Bottom Betrayal

It has been a couple of weeks, well more a month or three since my bottom had declared a state of emergency. Slight twinges of concerns that it might have had regarding implements infringing on its territory slowly disappeared, especially when the owner of said bottom seemed to do nothing more than sitting in comfortable chairs, day after day, and from one meeting to the next.

Complacency is never a good thing. Much to my derriere’s consternation I decided that the signed copy of Uncle Nick’s book that was sent to me, as a gift for HH, should maybe be delivered...six months after it was posted from London. I am not sure why it took the South African Postal Services all this time to get the book to me...but I am definitely not going to waste energy trying to figure it out either.

Anyway, back to my bottom’s story. Clinging firmly to belief that the only hot object in the room will be the cup of coffee in my hand, the bottom very tentatively tried to relax in yet another comfortable chair, as conversation filled the air. However, sadly my bottom has now declared a breach of trust.

Nervous and jittery it realised that the conversation was coming to an end, and that all too familiar small silence filled the air, before HH uttered the fatal words that confirmed the ultimate betrayal: “Right, I think it is time, please assume the position”. As the winter air lightly cooled the bottom down, it was desperately trying to send messages to me to retreat and please, whatever I do, not to surrender.

Alas, as the tawse commenced to restore heat, the bottom admitted defeat. At my little whimpers uttered, it sneered in contempt – reminding me very clearly that it had been quite happy to continue with the status quo, but it was my insanity that was now causing it considerable discomfort.

Hearing the swish of the cane as it cut through the air, my bottom clenched in absolute disbelief and a clear message of “You MUST be kidding” reverberated in the room. After months of enduring nothing harder than padded chairs, the bottom was now faced with carefully placed strokes across its cheeks. As I finally agreed with my bottom that maybe I should have opted for the escape route, and better heating solutions can be found, my derriere was praising the gods above.

However, it is currently in a full blown sulk, taking every opportunity when I do sit down, to painstakingly remind me that it is not happy with me, making sure that I am well aware of the sudden insufficient padded chairs due to red stripes that are so nicely placed. I do predict that the sullen behaviour will continue for another couple of days. I have, wisely, I think, decided rather not to share the news with my bottom that Uncle Nick is of the firm believe that the old two week visiting routine to HH should be restored...it is definitely NOT going to fall for the “just a visit and coffee” routine again...   

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.

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...

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.

South African School Canings – Institutionalised Discipline and Corporal Punishment Part 1

HH wrote a couple of articles about his own experiences during his school days. As he stated in his email, there is a lot of interest in the corporal punishment history of South African schools, however, over time all type of myths and legends were attributed to the subject. Here is his account on what really happened during his school days

My high school years were spent at one of the leading Natal Boarding Schools. Regular canings and beatings were part and parcel of growing up in such an institution. Having had firsthand experience, at the hands of many Masters and Prefects in the School, I thought it might be interesting to Raven’s Readers to gain an understanding of what really went down.

I will start off by describing some of the misbehaviours for which we were flogged and caned. Then I will chat about some of the memorable canings I experienced. There is a great deal of material, so we will spread this over a number of weeks.

I will not embellish or exaggerate what went on. Some of it is pretty horrific and certainly very petty. However, it is what happened. This was the model upon which the school – and many other elite Private Schools – ran. It was a tough place in which to grow up. I do not think it left many mental scars on any of us, but certainly created a lifelong interest in spanking for me. I do think, however, that my interest started long before I went to Boarding School, but that is another story.

What were we beaten for?

Well pretty much anything could earn you a flogging! They were certainly not shy about dishing it out. Certainly, a glance around the communal showers would reveal ample evidence of this fact! 

There were actually a number of “judicial systems” in place. If one starts at the bottom – no pun intended – there was the “Mark” system that was under the Prefect’s control. This system was used to manage the boys’ behaviour within the Boarding Houses. For any misdemeanour, you would get a Mark. Two Marks in a week meant that you would be summoned to the Prefect’s Room on a Thursday night for a whacking.

You could get Marks for pretty much anything – being late for assembly (3 times a day), dirty shoes, incorrect uniform, cheeking seniors, failing to complete fagging duties (these ranged from warming the prefects toilet seats in the morning, to making toast and coffee for them, cleaning their rooms and making their beds etc. etc.) to having untidy lockers etc. Needless to say, it was hard as a Junior to avoid getting at least a couple of Marks a week.

The next level of Justice was meted out by the House Master and other Masters within the House. Any violation of the myriad of House Rules would result in an immediate caning. The normal Masters were limited to 4 strokes, whilst the House Master could give up to 6 strokes. I cannot recall a single instance where less than the minimum was ever given. I also recall that when we were caught by the normal Masters within the House and were told to report to the House Master, we would often plead with him to cane us himself as the House Master was particularly feared.

Some of the infractions for which the House Master and his deputies would cane us included: not being in the House during stipulated times, talking after lights out, fooling around in the dining hall, being late back from Exit Weekends, bunking lessons or sport practice, talking during prep periods and back chat! There were probably dozens of other reasons we were caned, these were just a few that I recall.

The next minefield we had to negotiate was the classrooms and the teachers running the academic side of the School. Similar to the hierarchy within the Boarding Houses, the Junior Masters were allowed to give us 4 strokes, whilst the Senior Masters were allowed to give us up to 6 strokes. All the usual misdemeanours qualified for a caning – being late for class, talking when we should not be, fooling around and not completing homework.

A rather unusual one was with a legendary Science Teacher. If you failed to achieve 80% in any class test, you would be caned. His philosophy was rather simple. If you did not understand something, you had to put up your hand and advise him of that fact. If no hands were raised, he assumed that everyone understood the subject matter. If we did not get 80%, it could only mean that we had not studied and were, therefore, being punished for laziness! It must be said that almost all these punishments happened on the spot in front of the class.

Finally, there were “Capital Punishments”. These were for more serious offences and were usually administered by the Deputy Headmaster. He was allowed to give up to 8 strokes and invariably used a very heavy cane. Bunking out, smoking, repeated offences in the School, failing to greet adults on Campus were just some of the offences that would see you bent over in front of the Deputy Head. An experience most of us sought to avoid.

So when I say that you did not have to try very hard to get yourself beaten, I am in no way exaggerating! There were certainly a couple of “goody goodies” that seldom landed in trouble. For the rest of us there was seldom a week that went by without someone taking a swing at your bottom.

I do need to stress that we all knew the rules and it was possible, but difficult, to avoid breaking them. We were a group of high-spirited young boys who, for the most part, had little fear of pushing the boundaries. When you were caught, you knew exactly what were going to be the consequences. Therefore, the system was tough but fair. I can never remember anyone saying that they had been unfairly beaten.

Something else that I need to clarify is that we were never beaten on the bare. At times, it was close, but we never had to expose ourselves fully.

Next time I will tell you about the Mark system and Thursday night “Hit Parade”.

Raven Red: A Scale, A Paddle and mid-Winter

Guest Posting by HH

As many readers of this Blog are aware, Raven has set herself a tough weight-loss goal. She has asked me to provide her with a level of motivation to achieve her weekly goal. Unfortunately, the scale has not been playing ball. It seemingly refuses to move in the right direction. Whilst I know that Raven is trying very hard and why I have given her a degree of latitude and encouragement over the past two weeks, the results leave something to be desired. Thus it was that Raven arrived at my offices last evening for a motivational session.

Raven is a stoical creature at the worst of times! I have laid into her with a Senior Cane on a number of occasions and she scarcely utters a sound. The only telltale that she is under duress is that her toes curl back under her feet. At one stage I was concerned that she may be developing “leather butt” and that even a moderately firm stroke across her bared buttocks was not having the desired effect.

I, therefore, decided that we would switch to the paddle for her weight-loss motivational sessions. My thoughts that she may be becoming immune to feeling in her rear were quickly dispelled! The application of my paddle certainly had more than her toes curling up. She suddenly became a great deal more vocal – both during and after her “motivational” sessions. She has on any number of occasions threatened to cremate my paddle in a fiery pyre. Now, I have certainly seen much more fearsome looking paddles on offer. Mine in fact is rather small and certainly pretty innocent by comparison with some of the fearsome instruments of pain that we see used on the web.

The pic below will give you some idea of the relative sizes of the two paddles – pretty harmless in my view!

In South Africa we have just passed our mid-Winter – yep, I know it sounds strange for you Northern Hemisphere types that we have mid-Winter at the same time that you have mid-Summer, but that is just the way it is. Whilst our winters are generally pretty mild, we have just had one of the coldest snaps I have ever experienced in Johannesburg. Although it has warmed up over the past two days, the temperatures drop somewhat when the sun disappears. Last night was no exception.

Having disposed of the preliminaries last night I instructed Raven to prepare herself for her “motivational session”. I was, however, feeling a little sorry for her having to bare her bottom for a spanking in the cold. I decided that instead of moving straight to the main attraction, we would have a warm up with my mini-paddle. Now this is even smaller than the paddle we normally use. It is an even smaller miniature cricket bat and measures no more than 15cms (6 inches, for those not into decimals). There was absolutely no force behind the warm-up blows. Yet within 20 seconds of starting Raven was wriggling like a fish on a hook. Her language also left a great deal to be desired!

I was not deterred! I proceeded to warm both cheeks until they both had a healthy glow. Needless to say, Raven was not a happy camper! She was even less happy when I laid the mini-paddle aside. She felt that she had enough “motivation” for one evening. Her distress when I informed her that we had just finished the warm-up was palpable.

A further 18 swats on her already warm bottom left her immune to the cold. In fact I am certain that she had no need to switch her heater on, on her journey home such was the fiery glow emanating from her glowing bottom. I can also say with a level of certainty that despite my regular ministrations, she has not developed “leather butt”!

I trust Dear Raven that your experience last night will keep you motivated through the coming week and that you will have good news when you report on Friday.