By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2023 by Governess, all rights reserved
* * * * *Chapter 55
Downstairs, Elizabeth was drawing and colouring, and Samuel was still playing with his toy soldiers.
“Elizabeth, I know it’s a bit early for you to go up to bed, but I need
to have a little talk with Samuel. So perhaps you would go up to your
room now. You may read until I come up to say prayers with you. And
take that surly lookoff your face, or I’ll be coming up with the
hairbrush. Off you go. And on no account are you to leave your room.”
She turned to Samuel.
“And you, Samuel, will take off all your clothes.
“Please, Mother.”
“No, Samuel. I don’t want to hear another word. You will do as I say
without any argument. Every stitch of clothing, and hang them over the
back of the armchair.“
She watched as he slowly divested
himself. When he was completely naked, she crossed to her little office
and picked up the heavier martinet and a lighter oner. She returned to
the living room and placed the two petits fouets on the table in full view of the shivering boy. She sat on a chair and called the boy to her.
“Come and stand here, Samuel.”
She reached forward and placed the tip of her finger under his tight little scrotum and then lifted his small limp penis.
“Tell me, Samuel, have you been playing with this?”
“Please, Mother. No, no, I haven’t.”
“Are you sure about that. I wouldn’t want you to lie to me. You know
what happens if I catch you lying. So once more. And think hard before
you reply. Have you masturbated since the last time I had to punish
you?”
She waited. He looked down.
“No, Mother. I haven’t.”
Some days before she had been reading Eugenia Strang’s book on The Management and Discipline of Boys.
She regarded the book as a strong and bracing support for those
struggling to raise their sons in accordance with firm Christian
principles.
A boy’s discipline consists in far more than
ensuring that he obeys a set of rules. This is not to minimise the
importance of rules and the need for ensuring they are adhered to. And
if they are breached a spanking should certainly be given. But a
parent’s or governess’s authority is more pervasive than that. As the
Apostle Paul says, the status of young children in a household is no
different from that of a slave. There is no aspect of a slave’s life
that is not subject to the rule and determination of his master or
mistress. And that is true of a boy. A boy should be in awe of the
pervasive authority to which he is subject. He should know that even
the freedoms he enjoys and the choices he makes are granted by the
adult ruling over hm. They are not his by right. In the Garden of Eden,
the Lord God forbade the eating of a particular fruit on a particular
tree. He was demanding an obedience that was absolute. ~The Man and the
Woman were refrain from eating the fruit, not because there was
anything wrong with it, but simply because He had the right to command
their every action, and demand their willing acknowledgement of Him as
their Lord and Master. Similarly, a parent may from time-to-time demand
of a child something that is simply a test of a child’s complete
unquestioning obedience. And if that is not forthcoming, then
punishment must follow. This may seem harsh and unloving, but it is the
reverse. There is no greater kindness than schooling a child in
unquestioning obedience. The fear of the consequences of wilful
disobedience is the beginning of wisdom.
I have said that
there is no aspect of a child’s life that is not subject to the
determination of the parent. But what, you may ask, of a child’s inner
life. That fortified citadel from which all but he are excluded. This
presents a parent with a challenge that needs to be met. Our Lord said
what comes out of a man is what defiles him: greed, deceit, envy, arrogance, and foolishness. And what mother does not recognise those in her children.
For a boy needs to know that even his inner life is owned by his mother
and subject to her rule. And all steps must be taken to claim and
subjugate it. It should be recognised that careful observation of a
boy’s behaviour may offer an indication of what is beginning to breed
within. That look of envy; that frown; that narrowing of the eyes that
presages defiance; that puerile behaviour that warns of a foolish
self-regard that is the first shoots of arrogance. These are fissures
in the wall of a boy’s inner citadel that may be penetrated much to his
chagrin. When a mother suspects resentment or rebellious thoughts she
should not hesitate. The boy should be told to fetch the hairbrush and
he should be spanked. To leave them to breed and to hatch into overt
wrongdoing is to be a party to the boy’s sin. And such a parent will
surely have to answer to the Lord for such neglect.
It may be
that a mother misinterprets the signs of inner rebellion, or was
exaggerating their significance. But no matter. The boy will have had
notice that even his innermost thoughts and imaginings are subject to
his mother’s authority, as much as those overt acts of wrongdoing.
To confront a boy’s inner life and open it to her rule a mother should
subject him to close and frequent questioning. A boy often hides his
wrongdoing in a deceitful silence. This should be challenged. At least
once a week before bedtime, a boy should be invited to confess the sins
committed during the course of the week. His mother may notice
wrongdoing during that time but may choose not to upbraid him, waiting
to see whether it is confessed. In that way, a boy’s honesty may be
tested and if he seeks to withhold a confession, his mother can then
reveal her knowledge and punish him accordingly. This will show that
her rule is indeed all pervasive, and encourage him to confess in the
future.
A mother will soon develop the skill of judging when
a boy is prevaricating, or dissembling. Then, she needs to probe and
question more actively. And nowhere is such searching interrogation
more essential than in the battle against self-abuse. There are some
today who fail to appreciate just how damaging is this practice which
if unchecked becomes a destructive and debilitating habit. There are
occasions when a mother is sure that a boy is guilty even though he is
refusing to acknowledge it. When that is so, she should question him
ever more deeply and seek to extract a full confession of his guilt.
For such interrogation the boy should be stripped completely naked and
her probing continue until he is hot with shame and desperate to be
released form his ordeal. To that end, she may reach out and lift his
little member and ask him to show her exactly how he abuses himself; or
question him of the time of the abuse, whether before sleep or before
he rose in the morning; or she may enquire of what hot sticky
imaginings accompany his abuse.
Of course, a boy may still
persist in his denial. But such is the compulsion on a boy to abuse
himself that the assumption should always be that, despite his
protestations, he is guilty. And it is safe to say there will be few
occasions in which a boy suspected of abusing himself is wrongly
punished. And even were that to be the case, no great harm is done. It
confirms that there is no aspect of his inner life that is not the
concern of his mother and that even his inner thoughts and imaginings
are subject to her examination and approval.
Now, thought
Cordelia, was the moment for Eugenia Strang’s words to be taken to
heart and acted upon. She looked at the boy standing naked before her,
and she repeated her question.
“Samuel, tell me honestly, have you masturbated since my warning to you?”
He looked holding her gaze.
“No, Mother.”
She nodded.
“And did you see what I placed on the table, Samuel.”
“Ye . . . yes, Mother.”
“And what was that?”
“I’m not sure, Mother.”
“I am not surprised. I don’t think you’ve seen a martinet before. Go across and fetch the smaller one, and hand it to me.”
She watched his buttocks move and contract as he stepped across the
room. His bottom was so invitingly whippable, she thought. Soft, yet
firm and resilient, and in many ways still a small boy’s bottom. But
ready for the martinet, if not the birch.
“So, what do you suppose a little whip like this would be used for, Samuel?”
“I . . . I suppose it’s used to punish people.”
“Children, you mean.”
“I suppose so. Yes, children.”
And can you think of a particular child who might benefit from being punished with a little whip like this?”
He flushed, and replied in a low voice.
“No, Mother.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Ye . . . yes, Mother.”
“Well, I can certainly think of a boy who might benefit? Have you any idea what his name might be?””
He could barely speak. His breath was quick and shallow.
“I . . . I don’t think so, Mother.”
“Well, the name I have in mind is ‘Samuel’.”
She smiled as she ran the lanières through her hand.
“And what do you notice about this martinet, Samuel?”
“I . . . don’t understand, Mother.”
“Well, what is surprising about it.”
He still looked puzzled.
“It has a wooden handle?”
“Yes, but so do all little whips like this. Fetch the other martinet from the table.”
“So, what is the difference between them.”
“One’s larger and the other one’s . . . smaller.”
“Yes. One’s larger and heavier and the other’s smaller and lighter.”
She held up the heavier one.
“This martinet is used to whip a boy across his bottom, Samuel. But
this other martinet, well! I don’t think a boy would mind too much if
that were swished across his bottom So how do you think it might be
used?”
He swallowed and was unable to speak.
“Do you
remember my saying that if ever I saw a stiff little penis in this
house, it would be whipped. And that I had written to Aunt Camille
asking her to send me a suitable whip for just such a purpose? Do you
remember?”
He nodded.
Samuel, when I ask a question,
I expect it to be answered by more than a nod or a shake of the head.
So, let’s try again. Do you remember my saying that if ever I saw a
stiff little penis in this house, it would be whipped. And that I had
asked Aunt Camille to send me a suitable whip. Answer properly.”
His assent was a strangled croak.
“Well, this is the whip she has sent. This smaller, lighter martinet.
So, if I see a stiff little penis this is the whip, I’ll be using. But
perhaps you can think of another time I might be using it?”
“I don’t know, Mother.”
“Well, what was I questioning you about a moment ago? What did I ask?”
“Whe . . .whe . . . whether, I . . . I had masturb . . .b . . . “
“The word is masturbated, Samuel. Yes, I asked whether you had masturbated. And you told me you hadn’t.”
She paused looking at him naked and vulnerable.
“And was that true? Were you lying, Samuel?”
“Please. No, Mother. Really, I wasn’t.”
“Go and sit on the sofa.”
She went and sat next to him and put her arm around him, and slipped her hand under the firm bareness of his bottom.
“Samuel, I want you to listen carefully. I am going to explain why masturbation, playing with yourself, is so wrong.”
She shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
“God has given little boys penises for two reasons. The first is to
pass water and the second need not concern you at your age. For you
passing water is the only use for it. It is not for rubbing and playing
with, however nice that may feel. And it does feel nice, doesn’t it? It
is so nice that you want to do it again and again. Isn’t that right?”
She pulled him against her and could feel the heat of his small naked body.
He began to sob.
“I think you’ve been lying to me, haven’t you. Samuel?”
“Ye . . . yes, Mother.”
“So how often do you do it?”
"N . . . not often, Mother."
"And how often is 'not often'? Once a month?"
"Yes, Mother. About once a month."
"Really? Once a month?"
She waited. He said nothing.
"Are you sure it isn't once a week?"
He wriggled uncomfortably.
"Well?"
"Per . . . perhaps sometimes once a week."
His voice trailed off. He blinked back his tears. She reached out and
tilted his head back, looking at him intently. He was unable to hold
her gaze.
"I see. First once a month. And now once a week."
She paused.
"So, Samuel, when was the last time you did it? Was it a month ago? A week ago?"
She tipped his chin back even further.
"Or was it last night?"
"I . . . I . . . "
"Well?"
"Please Mother . . . "
"Why are you pleading, Samuel? All I'm looking for is a simple answer to a question.
The boys squirmed in his desperation. She spoke sharply.
“Answer me, Samuel. And I want the truth."
She reached out and circled her forefinger and thumb around his little penis and under his scrotum.
"Answer me. When did you last play with this? Was it last night?"
He squealed.
"No, Mother, please."
"So, when was it?"
"This morning. It was this morning."
"When this morning?"
"Please, Mother. In bed. Before I got up."
She released him.
“Go and fetch the tawse from your room?”