A visit to the housemaster


The summons

Mark Ward had just finished breakfast and was studying the House notice
board with details of the house cricket team for that afternoon's game.
Suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder: it was one of the house prefects.
'I've got a message for you from he housemaster, Ward. He wants to see you
in his Study after Prayers tonight.' Then he added: 'It sounds serious,
what have you been up to?'
Other boys standing around the notice board looked up while some grinned
knowing what such a summons could mean. There was a chorus of 'who's
been a naughty boy then?'

All that day Mark turned the question over and over in his mind, wondering
which of his misdemeanors might have come to the attention of his housemaster
and could be the reason for the summons. There had been that occasion
some ten days ago when he had been found well beyond school bounds by
Mr. Craven - maybe he had reported him. Certainly he had been told by
his form master only the previous day that his schoolwork was far from
satisfactory - was that the reason? Then again the other day the head prefect
had caught Mark and his friends Antony and Sean ragging in he passage,
resulting in a stern ticking off.

A call to the housemaster's study could take a variety of forms. It might
be a public announcement after House prayers in the evening: 'I want to
see Jones minor in my study now'. That word 'now' would mean
that everybody else kept clear of calling on the housemaster for at least a
quarter of an hour, or until Jones minor was seen about the house again.

Alternatively, a summons could take quite dramatic form with a boy being
called out of evening Prep. More formally, a boy's name might appear on the
house notice board: 'The following will report to the housemaster's study' -
and then alongside names there would be times listed at quarter or half hour
intervals.

Every summons, whatever its form, ended with a nervous boy standing at the
half-open door of the study, knocking once and saying: 'You sent for me Sir.'
Sometimes you would enter and the door would be allowed to stay open. At
other times, the first words from the housemaster would be a gruff 'Come in
and shut the door behind you.' Since it was still early in the day, Mark
had a good twelve hours to stew on the matter.

The schoolboy shared some of his thoughts with his friend Antony Goodstone,
who was no stranger himself to the housemaster's study. 'It sounds as if
you may be in trouble - I would take some precautions if I were you. But take
my advice and don't go using blotting paper for padding - it tends to show and
gets you in even more trouble.'

The Interview

After evening prayers, Mark reluctantly made his way to the study where he saw
that there were already a number of other boys awaiting the housemaster's ear. He
took his place in the queue and allowed a couple of latecomers to go in before
him since their business was of only a brief nature. Finally the queue had cleared
and his turn had come.

'You sent for me Sir'. 'Yes, Ward, come in and close the door behind you.' A closed
door could only mean serious business Mark thought, gloomily. The housemaster
was enveloped in a cloud of smoke from his habitual cigarette.

'Ward, I have heard from your form master who says that your schoolwork is
thoroughly unsatisfactory.' So that was it! Mr. Sincock, his form master
had sent a note to the housemaster. Mark knew that an official complaint of
that sort was quite rare and could have serious consequences.

'So, what do you have to say for yourself?'
'I...I don't know, Sir', he replied - though he wanted to say that old Sincock
had had it in for him from his very first term at the school three years before.
But the housemaster was droning on. 'But that's not all - it is all too apparent
to methat you have not been contributing your fair share to the life of this
house as you should for quite some while. This has coincided with a general
deterioration in your conduct - I believe that you were upbraided for ragging
in the corridor just the other day by one of the prefects. To add to this
catalogue of obloquy, Mr Craven informs me that he caught you well outside
school bounds just recently. You had no reason to be there, and you had
not asked permission to go beyond school bounds.'
Mark Ward's chickens had well and truly come home to roost!
'I will not tolerate such a catalogue of misbehaviour from you or any member
of this House - is that understood? I am inclined to think that you require
a sharp waking-up, boy!'


Mark had previously heard of a 'waking-up' in connection with someone
who had passed into house legend. That boy, by the name of Howell, had now
left the school but Mark remembered how the whole procedure of a 'waking-up'
was referred to in hushed tones. It was the ultimate punishment that could be
meted out by one's housemaster.

'Do you know what I mean by a waking up, boy?' demanded the housemaste,
but before Mark could venture an answer he continued 'it means that I would
beat you every day for a week. We would get to know one another very well
in that time and I would become even more closely acquainted with your
backside.'

Silence reigned for a moment or two while the housemaster took a long draw
at his cigarette. Then resting it in the overflowing ash tray, he added
'however on this occasion I think something milder is called for. Either you
may take six detentions, and write out six thousand Latin hexameters - or
else you can accept a beating. Mark mulled over the choice: six detentions,
six thousand hexameters, or what was likely to be six of the best, since
there was a six in both the other choices.

'I'll take the beating, Sir.' 'I thought that you might, Ward.' The housemaster
knew how much Mark enjoyed his sport and detentions would get in the way
of that as well as his social life.

'I want you to understand, Ward, that I mean what I say. If I have any more
complaints about you then I shall not hesitate to beat you every day for a week.
Do I make myself clear?' 'Yes, sir' came the reply from a greatly relieved Mark
Ward. One more long puff on the cigarette followed before it was returned to
the ash tray. 'Now to business - we have serious work to undertake, Ward.'

The Beating

The housemaster walked over to the corner of his Study and studied his
impressive collection of canes. Thin, medium, thick and knotted - all were springy
in various degrees and all were guaranteed to hurt.. He carefully selected one
of each type. 'Now Ward, which is it to be²? the housemaster asked, brandishing
his selection of weapons.

Mark was not expecting this courtesy. Certainly he had heard about the
thick cane from his friend Anthony, who had never been given any choice
in the matter, whilst the knotted cane was notorious since it was mainly reserved
for erious breaches of discipline by senior boys.

Mark swallowed hard. Did the housemaster intend using the knotted rod? No,
he was being given the privilege of choosing. Mark pointed to the medium weight
cane, saying: 'I'll have that one Sir'. 'Very well', said the housemaster, taking his
time to put the others away. Mark wished that he would hurry up and get on with it.
His friend Sean Fergus-Jones always claimed that once you are up for a beating, it
only took five minutes at most. A couple of minutes for the caning followed by
three minutes recovery time. The housemaster seemed to be dragging it all out to
an intolerable length.

The housemaster picked up the chosen cane and flexed it. He had the look
of an executioner who is sizing up the condemned man, thought Mark. Another
puff on the cigarette and some more flexing of the cane while the two faced up
to one another.

'I shall give you six strokes with this cane.' He paused and then added, 'unless of
course you would prefer to take four a little later in the evening when you are
in your pyjamas or' - another pause - 'perhaps you would prefer to take just three
on your bare buttocks right now.'

He had heard from Fergus-Jones about the pyjama option and he had seen for
himself the three livid weals that Collison had born for a fortnight after he had
taken up the bare-bottom option.. Collison had described the whole business in lurid
detail, to those in his dormitory as well as to anyone else who showed
interest when they were in the showers.

'I'll take the six', said Mark, eager to get the unpleasantness over and done with.
At Antony's suggestion Mark had put on an extra pair of underpants and he
hoped that the housemaster would not spot the ruse.

'Very well, six of the very best,' intoned the housemaster, flexing the
cane between between his bony hands yet again. 'Bend over that chair.'
The top rail of the chair back was concave and at the ideal height for the
average schoolboy to bend across. Reaching down across the sturdy chair, Mark
felt his regulation school trousers tighten across his buttocks. All sorts
of thoughts flooded through his mind. On previous occasions when
about to be beaten, there had never been any of this longwinded ritual.
It had just been a matter of 'bend over and touch your toes' and it was all
over and done with in minutes. Mark had been beaten at his prep school
on several occasions. The school kept a weekly tally sheet on each boy, with
masters doling out bad conduct marks for quite minor offences. Ten or more
bad conduct marks in the space of three weeks meant a vist to the headmaster's
study for a whacking. This was now all a distant memory for Mark had got
through three years at his seniorr school without suffering a formal beating.

The housemaster, who fancied hmself to be a bit of an expert in the corporal
punishment of schoolboys, busied himself rubbing some chalk onto the business
end of the cane. Through long years of beating bottoms he knew that each boy
reacted in a different way to the sharp sting of the cane. Obviously it was the
younger boys who were more prone to tears, yet he also had seen beefy lads bigger
than himself sobbing like babies after a stiff six of the best. The housemaster
judged that Mark would be one of the stoical ones. He was usually a good
reliable lad, and one day would in all likelihood make a good prefect.

The first stroke was even more painful than Mark had anticipated. The
housemaster possessed a wiry strength and he knew how to impart the maximum
sting. Having chalked the cane, he also employed the rather cruel technique of
landing the six strokes on the same small area of trouser seat. This made the
punishment doubly agonising.

The unpleasant procedure was punctuated by comments between the strokes.
'This is your well-deserved punishment, boy!' 'You thoroughly deserve this beating,
boy!' 'I have a job to carry out, and I intend to do it properly.' 'Is it hurting, boy?
Well it's intended to hurt.' 'I sincerely hope this caning is doing you good.'

' You may get up, boy. Take the cane and put it with the others.' Mark's bottom was
glowing red hot and he almost expected the cane to feel red hot as well as he
took the proferred rod from the housemaster. The cane felt light and flimsy and he
was amazed that such an inoffensive looking length of rattan could have produced such
searing pain in his backside. This was the 'central heating' his friend Anthony
had joked about. Well, it was no joking matter now.

The housemaster held out the right hand that had so recently applied the cane
with the expertise of a professional.'No hard feelings I hope.' 'No sir.'

Mark's buttocks were still glowing as he left the housemaster's study and
headed for the privacy of the washrooms to examine the damage. It was getting
late and most of the boys in Mark's year would be making themselves ready for bed.
He was inspecting the closely spaced weals in the washroom mirror when
Henry Stephens, the head of house, arrived on the scene and demanded to know
why Mark was not in his dormitory. However, a glimpse of the well-thrashed backside
explained everything.

Stephens leaned up against a wash basin and commented 'the old man certainly
knows how to lay it on, doesn't he? Was it worse than you expected?'

'Yes,' said Mark, 'it hurt like hell..'