"I expect you're feeling rather triumphant after that little episode, Bennett?" she asks evenly. Try as I might, I can't keep the smile from forming and I nod, desperately pressing my lips together. And you know what? She smiles too! It was amazing. For a moment we're sharing this, this, well, this smile. But it doesn't last. Her face turns serious and she says,
"You were quite right, Bennett, and I commend your good judgement of character and the bravery of your gamble. You are, I know, no stranger to the cane, even if it has been over two years." How did she know that? She goes on, "Even so, I'm certainly relieved that I don't have to give you twelve strokes. However, there is still the matter of the six you've earned for your cheating, is there not?" And again, she gives me this penetrating look which is really hard to stay with - it feels like she's seeing all my secrets ... including you, Jack!
Then she questions me about the cheating in this very serious but gentle kind of way and before long I find myself feeling ashamed! And realising how stupid it was! And she's even getting me to see how well I could do in my A levels if I really work hard, and I'm agreeing and thinking, yes, I'll do it. No one's ever really spoken to me like that, Jack, not on that kind of level where you see the perfect sense in what they're saying, but she did. I felt totally disarmed, nowhere to go but in the direction she was sending me. Trouble is, I made a terrible mistake and Miss Markham seems to have the brain of a Sherlock Holmes. I'd mentioned that I hadn't done any of the summer History work! Idiot! Fool! And of course she notices.
"So whose notes were you using to cheat?" she asks and I'm skewered. I think and I think, but there's no way out. I have to give up Gabrielle.
"Pearson, Miss," I say very quietly, after a long pause.
"Speak louder, Bennett."
"Pearson, Miss," I say angrily - annoyed at her for getting it out of me, furious with myself for being so dumb.
"I see. I realise it is very painful to reveal the name of a friend in such a situation, Bennett, but Miss Pearson, too, needs to learn what is and what is not appropriate behaviour when it comes to our academic work. Thank you. You may tell Miss Pearson that I trapped you into giving her up."
See what I mean about Miss Markham, Jack? It's as if she knows what it's like.
Anyway, I expect you're getting a little impatient aren't you? JT flopped back on the sofa, has he? Ready for the next bit? All right, here we go.
She caned me. It hurt. I left.
You want more? Oh, sorry! (Only teasing!)
She stands up and says,
"Go to the chest of drawers over there, Bennett, and open the middle drawer." This sends a little chill slithering up my spine. I know what's in that drawer: Old Boot Dunstan kept her whacking things in there too.
"You will see a long, light brown cane with a crook handle. Bring that here." I open the drawer and quickly see the nasty-looking cane. My heart's thumping hard as I walk back over to Miss Markham, who's standing by the desk now. As I hand over the horrid, whippy thing, she says,
"This, Bennett, is the senior cane. Not even your misbehaviour earned you this in Miss Dunstan's day, did it?" Again, I wonder how she knows so much. Has she been talking to the Old Boot? As I mutter a 'No, Miss', I'm actually shaking a little and I can't take my eyes off that cane which she's tapping lightly on her left hand. Something about the way she holds it tells me she's an expert!
"Well, you'd better prepare yourself, Bennett, because you're in the Upper Sixth now, and bigger girls get harder strokes, especially for cheating." If she's trying to frighten me, she's succeeding with flying colours. I really struggle not to give in to the panic, or the tears I can feel gathering at the bottom of my throat. But I also notice how closely she's looking at me, as if she's watching for my reactions, testing me somehow, and that makes me determined to be as brave as I can.
"Lower your panties and bend over the desk," she says, stepping back and pointing the cane at where she wants me.
Bending across that green leather desk and reaching out for the far edge with my hands takes me straight back to the time the Old Boot gave me six for fighting. I get that same familiar feeling of being totally helpless and like I'm about to be executed. I feel her lift my skirt and pull it up and out of the way. My heart's racing like a fire engine now and I can feel it stronger because my breasts are pressed against the desk. I rest my forehead on the cool surface and try to ready myself. She taps my bum a couple of times - it feels cool and almost tickles but I think any second now...
Oh, Jack. I guess you know what it's like but that first stroke is the most agony I'd ever felt. There's an almighty swoosh and then I hear and feel this thwack and then there's a strange pause, as if, oh, is that it? But, eeeyow, it isn't it! Boy, isn't it not it! That searing, cutting pain kicks in and my feet come up and my head comes up, my eyes are screwed shut and I'm seeing just red darkness. I manage not to scream but I'm gasping and nearly have a coughing fit. YeeeOuch! Jack. My bum is burning and zinging along the line where it hit. I can't belieeeeve how much this hurts! I'm just thinking there's no way I'm going to be brave when the second one strikes and I yell, "Aaaargh!" But in my mind there's a little voice that calmly says, 'Two.' And I try to find the speaker of that little voice, try to reach that calm place. I can't, but it helps a little in riding out the agony to know that it's there.
My whole mind is zooming back and forth along these two lines of super-heated sting, just surviving by trying to track the pain. Got to try and get on top of it, but it's hard. I think of those rodeo riders we saw in that film. Trouble is, I'm the bucking bronco!
The third one ('Three,' says the voice) lands (I think) between the first two and it's ... almost ... too much ... to bear. I want so desperately to let go of that far edge and protect myself but I'm brave! Yes, I am! I cling on and just try to wriggle the pain away. Some hope, eh, Jack? Three throbbing stripes now and it's getting so I can't really tell them apart. It just feels as if my whole bum is ablaze with pain. I'm whispering, 'Ow! Ow! Ow!" under my breath and twisting my head from side to side trying to distract myself.
Then there's a blessed pause, maybe a minute and I'm starting to conquer it a bit. I hear Miss Markham's voice, calm and almost sympathetic:
"Half way there now, Bennett. You are doing well, young woman."
I'm just thinking yet again how surprising and different she is, how sympathetic (!!), when YEEEOOOW! She stripes me right across the bottom of my bum, right where it's OOOWWW! softest and hurts the mooooost! I almost get up this time. My hands have already slid back and I'm starting to rise. When I realise what I'm doing I stop myself but I make an almighty groan as I slump back down. This latest cut is really, really, almost completely unbearable, yet ... somehow I do bear it. We do, don't we, Jack? We survive?
But I'm wriggling and writhing like there's no tomorrow, and, actually, there isn't: my entire attention is right here, right now, on that burning stripe. My bum's bucking around as I almost run on the spot trying to shake away the agony. I want to turn and beg. I want to say, "Pleeeaase, Miss, please stop! No more! I've had enough! It hurts tooo much, I can't bear it, I can't...!" but of course I don't. I gurgle and I moan and I hiss and mutter "Ooow!" but I don't beg. I'm sure I would have with the Old Boot (not that it would've made the slightest bit of difference) but with Miss Markham, no. Somehow, I'd be letting her down too.
How I bore the fifth and sixth, I'm really not sure. They sliced across diagonally and I really screamed, I let rip, I bellowed like a donkey. It helped to just scream my head off, but not much. There is no help for the last stripes of a hard caning. And I tell you, Jack, that was THE HARDEST caning I hope I ever have. After the fifth one ("Five," intoned the voice) I was thinking, "I'll be good! I really will. That's it with being a rebel. I love all teachers. Mistresses are always right. Grown-ups always know best. I will obey. I will be good!" And the sixth ... well, I hardly remember what I did but I know it was very undignified! I was sobbing my heart out when I could finally get up and feel back
there for the damage. It was all ridgy and it made me cry more, out of pity for my poor bum, my poor Me.
Miss Markham was very kind then; praised me again for being brave; let me have some time to pull my knickers up (was dressing ever so painful?); gave me a hanky and walked me over to the door, gently reminding me what this had been for.
I'd completely forgotten about The Worm. There she was, sitting on the bench looking like the scaredest, sorriest creature on earth. I didn't know what the Headmistress had in store for her, but she did NOT look pleased. As I hobbled off down the corridor, I heard her say,
"In here, Patterson. You have some explaining to do, young lady."
The irony of it was that she got what she wanted, but not in the way she wanted it. Somehow, Jack, I think life's going to be like that sometimes, don't you?
So, how was that? You all spent, are you (tee hee)?
You want a P.S? All right.
P.S. My bum looks like a cross between a shepherd's delight sunset and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Gabrielle forgave me - heck, up in her dorm she even soothed some nice cold cream onto those tender, tender stripes. She hasn't been summoned yet, but I fear it won't be long. She's nervous but I suspect just a little bit curious - she's always been a 'good girl' (and a decent one) but I think she quite likes the idea of joining the rebel ranks even if only as an honorary member and even if it means paying a painful price.
Patterson wouldn't say a thing about what happened to her - I got Gabrielle to subtly ask her friends and even they didn't know - but I made sure I was in the changing rooms after games and, with Gibbo watching, she couldn't not take a shower! Six corkers, just like mine, even more purple if anything! She's squirming in her seat in History now just as much as I am.
Love you, Jack. Be good (wink)
Julia xxx
10. Spanking in History
Edith Mary Bainbridge: her Diary
September 8th 1953
Three items of news today: one delightful, one business, one rather worrying.
First, Verily has agreed to join Margaret, the Countess and I for bridge on Friday evening. It will be so jolly to get round a bridge table again after so long. I have missed it. I shall partner Verily (Margaret and the Countess, of course, being a long established pair) and we've agreed to have a confab on Thursday just to get our bidding methods coordinated. And, we're going to play in Verily's study, which will be rather grand. Clarissa never offered, which I always thought rather strange of her, a bit high-handed really.
Secondly, Verily asked to meet senior staff this afternoon after games. We met in her study and two generous pots of lovely Twinings helped wash down the ginger nuts and custard creams which I'd brought along for the occasion. Verily brought out the punishment books and did a quick review of how things stood so far. She and I, of course, had carried out two 'prep reckonings' as she calls them - eight girls on Monday and six on Tuesday (and there were another seven this evening). It turned out that a total of eighteen other punishments had been administered between us, Monica Gibson leading the way with six. "Well, they deserved every stroke," she said to general approval. Interestingly, of the junior mistresses, only Prudence Waring has not so far referred any girl for punishment! I may need to have a word, though it's obviously a welcome change from her attitude last term over the Thomas and French business.
Verily asked about various cases, just for information really; one senses that she is keen to get to know every girl individually, which is quite a task given that her own teaching hours are few. She commended Margaret for bringing back the use of the butter-pat! "Yes, well," said Margaret with that shy smile of hers, "I said that putting Jennings in with Thomas and French in Dorm K was likely to end in whackings sooner rather than later. I confess I didn't expect to have to deal with them on the very first night!" Verily and I exchanged slightly guilty glances. Verily owned up:
"I must make a confession of my own, Margaret. It was Edith's and my notion that putting three such high-spirited girls together might give us an opportunity to make an early impression with the new disciplinary regime. Not only that, but their wayward influence might be better contained all in one dorm. I'm sorry you're the dorm mistress responsible for overseeing this ... experiment, but please take it rather as a vote of confidence in your ability to handle them appropriately. Which," she continued, "you seem to have done excellently so far." She smiled, and Margaret blushed with pride.
"Thank you, Headmistress."
As everyone was departing, I heard Verily asking Monica, as the teacher involved, to deal with the matter of Pearson's having supplied her notes for Bennett to cheat. I have to say I was rather pleased when I heard Bennett had been up for six of the cane already.
"Certainly, Headmistress," said Monica, "I shall be happy to. I feel particularly annoyed that they managed to conceal this from me in the first place. Miss Pearson shall feel my wrath!" to which Verily replied, "Not too much wrath, Monica. Remember, fairness is our watchword."
I must say, I do feel Verily has made a marvellous start. Although there are plenty of girls still being wilful, and trying to push the boundaries, one can sense a new air of order, and respect for the rules, about the place.
The last item of today's news, however, came as something of a shock, from which I still haven't quite recovered. After colleagues had left and I was collecting up the empty biscuit plates, Verily said,
"Sit down, Edith. Leave those. I want to put an idea to you." I was intrigued, naturally, and sat as suggested, the plates on my lap.
"After the episode with Helen Patterson," she began, "I am quite determined to select a new Head Girl." This was not unexpected. I'd heard about Patterson's most unseemly behaviour on Monday evening, and the richly deserved caning Verily had administered on the spot. However, I did feel that young Patterson might have learned her lesson, and my immediate reaction was to wonder who else fit the bill. We'd struggled to find many suitable candidates at the end of last term as it was. What Verily said next, however, really was a bolt from the blue.
"I'm considering Julia Bennett," she said. I confess I nearly dropped the biscuit plates! I examined her face carefully for signs of irony, but her clear eyes betrayed no teasing humour. She was entirely serious. I'm afraid I rather rudely failed to conceal my disbelief.
"Bennett, Verily? You can't be serious! She is the very last candidate I would think of!"
Ever gracious, she smiled kindly and said,
"I knew you'd react that way, Edith, and I don't blame you for one moment. I can see how it must seem a most unlikely, in fact possibly disastrous, choice. But let me put this to you: whom would you foresee, among the Upper Sixth girls, being the worst influence on the younger ones in terms of the example they set?"
I scarcely had to pause to think. "Bennett, without question."
"And to whom," continued Verily, "do the more troublesome of the younger girls - the Thomases , Frenches, Jenningses and Simpsons - look up to most, and seek to emulate?"
Again, my answer required no thought: "Bennett!"
"Exactly," said Verily smiling at me expectantly, her eyebrows raised. But I was stumped. I had no idea what she was getting at. I realise now, of course, that I was being very dense (as I can at times). She went on to explain how, though it was undoubtedly risky, if Bennett could be persuaded to take on this responsibility and take it seriously (and that, Verily conceded, was a big 'if') then we would, at a stroke, bring Bennett herself into the fold, as it were, thus curbing her rebellious tendencies, whilst at the same time undermining her attraction to the younger ones as a troublemaker to emulate! I must admit I could see now that it was an ingenious plan, and I said as much.
"The question is," said Verily, "how to convince Julia Bennett that she'll make an excellent Head Girl."
I left her still deep in thought on the matter.
---oOo---
Julia Bennett stared at Miss Gibson as she paced up and down before the blackboard, occasionally venturing for
th to circulate among the pupils' desks, checking their note-taking. It was mid-day on Thursday, the lesson before lunch. Julia had had this mistress for History when she was in the fourth form, and had on two occasions been whacked by her: she couldn't remember what for, but she did remember the ferocity with which Gibbo, as the girls called her, liked to wield a hairbrush or strap. Even a visit to Mrs Dunstan's study for the cane hadn't been quite as frightening as the prospect of a displeased Gibbo. Having avoided her during her fifth and lower sixth years, when authority to beat girls had rested solely with the mild Mrs Weekes, it was just her luck, she reflected glumly, to get her again now for the second year of A level History.
Julia hated Gibbo. If the stripes on her bottom (which still stung and throbbed slightly when seated on the kind of hard wooden seats provided in the classroom) weren't enough of a reason, then the obvious sadism of this athletically built woman in her mid-thirties certainly was.
"And so, girls, the influence of the Enclosure Acts led directly to the growth of urban areas where the new factories spawned by the Industrial Revolution, especially in the North and Midlands, were eager employers of the working classes. Bennett, pay attention, if you don't want something extra on those stripes!"
She did that as well, thought Julia, quickly sitting up even straighter and bending over her notes with her pen. Gibbo loved to gloat on punishments and draw attention to, and humiliate, those who'd been punished. What exactly is her problem, wondered Julia, savouring a sense of moral superiority even as she quietly seethed at the injustice of such people being set loose on the young.
Of course Miss Monica Gibson's 'problem', as Julia would have it, was complex and multi-faceted, and even the unusually worldly-wise Julia would have learned much of the human psyche if she could have known.
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 12