Reign of Terror

'Nicky! Nicky! If You don't get up soon you'll be late for school!' 14-year-old Nicholas Kempton had dozed off again for a few minutes in his warm and cosy bed until being woken by his mother's urgent call. The schoolboy jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom; thanks to that pleasant little snooze he was ten minutes behind schedule and he knew that he must not waste a single second if he was not to risk being late for school.

At the beginning of that week the headmaster had addressed all the boys at morning assembly. They realised from past experience that another 'reign of terror' was about to begin. There were three weeks remaining until the end of term and the purge would run for the duration, souring the atmosphere in the school and breeding a climate of fear.

'It has been brought to my attention that two of our most important rules are being deliberately flouted on a daily basis,' the headmaster had droned. 'First of all the rule on punctuality. Boys must get to school on time in the morning. In other words by nine o' clock for registration at ten minutes past nine. Do I make myself clear? For the remainder of this term any boy arriving late without a good excuse - and it had better be a very good excuse indeed - will be punished.

'Secondly there is the rule regarding the wearing of the school cap. The cap is an integral part of the school uniform of all boys below the sixth form. Yes - that includes you lot in the fourth and fifth forms! You must wear your cap when travelling to and from school and when out of gates during the day - for instance at lunchtimes. Any boy reported for breaking this rule will be punished.'

At this point in the proceedings the head turned around to have a few words with his assistant, who appeared to be handing him something. There was a subdued sound of whispering and grumbling among the assembled boys, but this immediately ceased as the headmaster turned to face them again and they saw that he was brandishing a long swishy cane. 'Now a word or two about punishments. Any boy who is late for school or is reported for not wearing his cap will not be given lines; neither will he be let off with a detention. Any such boy will be caned, do I make myself clear?' The headmaster swished the cane through the air a few times to great theatrical effect and the display almost seemed to hypnotise some of the short-trousered juniors in the front row of chairs. The headmaster had made himself very clear indeed!

Memories of that depressing event were running through Nicholas Kempton's mind as he hurriedly dressed. After a rushed breakfast, he grabbed his royal blue blazer from the hook in the hall. Time to go!
'Mum - where's my cap?'
'Isn't it on the hook with your blazer?'
'It doesn't seem to be...'
Nicholas's heart began to beat faster. He must get going right away if he was not to miss the bus and risk a caning. But if he went without his cap that was also a caning offence! The agitated boy's mother appeared in the hallway.
'Oh, I remember now. Your cap got wet in that shower yesterday afternoon, didn't it? I put it in the airing cupboard to dry out. It's still there.'
Nicholas hastened to the cupboard and retrieved his cap then shot out the door like a human cannonball, running as fast as he could towards the bus stop.

For once the bus was dead on time. He could see it in the distance, with the last passenger about to board.. 'Please wait for me - please!' he muttered, but despite putting on an extra burst of speed he missed the bus by seconds. However, although he had missed the eight twenty he could still catch the twenty to nine. He had done this on many occasions in the past and had managed to get to his form-room just as registration was starting at ten past nine. He sat down on a bench for the twenty-minute wait. One disadvantage of taking the later bus was the fact that the service was used by a couple of boys of his own age from the local comprehensive school. Nicholas was a grammar school boy and although he didn't necessarily feel any different to other kids, his 'posh' uniform set him apart to some extent. The comprehensive school kids wore nondescript plain black blazers and caps were unheard of.

'Oh dear, here come those boys,' Nicholas lamented as he saw the two roughs ambling towards the bus stop. At first the boys ignored him and Nicky thought that he would escape their attentions altogether, but then they turned his way, staring rudely. Nicholas gazed down at the pavement.
'Look at the grammar school snob in his posh cap and blazer.'
Suddenly one of them grabbed his cap and placed it on his friend's head.
'Fancy having to wear this! It looks stupid!'
`Please give me back my cap.'
'Only if you beg for it - come on - beg!'
The approaching bus could be seen in the distance.
'Please give it back - the bus is coming!'
'Go and fetch it then!'
The boy who had been wearing the cap threw it up as high as he could manage into the branches of a nearby tree. Try as he might Nicky could not reach it and had to watch despairingly as the bus drew away without him, the leering faces of his tormentors staring down from an upstairs window.

Eventually, using a dead branch he had broken off, Nicky managed to dislodge his cap by jumping up and poking it free. He was really in trouble now: there was no way he could get to school in time. After having his name noted by a prefect stationed at the school gates,the worried boy hurried along to join his classmates at assembly, noting with some relief that the headmaster had not yet arrived.
'You weren't there for registration this morning - we thought you must be off sick,' whispered the boy next to Nicky.
'I wish I was! But I had the rotten luck to miss two buses.'
'Looks like you're up for a swishing then...'
Nicholas was already feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. If only he had not spent that extra ten minutes in bed. If only his mother had not put his cap in the airing cupboard. If only ... if only...

At the end of school that day a dispirited trio of boys were to be found in the gloomy, depressing corridor outside the headmaster's study. The great man had not yet arrived and Nicky had time to study his fellow victims. There was an unkempt fifth former named Michael Stratton - the type of boy who was all too often in trouble.There was also a timid looking first former in neatly pressed grey shorts. 12-year-old Jamie Bradford was extremely nervous and despite his own misery Nicholas could not help feeling sorry for the kid.

The majestic figure of the headmaster appeared in the distance and the three miscreants instinctively ceased slouching and stood at attention. 'Follow me all three of you.' The schoolboys trooped into the oak panelled room and stood before the headmaster's desk in a row, hands clasped behind them.

'It appears we have two latecomers and one boy who is averse to wearing his school cap. I need hardly reiterate what the school rules have to say on these matters. Such deliberate flouting of the rules cannot be tolerated. Stratton, you've been in trouble before for neglecting to wear your cap. Perhaps you think that because you are in the fifth form you are too old for a cap...'

'Yes sir. I think the cap looks stupid on a boy my age. Boys at other schools don't have to wear a cap.'

'While you are a pupil at this school, Stratton, you will obey the rules or face the consequences. Kindly step over to the the library steps and bend over.'

Michael Stratton was obviously a veteran as far as swishings were concerned; affecting an air of insouciance, he walked over to the imposing mahogany steps and took up the required position. Nicholas Kempton watched in fascination as the headmaster picked up a long curved-handled cane and after taking careful aim landed a fierce stroke dead centre across the seat of the fifth-former's trousers. The victim was obviously trying to maintain his composure, but as a second and then a third stroke caused the dust to rise from his tightly stretched trouser seat he let out a low groan. The headmaster carried on until six of the best had been inflicted and then ordered the boy to get up. Michael Stratton looked desperately unhappy and Nicholas could only imagine the discomfort he must be feeling.

'You'll recall that I had promised you six of the best if you broke the rules again, Stratton, and that is what you have received. Now you may go.' The fifth-former crawled away, closing the heavy door behind him. 'So, I now have to deal with a pair of latecomers. I don't intend to lecture you about the importance of punctuality - you already know my views. But I do intend to impress upon you the painful consequences of bad timekeeping. James Bradford, according to my records you've not been caned before. Well, since this is a first offence I shall go easy on you. Bend over the steps.'

The junior was trembling with fear as he took up the required position. 'Do try to keep still, boy, and push that backside right out. That's the way.'

The headmaster proceeded to deliver three sharp cuts of the cane and to Nicholas's surprise the youngster took his punishment without flinching. As he stood up from the steps, Nicholas saw that salty tears were trickling down Jamie Bradford's flushed cheeks.

'I would advise you not to be late again this term, Bradford. Now you may go.'

'Kempton, go and bend over the steps. I think that four strokes are appropriate.' Nicholas bent over with his hands gripping the top step. Once again he found his mind dwelling on the unfortunate chain of circumstances which had brought him to his present unfortunate situation. Unlike the first former, he had been caned a couple of times before during his school career, but the experience remained novel enough to be dreaded. Whatever else might be said about it, the hard fact remained that the cane felt extremely painful - and such pain was decidedly unpleasant.

The headmaster picked up the long, springy cane and swished it through the air a few times. He prided himself on being an adept wielder of the rod, able to put the fear of God into any boy. Taking careful aim, he laid on the first stroke. It was a real stinger and Nicky gritted his teeth as he felt a line of fire erupt across his backside. Before the burning could subside, stroke number two landed, doubling the schoolboy's discomfort. Then came stroke number three - a real scorcher -and Nicky let out a low moan. Stroke number four seemed even harder than the others and as Nicky staggered up from the library steps his buttocks were tingling from top to bottom.

As he departed from the headmaster's study, nursing his throbbing backside, Nicholas Kempton decided that he must get an alarm clock for his bedroom.