By Governess
liviaarbuthnot1@gmail.com
Copyright 2025 by Governess, all rights reserved
[3,141 words]´
* * * * *FROM THE JOURNAL OF EUGENIA STRANG
FREDERICK
Early
in my career, I was governing a seven year old boy whose naughtiness
bubbled up almost continually. As often with such a boy, he was lazy
with an aversion to hard work. Initially, the steps I took to confront
this were modest, my requiring him to sit quietly and submit to the
discipline of an extended task, neatly ruling through the lines of the
first three pages of an old book. His concentration was poor and he
spent much of the time playing with his pencil. It was immediately
obvious that sterner measures were required. I decided that he should
sit there, apart from short breaks for food and calls of nature, until
every line in the book had been neatly cancelled. I made him sit
wearing only a vest to remind him that other measures were available
should his full commitment to the task weaken. .But from the very
outset he was exceptionally restless, resenting the restriction to his
freedom, and I placed the hairbrush in full view on my desk.
“Unless you are eager to be spanked, Frederick, I strongly suggest you
keep your head down and that pencil busy. I am about to see your mother
and when I return I expect to see at least a further three pages
completed with all their lines neatly ruled through.”
Frederick was the youngest of three children. He had two half-sisters
who were in their twenties, and already married. Elaine Hayward, his
mother, was the wife of a doctor and had recently taken on the role of
her husband’s fulltime secretary. This had meant that she could no
longer tutor the boy, and as she didn’t want the boy to be sent away to
school, a series of governesses had been appointed. These disappointed,
and with the boy’s behaviour and his schoolwork rapidly deteriorating,
she had advertised for a replacement with the experience and
determination to deal with such a boy. I had replied to the advert
setting out my credentials and my unswerving commitment to strict
discipline, saying that if given complete authority over the boy, I was
confident of effecting a real improvement in his behaviour. My terms
were agreed, and the position offered, which I gladly accepted.
I have always recognised that my authority as governess derives from
the mother and it was, and still is, my practice to make a weekly
report on the children’s progress. And my seeing Mrs Hayward on that
day was to make such a report. Normally, this would have been done on
the previous evening, but that had proved inconvenient.
“So, how is Frederick’s training going, Miss Strang?”
“Progress is slow, Mrs Hayward, largely on account of the boy’s
stubbornness. However, that is being broken down by the imposition of
dull and repetitive tasks. Resistance and poor attitude are routinely
punished. But a wilful and obdurate spirit is not easily exorcised.”
She frowned.
“That is most disappointing, Miss Strang. In my view, Frederick is a
young colt who will only be broken if the whip is taken to his flanks.
I trust the whip is not being withheld?”
“No, Mrs Hayward. Only this morning, Frederick was soundly spanked.”
“And yet, you say, progress is slow.”
“Slow but steady, Mrs Hayward.”
“’Slow but steady’ is not good enough, Miss Strang. You say you spanked him this morning. What is he doing now?”
“He is busy continuing a task I have set him that is long and tedious
and without any inherent interest. It is a correction that challenges
him to summon up every ounce of concentration, and I regard it as an
excellent discipline.”
“And if his concentration fails? “
“Then he is spanked.”
“And I hope soundly spanked. I will accompany you on your return to the schoolroom, and we will review his progress together.”
Although I was not overly pleased at Mrs Hayward’s intervention, I
accepted, as I have said, that the final authority in these matters
rested with her. When we entered the schoolroom, Frederick was idly
twisting his pencil and staring out of the window. He looked up and
gave a start when he saw I was accompanied by his mother.
“I
see little evidence of a boy who has been concentrating on his set
task, Miss Strang. What was he set to complete in your absence?”
“He has been tasked with ruling through every line in an old
second-hand book. I told him I expected to see at least three pages
completed on my return.”
“And how many has he completed?”
“Barely half a page, Mrs Hayward.”
His mother gave a wry smile.
“Then, clearly, the boy needs to be punished. Get up, Frederick.”
The boy scrambled to his feet. He was clearly in awe of his mother.
That she had appointed me to govern the boy was clearly not because of
any reluctance on her part to discipline him.
“I see that you are working in just a vest. Why do you think that is?”
He bit his lip but made no attempt to prevaricate or avoid giving the answer he knew was required.
“It . . . it’s so I can be spanked.”
She nodded.
“Yes. So, Frederick, tell me many lines are there are to a page.”
Slowly he counted them, and then hesitatingly looked up.
“Thirty, Mother.”
“So Miss Strang set you ninety lines to score through in her absence.”
She paused.
“And you have completed less than twenty.”
She shook her head.
“That, Frederick, means you left some seventy lines uncompleted.”.
He looked pale and anxious, as well he might, for he sensed where this was leading.
“Hand me the hairbrush, please, Miss Strang.”
I did so and she smacked it across the palm of her hand.
“So Frederick, when Miss Strang spanked you earlier today how many strokes did she give you?”
He looked down.
“I . . . I think it was twelve.”
“You think? Didn’t Miss Strang make you count them out as she spanked you?”
I had not long been appointed as Frederick’s governess and had, indeed,
not long been a governess. And I rather smarted under the implied
criticism.
“You are right, Mrs Hayward, counting the strokes would be an excellent additional discipline.”
“It is certainly something I have done in the past. As for this current
example of Frederick’s laziness and disregard for your clear
instructions. He has shown a complete lack of respect for your
authority, which is an authority I have set over him. He needs to be
punished with an appropriate severity.”
“So, what would you suggest, Mrs Hayward? “
“Well, I am sure the discipline you are providing has its place, But I
would place less emphasis on scoring out the lines of print in a book
and more on the tried and tested discipline of long, hard, and frequent
flogging. I must say is what I was expecting when I appointed you.
Working as a full-time secretary to my husband has precluded my
providing the discipline and training that I previously did. Have you a
rattan cane, Miss Strang?”
“I have, Mrs Hayward. But in my
experience, for a boy of Frederick’s age, the hard back of a hairbrush
has been an adequate answer to most naughtiness.”
Those
familiar with my later work may be surprised at such naivety, but this
was early in my career, and I still had much to learn.
“You
say, Miss Strang, that the back of a hairbrush is an adequate answer to
a boy’s naughtiness. I assume you mean it effects a change for the
better in his behaviour. But in Frederick’s case that hasn’t happened,
has it?”
“So, you believe the cane would achieve that.”
“When I was responsible for the boy’s discipline, I had far less
tolerance than you for his naughtiness. And, as a consequence, had less
stubborn and lazy behaviour to contend with. And that, Miss Strang, was
because I caned him at the first hint of a refractory spirit. Caned him
across his bare bottom long and hard.”
She paused.
“And that is what he needs now. One stroke for every line uncompleted. Six dozen cuts.”
She smiled.
“You appear surprised.”
“No, no. You are Frederick’s mother and have a far greater
understanding of his needs than I have. And in the circumstances, I
think you ought to be the one providing the caning. It will show me
exactly the method and degree of punishment you consider appropriate.
If you will excuse me for a moment, I will fetch the cane.”
Mrs Hayward smiled.
“Of course. And please, I have no intention of undermining your
authority. I hope I am supporting it. Now, a boy who is being caned
with the severity I intend will need to be held. Previously, Louise,
the house parlour maid assisted in that, but perhaps you would assist
with that?”
“Of course, Mrs Hayward. “
Frederick had
a schoolroom desk that had been obtained by the Haywards from the local
board school when surplus to requirement. It was of a solid wooden
construction and had a flat sloping top. The bench was unattached and
of a similar sturdy build. When I returned with the cane, the boy was
standing in front of his desk, facing it.
“I have decided
that Frederick should be caned over his desk, Miss Strang. If he is
unwilling to sit at it and work as instructed, then he will need go
over it and suffer the consequences. Place yourself over the desk,
Frederick.”
He did so and, with the downward slope of the desk, his head was lower than his body and his bottom elevated.
“So Frederick, six dozen strokes.”
She was clearly relishing the flogging she was about to give.
“Move the stool away and stand on the other side of the desk, Miss
Strang, and press down firmly on his shoulders. There is going to be a
great deal of twisting and wriggling as the cane slices into that soft,
sensitive, bottom flesh.”
I watched with a pounding heart as I
held the boy in position, readying myself to witness what I regarded as
an exceptionally severe beating. Mrs Hayward ran the cane through her
hand.
“Tell me, Miss Strang, do you regard six dozen cuts with
a cane such as this to be excessive punishment for a seven-year-old
boy?”
I hesitated.
“If merited, certainly not, Mrs Hayward.”
“And do you consider with Frederick it is merited? “
Again I hesitated.
“Well, punishment has . . . a number of aspects. But in practical terms
it’s given to bring about an improvement in the boy’s behaviour. And
where there is recalcitrance and an intention to cling to bad and
unacceptable ways, then the punishment has to be adequate to break that
hardness of spirit. If that can be achieved with ten cuts of the cane,
then all well and good. But if only by six dozen cuts, then six dozen
cuts are clearly necessary. And linking his punishment to the lines
uncompleted certainly commends itself to me.”
She smiled.
“I can see I was right to appoint you, Miss Strang. Frederick is in safe hands.”
She raised the cane and brought it swishing down, across the boy’s
buttocks that had been clenching and unclenching in nervous
anticipation of the coming torment. I wondered how often, before my
arrival, he had been similarly punished. From what his mother had said,
such severity was not uncommon. A frisson of excitement passed through
me. What would his buttocks look like after six dozen strokes had cut
and torn into the soft flesh.
The boy was screaming. His
back was hot and damp under my hands. His whole body was struggling to
rise and evade the agony, but with my pressing firmly down on his
shoulders there was no escape. Each cut left an angry red stripe.
Before long, they would resolve into those tramline marks that followed
every sound caning. The steady whoosh of the rattan continued until
after three dozen strokes Mrs Hayward paused. The boy was writhing and
sobbing in a complete smarting agony.
“I think you will
agree, Miss Strang, that the cane has achieved in short order what the
task of line cancelling singularly failed to do. Frederick’s mind is
not wandering hither and thither. It has been brought to a complete
focus. And that focus is on his smarting flesh as he is caned over the
desk that had he sat at it and focussed on his work would have spared
him a flogging.”
She smiled.
“But at the moment his
is facing the even more potent horror of that being resumed. A further
three dozen cuts of this limber, rattan cane have yet to be delivered.”
She paused. I stood back from the desk. Frederick continued to sob but
made no attempt to rise. The downward slope of the desk with his head
lower than his body made that difficult even were he inclined to
attempt it.
“Tell me, Miss Strang, do you believe that the
fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. And that a parent or
governess rules over a child as the Lord rules over us.”
“Yes, Mrs Hayward, I do.”
“I am pleased. From an early age, I made sure that Frederick had good
reason to fear setting his will against mine. There should not be a
moment of the day, from waking to sleeping, when the fear of the rod is
not present. It should be the lens through which all his endeavours are
brought into a sharp and stark focus.”
She paused.
“And I am concerned that you have allowed that lens to become misted
over. The focus has become bleary and less sharp.. The fear that once
governed him has in part dissolved. Boys need to fear the rod, Miss
Strang.”
She smiled.
“I’m not so sure they fear
holding a pencil quite as much! I am not saying there is no value in
the discipline you are providing. But it is no substitute for the rod.
For the whalebone crop bloodying the colt's flanks and breaking him to
bit and bridle.”
She stood beside Frederick and, reaching out,
ran her hand down his back. He visibly tightened and then gave a gasp
as she scratched her nails across his buttocks.
“You should be
grateful, Frederick, that I am taking the trouble to provide the
discipline you need. And to provide it generously and unstintingly.
Many mothers would rest content with three dozen strokes, and consider
the job well-done. But the saying ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’
is all too true. And you will be pleased that I have no reservations
about continuing your punishment.”
The boy clenched his buttocks and shivered.
“Please, Mother . . . “
The boy must have known that any pleading for remission was pointless.
For what small boys need to learn is that the Paradise of forgiveness
is reached only by the ascent of Mount Purgatory.
“No,
Frederick. It is fruitless to try and persuade me from doing what is
both just and necessary. Miss Strang, please will you resume your
position ,and see the boy remains in place for the remainder of his
punishment.”
Frederick had remained across the desk during the
whole of our conversation and gave a shudder as I again pressed down on
his shoulders. In those early days I was still finding my own way with
regard to discipline and could scarcely imagine his ravaged buttocks
after a further thirty-six strokes of what was a wonderfully flexible
three foot length of rattan.
Whoosh went the cane and the boy
have a piercing scream. I watched with a tremulous fluttering in my
stomach, as the rattan cut into the soft, sensitive place at the very
top of the thighs, immediately below the buttocks. Whoosh went the cane
again and then again until a dozen searching cuts had been delivered.
The half smile on his mother’s lips told me how much she was relishing
every cut. There was a pause as flexed the cane in her hands.
“I hope, Frederick, that you are learning that when a boy is set a
task, he gives it his full concentration and effort. Just as I am doing
in punishing you.
Your aim should always be to give of your best. Do you understand?”
“Ye . . . yes, Mother.”
She flexed the cane again. I was wondering how the remaining strokes
would be administered. I watched as she whipped the rattan up, and with
that deadly flick of the wrist brought it sweeping down across his
buttocks. A further dozen equally swishy cuts broke the skin in several
places. Sitting on the hard wooden chairs favoured by his mother would,
for several days, be uncomfortable to say the least. Right from the
resumption of his punishment, the boy was roaring and struggling. I
found I, too, was relishing every cut and, with some shame, felt a
wetness between my legs.. From then on, his mother chose to place the
cuts randomly and unpredictably. Several across the fleshy backs of the
thighs; then several across the calves. I was then invited to grasp him
firmly by the upper arms, and a succession of strokes were laid across
the boy’s smooth bare back. These were delivered from the right and
then from the left, so they raised an angry criss-cross pattern on his
upper back. I had never caned a boy in such a way, and was shocked at
what seemed to be a harshness, bordering almost on cruelty. And yet, I
thought, isn’t all flogging justified cruelty?”
Mrs Hayward’s
aim had been to raise the boy’s anxiety and make it impossible for him
to anticipate where the next stroke would fall. A boy who knows he is
to receive a set number of strokes across his bottom can steel himself
to receive them and see out the punishment, retaining throughout a
measure of control. As a disciplinarian, Mrs Hayward's aim was to
render the boy fearful and uncertain, entirely at her mercy, and shorn
of all sense of control. And where she set aside the instrument of his
torture, she wanted a boy sobbing and broken and beaten into
submission. And that she achieved.
The time I spent governing
Frederick was also a time in which I was mentored by his mother and
where my approach to child-rearing and to the use of the rod was
shaped. It became my practice to strip him naked for punishment and in
that I had Mrs Hayward’s complete support. I governed Frederick for
three years from the age of seven to a little after his tenth birthday.
But eventually, the time came to move on and there were new challenges
to be met.