by Susan Thomas
"Well, well, and pretty smug about that you are too, but that may change in time. You may find the need to use the slipper, the cane or..." and here he paused as though anticipating a treat, "... the birch. Have you any experience of the birch, Miss Clark? Have you kissed the birch after it kissed you?"
I hated this conversation, but I felt powerless. There was something about him and the situation that made it impossible for me to assert myself. I had to answer that I had no experience of the birch.
"Well we must change that! At least give you something to look at. Nanny will have one, I know. When we were children she was never without one." With that he rang the bell.
The woman who entered, with no sign of deference, was in her seventies. Slightly stooped, she looked, to me at least, like the last person on earth that should be put in charge of children. Cold, calculating and cruel were the words I would have used to describe her.
"Miss Clark has no experience of a birch, Nanny. Would you be so good as to bring in a regular birch for us?" She turned and looked at me with a sunless smile and left, returning shortly with a birch rod. It was about three feet long, made up of a dozen or so switches from a tree, although what type I wasn't sure. I was terrified by the way the evening was turning out, but felt unable to change anything.
"Now, Miss Clark, I really think that you should experience the kiss of the birch, and then if you teach in a school using it, you will understand its effects. Nanny, I would like you to give Miss Clark some real experience of our little friend."
I cried out in distress. "But I have done nothing wrong. It is unfair to birch me."
"Come, come, Miss Clark, are you really telling me that there are no undetected misdemeanours, no little sins from your teenage years? Surely the 'good girl' has some little secrets."
Straight away there came into my head with awful clarity, several undiscovered incidents from my teenage years. The one that came first was the time I had stolen money from my mother's purse and, together with my best friend, Pauline, truanted from afternoon school. We had gone to the other side of town to a little shop next to the school where the rough boys went, and bought a pack of five Player's Weights cigarettes. We had smoked them all. I said nothing at all out loud I am sure, but immediately after this memory came into my head he said, "Stealing and smoking! Quite enough for a birching - remove your clothes, Miss Clark, it is time to expand your horizons."
In ordinary circumstances I would never have complied with his order, but I felt helpless. In spite of a considerable embarrassment, I began to undress until at last I was naked. The pair of them watched me throughout. When I had undressed, he ordered me to kneel in front of the armchair I had been sitting in and lay my chest on the seat so that my bottom was sticking out. The will to resist was missing, and I did exactly as he told me.
"Nanny, give her just one stroke please."
I vaguely heard a swishing sound, and suddenly my whole bottom was stinging. I let out a little high pitched "Aah" sound.
"Does that sting, Miss Clark? Does it smart?"
Although it was bearable, it did indeed sting and smart, and I said so. "Now the magic of the birch, my dear, is the way the sting builds from the easily borne to the agonising. Nanny, I need to instruct Miss Clark. Please continue birching her but with long pauses. I wish her to be able to listen."
He then proceeded to lecture me on the need to regularly chastise young women, and on the efficacy of the birch for this purpose. As he lectured, Nanny administered regular strokes of the birch, each one drawing from me the same high pitched "Aah" that the first one had. I noticed that the sting grew worse with each swish of the birch, and I felt a heat build up that made me wriggle constantly. I must have had a dozen with the birch before he called a halt and asked me how I felt. He was pleased with my description of the stinging and heat, and I asked if I might get up.
"Well no, my dear, I believe we still have that little matter of the stolen money and the cigarettes to deal with." To my horror he then started to rub his hand over my bottom. "Yes indeed, nicely warmed up, but more punishment needed I believe. Nanny, a dozen delivered quickly I think, that should make her howl."
The next minute, Nanny swished the birch against my bottom, and quickly followed it with another. I discovered that Sir John had told the truth, the sting grew rapidly and became unbearable without tears. To my shame, I pleaded for mercy, but the birch swished on towards the twelve. In the end I was standing with tears running down my cheeks and my fingertips gently touching the fiery furnace that was my poor bottom. I hoped he would now let me get dressed and go home.
"Now I am sure you feel well and truly punished, my dear. A hot stinging bottom, but nothing to worry about; a few days and all will be well. But now naughty girls don't just get the birch, isn't that correct, Nanny?"
"Quite right, Sir John. They get sent to bed without any supper."
I was so relieved for I thought they were going to punish my bottom again. "Leave your clothes there, Miss Clark. It is time for bed." I was marched up the stairs and from time to time my bottom was smacked either by Nanny or Sir John - each one made me go "Ooh!" The bedroom was lovely with a little fire burning. In those days many houses did not have central heating, and I can promise you there is nothing more lovely than going to sleep in a room with a real fire. A beautiful nightdress (did they know what was going to happen in advance?) was laid out on the bed, and there was a private bathroom. This was a 'punishment' I could cope with!
"I shall give you thirty minutes, Miss Clark, and then return. I shall expect you to be in bed, and ready for me to kiss you goodnight."
"Kiss you goodnight?" This was turning into a very strange experience. While I prepared for bed, my bottom felt extremely hot and stingy. However, the feeling was not awful, and I began to feel that I had been fortunate. I knew that they had used birches in borstals that could strip the skin from one's bottom. Mine, though sore and covered in tiny welts, was intact, and I was sure I would recover in a matter of days. I was almost beginning to enjoy the warmth of my behind when abruptly the door opened. It was Nanny, and she was carrying the birch.
Nanny gave me another sunless smile, and stood the birch carefully in the corner before leaving. I got into bed quickly, and pulled the covers up to my neck. I could not keep my eyes from the birch. When Sir John came in, he was clearly ready for bed as he had on pyjamas and a deep red dressing gown. He gave me a rich smile of approval.
"What a lovely picture of innocence you make my dear, so young, so delicate, so naïve. Sadly, we must all grow up. Time for a little more of the birch I think."
I am ashamed to report that I became very distressed. I begged him not to punish me any more. I had a nasty feeling that what at the moment was not too bad at all (and possibly becoming strangely pleasant) would swiftly become a torment under punishment.
"My dear young, innocent girl the birch is not always for punishment, although Nanny seems not to know it. I am not going to punish you, I am going to educate you. Now please take off that nightdress and get out of bed."
Reluctantly, I did as I was told, and then bent over the end of the bed in obedience to his next instruction. This seemed like punishment to me, but as before I seemed to have no resistance in me. Sir John stood behind me without a word, and then there came just a little flick of the birch on my bottom. It created a gentle, strangely pleasant little sting, and I gave out a soft "Oooh." He then proceeded to flick my bottom and the tops of my thighs using the birch with a most delicate touch. As he flicked, he told me that it was part of my education as a young woman. The existing sting seemed to merge with the new sensation to create an oddly delicious heat. I began to wriggle, not in pain but a pleasure-pain, and I pushed my bottom out further for him as he laughed quietly. Soon the heat generated began to have the oddest effect on me, and I began to be excited in ways I had never experienced before. I seemed to tingle all over, and began to have feelings in my tummy that I was sure a single girl should not
feel. I realised with shock that I was making a sort of cooing noise.
Sir John stopped using the birch, and began to stroke me with his hand. At first it was just my bottom, but soon I felt him caress places that I knew he should not be touching. My excitement grew and grew, and suddenly I was seized by the most intense sensation I had ever experienced. I was unsure whether it was pain or pleasure, and I cried out loud with the fierceness of it.
"Time for bed, my dear," he said. "You don't need the nightdress."
I obediently got into bed and looked up at Sir John. He was undressing himself, and I saw for the first time, what an aroused man looked like. Sir John joined me in the bed and 'completed my education', making me cry out in pleasure several more times before the lesson was over. Finally, we were both exhausted, and lay satiated in the bed. At that point I heard the chime of midnight, and once again a ripple ran across my sight. Again everything was distorted, and I heard that mischievous and malicious laughter, but closer at hand this time.
When my vision cleared, I found I was sitting in the chair where I had begun, my drink still in my hand. The fire had gone down considerably, but the room was pleasant once again. Sir John was in the chair he had sat in, and appeared to be coming out of a deep sleep. I could feel that no birch had touched me nor (and I started to blush) had anything else happened to me. Was it a vision I had had or a dream? Perhaps it was some sort of other world experience? Sir John appeared to wake up and began to look around. He blushed before asking, "Have I been asleep?"
"I think we have both been asleep, Sir John, although why, I'm not sure."
He looked very uncomfortable and embarrassed, so much so that I wondered if he had the same 'vision' as mine. "My dear, it is midnight and you have had no supper. Let us eat quickly and ... I will escort you home. I don't want you walking out there alone tonight."
Our supper was a rushed affair, and I cannot now remember a single thing we ate. As soon as it was over we put on our coats, and headed for the front door. Before we left the house I had to ask the question that was burning in my head. "Sir John, do you have your old Nanny living here?"
He looked at me sharply, and gave me such a long inquisitive, but also embarrassed, look, that I felt sure he must have had a similar 'vision' to mine.
"No, my dear, I do not. She was a nasty, unpleasant woman, and I am sorry to tell you that when she died I did not mourn her."
We started to walk back towards the school and my little house. The night had become colder still but my memory of what had 'happened' burned in my mind and kept me warm. I realised that I had enjoyed the experience, whatever it was, and wanted more - or rather, wanted it for real. Whether I had really experienced Sir John's embrace and more, I couldn't tell, but I wanted his physical closeness, so I slipped my arm through his and snuggled in close to him as we walked along. He was very pleased, I could tell, and as we walked in pleasant closeness I knew that I needed at least some of the experience in the vision, but for real - and tonight. My desire was growing by the second, and as we reached the school I decided that Sir John must be persuaded to come in and stay. I was confident that he would, especially if we had shared the vision.
As we reached the front door of my little house I thought I heard mocking laughter riding on the night wind ... but it might just have been my imagination.
Strange
The girls were all seated and silent. The teachers were seated and silent on the stage. The Head of Music was seated and silent at her piano. All was ready for assembly.
At precisely the right time, the Headmaster swept through the doors and walked up the aisle between the girls. Behind him were the deputy and senior teacher, almost like bodyguards.
The girls stood; the teachers stood.
The Headmaster and his acolytes mounted the short flight of steps to the stage, and took their places behind the large desk in the centre. When they sat, everyone else sat.
If not God himself he was, at least to the younger girls, he was godlike. A tall imposing man, he easily dominated the gathering. They were afraid of him too; he was a real disciplinarian. He demanded the best in everything: the best academic results; the best behaviour and deportment; the best results in sport. He got them too; the school's reputation was unrivalled; the best families applied, but only the best children got in.
Of course, the sixth form liked to mock him, just a little, though never actually in school. Outside in their homes they said that he thought he was God, that when he entered the assembly the heavenly host should sound the trumpets, but in school they were deferential, and there was no mockery.
There was good reason of course - the Headmaster had no compunction about using his cane. It mattered nothing to him that they were girls. "Bend," he would command, and bend they did, quickly too in case he gave extras. It mattered nothing to him that a girl might be eleven years old, nervous and new. "Bend," he would command, though to be fair she would get fewer strokes. It mattered nothing to him that a girl might be already nineteen, and about to leave. "Bend," he would command, and his cane would swish down once, twice, three times for the most trivial offence.
The girls worked hard to avoid getting caned because it was no joke; his canings hurt, it was well known everywhere. The parents loved it because their girls, once in the school, were practically guaranteed a place at Oxbridge; a redbrick University was considered failure, and as for anywhere else... well best not to talk about that.
Not that there was any nonsense about raising skirts or lowering knickers. Leave that to spanking stories and other works of fiction. The Headmaster would not have dreamt of demeaning his own dignity by issuing such unseemly orders. "Bend" meant simply to touch the toes and he caned over the skirt. If parents added to that punishment once the girls got home, that was their affair, he took no further interest in the matter.
To him, assembly was most important. At assembly he promoted the ethos of the school; he reinforced his presence in the girls' minds; he made it clear through the theatre of assembly that he was the Headmaster, and must be obeyed by all.
To be late into assembly was a serious matter. It sometimes happened that a girl would arrive late to school. She had to report to the school office for her name to be added to the register, then scuttle to catch up with her class. If she was lucky she tagged onto her class or even another as they filed into assembly. But sometimes she came in after everyone had sat down. Nothing was said, but she knew what would happen. As everyone filed out after assembly, one of the supervising teachers would point at her and utter one word: "Wait."
It could be a lonely wait, for few risked being late into assembly, but sometimes there might be two or three. The Headmaster stood in his godlike way watching everyone leave in silence, and then he would see the waiting girls. He asked nothing - no question was asked, no excuse sought - he simply used his cane to point at one of them and said, "Bend."
The girl, her face white with the seriousness of her position, would turn and bend over, touching her toes neatly, keeping her legs straight and then wait. When he caned he was a force of nature, a powerful man, frighteningly fast and accurate, who could direct his full strength into whipping the cane down on the girl's bottom. There would be a subdued crack of the cane as it hit her bottom, a gasp or cry from the girl, a tiny sprinkling of dust from her skirt as every microscopic loose fibre was driven away by the force of the impact. With ever widening eyes, the other girls would see a line appear on the fabric, and then the cane would lift again as another powerful stroke began its journey to inflict chastising pain on the girl.
Three strokes was the standard price for being late into assembly. Luckily, the younger girls could never be late as they were marshalled and shepherded far too much for that. Sixth formers were the usual victims of their own over-confidence, but it mattered nothing to the Headmaster what age they were - he gave his three hard strokes that left the girls gasping and trying hard not to cry.
Afterwards, in the privacy of the toile
ts, they would examine the vicious welts and marvel at how awful they were, but thankful they had not had six. The most that was ever given in the school was twelve but that was so rare as to be discounted. The usual sentence was three, but six was also common.
Miss Rivington was a very new teacher that October with just one month in the job - one month in teaching, very young looking, in fact looking younger than most of the upper sixth. Her first class honours degree, master's degree and place on the England netball squad got her the post of probationary teacher. She was shocked that the Headmaster caned the girls; her old co-educational school had not used corporal punishment, and watching him cane, as she did several times in the first month, left her feeling quite shaken - it was brutal in her eyes.
Every Friday morning, Miss Rivington had non-contact time. She was permitted to remain in the staffroom, where each teacher had a little workspace, and catch up with her paperwork which naturally had to be of the highest standard. A conscientious young woman, she arrived at seven thirty and began to work hard. She was not, of course, permitted to miss assembly. Everyone, except the office and janitorial staff, had to be present without exception, so it was with some horror that she glanced at the clock and found it was already time for assembly and she was still in the staffroom – she was going to be late! She hurtled out and down the stairs in time to see the Headmaster already processing down the aisle. She was close to panic; it would never do to walk down the aisle after he had done so. It would be tantamount to saying she was more important, besides she was rather shy, and the thought of that walk made her cringe. Then she remembered the little side doors onto the stage, ran around the side of the hall to the back, and quietly came in just as the entire school sat down. She was able to sit only half a minute - no more - later than everyone else.
It took the whole assembly for her to calm herself down such was the awe and majesty engendered by the morning assembly. At the end, as the girls began to file out in their silent orderly rows, it crossed her mind that the headmaster had probably noticed her late and unorthodox entry. The girls joked, at home but not at school, that he had three hundred and sixty degree vision. He could walk down a corridor and without turning around, bark an instruction to a girl behind him and some distance away. It was at times quite uncanny. If he had noticed she had best apologise, it was never wise to upset a headmaster but especially this one; he would write her final report and she wanted to do well. So she lingered as the other teachers left because the Headmaster always presided over the exit.
