By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2023 by Governess, all rights reserved
* * * * *Chapter 51
Mr Fairclough turned to Mary.
“Thank you for assisting with the boy’s flogging, Mary. And thank you
for being so brave and understanding about the bitten ear. I hope it
gave you some satisfaction that Matron laid on a further dozen strokes.
But now, you need to get back to the apartment and make tea for the
three of us. And when that has been served, you will return here and
sweep up all the bits of birch littering the floor.”
Mary
curtsied and hurried off, and after a short while they made their way
to the Fairclough’s apartment. Mary soon entered with a tray and set
down the tea things on a side table.
“Pour the tea, Mary, and hand around the biscuits, please.”
I could tell that Mary wanted to say something and Mrs Fairclough noticed it, too.
“What is it, Mary?”
“Please, Ma’am, when you called me to help with punishing that boy, I
told Cranston to sit quietly at the table and finish the sums he had
been told to do.”
“And . . . ?”
“Well, Ma’am, when I came back, I found him on the floor playing with the cutlery that he had taken from the drawer.”
“And no sums done . . .?”
“No, Ma’am, only the ones he’d already completed before I left.”
“Then, I think you had better send him to me.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”
After a few moments, there was a knock on the door, and the boy Cranston came into the room, looking decidedly anxious.
“From what Mary tells me, David, you have been a naughty boy. Go and stand and face the wall to the left of the desk.”
The boy stood there, nervously moving his weight from one foot to the
other. After ten minutes or so, Diana, without a word, set her cup down
and walked across to the boy. She ruffled his hair in an affectionate
sort of way and slipped his braces from his shoulders letting his
trousers drop to his ankles. Then she pulled down his underpants, and
hoicked up his shirt over his shoulders. Marks from his previous
punishment were clearly visible.
“You’ll stand there in
disgrace, David, until I’ve decided how best to deal with you. I hope
you understand that a seven-year-old boy who ignores a clear
instruction to get on with his sums has to be punished, and punished
severely. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“I . . . I suppose so . . . Ma’am.
“There is no suppose about it, David. Your unwillingness to learn
obedience needs to be addressed. And until you learn to obey promptly
every time, you will continue to be punished.”
She resumed her seat and picked up the teapot.
“Would you like another cup of tea, Cordelia? And what about you, James?”
“No, my dear, I have an appointment with the Rector in ten minutes. So,
I’ll love you and leave you. And don’t show the boy any leniency. He
needs strong and consistent maternal discipline. That is the reason
we’ve taken him into our family. He should be treated no differently to
the way we dealt with our own boys.”
Cordelia accepted another
cup of tea. After Diana excused herself to have a word with the cook
about the meals for the following day. Cordelia looked across at the
boy facing the wall anxiously awaiting his punishment. She felt a
strange excitement at his exposure. He was a sturdy seven-year-old and
his buttocks were full and rounded. Each cheek was a soft dense mound
of flesh and muscle, and had a sensitivity that would render every
stroke an unbearable agony.
Cordelia had ben spanked as a
girl and by the time she was twelve she knew she was looking forward to
being a mother with children of her own. Samuel, her first born,
invited firm discipline from the outset, and even when in nappies, she
had been strict with him. She responded to any sign of contrariness
with a hard smack or series of smacks to the backs of his small fleshy
thighs; and his struggles and screams never caused her to attenuate his
discipline. She knew then that Samuel was a boy whom she would not
hesitate to spank and spank soundly as soon as he was out of nappies.
And to hasten that moment, she subjected him to harsh potty training
that soon had him dry and able to defecate into the pot. There were one
or two accidents but again her faith in her discipline was rapidly
rewarded. Well before the age of two he had received his first proper
spanking.
Samuel continued to show an exceptionally
independent spirit or, in Mrs Lavington’s eyes, a rebellious will that
need to be subjugated to her own. Consequently, whenever he showed the
slightest reluctance to obey, his firm little bottom was bared and
soundly spanked. By the time he was three, his buttocks had acquired a
shape and firmness that invited spanking. And Cordelia did not hesitate
to take up the invitation. Samuel registered his strong objection to
her discipline by screaming and struggling but she never had any
difficulty in subduing him. She would haul him bare bottomed over her
lap, securing the upper half of his body under her arm so she could
spank him in a controlled way. But she recognised that as he developed
and grew stronger, she would need to train him to cooperate, if he was
to be disciplined with the thoroughness that was required. He needed to
accept the inevitability of punishment and that in all circumstances
her will would prevail.
So, she spanked the boy for his
every disobedience, without exception. She did so with a calm
determination, making clear that although she regretted the need for a
spanking, she had no regrets about reducing him to a tearful and sorry
little boy. And she saw each act of disobedience as an expression of a
fallen nature that needed to be confronted and restored. By the time he
was four, he accepted her discipline and summitted to it, although deep
down in the secret recesses of his heart he dreaded and resented it.
When Diana returned, she had a hairbrush in her hand. She placed it on the table and resumed her seat.
“You must try one of these wonderful macaroons cook has prepared, Cordelia.”
The boy listened to the two women chatting, as they enjoyed the almond flavoured biscuits.
“I must say, Cordelia, that you made a remarkably good fist at birching
McCourt this afternoon. Spanking a child is relatively straightforward.
The flat, wooden back of the hairbrush simply needs to be brought down
smartly across the child’s buttocks, but a birch rod is different. It
looks impressive both in length and appearance, but there is a risk,
certainly on first use, of being much too tentative. It is easy just to
redden the surface of the skin, whereas the aim should be to cut into
the soft firm flesh, to raise throbbing weals and to inflict
insupportable agony. Only then can there be any expectation of
effecting the salutary change in behaviour that’s desired. But you
certainly applied the rod with commitment and determination today, and
McCourt will benefit from that.”
Cordelia flushed at the praise.
“You know, Cordelia, that James has it in mind for you to birch Clough and Graham this Sunday before the whole orphanage.”
Cordelia felt a constriction her throat.
“No, Diana I had no idea.”
“Well, he has. And although he has not said anything, I am sure that
your performance today will have confirmed him in that view. Would you
be agreeable to that?”
Cordelia swallowed, feeling a hot flush pass through her body.
“Well, if that is his wish, then, of course . . .”
“I am sure it is. But may I add something. A little piece of advice. It
comes from seeing James birch our boys He always made a point of
sweeping the birch down and then drawing it across the bottom, so that
it tore the flesh and clawed at it like a cat. That lacerated and
scored the flesh, opening up little seams of blood, and leaving the boy
with an extremely sore bottom. Afterwards a well birched boy should
fear even the touch of clothing against his bottom, even the sheets on
his bed. And for several days sitting on a hard bench or chair should
be an uncomfortable experience. We want a boy to remember his
punishment and the reason for it. And a sore smarting bottom that
outlasts the flogging is the best means of achieving that. The aim
should be to tear at the flesh so that the surface of the skin is
abraded and worn raw.”
She paused.
“Tell me, Cordelia, did you enjoy birching McCourt?”
Cordelia frowned.
“Yes, I found it deeply satisfying and thrilling. I love punishing my
children, seeing their firm little buttocks redden and wriggle as the
hairbrush does its work. And I love their howls of protest and their
struggling and writhing as the agony becomes increasingly unbearable
and they are eventually reduced to babbling incoherence.”
She paused.
“But birching McCourt was somehow different.”
“How Cordelia?
I’m not sure, Diana. I suppose because I am not the boy’s mother. When
I punish my own children, I am expressing love for them through
discipline. But McCourt is not my child. I knew that I was expressing
not so much love but rather my recognition that the rules of the
orphanage needed to be upheld and that the whole community would suffer
if his disobedience was not checked.”
She hesitated.
“I am not sure I have expressed that very well.”
“No, I think you have, Cordelia. I suppose it’s not an absolute
distinction but rather a matter of emphasis. In a family, you spank a
child for his own good but in a community, you spank a child not just
for his own good, but for the good of the community, to maintain its
cohesiveness, and to ensure that everything functions smoothly. That is
why there are rules that must be obeyed. Of course, that is also true
of a family which is a little community. But a mother through her
presence and influence binds the family together in a way that is
impossible in a school or orphanage. In a family, punishment becomes an
expression of the mother’s love, whereas what binds a community
together is a mutual respect for its structure and rules. And so,
breaches of that have to be severely punished to enforce compliance in
the interests of all.”
“Yes, that’s exactly right, Diana.
Every cut of the birch was a response to the boy’s flagrant rule
breaking. And it felt quite different from punishing William, or Samuel
or Elizabeth. When one of my children disobeys, it’s my word they are
disrespecting. When an orphanage boy disobeys, it is the orphanage’s
authority that he is questioning. And when I punish him, I am doing so
on behalf of the orphanage, upholding its right to make demands on him.
As a mother, I am upholding my own authority and seeking to conform him
to my will. It is much more personal, and an expression of my love for
them. Flogging McCourt was not an expression of love in that way. It
was far more like a penalty imposed for law breaking. Mine was merely
the arm that wielded the birch. It didn’t have to be me. It could have
been anyone.”
“Yes, Cordelia. That is one of the disadvantages
these boys suffer. The lack of a mother’s discipline. And that is why
James and I have taken David into our family.”
She raised her voice.
“David, step out of your trousers and pants and come over here.”
He turned and did as instructed. His eyes were cast down and there was a blush to his cheeks.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of, David. A boy of your age needs
discipline. There is nothing strange or shameful about it. The only
thing that is shameful is that you behave in a way that requires
discipline. Do you recognise this hairbrush?”
“Yes . . . Ma’am.
“When Matron sent you to me with that note, I spanked you with it, didn’t I?”
He looked down.
Yes . . . Ma’am.
“And now you have given me cause to spank you again. You were left to
work quietly on your sums for half an hour, and when Mary returned, she
found you playing on the floor with the cutlery.”
She shook her head.
“Last time, you received twenty-four hard strokes with this brush
across your soft little bottom. Clearly, something more is required.
And as she drew him towards her, he began to cry.