The Spanking Writers

A few days ago I was a witness to a conversation that, although it annoyed me at first, kept getting kinkier and more exciting by the minute.

Picture this: a provincial train platform in a pouring rain. Waiting passengers are all huddled under a too-small shelter. Big “no smoking” signs all around. Suddenly, I - being intensely sensitive to cigarette smoke - realise that some rude, annoying person has lit up within a few feet.

“Daddy, you can’t smoke here!” I hear a female voice plead.

I turn around and see a young woman, maybe late twenties, supporting a man so old and infirm that he looks like he’s held together by nothing but the belt of his coat. His voice, however, has an all-penetrating quality when he rasps:

“Just a few puffs.”

He blows as much smoke as a tank engine. I try to edge away far enough to stop feeling sick, but not so far that I get soaked in the rain.

The man’s voice, amazingly loud for such an slight old guy, follows me as I go, “This is like sneaking smokes behind the cricket pavilion. Jimmy and I used to buy the shortest cigarettes you could get. They used to fit into the palm of your hand, brilliant.”

I don’t really want to know, but can’t help hearing the story about this guy and his best mate Jimmy buying cigs in a corner shop. Then, suddenly, it gets good: “And then they made me a prefect. I was the youngest prefect the school had ever known. Fourteen, I was. I got the gown, and the badge, everything.”

Just like I had been edging away, I find myself subtly inching back towards the pair. You know what I’m waiting for: I need to know whether, among those symbols of power, there was also a cane.

Instead of giving me the juicy details, the man launches into a story of how, when he was appointed, the Headmaster didn’t even know his face, and thought he was playing a prank by showing up at a prefects’ meeting. And how he had to stand his ground at the meetings against boys several years his senior.

This was also pretty interesting, even though the guy tended to go off on long tangents. Finally, just as I saw our train’s headlights in the distance he got to the point: “Jimmy and I, we did get caught once with the cigarettes. There was also alcohol involved; Matron found the empty bottles.”

Oh, go on what happened then? I begged silently as the train rolled into the platform. I had to strain my ears to hear anything now.

“Unfortunately, we got dragged in front of the Headmaster, me in my prefect’s gown and everything.”

The train stopped. I wondered if they would continue the conversation when they got into the carriage, and whether my seat would be anywhere near theirs. I was dying to hear the outcome I was suspecting in the man’s own words.

“And the Headmaster said, ‘What’s your name, boy?’ And I said, ‘You still don’t know? I’m one of your prefects!’ And…”
“You have to get your train, Daddy,” said the girl. “Remember, no smoking.”

“Okay,” said the old man, and from then it was the good-byes, and embraces, and I knew the story was over for me.

If only the train was a minute late… How frustrating can it get?