Rods for their own backsides

The next day of my stay with Abel and Haron: a scene we’ve planned for weeks comes to fruition…

Good Friday dawned and that could mean only one thing: the day the birchings are administered at the reformatory.

Alice and Martha had both nearly completed their sentences; just this final act remained before their release papers could be signed. The Punishment Officer Abel summoned the pair of them to his office and laid out the procedure. Girls facing a birching were escorted to the local woods and made to select their own rods under close supervision.

Their behaviour during this expedition should be of the highest standard, for this, along with their conduct whilst serving their sentences, would be taken into consideration when the final number of strokes is calculated. Once back at the reformatory, they would then fashion their own birches to the required standard before having their punishments calculated and administered.

Without further ado, the girls were escorted to the woods to source the rods for their own backsides… At times they lagged behind and were reprimanded for tardiness. The Officer even found it necessary to cut a switch and administer further encouragement to Martha at one stage – which just happened to coincide with the one passer-by encountered cycling past! (Well they do say that if you go down to the woods today then you’ll be in for a big surprise!)

As they progressed through the trees to the birch grove, the Officer spoke to the girls about their time in the reformatory; how they had found it, what they had learnt, whether their attitudes had been suitably adjusted. Alice was contrite and well-behaved: her sentence for trespass and stealing fruit had clearly made a big impact upon her. Martha seemed inclined to be sulky and recalcitrant, claiming a wrong conviction for vandalism which the Punishment Officer was dismissive of, trusting fully in the courts’ judgement. Kicking a pine cone along the path under his feet earned her third extra stroke and a very stern warning that she was not making life easy for herself.

New spring growth clung to the silver birch trunks and, an hour or so after setting out, each girl was carrying a thick handful of likely-looking twigs. The return journey to the reformatory was increasingly solemn, each step bringing them closer to a painful fate.

They were permitted a glass of water before being set to work in silence, fashioning their rods. Rough edges were removed and twigs bundled and trimmed under strict instruction to form the traditional implement, before being tied and bound at one end to create a handle. On completion of their labours, 2 solid, unforgiving birches lay ready.

The Officer inspected them closely, swished them hard, and passed them fit for purpose. He asked the girls which they thought was the more severe. There seemed little to choose although Martha felt one had the edge. The Officer then produced a coin to toss: heads and it would be used on Alice, tails and it would be Martha’s. It was heads. Both girls still winced.

Now all was prepared and they were sent upstairs to the Punishment Room. A wooden desk was set in the middle of the room, rope coiled beneath. Paperwork was laid out ominously on the desk. The Officer explained what would happen next to the girls. They were told to remove their clothes and fold them neatly. Slowly, reluctantly, they did so, passing their neat piles across, left vulnerable and increasingly frightened.

Alice was told to wait, then Martha propelled by one ear to the shower block to be ritually cleansed. No cheek or bravado now, as she trembled obediently in the stream of water, long hair held up on her head, turning and submitting to the no-nonsense hands which scrubbed her. Then rubbing herself dry in the corner as Alice was collected and shooed under the jets for the same treatment.

Soon, all too soon, they were washed, dried and returned to the dreaded room with the desk… Hands that attempted to shield modesty were ordered back to sides and it was time for sentence to be carried out. How many lashes? And who would face them first?

Alice.

Confirmation filled both their faces with fear. Martha, who had been sure that she would be first, was instead taken from the room and made to stand just outside, facing the wall. Ordered to remain there, stock still, and await her turn. Then the Officer left her, went back inside, deliberately left the door open. She would hear everything her friend went through, but would not be able to see…

The first thing she heard was the court’s ruling declaration:

“Alice Pears, as Punishment Officer for this reformatory, I am commanded by Her Majesty’s Courts under the Judicial Punishments Act of 1928 to administer the sentence of a birching to punish you for the crime of which you have been convicted and to serve as a deterrent to others in the community. You have been sentenced by the Court to 20 strokes to be administered in accordance with the procedure laid out in the Act.”

He then addressed her further, personally, saying that he was duty-bound to be both firm and fair in his delivery but would do everything he could to help her get through it, exhorting her to be brave. Finally, he bade her position herself over the desk and secured her there.

Martha longed to crane around the doorframe, to witness the scene within, but did not dare. Instead she heard the command, “You will count the strokes and thank me for them.” And then she heard the swish of the birch, the blow landed across vulnerable flesh, and the howl with which Alice greeted it. Heard her breathe hard, count obediently, be lashed again and shriek afresh. Flinched for her friend’s immediate pain and also for her own, still to come but which every stroke brought closer.

After around half a dozen strokes, the Punishment Officer renewed his encouragement and support to Alice and afforded her a moment’s respite by checking that Martha remained in position. Then the birch resumed its vicious work and Alice’s cries became increasingly anguished. The eleventh fell particularly hard and, on checking her again, the Officer found Martha’s face averted from the wall, as she twisted subconsciously away from the source of the agony. Face the wall, she was reminded sternly; no moving.

Alice was struggling badly now, the counting of each stroke sounding more like a sob. The Officer knew that he had succeeded, that the punishment had worked. He didn’t lay the final five strokes any less harshly but he did deliver them in rapid-fire style. Poor Alice could barely keep up with her count, which merged into one numeric howl, but it was over, done, she had survived.

As she lay gasping over the desk, Martha was summoned back into the room. Her poor friend’s sorry rear was the sight which greeted her, scored across with a myriad red criss-crossing lines, back heaving as she fought to regain her composure.

“Untie her,” came the command, and Martha quickly knelt to do so, unable to help seeing the evidence of Alice’s beating close up from her crouched position as she loosened the knots, knowing that shortly these same ropes would bind her own ankles fast…

Alice was drawn up from the desk, some scant comfort offered as she was led from the room. She in turn was positioned outside, also facing the wall but on the other side, so that a brief turn of the head would grant her an unhindered view of the desk. No need to hold the already-birched girl in suspense of the spectacle…

The Officer returned, fixed Martha with all his attention, took up the paperwork relating to her sentence and read afresh the declaration. She held her breath as the number of strokes was read: also 20. But the Officer had not yet finished his spiel this time.

“Furthermore, under the powers of the Reformatory Act 1948, you have been sentenced to an additional 8 strokes in relation to your conduct whilst serving your sentence of detention.”

Gooseflesh swept over her naked body. Twenty-eight strokes in total! Oh how she regretted her previous behaviour now! The defiance which had led to two days on bread and water soon after arrival at the reformatory came back to haunt her afresh; her rudeness and lagging behind in the woods earlier seemed deeply foolhardy now. Alice had struggled to take 20, how would she ever cope with another 8?

She would know soon enough. Bent forward over the desk, she felt the Officer secure her ankles, one to each leg of the desk, pulling them apart, increasing her sense of vulnerability. She settled into position, head buried in her arms, hidden beneath a mass of hair as he took up the birch. Her birch. Laid it passively against her buttocks for a moment, then lifted it away and flicked his wrist to bring it back with meaning.

It seemed to fall gently but its effect was disproportionate. Martha yelped; was reminded to count her strokes; counted the first one. Tried not to think about the remaining 27… Gasped again as the second landed, and was writhing by the fourth.

The Officer paused and placed his mouth close to her ear. “Had you behaved yourself today, you would be 4 strokes into your flogging now.” He then dealt her the fifth savagely, as if to reinforce his point. Similarly her eighth, when he again took the trouble to remind her that good conduct would have seen her nearly halfway through by now, instead of which she was actually just about to begin her sentence.

Martha didn’t cry. Her howls became more heartfelt, her shifting and rocking within the constraints of her bonds more pronounced, her counting higher-pitched and her breathing more jerky. Nonetheless the birch struck her relentlessly. She thought fleetingly back to the Officer’s description of his duties: to deliver her punishment firmly, fairly and fully. He did all three. At the point where, like Alice, he deemed his actions to have taken due effect, he let his arm rise and fall in quick succession, so the eighteenth to twenty-sixth lashes became an almost-continuous wave of pain. She panted, trying to get a grip, knowing that this pause must be to prepare her for two searing strokes to finish, wondering how she would bear them landing on her blazing flesh.

The Officer touched her right cheek, rubbed it carefully then realigned the birch at an angle. My skin’s broken, she registered. The kindness with which he avoided the area whilst completing her allocation was offset by the wicked low angle at which the final two landed, the twigs licking around her right thigh, hungry for the unmarked canvass, bringing her shrieking to the birching’s climax.

Alice was called back into the room to untie her friend. Martha unpeeled herself from the desk and stood. Girls no longer bothered by the humiliation of their nudity, by fear or apprehension; now simply consumed by a fiery remorse for their actions.

The Officer confirmed that, their birchings completed, this brought their sentences at the reformatory to an end. They were escorted back to the dorm for an hour to rest and recover whilst their release papers were drawn up, then they would be free to go. The Officer hoped sincerely that he would never have to see them again to repeat the actions of that afternoon.

Lying on our tummies on the bed, Haron (Alice, that is!) and I were reunited, hugging and laughing, on a massive high. When Abel returned to add his hugs and congratulate the brave detainees, we knew that the scene was over. We had played solidly for 3 hours, maintained our roles and carried off one of the hottest scenes of my life!

Happy Easter everyone.