By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2023 by Governess, all rights reserved
* * * * *Chapter 52
She rocked him in her arms, hushing him.
“Shhh, David. No need to cry. That’s enough tears
for the moment. She took out a handkerchief and dried his eyes and them
held him tightly saying nothing, but still rocking and comforting him.
The boy was bare apart from the shirt and vest that she had been
hoicked over his shoulders when standing in disgrace.
“Let me take those clothes off, David.”
She eased them off, and then she lifted him on to her lap. He snuggled
into her and she patted his bottom affectionately. Cordelia watched
smiling as Diana continued to hold the naked boy securely.
“Do you feel safe and loved like that, David? Would you like
to stay like that for the rest of the afternoon. Safely wrapped naked
in my arms like a little baby? Would that be nice?”
He gave an almost appreciative little wriggle.
“Y . . . yes, Ma’am.”
“Yes, it would be nice wouldn’t it.”
He was curled up snuggly with his legs drawn up exposing his small firm
little bottom. But suddenly, with a heave, he was face down over her
lap; and when Cordelia had passed her the hairbrush, she spanked him
with vigour and determination. When she paused, his buttocks were a
deep sore looking crimson as were the backs of his thighs. She held
him, relishing her handiwork, while he continued to roar in his agony
for several minutes. Eventually, she eased the small, sobbing,
trembling boy off her lap, and he stamped and roared for several more
minutes. At last, when he was calmer, she reached out and gasped both
his small agitated hands in hers and drew him towards her.
He looked down biting his lip.
“You see, David, love is not always pleasant. Often it is.
Fun and play and stories and learning new things. All those are, or
should be, things to enjoy. But love is not just providing a nice time.
It is also helping a boy to be responsible, to know right from wrong
and to have the strength of will to do the right and to reject the
wrong.”
She released him from her embrace and he stood before her in his
nakedness, still tearful.
“So, tell me, David, why did you fail to continue with your
lesson when Mary had instructed you to do that?”
He looked down saying nothing.
“Come along, David. It is not a very difficult question and I
hope you provide a good answer. Or I will need to answer it for you and
provide further punishment.”
She raised her eyebrows expectantly. He looked up and said in a sullen
voice.
“But . . . but I only played when I had done my sums like
Mary told me.”
“So, let’s be clear about this, David. What exactly
did Mary tell you to do when she left you to go to Mr
Fairclough’s office?”
“She . . . she told me to finish my sums.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. I did all I could.”
And how many sums were there to do?
“I’m not sure.”
“Think about it.”
“I . . . I think twenty, perhaps not quite twenty.”
She got up and rang the bell. After a few moments, Mary came in.
“Mary, how many sums was David set?”
“There were twenty-four sums, Ma’am.”
“And how many did David complete? And by that, I mean how
many did he attempt, not how many did he get right.”
“He attempted six, Ma’am.”
And those were the six he had completed before you left?”
“Yes, Ma’am”
And when you returned, you found him playing on the floor with the
cutlery taken from the drawer?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mary. That will be all for the moment.”
She turned to David.
“So, David, you told me you did all the sums you could, is
that right?”
He looked down, sensing that a net was closing around him.
“Y . . . yes, Ma’am.”
“But that’s not true, is it? You only attempted
six. Among the eighteen sums you didn’t even look at there
might well have been sums you could do. That you didn’t even
attempt them is bad enough. But worse is that you lied about it when I
questioned you.”
She waited letting the seriousness of his predicament sink in.
“So, what needs to be done?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . .
Ma’am.”
“Oh, I think you do, David.”
She stepped across the room and picked up the cane where it was resting
on the top of the escritoire, and ran her hand down its length. She
swished it through the air. The boy winced. He was pale, his breathing
was short and ragged.
“And how many strokes do you expect to receive,
David?”
“Please, Ma’am. I’m sorry. Please not the
cane.”
“That is not the answer I am looking for. I asked how many
strokes do you expect to receive.”
She swished it through the air again and looked at him expectantly. His
hands twitched nervously but he said nothing.
“You told Mary that you had done all the sums you could. But
there were eighteen sums you never even attempted.”
She stepped across to the armchair and picked up a cushion and placed
it on the seat of an upright chair. She raised the cane and brought it
sweeping down with explosive force into its plumpness. Then she
repeated the stroke and then again, a third time. The boy watched pale
and fearful.
“You can see the imprint of the cane on the cushion,
can’t you, David? But did the cushion feel anything? What do
you think, David?”
He had flushed and his hands twisted nervously by his side.
“I . . . I don’t think so . . .
Ma’am.”
“No. Unlike a small boy’s soft bare sensitive
little bottom.”
She paused, looking at him intently.
Eighteen unattempted sums, David! And you will receive a stroke across
your bottom for each one. A reminder to you that a boy needs to be both
obedient and answer truthfully. Go back and face the wall.
I’ll deal with you in a moment. And I am treating you no
differently to the way I dealt with my own boys when they were your
age.”
Cordelia watched as the boy resumed his position facing the wall,
crying softly.
“You said that David would be receiving the same punishment
as your own boys, Diana. But I thought you told me they were routinely
birched.”
“Yes, Cordelia, I did. But my own boys were also spanked with
the back of my hairbrush, and were also caned.
‘Routinely’ did not mean exclusively with the
birch. Just consistently for behaviour that justified a
birching.”
She paused.
“My own brothers were dealt with in much the same way. A
judicious mixture of hairbrush, cane and birch. Tom was the nearest to
me in age. He was two years younger. We had a nanny, a Mrs Dunlop who,
if Tom was naughty, would spank him with the back of her hairbrush. But
my mother made it quite clear that if he was untruthful or impolite, or
if he committed the same offence within a period of a week, then he was
to be referred to her and, when older, that inevitably meant a
birching. He must have been about six when first birched. Although I
was only eight myself, I remember the feeling in my stomach as each
stroke cut into his soft little bottom.”
She smiled.
“And once I’d seen him birched, I
couldn’t wait for the next time.”
“And long did you have to wait, Diana?”
“Not very long. As I said he was a naughty little boy and
could be quite thoughtless and defiant. And Mrs Dunlop had no
hesitation in referring him to my mother, who applied the rod with
enthusiasm.
“When we birch a boy here in the orphanage, we either horse
him or turn him over a gymnasium buck. At first, she would punish Tom
with a smaller birch over her lap. He was usually quite naked and
resting on a pillow. That enabled her to have him lying down her lap
rather than across it, so she could swish not only his bottom but the
inner cheeks of the cleft, and the tops of his thighs.”
She paused.
“But soon a heavier birch was needed and instead of the lap
he was turned over the arm of a sofa, And then, when he was about ten,
he began to be hoisted.”
“Hoisted, Diana? How was that?”
“Well, my mother had a narrow strip of towelling with the
ends joined in a continuous loop. This was slipped over Tom’s
head and dropped to his waist. Then, with him standing on a low stool,
the loop was pulled up under his arms and fastened to a hook in a low
beam so he was lifted on to his toes. All this took place in our stone
flagged scullery. Once hoisted, he was totally helpless, and was
birched for as long and as severely as my mother judged necessary. He
was always quite naked.”
“And your mother allowed you to watch, Diana?”
“Yes, Cordelia. I think she knew I liked seeing him flogged,
and she was quite happy to indulge me. I think it pleased her that I
enjoyed watching her punish him - just as she liked watching
Tom’s being punished by Mrs Dunlop.”
“So how did Mrs Dunlop punish him?”
“Well, Mrs Dunlop’s method was to review his
conduct at the end of the day before tea. It was then that my mother
would often come into the nursery or schoolroom, and if a spanking was
to be given, she would watch approvingly. Sometimes she would question
Mrs Dunlop about his misdemeanour and tell Tom that in her judgement,
he had been let off lightly, and that would need be taken into account
at the end of the week.”
“So, what happened at the end of the week, Diana?”
“Well, Friday was the day on which any outstanding
punishments were administered.”
She smiled.
“You might say that Tom had an account at the Bank of
Chastisement and Friday was the day when any indebtedness was called
in. As I said, my mother might judge a spanking given by Mrs Dunlop to
be inadequate and that immediately put the account into the red. And
Mrs Dunlop herself would often tantalise Tom by postponing a punishment
until Friday, so that he spent the remainder of the week under the
shadow what she called Payment Day. I am sure she regarded that as a
pleasurable extension of her control over him.”
“So, tell me more about Fridays, Diana?”
“Well, as I said, all outstanding debts were paid up. And all
punishments on a Friday were given uniquely with the cane. So, if Mrs
Dunlop postponed a punishment until the end of the week, she was
sentencing Tom to a caning rather than a session across her knee. And
of course, any wrongdoing that my mother had deemed inadequate during
the course of the week, was also punished on Fridays and that was given
with the cane, too.”
“The cane, not the birch?”
“No, never the birch. That was exclusively used by my mother
when one of my brothers was reported to her for particularly egregious
behaviour. Or, of course, at other times if she deemed it necessary.
The regular Friday beatings were all given with a rattan
cane.”
“Why do you think that was, Diana?”
“Well, I think it was because Friday was meant to be a Day of
Judgment, a special day when all sins were revealed and punished. And
so the usual implement of correction was set aside and replaced by the
cane. I know Tom dreaded Fridays, as did my other brothers. The cane
was crook-handled and hung from a hook in the schoolroom. And, of
course, a rattan cane, unlike a hairbrush, has only one purpose and
that is to raise smarting weals on a child’s flesh. So, it
was particularly appropriate to that special day when all the
week’s accumulated sins were atoned for.
“My mother would watch with rapt concentration as the boy was
stretched over the arm of the schoolroom sofa. Sometimes it was
necessary to restrain him and then he would be made to lie face down on
a long-padded stool. A strap would be run underneath and then buckled
in the small of his back. That enabled him to kick and frantically
writhe without impeding the slow steady pace of the flogging.”
“But did she ever administer punishment herself?”
“Yes, from time to time, she did, Cordelia. Although she
clearly regarded the schoolroom as Mrs Dunlop’s domain, and
so there the bulk of the punishments were administered by her. If my
mother caned a boy, he would be straddled across Mrs Dunlop’s
lap.”
“Sometimes, when Mrs Dunlop was settling Tom down for the
night, I would creep into the schoolroom and take the cane down from
his hook. It was nearly three feet long and pencil thin. I would run my
hand down its length, and then swish it through the air. For some
reason I always felt guilty and nervous that I would be discovered. But
I never was.”
“So, your other brothers were punished in the same way as
Tom?”
“Oh, yes, Cordelia. Eustace and James were much younger, and
I had the pleasure of seeing them punished until I was almost
twenty.”
“So, what do you remember about their punishments?”
Well, I clearly recall what I think was Eustace’s first taste
of the birch. Unlike Tom who was birched from a very young age, both
Eustace and James were spared the birch until around the age of eight.
I remember it was James’s birthday, and for some reason
Eustace had a tantrum and I was sent to fetch the birch from the
scullery. He was stripped of all his clothes,and turned over the arm of
the sofa. I remember how he shrieked like a hare being torn apart by
the hounds. A birch was always kept steeping in a pail in the corner of
the scullery, and if it hadn’t been used in a week it was
replaced. And, of course, once it was used, then another one was
immediately bound up. Binding up the birches was the job of Bristow,
our gardener.
“But enough of this, Cordelia. I think we had better deal
with David who has been waiting so patiently!”