I’ve walked past the seventeenth-century royal Banqueting House on Whitehall numerous times, without ever detouring inside. But a cold recent morning tempted me off the street, and I immediately felt guilty for having ignored the palace for so long. The Rubens ceiling is astonishing – a true masterpiece, quite the equal of anything in the National Gallery on the opposite side of Trafalgar Square.
The curators have thoughtfully provided viewing mirrors: you peer in, and the delights of the paintings can be seen clearly without suffering a crick in the neck. And yet…
Yes, here I was, in a famous royal hall, equipped with an original birching block. I was all for hoisting Haron into position, tying her down and flogging her, when I noticed the stern guard throwing suspicious glances in our direction.
At the end of the room is the royal throne; around its edges, numerous benches. Noble girls who’d offended would be ordered to report to the court: they’d sit, nervously, awaiting their turn.
One by one, a courtier would call a name. The chosen girl would step forward, a lonely walk across the wooden floor. She’d curtsey as she presented herself to His Majesty: details of her offence would be read out. He might ask her a question, seek an explanation, before pronouncing sentence.
The fortunate ones would be despatched down the road to offer up a prayer of apology in Westminster Abbey. More likely, though, the King would award her a birching. “Three strokes” would suffice for a girl needing to be taught a memorable lesson; more often, he’d instruct the guards to award ten, twenty or more.
She’d be led across to the flogging horse, the eyes of the other girls following her. (“My turn next,” terrifying some, whilst others – sitting in agony – squirmed from the discomfort of their own recent thrashing, moments before). Her skirts would be lifted; she’d be tied tightly; a fresh bundle of rods would be selected, and the annointed punishment laid on – hard, so as not to displease His Majesty. Afterwards, she’d walk forward to the throne, and curtsey once again before retaking her seat, painfully, to observe the remainder of the morning’s proceedings.
As I say, the place is worth a visit…
Abel: You are such a distraction to me! I could spend far too much time thinking about this King of yours and the fact that he chose to actually watch these proceedings in their entirety; the girls waiting, the birchings, the girls sitting down again. One would almost think that it went *beyond* and *above* the call of duty…but the birching block is almost too much for me. Yesterday was crazy here…a wild storm sent the city into a spin and my trip back from the city had me on trains and trams for hours. It wasn’t a birching block I spied but something awfully like it in the form of a hand made Australian wood stool. Do you know I actually tried to justify the purchase, trying to think where in the house it could go and look like it was meant to be there…
Okay, back to work…..
So did you buy said stool, Rob? Or can you go back and export it to the UK?!!
Hope the storm didn’t cause any damage.
No. I was enjoying the shelter of a tram at that time and so was only ‘window shopping’. But your question had me re thinking this and I realized that I have 6 stools awfully similar around the kitchen bench, and they are even padded and have a bar down low to hold onto too. They were sitting there all this time and I never thought of them…..so silly! Perhaps I should leave one in the bedroom now to get up to that high part of the cupboard….
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Thanks to Chross and Zille for linking to this post.
I hadn’t come across Zille’s blog before, but have just been devouring it. OMG there’s some hot writing there – worth a look. Take, for example:
http://zilledefeu.wordpress.com/2007/04/14/last-weekend-the-bad-schoolgirl-went-to-the-teachers-house/
Ooooooooooo….
OMG Indeed!
Thanks so much, Abel! That particular post is a favorite of mine, as well! Of course, that may well be because my memories of that day are so good! 😉
Abel, take Haron on a surprise visit to the Banqueting House on her next birthday. then with the guards permission {giving him a fiver} if you know what I mean, and put her over the birching block. I dare you.