Out of Bounds


'Have you seen the House notice board? I think it's rotten!'
Stephen Carew, a third-form boy at Kenton Lodge School, answered that
he hadn't seen the notice board in question. It did not take his
friend Andrew very long to tell him the bad news.
'The town is out of bounds to all junior boarders until the end of
term.'
'But that's not fair! Why should we all suffer just because a
few idiots misbehaved in the town square last Saturday afternoon? The
head caned the lot of them - that should have been the end of the
matter.'
'Well, obviously it isn't. Still, there are only two weeks until the
holidays. We'll just have to find other places to go...'
'I still say it's not fair!' shouted Stephen. Andrew was quite taken
aback by the anger in his pal's voice. Then he realised why
the normally placid schoolboy was so upset.
'Of course - you visit Mr Percy the stamp dealer most Saturdays,
don't you? You've built up quite a collection.'
'Yes, and he is getting in a special lot of stamps for me. I said I'd
be down to see them this week. Now for all I know he'll sell the
stamps to someone else.'
Andrew was blissfully unaware of the fanaticism showit by collectors.
'I'm sure he'll be getting other stamps in, Stephen...'
'It's those stamps I want! The will fill loads of spaces in my album. He's

not going to keep them to one side right through the holidays. I must get into town!'
'Well, you can't! It's strictly out of bounds - and you know what
happens to any boy who breaks bounds. Why not ask for special
permission to visit the dealer?'
'It probably wouldn't be given, and from then on they'd keep a
special watch on me. No, if I'm going to break bounds I've got to
keep it a secret, You'll be the only one to know.'
'You wouldn't dare!'
'I must have those stamps...

As Saturday approached Stephen began to get somewhat nervous about
his intention to visit the town. The thought of the penalty if he was
caught preyed on his mind. A caning from Mr Hawkins, the housemaster,
was no picnic; and yet he desperately desired those special stamps.
Besides, it was so unfair that he should be barred from the town. He
had done nothing wrong - why should he be punished in this way. It
was completely unjust!

He turned his plan over in his mind. He would wear his gaberdine
raincoat over his bright scarlet school blazer - that way he would be
much less conspicuous. Once he was near the town he would also remove
his scarlet school cap, and once capless he was sure he would be able
to move relatively safely through the town. Obviously he would have
to keep his eyes open and be prepared to duck for cover at any sign
of a master or prefect; but without his colourful cap and blazer to give him
away he could at least hope to blend into the background.

Stephen found it difficult to concentrate on his lessons during
Saturday morning school, so nervous was he about his plan for that
afternoon. At the last moment his caution got the better of him and
he decided to abandon the expedition. The stamps were not that
important!

Later in the week, contemplating the gaps in his treasured stamp
album, he began to regret his cowardice; perhaps he would go the
following Saturday - the last of the term and his last chance. The
decision was clinched by the arrival of a postal order from his
grandmother. Think of all the stamps he could purchase now!

Directly after lunch he dressed in his gaberdine and cap and left the
school grounds, taking an indirect route through the meadows to the
town. It was a chilly afternoon and he was glad of his coat, although
he might have wished the garment to be longer. He had grown quickly
in the past year and the hem of his raincoat was now above his bare
knees (juniors at Kenton Lodge wore grey corduroy short trousers).
Stephen could feel the cold wind on his knees as he walked along and
looked forward to the holidays at home when he would be able to wear
long trousers.

When Stephen reached the bridge crossing from the meadows into the
precincts of the town he removed his school cap, rolled it up and
inserted it into one of his raincoat pockets. The only obvious nark of
Kenton Lodge School now visible were the bright scarlet turn-overs of
his long grey school stockings.

He made his way cautiously towards the stamp shop, in a side street just
beyond the town centre, his heart beating with both excitement and fear. What if
he was seen? He knew from bitter experience just how much the cane
could hurt - and such deliberate rulebreaking was bound to result in
a sound swishing. All the more reason to be ultra careful!

Never once did Stephen let his guard slip, being prepared to duck
into an alleyway at the slightest sign of danger. But how was the schoolboy to
know that Mr Jessup, who had been his form-master in the second year,
would be taking his young nephew to the stamp dealer's shop that very
afternoon to buy him some stamps for his birthday? Even more of an
unfortunate coincidence was the fact that Mr Jessup and his nephew
emerged from the shop just as Stephen was crossed the street to approach
the entrance.

'It's Carew isn't it?'
'Er... yes sir... '
'Aren't you supposed to wear your school cap when in town?'
'Um...yes sir... I'm sorry sir...
'Well put it on lad!'

Stephen did as he was told and it looked as though the second form
master was satisfied and about to walk away. The man took a couple of
steps and then suddenly glanced back at the guilty looking schoolboy.
'Of course you realise that I shall have to report the fact that you
are out of bounds to your housemaster. I suggest that you leave the
town at once or you will be in even more serious trouble. Goodbye.'
Poor Stephen Carew was left trembling and with a sinking feeling in
his stomach. The very worst had happened: he had been caught red
handed by a member of staff. He was for it now! However, he did not
leave the town at once, as advised, but after checking that Mr Jessup
was out of sight went into the stamp shop. If he was going to be
whacked he might as well make it worthwhile...

Stephen did not receive an immediate summons to his housemaster and
began to hope that Mr Jessup had neglected to report the matter. Hope
springs eternal in the breast of the errant schoolboy! It did not
occur to him that a case like his own was hardly the most urgent
concern of Mr Hawkins, his housemaster. There were many more pressing
tasks to be dealt with as the end of term approached.

Most of Sunday went by and still no word. He would be returning home on
Monday afternoon - it looked as though he might be home and dry! But the
wheels of justice had been set in motion, in their laborious way, as
Stephen was soon to find out.

A feature of life at Kenton Lodge School was the housemasters' end-
of-term 'whacking list.' These dreaded documents were usually pinned
on house notice boards on the Sunday afternoon, informing the boys
concerned that their presence would be required by their housemaster
at noon the following day.

It was through the whacking list that overdue accounts were settled. Boys
who had been troublemakers that term, boys who were deemed lazy, boys
who had not been showing the required 'house spirit': all were sent
homewards with sore bottoms in the hope that they would resolve to
reform themselves the next term. A further category of offenders to
find themselves on the 'whacking list' were boys who had transgressed
during the previous day or two and whose cases had not been dealt
with; which was how Stephen Carew's name had come to be inscribed
amongst the delinquents and undesirables of Hawkin's House.

'Rotten luck, Steve, you're an the whacking list!'
It was Stephen's friend, Andrew, ever the bearer of unwelcome news
speaking.
'I know... old Jessup saw me in town on Saturday. I hoped he wouldn't
report me. I'll miss the usual train now - will you wait for me?'
'Of course 1 will, Steve. You'll need a strong arm to lean on when the Hawk
has finished with you.'
'It's rotten getting swished on the last day of term. I remember looking at
end-of-term whacking lists and thinking that I would never misbehave
enough to get my name put there. I can recall leaving the school at
noon and seeing those stupid kids on the list lining up in the
home with sore backsides And now it's happening to me...'

Stephen found it difficult to sleep that Sunday night. He kept waking
up and seeing images of canes in his mind. Long, swishy punishment
canes with curved handles which stung like hell.
The next morning he busied himself finishing his packing, not being
in the mood to join in the usual end-of-term japes and festivities. Those Monday
mornings were usually among the.happiest in school life - but not today.

All the time the hands of the clock were creeping closer to twelve
noon. Stephen tried hard not to think about the cane but it was
impossible to banish the thought from his mind. How many strokes
would he get? How hard would they be?
His stamp album was the last item he packed. How he regretted
breaking bounds now!

At a quarter to twelve Stephen made his way to his housemaster's
office: just like other dejected boys were doing in all the four houses that
constituted Kenton Lodge School. By five to twelve there were about a
dozen miscreants gathered in the gloomy corridor which led to Mr
Hawkins' door. Whilst the school gates were thronged with animated
Kentonians setting off home for the holidays, in the housemaster's
corridor all was gloom and despair. There was no buzz of
conversation, no talk of the fun to be had in the holidays - just a
group of unhappy boys awaiting their painful fate.

At twelve noon precisely Mr Hawkins swept along the passage.
'Ah - whacking list contingent! Now, how many of you are there? There
are eleven on the list... and I am pleased to see eleven of you
waiting. I'll deal with seniors first: in alphabetical order please.'
There were five senior bays - three fourth-formers and two fifth-
formers. One by one they were ushered in and the heavy door was
closed. The stern words of a 'talking to' could then be discerned,
quickly followed by a series of muffled cracks (a maximum of eight
were counted) as the cane did its retributive work. One by one the
seniors emerged, gingerly rubbing their well-thrashed backsides and
no doubt resolving to steer clear of trouble next term.

The huddled Junior boys waiting in the corridor became increasingly
nervous as the ritual proceeded and their own turn drew nearer.
Names had been sorted out and Stephen discovered that he would be
third in the queue, after Anderson and Bates. The boys arranged
themselves into the appropriate order and before long it was time for
Simon Anderson to receive his end-of-term medicine.
Eight sharp strokes were counted, strong medicine indeed for a 13-
year-old, and the unfortunate boy left the office with tears streaming
down his cheeks.

'Next boy!' Graham Bates entered the execution chamber and the door
closed behind him.
'What was it like?' the remaining youngsters asked the sobbing Simon
Anderson. Choking back his tears, the second-former confided that it
had been much worse than an ordinary whacking. Mr Hawkins had used a
heavier senior cane and applied it as hard as possible saying
that this had to be a caning which would be remembered throughout
the holidays and even into the next term.
A few minutes later Grahan. Bates limped through the door, obviously
on the verge of tears.
'I got six real stingers. The next boy is to go straight in.'

'Stand there Carew. Don't fidget! Term isn't over yet! Now you're
not the sort of boy I'd expect to see in here at the end of
term. In fact it's very seldom I see you here for the cane at any
time - which is the way I prefer it.'
Stephen stood rigidly at attention, trying not to look at the intimidating
senior weight cane laying on Mr Hawkins' desk.

'These are serious offences. Deliberately going into town when you
knew it to be out of bounds - and not wearing your school cap in the
town.'
'Remind me of the usual tariff for going out of bounds in this way.'
'Six-of-the-best sir...'
'And what is the normal punishment for failing to wear your school
cap at the appropriate time?'
'Three strokes sir.'
'So how many strokes of the cane are you to expect in all?. Answer me
lad!'
'N-nine...but please sir'
'NINE STROKES! Do you want nine strokes boy?'
'No sir...'
'Why don't you want nine strokes? Answer me!'
'It will hurt too much sir...' said Stephen, already on the verge of tears.

'Alright Carew, let's get it over with. Take off your blazer and bend
over that chair.' Stephen adopted the required position, pushing his bottom
out so that the seat of his grey corduroy shorts was tightly stretched. He knew
from experience that the cane would leave a series of white marks impressed on the
corduroy material - marks which needed a stiff brushing to erase. He could
remember showing off his first such set of cane marks to his classmates, telling them
that he had not flinched under the cane - in fact that whacking had been a mere
three strokes. Now he was to suffer nine - and with the big senior cane.
The next few minutes were some of the worst of Stephen's young life
as the cruel cane lashed across his bottom nine times. The pain quickly became
excruciating: like a series of red hot pokers searing his flesh. The
unfortunate schoolboy groaned and moaned, he wriggled and writhed,
but 'The Hawk' showed no mercy at all, laying it on with a will. Soon
the seat of Stephen's corduroy shorts was decorated from top to bottom with
vivid cane marks.

'You can get up, Carew. It's all over and done with now. I trust you'll keep out of trouble
next term.' Stephen stood rubbing his tearstained eyes with one hand and massaging
his tingling behind with the other.
'Kindly ask the next boy to come in as you leave.'