A Change of Regime: the return of corporal punishment

by Susan Thomas

  My dad had to speak because I couldn't. "Excuse me, but are all those punishments given on the same day?"

  "No, of course not. They may be taken at three separate sessions but not more than four days apart. You can, of course, have them all on the same day if you want..." he began a sort of dry rasping laugh, "...but I doubt you'll fancy that much."

  I was angry at everything and everybody but especially with Marion. "I'll take the alternatives which will doubtless make your day," I said and stalked away leaving my dad to sort out the paperwork.

  When we got home, Marion had done all her jobs, all mine and generally been through the whole house cleaning and tidying. When she heard the alternative sentence, she went white but said she'd go the therapy centre in my place.

  Dad put a stop to that. "It's too risky, we've got away with it so far but if you were discovered we would all be in trouble, it's treated the same as perjury. Now it's all simple. Estelle gets her whacking and doesn't re-offend and she is in the clear and you young lady are in the dog house from here to eternity."

  It was up to me to set my appointments. You do it online, so I did it straight away, my hands shaking as I did so. I had never had any corporal punishment at all, not from anyone. I wasn't against it like dad, because I could see the way it had sorted out some of the kids at school; not the real nutters of course, just those below that, but I had taken great care to avoid anything at school or elsewhere and dad wouldn't use it at home. Now I was making up for it big time. The birch was feared even by the toughest boys, and although I was only getting six, which was the minimum, it was bad enough. I decided on having one day separating the strap and the cane and the maximum of four days between the cane and the birch. I reasoned that the strap is supposed to sting like mad but is not regarded as severe, but the cane is horribly painful apparently and in spite of the 'minimum bruising' claim, everyone I knew who'd had it ended with huge painful welts that took several days to go down.

  I asked my dad to go with me as mum would only weep and generally take on, so she was left to mind Marion. We arrived at the laughingly titled 'Therapy Centre' and walked in under a large sign that read, "Protecting the public. Stopping re-offending." Do you know you actually get people hanging around telling you that you deserve it? One old gentleman actually told me, "You'll be better for it young lady."

  We checked in and got our badges and then sat down to wait. I have to be honest, I was petrified. It didn't help that kids came out crying or looking very pale and rubbing their bottoms. We seemed to wait an eternity and more kids and their parents came and sat down too. We all looked the same I guess, resigned but scared.

  When a tall man came out and called, "Estelle Lytham," I jumped I was so startled.

  I shot to my feet and answered, "Yes."

  We followed him along a corridor to Room 9. It was unnerving because as we passed some of the rooms you could hear the noises of various punishments going on.

  "Now Miss Lytham, this is your last chance to decline therapy; if you wish you may return to court to reinstate the original sentence."

  "I want to get rid of the record so let's just do it."

  "Very well, is your father to come in with you?"

  "Yes, please."

  We went into a room that was frightening, or at least it was to me. Right in the centre was this strange contraption that you had to sort of stand against and bend over, all at the same time. It's hard to explain - you stand in front of it and then lean forward and it puts you in a partly bent over position. The strap was hanging from the side and I felt sick as soon as I saw it.

  There was a woman standing against a wall with a clipboard. She just looked right through me as if I wasn't there. The man was handing my dad a package about how to get my record expunged if I didn't re-offend within two years. It was as if I had become nothing more than a mere delinquent that the state had to chastise on behalf of the rest of society.

  The man turned to me and pointed toward the bench; it really was odd and was made of some sort of rigid plastic, shaped in one piece coming up from the floor at a slight angle but bending over steeply and ending in a sort of upwards serif. There was a hand hold on either side that you had to reach and up and grasp. There was nothing underneath except a metal frame under the highest end. Other kids who'd had 'therapy' had told me what to do so I went and stood on the little mat in front of it and waited.

  "Do you want restraint?"

  I'd thought about this a lot and decided that I did. If you got off the bench they would have to start again and I had no idea how it would be, apart from very unpleasant, so if I chose restraint it would just get it over with.

  "Yes, please."

  "Lower your leggings and underwear. After you are in position I will attach the restraints."

  Honestly, that point has to be the ultimate in humiliation; having a strange man and woman standing there plus my dad and all looking at me. I felt naked even though in reality all they could see was my bottom. The man knelt down beside me and attached some sort of padded leg restraint to each ankle. Then one went across my legs behind my knees and another around my middle, leaving my bottom totally clear. Finally, he attached restraints to my wrists. I could still hold the handles or not as I wanted, but couldn't pull my arms free at all.

  It all felt horrible and frightening and all I could really see was the nasty plastic in front of my face and the restraints holding my wrists. I took a really good grip of the handles and waited for it all to start.

  "Estelle Lytham, it is the sentence of the court that you receive twelve strokes of the strap. I shall now begin."

  It seemed to me as if the second he said this, a blow landed right across the middle of my bottom. I yelped out loud because it was so hot and painful and I heard a voice call out, "One." It was that witness woman; she sounded cold and indifferent and I thought that she probably whacked her kids at home.

  There was another blow close to the other and again that burning which made me yelp once more. I thought then that it was awful but later, after I had had the cane and the birch, I realised it was only marginally worse than a spanking would be. Mark you, each whack of the strap leaves your bottom very hot and has this deep sting that doesn't really ease up. Every one that lands makes this huge sound that echoes round the bare room and adds to the scariness of being restrained against that frame and having to take what they dish out.

  I know I made a bit of a fuss, which some other kids who had already been spanked at home or school wouldn't perhaps have done, but I didn't care. The officials were cold and unpleasant so they probably enjoyed every cry of pain.

  I heard that horrid woman call out, "Ten," at which point my whole bottom felt as if it was one stinging fire, and I was relieved that I only had two more to go. The two landed right in the centre of my bottom which was already very sore, and they both burned in like mad.

  When he undid my restraints I had to wriggle around for a minute and hold my bottom. I had lost interest in pulling my clothes back up, and any way, they had all had a good eyeful as it was. Eventually, I bent my knees and pulled my clothes back up slowly and carefully, and we left without a word.

  You hear people say their bottom was on fire after a spanking or strapping or whatever, but I found that it was true. Cliché or not, that is how it felt; this tremendous stinging heat which made it hard to focus on anything else. I was trying hard not to cry, but keeping still was not an option; I had to get out of there and keep moving. I found I was holding my bottom just like all the other kids I'd seen leaving, and I avoided eye contact with any of those waiting.

  We got stopped at reception which was hard for me, and I jiggled around on the spot while my dad received the information that my next two 'therapy' sessions were to be in a different centre, a new one that had just opened.

  My mum and Marion were horrified at the marks on my bottom but in fact they began to calm down fairly quickly. After about three hours of fire, it cooled to a background warmth,
but I still felt sore when I sat down or got up. I wasn't to be caned the next day but the day after so I had one relatively good night's sleep, though I could feel my bottom had been strapped.

  I didn't sleep at all well the night before my caning. My bottom was still marked from the strap and although they claim 'minimum bruising' - well I suppose it might not be as bad as it could be - but I had these marks where the strap had landed and then thin lines of bruising from the edges I think. The strap had been bad enough so I was terrified at the prospect of receiving the cane and didn't even want to think about the birch. I had been told that Wayne Cassidy, who was supposed to be a right hard case, had screamed all the way through his birching. His mum had been talking about it at a pub and the word had spread.

  I came down really early for breakfast. I didn't really want any but I had a feeling some food might help the shakes a bit. My parents were treating me like I had some terminal disease, running around after me and being ultra-kind when I got a text. I didn't understand it to be honest. It was from the Therapy Centre:

  Reminder: Your therapy appointment was changed to 08:30 today. Failure to report is a serious offence.

  "But I didn't change it," I told mum and dad. "Now what do I do?"

  Suddenly, my dad looked as if he had an electric shock. "Where's Marion?"

  He didn't wait for an answer but ran up the stairs like a madman and was down again the next second.

  "She's gone. I bet she changed it and has gone off to take the caning. We've got to stop her."

  "Why?" asked mum. "She's the one that did it all."

  I screamed at her, mum can be so dense at times. "Marks! She hasn't got any marks from the strap. Everything will unravel when they see her bum. We've got to stop her."

  We all scrambled into the car and dad set off breaking every speed limit. I sat in the back thinking and realised she must have gone by bus and been up really early to do it too. That's her problem, she never thinks anything through. We screeched to a stop at the centre just in time to see Marion heading for the entrance. Mum screamed at her and we rushed over and dad grabbed her. Well she cried and carried on that it was all her fault and she had to take the punishment and it wasn't fair that I had to take it and what was the harm because it was a new centre and they wouldn't check or even think that someone else would take it.

  Dad was patient, though I could see he wanted to shout. "Marion there is one thing you haven't got that Estelle has. What do you think it is?"

  She didn't know and in fact denied there was anything; she'd even taken my ID again!

  "Marion, darling, you don't have the marks of the strap on your bottom. What do you think they'll say when they see this girl in front of them strapped the day before yesterday with no marks?"

  Marion as usual hadn't thought that far and then it all dawned on her. They'd realise she wasn't Estelle. She'd have my ID and then we would all be in deep trouble, and worse still all the deception and so on would come out. She started wailing and mum and dad were trying hard to calm and quiet her. I looked at my mobile, it was 08:10, and I thought I might just as well leave them to it and go on in and get my whacking.

  I was the first in and the receptionist had hardly sipped her wake-up coffee. She glared at me. "You're keen, aren't you."

  I didn't have to be nice to her and with being so stressed, I wasn't. "The sooner I let the state finish hurting me the sooner I can get out of this country to somewhere more civilised. Enjoy your moment of power."

  She glared some more, but then a burly man came out and asked me if I was Estelle Lytham. I agreed that I was.

  "Well, you're a little early but no matter, let's get on. No parent with you?"

  I was beyond caring really and thought the truth can't hurt so I said, "They are out there dealing with my younger sister. She took my ID and came over really early by bus. She planned to take my punishment for me. She is in a right old state so I just thought I'd get on with it."

  He was amazed. "Oh, that is so lovely. What a delightful family. I've never heard anything so moving before, lovely. Well, I'm afraid I can't make it any lighter but we'll be as kind as possible. Come on in Estelle."

  He told the rather plump, short woman witness all about it and she was also touched by Marion's action and my parents trying to sort it out, and thought my just walking in on my own was "brave."

  He spoke very quietly to me as I went to stand on the little mat. "Now, what I am supposed to do is keep all the strokes in a tight group which makes it very painful, especially when they cross each other which they are bound to do. However, I can just about spread them out as its nine and I'm going to do that. Also, I am meant to deliver them fast which is actually more painful as it gives you no chance to recover, though it is over quicker. What I am going to do is give you a chance to absorb each stroke and ready yourself for the next. It will help a little."

  "What about the lady witness?"

  "Oh, she won't mind, she already thought the magistrates had been really harsh in their sentencing. Now I'm sorry but we must get on. Get your leggings and knickers down please."

  I had been advised to wear a loose skirt and a loose pair of cotton shorts underneath, but I thought I had hours to go and had planned to change. The events had meant I would have to pull these tight clothes over my sore bum. For some reason I found it less embarrassing this time as I pulled my clothes down, exposing myself. As he did up the restraints (he hadn't even asked if I wanted them) he commented that the strap marks were just about right for the time lag and that it had been done very well.

  "I thought this material was not supposed to bruise much."

  "Oh, well it doesn't as much as leather and it does sting more but I'm afraid if you hit the bottom hard with something relatively hard it will bruise, especially if you're not used to being whacked. Now for the canings we use the new artificial canes and the great advantage of those is they will not break the skin no matter how hard you get hit, but you will have some nasty welts I'm afraid. OK, Estelle, I have done all the restraints and now you have nine strokes to come. I'll take it at a pace you can handle, but it's going to hurt and I advise you to cry out as much as you like. It helps a bit"

  I felt the cane rest on my bottom for a moment and took a deep breath. Abruptly there was a hard blow right across the middle of my bottom and it took my breath away with the ferocity with which it had hit. It sort of pushed my middle into the plastic or that's how it felt. Then a millisecond after the blow the pain hit. Oh my, it seared right down through my bottom and felt as if it had come out the other side. He'd advised me to cry out but I just did it anyway, I screeched and gripped the handles extra hard while the pain burned on for a while. After a bit it sort of eased off a little, like it does when you bang your shin or something, so I sort of nodded for the next.

  There was another ferocious blow and I couldn't help gasping again with the shock of it. He had laid it just above the other one and I suddenly had an inkling of what it would be like if it landed where an earlier one had been. At least Marion had saved me from that.

  When the third one struck, this time quite low down, I burst into tears. I've since learnt that is normal for girls and common for boys, but I felt ashamed at the time. My grip on the handles got harder and harder and my hands began to hurt. I threw my head back when I screeched, which was about the only movement the restraints permitted. Slowly, the number rose towards nine and I panted and groaned between strokes, thankful he was giving me time to prepare for each one. I really wished I had done something to deserve it, but as the seventh smashed down onto my bottom, I suddenly thought that I wouldn't want Marion to have to endure this. By the time he gave me the last two, my bottom was burning with pain right from low down, up and over to the top, but some bits felt worse than others.

  I was ashamed of all the tears I was shedding and felt such a baby. He seemed quite matter of fact, quickly undid my hands and handed me some tissues without a comment. I stood there sorting myself out while
he undid the rest of the restraints. Finally, when all was undone, I just stood for a while composing myself while my bottom throbbed and pulsed in some places worse than others, and all over there was this deep painful heat. In the end, I nerved myself to pull my knickers up over my bottom and having done that, wriggled into my leggings. It wasn't easy or pleasant, but at least I didn't feel so exposed.

  I turned to the man. "Thank you very much, sir. You've been very kind and considerate to me."

  "Well the truth is, I was quite moved by the fact that you came in on your own and your sister had tried to take your place. She wouldn't have got away with it you know, she wouldn't have had your marks from the strap."

  I also went to shake hands with the witness woman who, after all, had let him treat me differently.

  "I think the magistrates have been exceptionally hard on you, Estelle," she said.

  "They thought I had been doing stuff but not been caught so they wanted to teach me a lesson before it got out of hand but it isn't true - I just got into a mess almost by accident. It is never happening again."

  She nodded. "Well, anyway, we have juggled the next appointment so you get us and we'll make sure we go as easy as we can. Next time you must bring someone with you to help you. The birch can have quite an effect on those who get it."

  I went outside but my parents weren't in the reception area. I thought they might have been banned as they weren't with someone getting therapy. I decided to apologise to the woman on reception because it really isn't like me to be rude, and the kindness of the other two had made me feel bad.

  She sort of smiled and said, "I had to shoo your family out as it isn't allowed in the regulations."

  When I got outside, I was overwhelmed with love and affection, especially from Marion who kept asking if I was OK and saying sorry all in one breath. I eased some of her guilt by explaining what happened and how her attempt had earned me a little easing of the punishment.