Alice and Martha at school: the final scene

I have rarely, if ever, played so many intense scenes in such a short space of time! It may have been the final day of my stay with Abel and Haron but we still had one to go before I could be sent on my way. After all, Martha and Alice hadn’t yet been to school…

They found themselves, neat in their uniforms, hesitating outside the headmaster’s study, longing not to have to knock and announce their presence. Knowing that they had no choice. But knowing also that they had a plan! If they could only pull this off then it would be okay. Or at least, not too bad. They squeezed hands once more, conspiratorially, before Alice tapped.

“Hello?” Mr Jenkins called them forth, always approachable, quite genial even. They shuffled in and closed the door, thoroughly uncomfortable. Gradually he pulled their story from them; why they had been sent to see him by Mr Simmons. We, um, we borrowed a book from him, sir, and we didn’t return it on time…well we didn’t really ask to borrow it properly at all…and he noticed it was missing and…and he wasn’t very pleased. So he sent us to you to…to deal with it, sir.

I see. Hmm. Well it doesn’t seem too serious, although Mr Simmons is quite right to be annoyed with you. We can’t have girls taking masters’ books without permission, can we? No, sir.

Did they understand how the headmaster dealt with matters when pupils were referred by a member of his staff? They did. Not through personal experience, mind, but certainly via the school’s jungle lore. He caned them. Always. No wonder they had been so reluctant to approach his study!

Still, he didn’t seem too angry. Quite prosaic really. Taking the junior cane from his cupboard without fuss, he asked them who would like to go first? Having failed to be knocked over in the stampede of enthusiasm for this honour, he then asked them again. On the third occasion, a very unwilling Martha, in a very small voice, agreed that she would go first. He told her to lift her skirt and bend over the desk. Slowly she did so, relieved that her knickers were regulation white cotton – for once. She felt the cane lined up across her bottom, then “thwick”, brought back down with a sharp flick that made her squeak. And again. Then she was told to get up, go back to her place, swap with her friend. Just two strokes. That was enough; it wasn’t a serious offence. Alice similarly pulled her skirt up, prostrated herself and gave two neat little yelps in response to her cuts. Then the matter was done, over, and they were sent on their way. It could have been so much worse!

The scene then paused on cue and domestic science ensued (aka Abel, Haron and I washing up and preparing lunch!), followed by “prep” – the girls working on blog entries under supervision. As the lunchbreak approached, Mr Jenkins advised them that he was returning to his office, whence they were to present themselves again shortly, having been summoned to reappear.

Which they did, puzzled this time, and a little apprehensive. Hadn’t they been dealt with already? Why did he wish to see them again? The headmaster’s mood was much darker on this occasion, no sign now of that light, reasonable tone. And it soon became apparent why: he had been chatting to Mr Simmons over tea in the staff room, and a very different version of the morning’s events had emerged.

Mr Jenkins interrogated the girls remorselessly, and they soon cracked. These weren’t hardened criminals, just two girls who had always been well-behaved but had now given in to temptation and landed themselves in deep hot water. Remind me again, what “book” had you borrowed, he demanded, in a voice which brooked no dissent. It…it was the Cambridge Examining Board’s 2007 papers in maths, physics and chemistry, sir…

Had they really thought that two strokes each would suffice for cheating? For stealing exam papers and looking at them, trying to gain an unfair advantage over their peers, behaving like criminals? They had no answers, stared instead at the floor, barely offering a protest, knowing none would excuse them. You’ve had the first two strokes of your canings, you will now be given the remainder, he stated flatly. The carpet pattern swirled and floated in and out of focus.

He repeated the morning’s ritual. First Martha, skirt up, flat across the desk and another four strokes delivered. More sharply this time, her gasps louder, but she stuck them, knew she must. Alice squealed this time as rattan struck her smartly across her own white briefs, the momentary imprint shadowing and then fading, whilst Martha stood quietly by, surreptitiously rubbing her sore cheeks. That had been tough! Two visits to the head in one day – and two canings! Not good for the stress levels.

But then the bombshell. As the sorry pair stood once again side by side, Mr Jenkins asked them with a hint of gentle sarcasm if they seriously thought that he had finished with them yet? Martha’s heart lurched: she, at least, had. She was very wrong. For of course, not only had they cheated in such a base and appalling manner, causing huge amounts of work for staff and examiners who must now produce fresh papers, but they had also lied. Lied openly, blatantly, calculatedly and repeatedly to him, tried to take him for a fool, even as he had granted them leniency and understanding for their errant behaviour. This he would not tolerate. This meant a second thrashing. And this, despite them being merely fifth formers, could merit only the senior cane for its execution.

Oh Alice, Martha! Cheats never prosper. Surely, surely good, decent girls like you know this? Now you must learn all over again, and it will be a very hard lesson.

Mr Jenkins returned his trusty junior to the cupboard and drew forth its fearsome senior counterpart. At least a third greater in length, visibly thicker, horrifying to behold. Particularly when you are young, scared, your bottom is already striped and you know that none of this will prevent you from being on the receiving end of this new weapon very shortly.

No niceties this time, no asking who’d like to go first or easy explanations of protocol. Alice is simply called forth and told to take her knickers off before going back over the desk. Oh God, no – not bare? She hesitates, trembling…manages somehow to pull them down almost to her knees…attempts to bend over like that and is scathingly asked which part of “knickers off” she has failed to understand? Her silent answer is to slip them the rest of the way down her legs, to step out and leave them in a sad, abandoned puddle of material. Then she bends forth again, skirt lifted high out of the way so that her poor bottom is completely exposed. Traces of faint red lines are apparent from her previous punishment. The next half-dozen will surely glow more brightly than that…

The headmaster draws back his arm and unleashes a scything stroke. The crack as it lands across vulnerable flesh is awesome; Alice’s howl in response pure agony. Before the second stroke even falls, a vivid welt has risen up from its predecessor. Martha notes, in an eerily detached manner, that it is pure white, the classic tramlines suffusing in a deepening pink groove. Her thoughts are shattered by the addition of the next; the sheer speed at which the cane is moving; the momentary fear that, despite standing as far back as she can get, she feels much too close to a backswing like that for any comfort. The length and motion of the senior cane, in Mr Jenkins’ faithful grip, seems to fill the study. It is, quite simply, terrifying.

There is no mercy from his words either. Pausing in between each stroke, the head leaves neither girl in any doubt as to his anger, his disgust, his enormous disappointment. Alice sounds as though she is crying; the noise which escapes her in response to each stroke is certainly akin to a wracking sob. At one point her knees buckle so badly that she had to be told to straighten her legs and reposition herself. There can be no escaping that this is a very serious caning: to witness, to give and to endure.

The completion of Alice’s six strokes frees her from the desk…and in turn condemns Martha to it. Before she is let up, Alice’s skirt is hitched into its waistband so that, even standing, her poor backside remains displayed. Six welts stand out luridly against the pale skin, neatly stacked one above the next like some macabre artwork, evenly laid across both cheeks. If one was an admirer of such neatness, such precision, then one would admire this canvass.

But Martha, at that moment, could only feel sick with apprehension. Having winced her way through her best friend’s punishment, she must now somehow survive her own. She took her knickers off without complaint when ordered to do so. She dared offer nothing but complete obedience in the face of this man, this cane. Went over the desk, hung onto it for dear life and prayed that she would still be there when six more strokes had been delivered.

The first confirmed all that she had gleaned from Alice’s experience. This was nothing like their earlier punishments. No more beginners’ strokes, with a starter cane. This was the real thing, and from the very first Martha too was in trouble. It caught her low down, at the point where buttocks merge into the very tops of thighs, where the skin is so tender and unprotected. She yelped with unseemly volume, clung to the desk. Was reminded that girls are expected to accept their punishments with as much fortitude as they can muster…resolves that she will do so, will try harder on the second stroke, will bite it down…and yelps again as it sears across her cheeks.

These are hard, hard strokes. The sort only given to girls who have done very wrong, who are almost beyond saving but for whom an effort will be made to save them, and which they need to fully appreciate. To actually understand just how lucky they are. Martha is so reminded. But it doesn’t prevent her knees from sagging under the force of the third, as she cries afresh and is ordered to straighten, as Alice had been, and offer herself properly to receive the remainder.

Martha is good at arithmetic; good at counting. She hasn’t been told to count her lashes aloud but she would normally, habitually, count something like this to herself anyway. Somehow, this time, it doesn’t work. She remembers three. And she remembers more than three. But it just becomes a haze of pain and cries, hunched over a wooden desk which seems to have become a part of her being. When she is told to tuck her skirt up and stand, it is actually a surprise, for she has no idea where she has got to, what has been given or is still to come. All she knows is that she hurts so, so badly and will never, never do something like cheating again.

Two girls are reunited side by side, their bottoms bare, striped and blazing. Hands that desperately want to cup wounded flesh are ordered back to their sides. What have they got to say for themselves? Oh they are sorry! So very, very sorry! And very, very genuine with it. In an echo of Martha’s own thoughts, Mr Jenkins assures them that there will be no repeat, that for as long as they remain at his school and through its sixth form, they will behave. If there is anything, anything at all, which casts them into disgrace like this again, then that’s it: I will cane you and expel you. Now get out.

They do. And are still reeling on the stairs, Haron and I struggling back to the surface, when Abel comes to rescue us! We all have some major coming down to do – not to mention bottoms to compare and stripes to inspect! Haron had a seriously impressive set of weals, of which she was extremely proud! They have subsided now, as have my own lines, although they can still be admired when I crane round before the mirror! Abel has caned me quite a few times before but I hazarded to him that I thought this occasion was actually the hardest he has ever done so. “Oh I don’t think it was my dear,” he replied. “I *know* it was!”

Hot! Seriously hot! Why can’t all holidays be like this?! I’ve had such a good time and hope you’ve enjoyed sharing some of the memories.

I don’t wanna go home!