slightly different but at the end of the day are all much of a muchness. The Reverend Dr. Divine’s “cut-and paste” assembly of bits and pieces from the graces of several colleges was, I suppose, an original work.  Not to burden you with the full version, it began:

“Oculi omnium aspiciunt in Te sperant Domine”

“The eyes of all are upon you and believe in you O Lord.”

and ended:

“Per Jesum Christum, Dominum nostrum – Amen”

“Through Jesus Christ our Lord.” – Amen”

as did countless other graces.

Now as the Reverend Doctor did not believe in brevity, there were, between these two verses, many others, which provided our friend Whitman with ample space to exercise his vivid imagination.

So here is what the School Grace looked like after Whitman had worked his magic on it.

Oculi omnium aspiciunt et in Te sperant Domine

Quadraspidotus perniciosus sed Leptinotarsa decemlineate

Autem Ips typographus etiam Ips stenographus

Avenae ludoviciana et etiam  Avena fatua

Agropyron et Elytigia repens sed Phthorimaea opercullela

Tam omnia Taraxacum officianale

et Pyrenophora tritici-repentis

Per Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum

Amen

Apart from the first and last verses, the inner six verses are, of course, complete and utter nonsense; but Whitman by stringing together the Latin names of a mixture of insects, fungal diseases and weeds, interpolated with a few Latin prepositions here and there to provide a certain rhythm, had created a pseudo-Latin grace, which, when read aloud, sounded very convincing. He was particularly proud of having unearthed a fungal disease of wheat, Pyrenophora tritici-repentis, as he felt that the word “repentis” fitted in very well at the end of a grace.

After some private practice, Whitman himself declaimed his creation with great theatricality in front of his close friends.  It is difficult to convey in writing in any convincing manner just how authentic this rubbish sounded as Whitman performed it; for Whitman was quite a talented actor and had spent some considerable time in deciding where to put the emphasis on the words and to raise his voice dramatically as if to make a point. All in all this pastiche of a grace was an enormously amusing idea and was voted a great success by his friends. 

One of his friends raised a word of caution as he wondered how this ridiculous piece of nonsensical Latin would be received. Whitman, however, brushed off any thought of abandoning his idea to read out his literary masterpiece in front of the entire at supper the next Sunday, which was, by chance, his day to read the grace. “A pound to a penny,” he said, “No one will realise that what they have just heard is not the genuine article. How many of us ever listen to the grace? We are all too interested to get it over and done with and sit down to eat.  So there you are; in my view, no one will notice the changes; you’ll see I’m right.”

Alas as we are now about to find out, one person did realise what was happening; and that person was the Reverend Dr. Divine; and that person did notice the changes and did not find it funny: neither funny nor amusing at all, in fact.

It was the Sunday evening supper and Whitman, together with his three best friends, Trelawny, Hamett and Pemberthy, all true blue Cornishmen, sat at a front table with Whitman ready to read what was ostensibly the School Grace, which was printed out and pasted onto a board with a handle.  Few boys actually knew the grace by heart and needed this “aide mémoire” when their turn came to read it out. The fatidic moment arrived and Whitman stood there holding the board in front of him as if reading from it; in fact, he had memorised his own version, which he now delivered in an impressive and dramatic theatrical style after which he sat down and received a pat on the back form his three close friends.

It may well be that the Headmaster and possibly the Latin Master, who was present on high table that evening, were the only people present to realise what they had heard; but Whitman was probably right in that no one else had any idea at all that they had just been treated to a spoof of the true grace. Give the concatenation of natural history Latin and its inherent lack of correct grammar, it is doubtful if even these two men actually understood what had been said; but what both of them knew was that the grace as delivered by Whitman was not the standard St. Enodoc’s School Grace. Had Whitman glanced towards the Headmaster, he would have seen immediately that something was wrong just from the look on his face.

Dr. Divine stood up and said: “Whitman; and also your three acolytes sitting there with you: Trelawny, Hamett and Penberthy, unless I am mistaken; kindly all leave this room immediately.”  This order came as a shock to all four lads, for the food had not yet been served and they were being told to get out. “And the four of you; I wish to see you, suitably attired for the occasion, in my study at eight thirty this evening; we have a very serious matter to attend to, as I am sure you all realise. Oh and Benson,” he added, looking at the Head-Boy,  would you also come to my study at the same time this evening as I may have need of your assistance; you, will, of course, come attired as you are now.”

The silence in the refectory was suddenly deafening, as all conversations between the boys stopped dead on hearing the Headmaster’s words.; they meant  one thing and one thing only; the four lads who were being kicked out without their supper were going to be thrashed later that same evening. That much the entire school understood but why? What was their sin? In fact, Whitman had been right; not a soul other that the Headmaster had realised that they had been fed a transmogrified version of the School Grace. 

So as you might well imagine, the conversation for the rest of the meal was centred on why the four had been told to leave the room. Whitman’s masterpiece had gone in one ear and straight out of the other; it had been just a piece of self- satisfaction for the writer; no more and no less. In fact, not one of the boys present that Sunday evening could have recited the correct version of the School Grace from memory had he been asked to do so. So none of the assembled boys had any clear idea why the four delinquents had been kicked out without their supper.

But to come back to Clive Benson, who those sitting near to him could now see was almost preening himself at the thought of assisting the Headmaster in his task. Benson really was a nasty piece of goods; he abused his position as Head-Boy and was probably the person in the school who wielded the cane most often and most severely on all comers.  Benson could always find an excuse to thrash some poor lad; on some imaginary charge if necessary. 

All in all it is safe to say that Benson did not have many close friends among his schoolmates and there was a strong hope among many of them, especially those who had experienced his wrath on their naked backsides, that one day he might get his come-uppance. But for the moment Benson was radiant; he had been asked to assist the Headmaster in what clearly promised to be a top-flight-four-man beating: an event very much to his taste. He wondered whether when the Headmaster had used the word “assistance” if he meant that Benson should help him wield the cane. Benson fantasized to himself that perhaps Dr. Divine was feeling himself too frail to do justice to a four-arse thrashing and wanted his Head-Boy to assume part of the load. Benson was almost salivating at the thought that he might be invited to visit the cane on the backsides of some sixth-formers; now that was something which would have made a perfect ending to the evening for him. 

But what of our four “merry men”? Well, of course they all knew why they had been turned out of the refectory without their supper.  The surprise had been the immediate outburst of anger exhibited by Dr. Divine as soon as Whitman had finished his rendition. Of course, none of them were aware that the “sacred text” had been penned by Dr. Divine himself. Had they known this fact, then Whitman would probably not have made his pastiche of the grace; or if he had, he would have reserved it for a private performance in front of his friends.  So as four of of them sat there contemplating their fate, which was quite clear, or so they thought: a bare arse caning; but they still had no explanation for the volcanic outburst of the Headmaster.

Whitman, ever the gentleman, even in adversity, said to his friends: “Look here lads; the Headmaster kicked all four of us out but you three really had nothing at all to do with what happened; you were just onlookers like all the rest. So when we see the Headmaster later this evening, I shall tell him that you should not be punished as it was I and I alone who modified the grace and you three had nothing at all to do with it.”

Trelawny said:  “Look here, Liam; (that was William Whitman’s nick-name) we were all sitting together at the table and the old boy saw us together as you gave your performance; and he certainly saw that we three were delighted by the result. My guess is that the four of us are all in for the high-jump. For some reason, which is not at all clear, Divine is out for blood; and it’s our blood he wants and he is going to have it come what may; believe me; he’s going to whack the four of us. What I cannot understand is that a simple joke, and an academic one at that, should have provoked such tremendous anger; but it did and we shall just have to bear the consequences.”  Alas, the four of them had no idea what the Headmaster had in mind for them; but when they finally learned what was in store for them, it came as  quite a shock.

“Anyway Liam; it’s not the first time we four will have been beaten together and probably will not be the last as we still have two terms to go before we leave St. Enodoc’s forever; so just let’s accept what’s going to happen; we are all going to go to bed tonight with very sore arses, as the old boy still knows how to lay it on; but we shall all survive to live another day; we always have in the past and we shall this time.”

As Trevelyan concluded, the two others nodded their agreement. So it was a bit like the three musketeers, except that they were four: one for all and all for one! But this attitude was typical of the comradeship shared by boys who had been together through the thick and thin of an English public school education and had been subjected to its often severe discipline. It was this type of education and just such places as St. Enodoc’s where boys made friendships which lasted for their entire lives. The “old school tie” really did count for something.

The four of them in their gym strips presented themselves at the due hour at the Headmaster’s study and were ushered in. Benson was already present, but they were unclear what his role would be; as far as they were concerned, Dr. Divine was going to beat their arses with a cane, an act at which he was very proficient; so why was Benson needed?

Dr. Divine sat behind his desk with the four lads lined up in front of him:  “I was staggered when I heard that travesty of a mess which was supposed to be the School Grace: a sacred text which is read out each Sunday evening before supper.  I suppose that you, Whitman, aided by you other three, wrote this pastiche and thought of it as funny. Well young man, I can tell you that I did not find it funny in the least; in fact not to mince words, I found it totally insulting.”  And now came the revelation which explained why the joke had gone over so badly and why the boys were about to get their arses roasted. “I never thought that that School Grace, which I personally spent many hours composing, and which has hitherto always been treated with respect, would be taken in vain by a group of final year boys.”

So there is was; they now knew why things had gone so awfully wrong. That wretched grace had been penned by the Reverend Dr. Divine himself and he was totally insulted by what Whitman had done to it.  That was the reason for the immediate explosive outburst of temper; that was the reason why the four lads were about to get a thrashing.

“Sir, if I might be permitted to say a word in mitigation of my three classmates.  Sir, the modification of the grace was entirely my idea and entirely written by me. My friends here had nothing at all to do with it.  We were just sitting together as we always do for our meals sir. So if you deem my action merits punishment sir, then please punish just me and not my schoolmates.”

“Whitman it is really very commendable of you to wish to shoulder the entire burden of your action yourself and try to absolve the three others. However, I saw the way in which they reacted to your performance and they way they congratulated you on it, which tells me that they were complicit in the idea. I doubt, frankly, that other than those who were party to the idea, you yourself and your three friends and myself, had any idea  that what they had just heard was other than the standard School Grace.  It is clear that your three friends knew what you intended to do; so even though you are the sole author of the modified grace, they too went along with it. And so, my dear Whitman, I am afraid that you are all going to be punished for your action; and that, young man, is my final word.  I will however say, that even though the Latin names you used meant nothing to me, your grammar was perfect, so I am relieved that you have, in fact learned something in your years at St. Enodoc’s.”

“Now, I think that all that need to be said about this unfortunate affair has now been said; so I think we can proceed to your punishment. Please all step out of your gym shorts and we will then move into the next room where you will reap a rich harvest of what you have just sown.”

The four lads were somewhat shocked by the fact that the Headmaster clearly intended them to stand around naked from the waist down, showing off their sexual equipment, which I might add was considerable as they were all mature young men of eighteen with well developed packages between their legs. It was not that they had never before seen each other naked, as this was something they saw ever day as they showered. But to be made to stand there in line, displaying their cocks and balls was, to say the least, very embarrassing.

Now this was by no means the first time that the four lads had been beaten by the Headmaster; but in the past it had always taken place in the study: in the very room in which they were now standing, None of them had ever been into the adjacent room and they wondered, not surprisingly, what was in store for them.  The revelation of what was about to happen came as a horrible surprise; on entering the room, they saw the the birching horse standing in the centre; to the side stood three pails of water continuing several birches.

It is safe to say that their collective heart missed a beat as it dawned upon them that they were not to be caned but birched.  This was a very frightening prospect to say the least; none of them had ever been birched before; in fact, none of them had ever actually seen a birch until this moment. But the moment of truth had arrived and they had to face up to the fact that they were about to be given what promised to be the beating of their lifetime; and all because of a simple joke which had gone so very, very wrong; it did not bear thinking about.

“Trelawny, you are to be first; kindly step up to the horse and bend across it. Now, Benson (he had been totally ignored and might well have not been present until this moment) if you would kindly fasten the straps around Trelawny’s wrists and ankles, I think we can begin.”

Benson did as he had been bidden but was now somewhat miffed by the fact that it was the Headmaster himself who intended to wield the dreaded rod and his role as assistant was clearly destined to be very minor. Still he would have the undoubted pleasure of watching four beefy arses take a beating; always a pleasant affair for onlookers such as him, who enjoyed enormously seeing their classmates suffer. Of course I was not quite the same as being able to inflict the pain oneself; bringing the cane down and hearing the crack as it mated with the naked buttocks of the recipient was as music to his ears. But he knew, nevertheless, that he would find the spectacle sexually very arousing; he was already becoming quite hard just with the preliminaries.

The Headmaster selected a birch from one of the pails, shook it vigorously to get rid of the water. He then positioned himself on Trelawny’s left side, tapped the birch a few times against the lad’s quivering buns and prepared to give him the first stroke. “Oh, by the way, I seem to have omitted to tell you that each of you is going to receive twelve strokes of the birch. I think boys, that you will find that this will leave each of you with bottoms you would rather forget.”

Trelawny who was immobile, close his eyes and clenched his teeth in anticipation of the first stroke of the dreaded implement. When it came he was pleasantly surprised that it was not at all as painful as he had anticipated.  Was the birch, in fact, not as painful as legend had it? And indeed so it seemed at first;  but the first few strokes were but the lull before the storm;  as stroke followed stroke, the pain quickly built up to unbearable levels,  so much so that the poor lad was crying out for mercy well before the final stroke was delivered.  He was, of course, wasting is breath for the Headmaster had got the bit firmly between his teeth and had every intention of giving the lad the thrashing of his life.

When the last stroke had been delivered, Trelawny’s arse was a deep red all over its surface and was peppered with tiny bruises where the individual twigs of the birch had landed. The birch, unlike the cane, does not produce distinct welts, but distributes the pain across the whole area being punished; but make no mistake about it; those fine twigs, applied time and time again with vigour over the same area, inflict excruciating pain on the recipient. Trelawny would have confirmed, had he been asked, that Dr. Divine, in spite of his advancing years, was a real crack with the birch; the old boy really knew his stuff.

“Benson, if you would be so kind as to release the straps holding Trelawny in place, we can allow the boy to stand up.” 

Benson went up to the immobilised Trelawny and as he bent over to release the wrist straps whispered maliciously in his ear: “I hope that you enjoyed that as much as I did; it really turned me on.”  With the straps undone, Trelawny had difficulty in getting up from the birching horse as the pain he was suffering in his backside was just so intense. He felt he would like to die; a sentiment which has crossed the minds of many lads who have had the doubtful pleasure of an encounter with the birch. But that thought is only ever very transitory and is soon dismissed as the recipient comes to terms with the pain and wonders how to cope with it. Trelawny hobbled back to the line where his classmates stood waiting to be called.

The three of them were all now sporting full erections, visible to all and sundry, as they were all naked from the waist down.

It has to be said that though the other three lads were about to receive the same treatment as their classmate had just endured, whilst he was being birched, they had, like all boys, looked on with very mixed and conflicting emotions. Watching someone get his arse roasted was always an exhilarating and erotic experience as their rock hard boners now testified. But this was tempered at the same time by the sympathy and empathy they felt for their classmate who was now in absolute agony. Add to this that they all knew that they too were about to experience the same treatment as that which their classmate had just received and you can well appreciate that the above sentiments were also overlaid with apprehension and fear.

The same was true of Benson, who was struggling to deal with that uncontrollable piece of meat between his legs and trying to keep it inside his trousers.  Trelawny, on the other hand, was now completely deflated and his cock hung there like a limp rag. As far as the Headmaster was concerned, he seemed not to notice the aroused state of the three boys waiting to be thrashed as he motioned to the next lad to take is position over the horse and for Benson to attach the straps.

And so Hamett and Penberthy were invited in succession to offer up their arses to the ministrations of Dr. Divine.  In spite of his age, the good doctor showed no sign of fatigue as he applied the birch vigorously to the two young mens’ buttocks.  By the time they each in turn had joined Trelawny, they too were completely deflated; but they were made to stand there whilst the Headmaster addressed the chief instigator of the deed: Whitman.

As Whitman took his position over the horse, Benson stepped forward to attach the straps; but Whitman turned to the Headmaster and said: “Sir; there is no need to restrain me; I am quite capable of taking my punishment without being restrained; and so Whitman bent across the horse, gritted his teeth and waited for the onslaught to begin.

As the prime mover in the affair, the Headmaster had more in store for Whitman than he had appreciated. He used two new birches on the lad’s backside, both of which he applied with an unbelievable ferocity. When he had finished his twelve strokes, Whitman’s behind was red-raw and peppered with small welts over its entire surface. Whitman made as if to stand up after the twelfth stroke had been delivered but the Headmaster had other idea and said: ‘Not so fast, young man, I am far from being finished with you yet.”

Whitman’s blood ran cold as he heard these words; what more did the Headmaster have in mind for him? He had taken the twelve cuts of the birch, all laid on with maximum force and like his three  classmates was in agony with the pain; surely that was enough.  But no; not in the view of Dr. Divine, who was intent on making Whitman pay the highest price for his misdeed. 

He ordered the lad to stay exactly where he was and said: “Whitman; as you are the ringleader of this sad, disgraceful and disrespectful affair, and sole author of that abominable grace, I think it right and proper that you should be made aware of the disgust and anger you have engendered in me by your utterly insensitive action.  I now propose to give you an additional six cuts with the senior cane, bringing your total punishment up to eighteen strokes: the maximum allowed by the School Rules is, of course, twenty-four strokes; so you will appreciate that I am being very lenient with you, in view of the gravity of your offence. Young man, you will however be one of the rare pupils of this school ever to have received a complement of the cane after an initial birching; I trust this brings home to you how disgusted I feel that one of my senior boys should have dared to tamper with the School Grace.”

Listening to this additional sentence, Whitman felt a stab of fear rush through his body as he braced himself for the additional onslaught on his arse.  He wondered how he was going to bear the bite cane on his already painful buttocks. His three classmates were watching the drama unfold, were horrified by the vengeful retribution which Dr. Divine was intent on exacting from their friend. My god; their own backsides were aflame with pain; how the hell was he going to feel after another six cuts of the cane?  But there was nothing at all any of them could do about it; absolutely nothing at all. It was one of those “grin and bear it” moments; but under the present circumstances it was hard to imagine that even the ever buoyant Whitman would be able to raise a grin after what he had just been through; grit his teeth and bear it was nearer the mark!

Benson meanwhile, looked on with malicious anticipation, looking forward to seeing Whitman squirm under the cane; he was practically salivating as the Headmaster approached Whitman with the senior cane in his hand.

Then stroke followed stroke with that inimitable crack of the cane mating with naked flesh; each stroke applied with maximum force; each stroke strictly parallel to the preceding one; each stroke raising an immediate deep-red welt.  It was metaphorically an absolute blood-bath.  Whitman endured the whole beating without making a sound; but when it was over he could not stop himself crying. And well justified his tears were; the young man had just undergone a monumental beating; one which most of us would have considered totally exaggerated given the nature of the offence.  But Whitman had offended the Headmaster’s sensibilities and he had taken his revenge on the lad’s backside.

He was finally told by Dr. Divine to get up and resume his place alongside is co-conspirators. The Headmaster then proceeded to lecture the four of them, once again on the evil they had perpetrated before allowing them to pull back on their shorts and leave.  The four lads commiserated with each other as they limped back to their rooms where they attempted to nurse their wounds in the hope that the pain would soon diminish.  No one would have believed that what had been intended as a joke could have turned into such a massacre. But one also had to remember that Dr. Divine was fond of using the cane on his boys’ naked bottoms.

CHAPTER 7 

Benson had left the Headmaster’s study as the four lads were attempting to dress themselves and as he emerged into the corridor, he saw two boys running away. But they had not been quick enough to escape his eye and he brought them back with a stern order: “You two there; stop running; turn round and get back here immediately. With the lads in front of him Benson saw that they were in fact, two third formers and that they were the younger brothers of two of the four who had just been birched by the Headmaster: Hamett minor and Penberthy minor. It was quite evident that the two lads had been standing there, listening at the study door in the hope of learning what was happening to their elder brothers.  However, as they were now to find out, this coupled with their precipitate attempt to flee when Benson had appeared, was to prove a very painful mistake.

“You boys were eavesdropping at the Headmaster’s door. Don’t deny it; I am sure of the fact; which is of course why you ran away when I opened the door.” The two lads stood there trembling in front of the dreaded Head-Boy, realising suddenly that their backsides were in imminent danger: a danger they could do little to avoid. Their complete silence affirmed that what he had said was correct. Benson continued:  “Well, I am sure you are both aware that gentlemen do not eavesdrop; and you are both equally aware, as is every boy in this school, that running in the corridors is strictly forbidden.”

“ Well, at St. Enodoc’s we have a cure for boys like you, who break the rules, and I am sure when I tell you that you will now go back to your dormitory, undress and put on your night-shirts, slippers and dressing gowns that you will know precisely what the cure involves. It is now nine o’clock and I expect you, dressed as I have specified, in my study within the next fifteen minutes.  Do I make myself clear?”  The two lads glumly nodded their understanding and went off to change for their beating, for this was, of course, the cure they were to receive.

Benson was beside himself; he could not believe his luck to have caught two miscreants red-handed.  He was already in a high state of arousal after witnessing the birchings by Dr. Divine. As we know, he had hoped that when requested to assist his Headmaster, that might be asked to lay on some of the  strokes himself; but that had not been in the Headmaster’s mind and he had been sorely disappointed by the minor role he had been asked to play on such an exceptional occasion.  But now, here was an opportunity to allow him to release his pent-up passion on the brothers of two of the boys he had just seen birched.

Benson arrived at his study to find his fag, Penhaligon, fussing around in his bedroom. “Penhaligon; what are you doing here at this time of night; your duties ended this afternoon?

Penhaligon looked frightened; as he might well might for Benson was a very exacting and demanding fag-master who rarely forgave a mistake. The young lad replied: “I was just finishing setting out your clothes for tomorrow morning Benson. But I have finished now and so I’ll be off out of your way.”

“But look here Penhaligon, that was a task you were suppose dot have done by five this afternoon not at nine o’clock this evening. What have you been up-to?”

Poor Penhaligon was clearly becoming more and more nervous as he could already see where all this was leading; to an encounter with Benson’s cane. “Well I’m sorry Benson, but I did forget that I had to get your things ready for tomorrow morning; but it’s all done now, so may I please go?”

Benson looked over what his fag had done and it was all done correctly; but he suddenly noticed that his shoes were missing. “Penhaligon; where exactly are my clean shoes for tomorrow morning?”

Penhaligon’s heart missed that metaphorical beat as he realised that he had left the shoes in the boot-room where he had taken them earlier to clean. “I’m very sorry Benson, but I seem to have left them in the boot-room; but I’ll go and get them for you straight away; it will only take a minute.” And off he rushed, his heart pounding at the thought of what was likely to happen to him, to retrieve the missing shoes.

When the lad had returned with the missing shoes, Benson said: “Penhaligon; I think you know that I attach great importance to jobs being done not only properly, but also punctually.  Now, I think you would agree with me when I say that the performance of your duties today has been neither timely nor have your duties been correctly executed.  Had I not noticed that my shoes were missing, then I would have found myself without a clean pair of shoes to put on tomorrow morning. And so, Penhaligon, it is with great regret that I think that it would be advisable for your own good, for me to to remind you of what is expected of you.”

Listening to all this, Penhaligon knew exactly what was coming. Benson pulled the low backed chair from its position by the wall and placed it in the middle of the floor. He then picked up his cane, simply looked at Penhaligon and pointed to the chair. Poor Penhaligon could do none other than take of his coat, drop his trousers and under-pants, bend across back of the chair and present his naked buttocks to his fag-master. Knowing his fag-master as he now did, he did not bother to plead for mercy as knew he would be wasting his breath.

“Well; Penhaligon, I see from my preliminary inspection of your anatomy that you do not appear to have been beaten recently; perhaps that explains why you have become careless and less attentive than required in your duties as my fag. So I think that the moment has come to give you a refresher course to try to set you back on the straight and narrow road to perfection.  I am going to give you six cuts; brace yourself, boy.”

Benson then went ahead and gave his fag six parallel cuts of the junior cane neatly spaced across his bare arse, reserving as ever, three cuts for the lower very sensitive region, where the buttocks meet the thighs. Penhaligon cried out as every stinging blow landed on his naked bottom and was quickly reduced to tears by the severity of Benson’s caning. When he got up and dressed himself again, Benson said to him, really rather callously, but then that was his style: “Penhaligon, you’d better be quick and get back to your dorm before lights out at nine-thirty otherwise you might find our arse again being treated to a visit from your House-Captain’s cane.” As a weeping Penhaligon left, the evening’s other two “victims” arrived for their “execution”.

Benson was by now in fine form; at the peak of his game with cane so to speak. He was in a truly high state of sexual arousal, having just watched four senior boys being birched, followed by his own percussive ministrations addressed to Penhaligon’s bare arse.  And so he was now looking forward with considerable pleasure to thrashing two more rather more mature arses as he ushered Hamett and Penberthy into his study.  The two lads were both fourteen years old and it was their first encounter with Benson, although they knew of his awful reputation; so it is safe to say that they already knew what was in store for them. But, of course, Benson was going to go through the diplomatic niceties associated with catching two lads breaking the rules and set about turning what the two had done into something which resembled a major crime.

“Well gentlemen as you are aware, you have broken two golden rules of the school; you were both eavesdropping at the Headmaster’s door, which is not something that a young  gentleman ever does; and then, to make matters worse, you both ran away when caught at it.  As you both know full well, running inside the school premises is strictly forbidden for safety reasons and carries a mandatory penalty of six strokes of the cane. Add to this your eavesdropping and you will not be surprised at all to learn that I am going to give each of you twelve strokes of the senior cane; on the bare, of course.”

“ Hamett, if you would kindly now do the honours and replace that low backed chair where it belongs against the wall and place the higher backed one in its place in the centre of the room;  and then, once I have found my appropriate cane, I think we shall be ready to begin. Now there is no special order, so which of you two miscreants would like to have his arse roasted the first this evening:  you Hammet or you Penberthy?  Come now; speak up; don’t be shy; I can promise you that you will both leave this room with your arses done to a turn and will have no need for hot-water bottles in your beds tonight.”

Neither lad looked particularly enamoured by Benson’s “encouraging” words; in fact, they both looked quite terrified as they now knew exactly what they were about to receive; and not surprisingly it clearly did not fill their hearts with joy! A twelve stroke beating, on the bare from the Head-Boy, whose dexterity and severity with the cane were legendary, was not a very enticing prospect; in fact; it hardly bore thinking about. But the fact of the matter was that whatever the two lads thought, it was going to happen; so they had best grin and bear it and get the thing over with as soon as possible. So Hamett finally stepped reluctantly forward and stood behind the chair over which he was shortly to drape himself.

Benson looked at him and said: “Well Hammet, now that you have got so far, do get on with it lad; take off your dressing gown, lift up your night-shirt clear of your backside, bend across the back of that chair in front of you and let me see your bare bum; come on boy; quick about it; surely you know the drill by now; it’s not the first time you have been beaten is it?”

Well, as it turned out, it was, in fact, the first time that Hammet had been forced to offer his backside to that classic St. Enodoc sanction: the cane; so for  him this was quite an occasion: unfortunately not a pleasant one! Even though it was true that this was an unusual and unique occasion, I am sure that Hamett would have rather left the pleasure of enjoying its uniqueness to someone else. But it was also quite an occasion for Benson, who adored nothing so much as initiating  boys who were still what he called “bumo intacto”  into the real and painful world of St. Enodoc’s.  Normally such an event was visited on younger boys, who were summoned before the Head-Boy for some offence to receive their first beating and be initiated into the daily life at St. Enodoc’s.

Lord only knows how Hamett had managed to preserve his posterior in its unbeaten, virginal state after the years he had already spent at the school; it was little short of a miracle. However, as we know, all good things eventually come to an end and the end was nigh for Hammet’s hitherto unbeaten arse to surrender its virginity to the cane. What was now about to happen was going to be an ordeal for him: that apocryphal baptism of fire, when reality finally has to be faced. And he could not have had a better introduction to the doubtful joy of the beaten arse than the one he was now about to receive from Benson: that consummate master with the cane. Yes indeed, young Hammet was about to find out just what an undesirable and unpleasant event a bare arse beaten was. Post chastisement the boy would mentally inscribe it on his list of experiences definitely not to be repeated.

Did Benson show any sympathy, empathy, understanding or any form of feeling at all for Hammet?  Of course he didn’t! All that the lad wanted was for him to get on with it and get the ordeal over; but Benson had other ideas. What he did  was to extol his own expertise with the cane to the poor lad, whom he forced to listen to a verbal diatribe of what he intended to do to him whilst leaving him waiting , bent across the chair, his arse in the air, awaiting the first blow.

“You are indeed lucky Hammet, that it was I and not one of the other prefects who caught you and you classmate loitering in the corridor. I think I can promise you that you will leave here with a well-beaten arse which will be considered a masterpiece of the flagellator’s art.  I will ensure that your first encounter with the cane – the senior cane, by the way, in view of your age – will be an experience which you will never forget.”

“I will first apply ten parallel, evenly spaced cuts from the top to the bottom of your buttocks and finish off with two diagonal cuts to draw the lot together. I like to think of it as the St. Enodoc twelve stroke, ten-bar gate speciality, which as you will doubtless appreciate is an advanced and more painful version of the well-known and to my mind, somewhat hackneyed, five-bar gate presentation: a universally used method of applying what is commonly referred to as “six of the best” in an artistic way; but then, here at St. Enodoc’s, we were have long been noted for our innovative techniques.”

“I think it would be safe to say that we here, have introduced a little “joie-de-vivre” into what had become a rather jaded procedure of thrashing the arses of delinquent lads. But one thing I can assure you of; when you leave here to go to your dormitory, you will take with you an arse which resembles an impressionist painting. Rest assured, Hamett, this evening when you shower, your classmates will all be full of admiration of what you will be able to show them. You can be truly proud of your “achievement” and I can assure you that you will be the hero of the moment.”

What Hamett or for the matter his classmate, Penberthy, thought of this load of self aggrandising tripe which the Head-Boy just delivered, we shall never know.  Hamett just knew that he was going to have a few very painful minutes and he wished more than ever that Benson would just shut up and get on with it.  But he was obliged to stay there, stoically bent motionless over the chair, waiting for the first blow to land on his virgin backside and bring him into the St. Enodoc world of reality.

When it finally did, it was a horrible shock; he had had no idea: none at all, of just now painful a cane applied with force to the naked flesh of a young lad’s bum could be.  Benson, of course, laid on the cane with all the force he could muster and when he had finished, he may have created what in his eyes assed for a work of art  but what was for Hamett nothing more than a very, very painful backside. The poor lad had had no idea until then that just so much pain could be delivered with a simple cane; a hero later that evening in the dormitory he might well be; but he would have happily renounced that status and its associated moment of acclaim and not have such a burning backside.  One thing was sure; a caning from Benson was not to be taken lightly; it hurt; it really hurt; and Benson was clearly a man who enjoyed is work!

Penberthy was quaking at the knees by the time Benson ordered him to take his place over the chair now vacated by Hamett. Unlike his friend, he was not inexperienced in matters the cane and had been thrashed on several occasions in his career; once indeed by Dr. Divine himself; so he was fully aware that it was not a pleasant few minutes he was going to spend allowing Benson to address his arse with the cane. But as lads do – or rather have to do – he gritted his teeth and bore the ordeal as best he could.  He too finally left Benson’s study with the ten-bar-gate motif which he felt had been engraved into the flesh of his arse.  Both lads regretted that they had allowed their curiosity to get the better of them and to land them in a position to allow Benson to justify caning them.

Benson was by now in a state of extreme sexual arousal. He had been rock-hard whilst watching Dr. Divine wield the birch; and now, in his own study, he had maintained a cum-loaded boner throughout the three beatings.  It would have been heaven for him if he could have found a partner as he wanted nothing more than to have sex with another young man; but that was not on the table that evening. So he ripped off his clothing including his cum soaked underpants and stood in front of his bathroom mirror, using the five fingered lover to bring himself to a climax. When he reached orgasm, it was with such a force, that he jerked a seemingly unending series of gobbets of thick, creamy sperm all over the mirror and the floor.

Whilst not as good as good as an arse fuck, his “self abuse”, to use the term employed by Dr. Divine to describe the act of masturbation, met his immediate sexual needs.  Benson went to bed feeling very relaxed that night. It was not every day that he had the chance to exercise his sadistic bent and Schadenfreude feelings; but this pleasure which he felt at the misfortunes of others had been fully aroused as he watched Dr. Divine birch the three sixth-formers. And then, to top it all, he had had the good luck to pick up up three other lads to thrash, which had provided a thrilling climax to what had already been a very stimulating evening. He fell asleep feeling very contented. But fate is a strange thing and brings with it some great surprises as it was about to do for Benson.

CHAPTER 8

Edward Rushworth MA Cantab and William Butcher MA Oxon were the two youngest members of the St. Enodoc’s teaching staff. They had each been at the school for a year; Rushworth was the junior mathematics master and Butcher the junior French master.  They were both aged twenty-five; they were both unmarried as was the Headmaster, but unlike him they were not confirmed bachelors; nor were they seeking conventional marital bliss; in a word they were as gay as coots. They had both arrived at the school as new masters at the same time and just how they found each other in the sexual sense is difficult to say; but the fact was that they had found each other and they had clicked; in practically no time at all were more or less permanent sex partners: a very comfortable and pleasant arrangement for both of them. 

As unmarried staff they each had living accommodation – a   study, a bedroom and a bathroom –  within the school buildings and their meals were provided by the school kitchen  and served by the school servants; in fact, it was not at all a bad life for an unmarried man, gay or not; he did not have to worry about household problems. And whilst the services they enjoyed were not quite as lavish as those enjoyed by the fellows in the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, they were more than adequate and gave no grounds for complaint.  And so the two young men spent a great deal of time together in bed doing what men of their sexual persuasion do; and they had one hell of a time together, even though their activities were strictly forbidden by the then law of the land and could have led to imprisonment had they been caught by the police.

The two young teachers were very wise; they did not allow themselves to succumb to the sexual temptation of some of the very attractive sixth formers whom they taught. So often such illicit liaisons, frequently welcomed by the lads concerned  led to the downfall and disgrace of the master involved;  But vis-a-vis the pupils the two young teachers  were as pure as driven snow. The the two of them, not long graduated, had retained many of their old university habits, one of which was a liking for beer.  Both of them at their separate universities had been members of drinking clubs and were well acquainted with all the hostelries in their respective cities.  Old habits die hard and so one Saturday evening, after supper, they decided on the spur of the moment to pop into town to the Hopsack, the local public house and have a pint or two. This simple and innocent act was to have unbelievable consequences which were to end in a monumental bloodbath of birching and caning later that very same evening.

The Hopsack, in common with many hostelries of that period had two bars; the Public Bar and the Saloon Bar. Each had its own entrance but the two were linked by an internal door which allowed customers to pass from one to the other.  The bar itself was centrally situated between these two rooms and one could see across from one room to the other.  The origin of the two separate rooms was that anyone in any form of attire, including dirty working clothes, was welcome to wet his whistle in the Public Bar, whereas the Saloon bar normally demanded more formal dress.  In short it was a typical example of British class distinction; the hoi-polloi frequented the Public Bar and the gentry the Saloon, which is where our two young school-masters went.

No sooner had they installed themselves at the bar when they saw across from them in the Public Bar none other than Benson, the school’s Head-boy who was standing there, large as life, propping up the bar in the company of his classmate and closest friend, Penmethen.  Neither lad was wearing the school uniform; they had both discarded their tail-coats in favour of sports jackets; their regulation bow-ties were absent and neither lad was wearing his school cap.  So, all in all, the  fact that they were in town and in a forbidden location – the “pub” –  drinking and smoking and incorrectly attired, the two of them were breaking no less than four school rules.

Suddenly Penmethen, glancing across the bar, saw that the two masters from the school had their eyes fixed on them.  He blanched as he drew Benson’s attention to the fact that they had been caught “in flagrante” – in the act! Mr Rushworth pointed at the two boys and indicated by the swing of his arm that they should leave the bar, which they did, to be confronted outside by the two junior masters, whose evening they had now totally disrupted

Rushworth took the lead: “Benson; Penmethen; what are you two senior boys thinking of coming down here into this public house and breaking almost every school rule in the book.  You are both well aware that you are not allowed down town in the evening without a signed exeat and you are aware that when you are outside the school premises you must be wearing the school uniform and your caps; you are also aware that the Headmaster has strictly, and I do mean strictly, forbidden both smoking and drinking, wherever they take place; and here you are, the pair of you, as large as life, smoking and drinking in a public house. I am afraid that we have no option but to report you immediately to Dr. Divine, who will doubtless deal with your multiple delinquencies as he best sees fit.  Kindly return to the school forthwith and wait in the corridor outside of the Headmaster’s study. Once he hears of your extra-curricular activities I feel he will want to see you immediately.

Benson and Penmethen were now in a high state of nervousness, apprehension and fear as well they should have been. They both knew that every word that Mr. Rushworth had addressed to them was perfectly true and that they were low going to have the wrath of the Headmaster descend upon them: a very unpleasant thought; the potential consequences of their actions did not bear thinking about; they were both well aware of the unbending manner and disposition of their Headmaster and of his dedication to the cane.  To put it crudely; in modern day parlance, the two lads were already “shit scared”; it did not require much imagination to divine what was in store for them. That they would undoubtedly be punished was certain; but neither lad had any inkling of the severity of the beatings which the Headmaster would visit on them.

Rushworth and Butcher found the Headmaster in his drawing room to which they had been shown by his butler; he was, as ever, indulging in his favourite after-dinner activity: taking a glass of port. After excusing the late hour of their visit, Rushworth laid out to Dr. Divine the way in which they had found the two boys in the pub.  Dr. Divine listened intently and then said:  “Well gentlemen, I thank you for bringing this affair to my attention. I have to tell you that I view what these two senior boys did with extreme gravity and which I feel needs immediate attention even though it is now approaching half past eight on a Saturday evening. But time and tide wait for no man and there is no time like the present (how he loved his aphorisms) so I think I would like to see the two boys right away in my study; where are they now?”

When he learned that the two delinquents were standing outside in the corridor, he promptly rose, motioned to his two junior masters to follow him and they all moved into his study. Rushworth then open the door and beckoned to the two terrified lads to enter.  Dr. Divine did not mince his words as he verbally excoriated the two of them for their misdeeds. Never in his entire career had he seen such a flagrant disregard for the school rules; and in public too; what on earth would he townsfolk think?  And what damage had they done to the reputation of the school?  The negative ramifications of their delinquency were difficult to assess. And on and on he went with his tone becoming increasingly disapproving so that, by the time he had finished, the two lads had been reduced almost to tears  and he had still not yet said what was to happen to them.

“Well gentlemen, faced with your gross misconduct, I have to decide what sanction to impose upon you. Frankly I am seriously considering expelling both of you from this school forthwith.  I can think of no reason why you should be allowed to stay here; and that applies especially to you, Benson, who as Head-Boy should have known better; you are meant to be a role model; not someone who breaks the cardinal rules;  I am totally disgusted with you, young man.”

At the mention of expulsion, a look of fear appeared clearly on the faces of the two lads; Benson spoke: “Oh please sir, not expulsion; please sir not that; there must be something else; but please don’t make us leave St. Enodoc’s; please sir, anything else; but not expulsion; please sir!”

Dr. Divine, who, in fact, had had no intention of expelling the two boys and had merely raised the possibility to put the fear of God into them and to make them recognise the gravity of their offences and the seriousness of their present position, listened to this plea:  He then gave the impression of having been moved by Benson’s plea as he said: “Well Benson, I don’t want to ruin your future careers and chances of your going to university at the end of this year, both of which might be threatened if I cashier you both with a dishonourable discharges , to use a military analogy. 

Therefore, I propose to deal with you in the time honoured manner in which we have always dealt with disobedience in this school. Kindly go to your rooms and change into the “appropriate attire” and come back here within ten minutes wearing your dressing gowns and bedroom slippers. However, Benson, it must by now be clear to you that you cannot continue to hold the position of Head-Boy and so I am afraid that you no longer hold that privileged position of trust as of this moment.  The Deputy Head-Boy, Jeremy Whitfield, will assume the position as of tomorrow; for this evening you may return to sleep in the Head-Boy’s quarters as usual; however, first thing tomorrow morning you will vacate your rooms into which Whitfield will, of course, move. You, Benson will take the room which Whitfield is vacating.  I trust that all that is clear. I will make an announcement at the Monday morning assembly,  telling  the school of the new arrangements;  I shall not go into details for your dismissal, but I suspect that the reason for your demotion will, inevitably leak out; in my long experience, such matter are rarely kept secret for long. And so, young man, you will just have to bear your shame as best you can, you have made your bed (yet another aphorism) and you must now lie in it!”

Both boys offered their profuse thanks for the clemency which their Headmaster was offering them. Benson was, of course deflated, to learn that he was no longer Head-Boy, but he could live with that. At least they were not to be expelled. They both left the study with a relieved look on their faces, even though they now knew that they were to be beaten  and that it would probably be the hardest beating of their lives at St. Enodoc’s;  but anything was preferable to expulsion! However, neither of them anticipated the intensity of the thrashing that Dr. Divine intended to visit upon on them; nor for that matter did the two young masters. Butcher asked the Headmaster why he had sent the two of them off to put on the regulation attire: gym shorts and gym vests, required to be worn by all boys when summoned for a beating.

To this the Headmaster replied that he intended to give the two boys the hiding of their life; by the time he had finished with them, he felt that there was a strong possibility that if he had he just made them shed their garments there and then and beaten their naked backsides as he intended to do, the pain might well be so great that neither lad could bear to put back on his normal clothes. And so, as he did not wish to inflict on them the potential embarrassment of obliging them to return to their rooms via the public corridors of the school, carrying their clothes, with their lower halves naked,  he felt it better to ask them to change into the more appropriate clothing, Thus when the boys left his study after “correction”,  they could, if they wished, just put on their dressing gowns and maintain their dignity as they left his study, potentially under the eye of any of their schoolmates.

“It is not, and never is my intention,” said Dr. Divine to his two young colleagues, “To expose boys whom I have just beaten, to ridicule from their schoolmates.  The beating is their punishment and I do not intend to add to it by shaming them in front of their peers. If I wish the entire school to observe a boy’s punishment,  which I only very occasionally do, then I would thrash the delinquent in question before the entire school.  But woe betide any boy who, having observed a public beating, then went on to goad the unfortunate lad I had just thrashed; he too would  find himself feeling a very generous taste of the cane across his naked buttocks.”

The two young masters were impressed by the thoughtfulness and consideration of their Headmaster; such qualities possibly explained his popularity, in spite of his devotion to the cane.  But the time was now approaching for Benson and Penmethen to answer for their sins. Rushworth and Butcher both felt that the two senior boys deserved whatever punishment the Headmaster had decided to give them. However, neither they nor the lads themselves could have envisaged quite what the headmaster had in store for them as Benson and Penmethen returned promptly in the “suitable attire” required of St. Enodoc’s penitents.

“Gentlemen, if you would kindly follow me.” He said, as he opened the door leading from his study into his little used punishment room.  Few masters and even fewer boys had ever been inside this room; in fact, it is safe to say that few people even knew of its existence. But there it was; large as life; just a small room off the Headmaster’s study, but one with very frightening implications for those who entered it.  I think it is safe to say that as the two boys entered this room and saw the birching horse and the birches standing around in pails of water, their hearts probably sank to the soles of their feet. When they had gone off to change, they had both thought that they would be given a good dose of the cane bent over the back of a chair in the Headmaster’s study; a procedure in which they had both, in the past, participated several times. But now the game had change completely; they were clearly to be birched for their sins: an altogether more frightening prospect.

Whatever hope they might still have had was quickly dashed to the ground by the Headmaster:  “Gentlemen; in view of the number and gravity of your offences, I propose to begin by birching both of you.”  The boys were aghast. He proposed to begin! What on earth did he mean?  Was there to be a continuation? But there was no explanation; just the bald statement which was followed by:  “Penmethen, you will take your punishment first; remove your dressing gown and shorts completely and step over to the horse.”  Penmethen who was by now terrified at what was happening, could do little other than obey. “Now bend across the horse and allow Mr. Rushworth and Mr Butcher to fasten the wrist and ankle straps.”

The two young masters did as requested, although they had had no clear indication that they would be required to assist, even in this small way.  The Headmaster himself then approached the horse and turned the wheel on the side of the horse, thereby raising Penmethen’s arse into the perfect position to be beaten.  At this stage the lad was trussed like a turkey ready for the oven; the simile was most appropriate, for like the oven ready turkey, his arse was now about to be roasted.  For Penmethen, this was an utterly awful moment; he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes and wondered just when when the onslaught would begin.

But the Headmaster was in no hurry as he first inspected Penmethen’s backside before moving on to the the four birches soaking in their pails of water.  The selected birch in hand, he turned and addressed Penmethen: “You Penmethen, are going to receive twelve strokes of the birch; you will find that this is a very painful experience; one which you will doubtless never ever wish to repeat. Now, boy, as the pain I intend to inflict will be very intense, I suggest that you bite on this cork; it will help you, in a small way, to bear the pain. I might add young man that you richly deserve the pain you are about to experience and I have no qualms myself in inflicting it on you. I see it as my duty as your guardian in loco parentis in this school; and allow me to assure you that your parents would approve wholeheartedly of the action I am now about to take to correct you.  Bite hard on the cork boy; it will help you control your emotions. As a gentleman, you know full well that you deserve everything which you are now about to receive and I expect you to behave as such and not create a tremendous fuss; I do not want any histrionic outbursts where you indulge in exaggerated and theatrical screaming. I trust I have made myself clear.”

By this time Penmethen just wished that the old boy would stop preaching to him and get on and do his worst; he just wanted the whole thing to be over and done with. His unspoken wish was suddenly and violently granted as Dr. Divine applied the first resounding stroke of the freshly made birch to the lad’s backside. Everyone present, especially Penmethen, was horrified at the force with which the Headmaster had delivered that first stroke.  Normally in most cases, either with the cane or the birch, the force of each stroke builds up to provide a climactic final cut. But this evening, Dr. Divine had evidently decided that each and every stroke would deliver the maximum pain and he did is very best to see that his objective was achieved. 

The birch twigs mated with Penmethen’s naked flesh with a resounding crack, fanned out and left that series of small welts characteristic of the implement.  Mr.Jenning’s latest creation was indeed a very effective instrument of punishment; the twigs spread out evenly to cover the whole central part of the lad’s anatomy on the first blow.

Penmethen was winded by the force which had just dissipated itself on his naked arse. The Headmaster waited a full ten seconds – an  age for Penmethen – before bringing down the birch for the second time but now a little higher towards the lower part of  the lad’s back. With six strokes laid on from the left side, the Headmaster changed sides and applied the remaining six cuts backhand standing on the lad’s right side.  At each stroke the ends of the twigs married themselves perfectly to their curved target; by the time he had finished, Penmethen’s arse and flanks were peppered with a glowing mass of fine welts.,   Penmethen was already sobbing by the third stroke and was totally in tears by the time he was told to get up and stand with his hands on his head against the wall.

Benson meanwhile, had been watching with growing horror as blow after smashing low landed on his friend’s anatomy. He shuddered inwardly as he realised that in few moments it would be his arse which would be receiving the same treatment. And it was a visibly shaken and trembling Benson who finally bent across the horse and was immobilised by the wrist and ankle straps.

This time the Headmaster was brief with his remarks, limiting them to the simple statement that Benson would receive not twelve but fifteen cuts of the birch; as Head-Boy he had more to answer for than his classmate. Meanwhile, Penmethen ventured to ask if he could put his shorts back on, clearly feeling embarrassed by the fact that his nether regions including his cock and balls were still naked. The request was curtly denied by the Headmaster, with the chilling remark: “No Penmethen, you may not put on your shorts; I am far from being finished with you yet young man; so stay exactly as you are!”  Penmethen, now clearly terrified, was left in a state of suspended animation wondering what was in store for him next. Benson had also found the comment quite chilling: icily so, in fact.

The Headmaster now turned to the waiting arse of Benson, on which he intended to visit the full force of his most diligent attention. The force he had expended on Penmethen paled into insignificance compared with the thrashing he now gave Benson.  He had clearly decided that Benson, as Head-Boy, should have known better than to go into town drinking and he was now intent on bringing home to the young-man the error of his ways.  Stroke after stinging stroke of a fresh birch landed across Benson’s naked arse.  Benson, who as Head-Boy was used to delivering rather than to receiving a beating, was soon crying ever more loudly as each successive stroke of the birch bit into his naked buttocks.  By the time he had finished and the full fifteen strokes had been delivered. Dr. Divine had reduced the young man to a trembling, tearful shadow of his normal self. It had been a salutary few minutes of extreme pain for Benson, but as we know it was not yet over.

Benson was released from the horse and regained his position beside his classmate, Penmethen.  The Headmaster looked at both of them and said: “Well gentlemen; the first part of your punishment is now over so time has now come to move onto the complementary strokes of the senior cane I propose to apply to your backsides; this I hope will bring home to both of you, once and for all, the enormity of your actions. It is rare that I ever apply the cane to a boy who has just received a birching but there are occasion when I deem it not only necessary but totally appropriate and just; and this is precisely one of such occasions,” 

“Penmethen if you please; kindly approach the horse again and assume your former position across it. I am going to apply six truly hard cuts of the cane to your buttocks to complement  the birching you have just received. You will leave here with a well beaten backside; eighteen strokes in all, which you richly deserve.  Just be thankful, boy, that I am not giving you the maximum of twenty-four strokes, Now boy; are you man enough to take the cane unrestrained or do I have again to strap you to the horse: it’s up to you.”

Taking Penmethen’s silence in the affirmative, Dr. Divine advanced to the boy’s left side and prepared to administer the promised six strokes of the cane.  As the cane came crashing down for the first time on Penmethen’s already tender backside, he let out and agonising cry of pain the moment the cane bit into his naked flesh; he managed, nevertheless, to remain perfectly still and so the Headmaster went on and applied the remaining five cuts; he distributed them evenly from top to bottom and by the time he had finished, there were six, deep, parallel welts overlaid what was a pair of painfully bright red buttocks. Penmethen was in absolute agony as he rose the second time from the horse.  “Go and stand with your hands on your head next to Benson over there; and remain perfectly still whilst I now deal with your friend. Benson.” 

Penmethen did as he was ordered and stood there his lower half totally naked, forbidden as yet from massaging his aching buttocks; the lad was, not surprisingly, weeping profusely by this time.  Benson, meanwhile, had been observing the second dose of punishment being meted out to his friend with increasing trepidation; he was now visibly trembling with fear, wondering what the Headmaster had in store for him. He had already received additional strokes of the birch and his arse was on fire; he dreaded what was to come next.  And well he might have done, for Dr. Divine was so furious and disgusted at the behaviour of his erstwhile Head-Boy, that he had every intention of exacting the maximum retribution from him. Benson would remember this day for the rest of his life and as word inevitably got round among the boys as to what had happened, the “Head-Boy’s beating and demotion” would become legendary in the annals of St. Enodoc’s.

Right Benson: kindly step forward young man and reassume your position across the horse.  Words cannot express the disgust and disappointment I feel about you; that the Head-Boy, whom I personally chose, should break the most important rules of the school, I find totally inadmissible. You will have to suffer the indignity of your demotion as you rejoin the ranks of the non-privileged boys as you will also relinquish your rank as prefect. But that is not in any way enough. In view of the gravity of your offences, I have decided that you must suffer the full maximum punishment sanctioned by the school regulations: that is to say a total of twenty four strokes of the rod. So Benson, you have just had fifteen cuts of the birch and I now propose to administer a further nine strokes of the senior cane to your naked buttocks; you my lad, will leave here this evening wishing you had never been born.”

Benson blanched visibly at the Headmaster’s words and made as if to speak; but he then thought better of it and remained silent as he again draped himself across the horse and awaited is fate.  It had been a shock for him to learn, as he just had, that not only was he no longer Head-Boy, but that he was also no longer a prefect; he had literally been reduced to the ranks. Dr. Divine had selected a different cane to use on Benson; an old, mahogany-brown one, very long and very flexible with numerous growth nodules evident along its length.  Benson shuddered visibly as he saw the implement destined for his backside; as a connoisseur of the techniques of beating, Benson was well aware of the painful attributes of the tightly knotted cane and the thought of it landing on his already roasted arse filled him with horror; he had to hand it to the old boy; he really knew his onions when it came to choosing a cane.  As he had done with Penmethen, Dr. Divine then handed a cork to the lad and suggested that he bite on it to help him bear the pain which he intended inflict on him.

“Brace yourself boy; remain perfectly still until all nine cuts have been delivered. And then with no further warning, the Headmaster applied his undoubted talents with the cane, to his final task of the day. If Penmethen had thought that his caning had been well nigh unbearable, lord only knows how Benson felt. That wicked, knotted, rattan-cane descended inexorably on Benson’s arse producing welt after stinging welt; by the time he had finished, Benson’s backside was ridges with deep purple welts from top to bottom.  Told finally to get up, Benson could barely straighten himself up, so great was the punishment that the Headmaster had administered; this had been the definitive caning of all time.

The two junior masters, who had been witnesses to this scene of extreme retribution, had both been astounded by the ferocity of the punishment which Dr. Divine had meted out.  In a certain way they both had a nagging feeling in their own minds that they were in no small way responsible for what they had just witnessed. After all, had they turned a blind eye on Benson and his pal in the pub, none of this would ever have happened.  But at the end of the day, the rules were the rules and the Headmaster had laid down quite clearly the procedure to be followed in the face of such serious infractions; they had just followed the rules. 

So the pigeons had come to roost for Benson and Penmethen, bringing with them two excruciatingly painful arses, which the two lads, wearing just their dressing gowns as foreseen by the prescient Headmaster, now took away with them to nurse in the privacy of their own rooms. As sixth formers each had a separate bedroom, the pair did not even have the consolation of being able to lick their wounds together and otherwise share their joint misery with each other. It had been an exceptional occasion to punish boys on a Saturday evening for an offence committed only an hour previously. If ever there was a clear example of not letting grass grow under his feet, then Dr. Divine’s actions were it.

Rushworth and Butcher were now invited by the Headmaster to take a glass of port with him in his drawing room. It is not at all sure that the Headmaster approved of beer; he probably found it too “down market”. As they sat around the fire, Dr. Divine vouchsafed to the two young masters that he himself felt partly responsible for what had happened:  “My senior colleagues warned me, you know, first against making Benson a junior prefect and then again when I appointed him to the post of Head-Boy. But I ignored their warnings: warnings given by teachers who are in much closer daily contact with all the boys then I am today. And now I see, sadly, that they were right; Benson is not of the right calibre or sufficiently trustworthy to assume the role of Head-Boy, which requires leadership and back-bone, both of which he clearly lacks. His beating apart, I am afraid that it is bitter pill for the lad to have to swallow, to be demoted back to the ranks.” 

“But first thing tomorrow morning, I must see Jonathan Whitfield, the present Deputy Head-Boy, and inform him of his elevation to the highest rank attainable in this school. And Benson must vacate the Head-Boy’s rooms immediately after breakfast tomorrow morning. Perhaps I could delegate the task of seeing that he goes to you two gentlemen?”  Put as a question; but of course, the command was implicit; and so it fell to the two junior masters who had denounced Benson to see that he vacated his rooms.”

Penhaligon, Benson’s oft abused fag, was totally unaware of any of these happenings, as on Sunday morning, he brought Benson his breakfast at eight.  Unusually for him, Benson was not in his study; hearing some noise from the bedroom, Penhaligon ventured to look around door. Benson was standing there naked, after his shower, attempting to look at his bruised buttocks which had now ripened up to encompass all the colours of the rainbow.  Penhaligon took all this in at a swift glance and realized that his fag-master had clearly been beaten. Penhaligon had a feeling of great satisfaction on seeing how Benson had clearly suffered a dose of that which he had so liberally had dispensed on the backside of his fag. It was a moment of great Schadenfreude for Penhaligon, an undesirable sentiment but eminently understandable in the young fag in the view of the way that Benson had treated him.

Penhaligon could but wonder what had happened; that Benson had been beaten, and beaten very severely to judge from the state of his arse, was self-evident; but why; what had he done and who and beaten him? Suddenly seeing his fag, with no outward sign of humility, Benson, as arrogant as ever, snapped at him that as he was no longer Head-Boy, his services were no longer needed and that he should bugger off. So Penhaligon left Benson’s study and had the pleasure of being the bearer of the great news:  Benson was no longer Head-Boy. And as this piece of intelligence was carried by him to the refectory where all the lads were at breakfast, within ten minutes the whole school knew the Benson was out; or at least that he was no longer Head-Boy.  How was the news greeted by the majority of the boys? Well, I think that you will understand the collective opinion if I tell you that there was “many a dry eye” as the news flashed around the breakfast tables; Benson had been a tyrant and would not be missed.

THE END