School Canings – Institutionalised Discipline and Corporal Punishment Part 3

Some more from HH...

Thursday Night Hit Parade – Four or More Marks

Thursday nights were not the favourite time of the week in our Boarding House. In fact, we dreaded them! It was the time when all accounts were settled!

I described last week how if you received four or fewer Marks in a week, you were required to attend the Head of Houses’ Hit Parade. This week I will tell you about what happened when you got five or six Marks for bad behaviour in a week. To be awarded four or more Marks in a week was not terribly difficult to achieve. The process was pretty much the same as I described in last week’s posting. The only difference was that you had to report to the House Master.

However, I have to add that the Prefects were often reluctant to diminish their pleasure by giving us more than four marks. We found that if you had four marks and were going to be given four hard “flaps” by the Head of House you could then get away with murder! There were occasions where they had little option but to add a fifth or sixth Mark.

Say, you were sitting on four Marks and were in a group who were late for assembly; you would all be given Marks. It was the individual offences that there was a degree of latitude given once you had achieved the maximum sentence from the Head of House. A visit to the House Master was an event that would certainly provoke feelings of anxiety. We were all shit-scared of him. He was a fearsome looking man, who stood at least 6 foot 2 inches tall. He had played competitive rugby and was as strong as an ox. Six of the Best from him was something to be avoided – especially when your bottom was clad only in thin cotton pyjamas.

He was also not averse to having a couple of Brandies after a long day. I have no doubt that these dulled his senses somewhat. I am sure that most times he had no idea how hard he was hitting us!  The queue outside his office was seldom more than three or four boys – more often than not, the same faces would appear on a regular basis. We were all dressed in our pyjamas– long in winter and short in summer - and dressing gowns and all of regulation style. 

The tension outside his office as we waited for him to answer our knock was far greater than outside the Prefect’s Room. We knew that we were going to be whacked seriously hard. We would usually play “Ching Chong Cha”, while waiting outside, to see who would go first. There was nothing worse - especially on a cold winter’s night - having to wait your turn and listen to your mates getting butts caned. At the same time, you would hear the impacts from the Prefect’s room, which was not more than 20 metres away. You could also see the caning of your mate through the frosted glass of his office door. Unnerving I can tell you.

When your turn came, you would mount the steps to his smallish study. You were advised that you had received five or six Marks and that the punishment was six of the Best. It did not matter that you may have only received five marks, you still got six strokes!

You were instructed after a bit of a lecture to bend over, lift your gown and touch your toes. We all knew exactly where to stand. There were no further preliminaries and the next thing you heard was the “whoosh, thwack” of the cane on your near bare backside. Other than the impact, there was no immediate sensation of pain. This started to develop – and then develop rather quickly into a white-hot streak across your bum and right hip. He was very keen on “wrapping” and the spots where the tips landed stung unbearably! The next stroke landed with exquisite timing just as the first stroke exploded into agony. And the next and the next …

t was a matter of honour to remain stationary and to not give him any indication of how much it was hurting – although we both knew, it was hurting like hell. When he had finished with us, we would stand up, look him in the eye, and say “Thank you Sir”. Then with as much dignity as we could muster, walk out of his office, down the stairs and head to the bathroom to inspect our marks!

In recent years, I have given many canings – and some hard ones at that. I know I use a thinner and lighter cane than was used on us at School, but I have never seen marks left on anyone’s bottom that equated with those we had at School. After a mere six, we would be left with welts that were half an inch wide and at least a quarter inch high. The colour ranged from scarlet to deep red to blue. If any of the strokes had overlapped, there was certain to be blood. The marks would last anything up to 10 days and the bruising often three to four weeks.

The problem arose when fresh marks were laid down on top of existing marks or bruises. So often were we beaten that it was seldom that our butts had time to heal properly. A flogging by the Head of House on a Thursday, with the dreaded Army Boot, would invariably overlay any existing marks. That was when you could spring a serious leak! It also needs to be noted that my Housemaster was feared, but by no means the most feared caner in the School. That honour was reserved for the Deputy Head of which I shall tell you more of next week.

Protective gear...

Okay, I do appreciate that most men prefer bottoms in something like this...

or even maybe this...

However, my personal choice would rather be something like this...

unless I can convince Uncle Nick that there is NO reason for the knickers to come down...

Spankingly positive?

I can barely describe my happiness this morning knowing that it is Friday. I would be ecstatic if I could skip Saturday and go straight to Sunday as well, but I suppose I cannot have everything I want.  The "miracle" has occurred, and HH’s electrical issues at his office have been sorted out. I am truly happy for him, at least he is again able to run his business, however, that means that I have to present myself to him tomorrow morning. But, I am trying to be positive about my upcoming meeting with him. I will only have nine days to go before leaving for the UK, after he has (again!) utilised his colour co-ordination skills on my bottom. So theoretically speaking, it should then be the last coffee, croissant and paddle date I will have with him before my departure. I mean, really – I am convinced certain confident reasonably positive that I can stay out of trouble until then...

The Spanking

I recognise that shiver going down my back immediately, when his voice softly direct me into a direction that I do not want, feeling the sulkiness settle over me as I am unable to get my own way. I feel the breath leaving my body when my heart starts racing, knowing that he is right and that I am clinging onto some part that wants to remain in control.

I resist that quiet sensation of disquiet slowly creeping over me, as I defy him brazenly, realising that I am playing with a fire that does burn with a heat that I will feel, but unwilling to acknowledge him in my anger. My mouth becomes dry when his voice change into its dangerous silky tone, with his warnings left hanging in the air, and my hope at escaping unscathed is crushed. Outwards I present as sullen, pouting with resentment that I am unable to hide, I am defiant and rebellious as I feel the first pieces of the hardness within crumbling away.

His words are chipped out of pure ice as he lectures me, and I use sarcasm and a stony silence to defend myself, yet I am unable to look at him, my head hanging, as I do not want him to see my eyes. As every word cuts deep into my shame, my guilt burning inside, I am desperate in my need that I do not want him to know, but I can feel the resistance fall away.

As the verdict is spelled out to me, I voice my denial, but my resistance against him, as he takes my arm to guide me over his lap, is slight. I groan in resentment, mumbling underneath my breath, trying to preserve my dignity and avoid voicing my utter humiliation as he lowers my knickers.

http://red.charls.free.fr/

I once again make that silent promise to myself, that I will not react, I will not make a noise, I will endure – I will emerged triumphant. As his hand switch from one cheek to the other, the burn increasing in heat every time, I bury my head against my arm, my hand fisting as I am trying to keep back the sounds of my discomfort.

http://red.charls.free.fr/

I hear his voice, the words in rhythm with the sound of his hand smacking hard and hot against my bared bottom. My bottom is stinging and the soreness becomes the focus of all my senses. As the pain reaches the point where my anger and panic becomes one, I protest loudly, raging against him, trying to break free. I no longer have control of my body, my legs are moving involuntary, up and down, as I try to twist my bottom away from his hand.

http://red.charls.free.fr/

I try to cover my bottom with my hand, but even as he pins my hand down, holding me down, he does not stop, his hand continuing that relentless tempo against my skin. I want it to stop, the pain has become unbearable, my body is shuddering, waves of heat are creating droplets of perspiration on my back, but still he continues. I beg, I am pleading that he must stop; I tell him that I am sorry, but my words are incoherent as my control, my stubbornness slips away.

http://red.charls.free.fr/

I feel that deep shudder that seems to come from within the centre of my body, my throat burns as the pain pushes me over the edge, the remaining shards of my control now destroyed. The first sob burn and hurts as it pushes up, but as I feel the tears escaping, my body becomes soft, the rigidness melting away, his hand still smacking against sore, tender skin, one cheek then the other. He finally stops, but I do not move away. I feel the lightness return as my tears are falling, I feel my pain going away with every sob, I feel a peace and quietness, I am calm again.

Wordless Wednesdays: Acquiescence

School Canings – Institutionalised Discipline and Corporal Punishment Part 2

HH continues...
Thursday Night Hit Parade

Last week I described the various levels of punishment with a Private South African Boys Boarding School. This week, I will talk about the infamous Mark system that only fell away when Corporal Punishment within South African Schools was banned in 1994.

As I said last week, you could get a Mark for any minor indiscretion. Most were dished out by the Prefects, although any Matric (Grade 12) Boy could give you a Mark. From memory, most Marks were dished out at one of the three daily Assemblies. We ran a Three Bell System. First Bell was a 5-minute warning, second bell was a 1-minute warning and you had to be in place by the Third Bell. If you were late, you simply received a Mark. If your shoes were not properly polished or you were not properly dressed, or if your hair was not properly brushed or any damn reason they could think of was cause enough to receive a Mark.

You could of course receive Marks for walking on the grass, for not buttoning your jacket properly (Seniors did not need to button their jackets, mid-School only needed to button one button, whilst juniors had to have both buttons done up), for putting your hands in your pockets again seniors were allowed to have both hands in their pockets, mid-School one hand and Juniors no hands in pockets! In the Natal Midlands, it can get cold in winter and it was always a great temptation to put your hands in your pockets and hope that no one was watching. Needless to say, the seniors were highly protective of their privileges and few had any hesitation of awarding Marks to boys they caught with their hands in their pockets or jackets inappropriately buttoned.

All marks were recorded in the Head of Houses’ (Prefect) Mark Book. The tally would be done whilst we were at Prep on a Thursday evening. Just before the final Prep session ended, the four Heads of Hoses would walk around the school advising those who had accumulated more than two Marks during the preceding week that they should report to the Prefects Room at 10.00pm. If you only had one Mark, the slate would be wiped and you could breathe easy until the following week. If you had more than four Marks, you were required to report to the House Master’s Study.

This left you about an hour to contemplate your fate – although we all knew how many Marks we had accumulated and what we were in for on Thursday night. The Head of House was only allowed to use a “Paddle”. Our particular House had a size 14 Army Boot, from which the leather upper had been removed – except for the toecap, which was filled with lead. As you can imagine, this hurt like hell!

Having been informed of our fate, we would trudge up from classroom prep and prepare ourselves for bed. If you were on Hit Parade, you were only allowed to wear your pyjamas – no underwear was allowed. At just before 10.00pm we would make our way down to the Prefect’s room. There was invariably a queue of at least 20 boys waiting to receive their just deserts. The other three Prefects were also usually hanging around outside the room – often mocking those who were standing in line to be punished.

The first boy would enter the room and be instructed to bend over a lounge chair. We would then hear the Head of House take the 4-5 step run and a solid Thwack! The minimum punishment was two strokes and the maximum was four. Two or three strokes was usually enough to raise “ruby drops” and certainly if you received four strokes there would be a good sprinkling of blood. Needless to say, that Army Boot was a most unpleasant experience. And so the Hit Parade would continue, with loud Thwacks resounding through the house. It was pretty much like a public execution – everyone knew exactly when and what was happening.

Almost as daunting was the walk through the crowd outside the door after you had been whacked! The Prefects grinning as you made every effort not to touch your butt until you had escaped to the corridor. Those waiting in line also smiling at your discomfort, but knowing that very shortly they would be suffering similarly. A quick check in the large bathroom mirror to see the “footprints” and to wash off any blood – also to cool your bruised and still stinging bottom in cool water. On entering the Dorm, there would be requests to see the marks, so you would have to bare your bum to the whole dorm.

For most of my first three years at the College, I was a regular attendee at Hit Parade. I certainly think as one gained increasing experience the effects began to diminish. I think there was certainly a case of “leather butt” among the regulars. However, as a Junior it was certainly a terrifying experience. Next time I will tell you what happened when we had more than four Marks in a week.

Strike Three...

So there I was on Saturday morning, literally falling out of bed at an hour that any respectable human being will never do. I mean, who in their right mind gets up before 8am on a wintery Saturday morning? Well, apart from me, that is...I had spent a very restless Friday night with the knowledge of a paddling coming up, and the assured fact that I was most likely not going to be able to sit down for a long, long time.

While the rest of South Africa was still snuggled up in their beds, I set off to collect the croissant and cup of coffee for HH. I firmly believe that sucking up to the hand that yields the wood can never hurt anyone...okay, now that was just a bad choice of words. Anyway, arriving at HH's office, I had to find out that the power has still not been restored (okay, this is South Africa - no actual surprise there) and that again there was no option but to postpone the "appointment".

So, I am still in my corner...but I have decided that the one and only baseball rule that I do know, is now going to apply. Strike three - paddle out. Without touching my bottom.