The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 02

PATRICK INGRAM-LEWIS - OLIVER'S FATHER

A Homoerotic Short Story

By

Jason Land

FOREWORD

Subsequent to publishing the first story in the chronicles of the Ingram-Lewis family, the present Headmaster of Rigby School, having read the first account, kindly gave me access to documents from the school archives which throw a somewhat different light on the school career of Patrick Ingram-Lewis, the main character in this second part of the Ingram-Lewis Chronicles.

I have used these records, now over one hundred years old, in the re-construction of Patrick's career at Rigby School. Perceptive readers of the first story will discern certain discrepancies between the two accounts. However, in light of my most recent researches into the life of the two members of this family, Patrick Ingram- Lewis and his son, Cedric Oliver Ingram-Lewis, I believe that the events as reported in the present narrative are as accurate as can be expected, in view of the fact that neither of the key players, Patrick or his son, Cedric Oliver, nor for that matter any of their contemporaries are still with us to give us any verbatim account of their school days.

PATRICK INGRAM-LEWIS : EARLY YEARS

In the first story about the Ingram-Lewis family, we met Patrick Ingram-Lewis and his son, Cedric Oliver, who aged just eleven was plunged into an that bath of cold water which is the English Preparatory School where he had to face up to the ghastly realities of the English public school system for the first time. We are now going to go back in time to the early days of the twentieth century, when Patrick Ingram-Lewis was himself still a schoolboy and learn something about him, for his career greatly affected his son, Cedric Oliver.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis was the heir to the Ingram-Lewis fortune and property, which had been built on coal mining in the northeast of England. The family home, Ingram House, was located in the small Northumberland town of Hexham, some twenty-five miles west of Newcastle where the family business was located. The actual mine, Ingram Deep, was to be found in the coal fields just north of the City. Patrick had inherited the Ingram-Lewis fortune and become the nominal head of the family at the tender age of twelve, when his father had suddenly died.

His mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis lived in considerable style in the family home and as befitted Patrick as the only child of a well-to-do family, he had been shipped off at the age of eight to a preparatory school, Rigby Court, whence in due course he moved on, aged thirteen, to Rigby School, a small but well respected public school.

So, Patrick was essentially "out-of sight and out-of-mind" between the ages of eight and nineteen, when he finally left Rigby. His only contact with his rather remote mother during these formative years was during the school holidays, when he came home to Ingram House. In this he was not alone for his education mirrored that of countless other boys of similar background. However, as Patrick was an only child, his time at home was very lonely, which had a profound effect on his overall development. He never truly had a parental hand to guide him and as such he had, since is earliest days, ploughed his own furrow. And a very interesting furrow it turned out to be, for APtrick had n ot the slightest interest in coal, that source of the family fortunes.

English upper class education in the early 1900s was rigorous and brutal. Boys were subjected to regular beating and birching for the slightest deviation from the imposed norms of the school where they were enrolled. It was generally thought that this approach was "good for the soul" and produced young gentlemen, capable of taking leading posts in politics, the civil service with its ramifications throughout the British Empire, as well as commissions in the armed forces. All these posts were filled by products of the Britain public school system and its two ancient Universities; it was all reminiscent one huge club to which members belonged by birthright and to which outsiders were definitely not welcome.

And to some extent many observers maintain that the same is still true today. While members of parliament and their political parties come and go, that basso-profundo, the British senior civil service, is still awash with products of the British public school system. Times are changing, but these types still hang on and exert enormous influence from behind the scenes. As one senior civil servant once put it: "Our job is to stop the elected members from making horrible mistakes." Looking at the British economy since the end of the Second World War, many observers feel that these self-satisfied guardians of the realm have largely failed. They are, nevertheless, still very much around.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis was not a stupid boy, but neither was he brilliant. But his biggest problem was his lack of application, which became apparent to his masters soon after he started his school career aged eight. And so, poor Patrick's bottom was regularly beaten in an attempt to get him to toe the line. English public schools had implements of punishment which suited all ages and which dated back into t heists of times. Junior canes were used on boys aged eight to thirteen and senior canes and the dreaded birch thereafter. All punishment was applied "bare" which is to say that the unfortunate recipient was made to drop his trousers and underpants and was bent across a chair or desk and had his naked buttocks beaten.

And when I say beaten, I mean beaten hard; there was never any soft pedalling as the cane descended on the boy's naked arse. One way and another Patrick seemed to be very often offering up his naked arse for punishment and he became much admire by his classmates for the stoic way in which he accepted what seemed to be his destiny. The wielders of these implements had got punishment down to a fine art. They knew how hard they could apply the cane or the birch to inflict maximum pain, but without ever drawing blood. And on the whole, one has tot say that masters and prefects who were allowed to thrash their errant schoolmates, carried out their duties with gusto: for the most part the enjoyed it!

At Rigby Court Preparatory school, only the Headmaster had used the cane, which he did with that monotonous regularity of one who actually enjoys inflicting pain on others, which he did! But things changed radically for the worse for Patrick once he arrived at Rigby School itself. There the Headmaster flogged and birched boys regularly, but in addition there was a two tier prefect system, whose members could also cane their schoolmates. Rigby's two tier system was unique, for the Headmaster appointed a number of junior prefects, selected from boys in their penultimate year, who were only allowed to discipline thirteen year old boys in their first year at the school and this only with the light junior cane.

In their final year the junior prefects achieved seniority and were also allowed to beat older boys with a heavier senior cane. In both cases the prefects were limited to a maximum number of six strokes of the cane: six were always given! The one exception to this rule was the Head Boy. Nominated to this high status from among the senior prefects, the Head Boy, now in his final year at the school was allowed to administer "up to" twelve strokes of the cane.

It goes without saying that when the Head Boy beat someone, the words "up to" were forgotten, for every Head Boy, present or past, invariably gave twelve strokes of the cane when he punished a boy, a task which every Head Boy since the creation of the post had discharged with vigour and (dare I say it?) pleasure; for let us be quite clear about this; prefects who had themselves been beaten on a regular basis by the Headmaster for their entire school career to date, saw their elevation to the school "police force", for that was what it amounted to, as what they called "pay-back time".

So pretty well every prefect took every possibly opportunity to beat arse and being limited to six strokes did not prevent them from leaving their "victims" with very, very sore backsides. Six from a well-trained prefect with a good strong arm were just as bad as twelve from the Headmaster, as many a boy could testify. It was quite common for the prefects to practise their caning techniques on cushion, pillows and chair arms and they gave each other tips, such as that final flick of the wrist just before the cane bit into the naked flesh of the victim's arse, to ensure that maximum pain was delivered.

And so, this was the disciplinary regime to which Patrick Ingram-Lewis entered at the age of thirteen. He had six long years: eighteen terms to "serve", for in many ways it looked like a prison sentence. And make no mistake: every misdemeanour discovered was punished and punished severely, for there were no lighter "sentences" or the equivalent to "time off for good behaviour". Good behaviour was considered the norm and all delinquencies led directly to very sore arses.

Another peculiarity about Rigby was that all ages were subjected to the same rigid discipline. From entrants aged thirteen to eighteen year old and above tofinal year boys, the cane and the birch were applied without discrimination, even to the naked arses of the prefects themselves. No one was excluded and several junior prefects had the doubtful pleasure of being birched by the headmaster during Patrick's time at Rigby.

So, as you can see this was one of those great British educational establishments where the maxim "School days are the happiest days of your life," rang rather hollow. Were the boys unhappy? Not particularly. The canings and birchings were such common daily occurrences that they were accepted as part and parcel of school life. After all, the boys had no bench mark against which to compare their treatment; so no, the boys were not unhappy and no one ever complained about a sore arse. And no boy ever went bearing tales to a master about the often brutal beating he had taken from a prefect. The Rigbyans were young gentlemen and gentlemen did not tell tales.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis was not naturally a rebel; he was not "against" everything in the way some boys are, but along with many others he fell afoul of the system on many different occasions, usually for committing some minor misdemeanour, which led to him offering his naked arse for "correction" either to the Headmaster or the prefects on a monotonously regular basis.

But worst of all was to be beaten by the Head Boy, for one incumbent to that annual position after the other proved himself capable of raising the level of pain in a boy's arse to unbelievable heights. It was as if they were each in turn endowed with a special talent for applying the cane. So a summons to the Head Boy's study with all that that implied was viewed with fear by most boys; it was the thing to be avoided at all costs.

Things finally came to a life-changing head for Patrick when, one gruesomely awful day, his arse was thrashed twice, leaving him in a state of excruciating agony. The pain was well night unbearable and he vowed there and then to himself that he would never again expose himself to such severe punishment; he had truly learned his lesson. How did it all happen? Well it was all Patrick's own silly fault.

He began by slipping off into the town centre late one afternoon to buy a boy's paper at the local newsagent's, without the necessary "exeat" from his form-master. To compound his delinquency, he neglected to wear his school cap, which was mandatory when in town and, of course, he was seen by one of the masters who happened, that day, also to be shopping. And so at the daily assembly next morning, the Headmaster, having made his announcements then said: "Ingram-Lewis, I would like to see in my study for a few minutes immediately after assembly. You and I have some urgent business to transact before your first class this morning, So, Ingram-Lewis, kindly don't be late for our meeting."

Patrick's hear sank to his boots as he realised why he had been summoned to see the Headmaster; someone had seen him down town yesterday afternoon and had reported him and he was now to pay the price for his stupidity, which he knew would be twelve sound cuts of the cane across his bare arse. The Headmaster briefly lectured Patrick on the sins of breaking the school rules, before having him him offer up is naked arse for the ritual sacrifice which visits to his study invariably involved. So Patrick, I almost said, poor Patrick, but he was the victim of his own stupidity, started the first class of that day with a freshly beaten arse: he could barely sit down at his desk.

But Patrick had still not fully learned the folly of his ways, which was to be brought home to him only later that day: after supper in fact. It was the end of the day and there was a period of recreation between the end of prep. and supper and that day Patrick and two of his friends took off and installed themselves in the shower room adjacent to the gym to "have a drag." Smoking was strictly forbidden, and was therefore one of those delicious temptations which many boys could not resist even though many of them did not actually much enjoy the experience itself.

The shower room and gym at that hour were considered safe from prying eyes of both prefects and masters. But that day proved the exception to the rule, for the gym instructor Mr Patterson, a frightening and bullying man, who when he was taking a class walked around with a leather strap in his hand, a strap he applied liberally to the shorts of any boy he deemed to be slacking, walked into the shower room and caught the three lads smoking. He made the three of them drop their pants there and then, touch their toes and gave each of them six resounding whacks across their bare arses with his strap, before hauling them off to the Headmaster, who said: " I will see the three of you here in your gym strips, at eight o'clock sharp, right after supper. Is that clear?"

The fatidic hour arrived and the three boys stood trembling in front of the Headmaster, seated at his desk, wearing his most thunderous expression. To the side stood the odious and much disliked Mr Patterson. "You all know that smoking is strictly forbidden. It is one of the school's most sacred and inviolable rules, which you three boys have chosen to break. Mr Patterson was quite right to give you each an immediate taste of his strap in the shower room where he found you, but the true moment of reckoning for your inexcusable behaviour is right now. I am going to give each one of you in turn twelve strokes of the birch, for the normal cane is not capable of delivering a message painful enough to teach you the lesson you all richly deserve."

In Rigby School, birchings were always performed in a separate punishment room a few yards down the corridor from the Headmaster's study. This room was equipped with a professionally made birching horse, which allowed a boy's wrists and and ankles to be strapped to the frame and render him immobile for the duration of the punishment. The whole business was quite frightening, for the "victim" had to remove his lower clothes completely, step up to the frame, where an assistant, in this case Mr Patterson, fixed the straps on around his wrists and ankles, leaving his naked arse exposed to take the birch.

Patrick was the last to be punished and had watched with horror as the Headmaster brought down the birch bundle on the arses of his two friends, each of whom howled with as the pain of the beating built up. "You're the last Ingram-Lewis. Come on lad, step up and look lively, I've not got all night."

"Please sir, I don't think I should be birched. You already gave me twelve cuts of the cane this morning before class and Mr Patterson has just given me another six with his strap. Really sir, I don't think I can stand a birching. Please sir, do have a heart, I have really suffered enough today."

But Patrick's pleas fell upon stony ground. "Ingram-Lewis, the beating I gave you this morning, was for a completely unrelated offence which you very foolishly committed. You have now been foolish enough to go on and break yet another rule, this time a much more serious one, for which you a now going to pay the painful price: the birch! Now step up to the horse and allow Mr Patterson to strap you in place so that I can get on and give your backside

the treatment which it richly deserves."

The Headmaster paused once Patrick was strapped in place and surveyed his earlier handiwork of that morning. "Yes, Ingram-Lewis, I would say that your backside is in perfect condition to receive an additional beating. I see that this morning I placed my twelve cuts parallel to each other across the entire expanse of your handsome bottom. I have to say, Ingram-Lewis, that you do have a bottom which lends itself admirably to the act of beating. It is one, which if I may say so, inspires the beater, in this case me, to the heights of what I call percussive artistry."

"If I may make a comparison, the, picture, for that, Ingram-Lewis is how I see it, I whacked into your bottom this morning, is reminiscent of a denuded forest, made up of a series of vertical tree trunks. The birch will enable me to complete this magnificent tableau, by filling in the intervening spaces with what will appear as leaves on the trees. Ingram- Lewis, you should count yourself as fortunate that due to a rather unhappy concatenation of events, you are, nevertheless, going to have a most interesting posterior to show to your fellow classmates in the showers tonight."

What Patrick Ingram-Lewis thought about the load of twaddle which the Headmaster had just uttered, we shall never know, for once he had finished his speech, the Headmaster set to with the birch. Although Patrick had been foolish enough to bring all this upon himself, one has to feel sorry for him for when he finally escaped and went back to his dormitory, he was in absolute agony; his arse had been well and truly roasted that day. He lay there in bed, naked on his belly, with is arse uncovered, for he could not even bear the weight of a sheet to touch its raw, burning skin. He prayed that in the morning the pain would have subsided to a bearable level. But Patrick wept bitterly well into the night.

The outcome of this awful day was that Patrick Ingram-Lewis took a serious look at himself in the mirror. The severe punishment he had just received had finally taught him a lesson he would never forget and he was man enough to blame no one for what had happened other than himself. And so, standing there looking at his reflection that morning, his arse still hideously painful, he vowed that from then on he would abandon all stupid gestures leading to beatings and become a model pupil for the rest of his time at Rigby.

Now remember that Patrick was only fifteen years old when this incident had occurred and he still had three more years to go before leaving the school at eighteen. Fine words and sentiments, you might think, but actions speak louder than words and incredibly, Patrick stuck to his vow and apart from one painful beating by the Head Boy for swearing, he had no more brushes with the Headmaster or the prefects. Ingram-Lewis became, in a word, that module pupil of his vow: his promise to himself.

We now move the action forward several years. Patrick is now in the lower sixth and it is first day of the third term, the summer term, of his penultimate year at Rigby. It is the morning assembly and the Headmaster, having completed his announcements paused and said: "Ingram-Lewis, will you kindly see me immediately after assembly in my study." Patrick had an immediate release of adrenalin as a frisson of fear shot through his body. His first thought: "What have I done now? Why does he want to see me?"