The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 02

Anyway, the assembly ended and Patrick duly presented himself in a state of high tension and trepidation at the Headmaster's study. After all, since that awful day several years ago now, when he had had his arse beaten to pulp by the very man he was now about to see, he had never again spoken the Headmaster. He had, as he had promised himself, kept his nose clean. He had toed the line and broken no rules and apart from that one lone beating by the Head Boy, his arse had suffered no other "percussive correction" in the meantime. So why the fuck (No, don't use that word, he told himself) was he here?

"Ah, do come in Ingram Lewis: I wanted to see you at the end of last term but the pressure other matters prevented it; so I felt I had to see you promptly today. Ingram-Lewis, we have not had the pleasure of each other's company for quite some time now; in fact, our last meeting was, if I recollect correctly, not a very agreeable one. I seem to remember that I had occasion to correct you twice in one day."

Patrick breathed an inward sigh of relief, for evidently he had not been summoned by the Headmaster to be punished for some unknown delinquency. In fact the tone of the Headmaster was really quite benign. "Yes sir, I remember that occasion well. I still have a very vivid memory of the pain of that day; in fact, sir, it is as if it were just yesterday. But I deserved the two beatings you gave me; they taught me a lesson I have never forgotten and since then, sir, I have endeavoured to behave correctly."

"Quite, quite, Ingram-Lewis and I see from your record that since that fateful day, you have been beaten only once by the Head Boy and that you have otherwise an unblemished record to your name. I have also been reviewing your school work and I see that you are almost the top of your class in practically all subjects, which is a remarkable achievement and turn around for a boy who started life here as a rebel. I also see from the report of Mr Patterson, the gym and PE instructor, that you are also one of the best gymnasts and sportsmen of your year. So, Ingram-Lewis, you appear to have become a model pupil and you are to be congratulated on your own achievement."

Patrick heaved a large internal sigh of relief at all this unexpected praise. But where was it all leading?

"So, Ingram-Lewis, in consultation with my colleagues, I have decided to appoint you to the rank of senior prefect as of now. You will appreciate that this is an unusual appointment as the Rigby system is to appoint the chosen boys as junior prefects in their penultimate year, to become senior prefects in their final year, one of whom will then be honoured by being named Head Boy."

"These appointments are usually made at the start of the school year in September, but as you are nearing the end of your time in the lower sixth I have decided that you will have the rank of senior prefect for this term and for the three terms of your final year at the school so that you will enjoy a full four terms as a senior prefect, an honour no other boy has ever obtained. This, Ingram-Lewis is your reward for your remarkable achievement. The saying has it, that virtue is its own reward, but I think that a more evident a reward is most appropriate in this case."

Patrick could not believe his ears at the news and began to thank the Headmaster profusely, only to be cut short by the Headmaster.

"Ingram-Lewis, before you drown yourself in the evident euphoria you are clearly gripped by at the moment, I have to remind you that as a prefect you shoulder some grave responsibilities. Outside of class hours, it is the Court of Prefects, to which you now belong, who are charged with maintaining order and discipline among their fellow classmates. Now, this can be an awkward experience, for it means that you, as a prefect, have to distance yourself from the boys you are controlling. In a word, Ingram-Lewis, you cannot be servant and master; you cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.

Now this can lead to some unpleasant actions, which are also part and parcel of your job. For example, you will certainly be called upon to beat some of your fellow classmates, or even worse, a boy older than yourself, which is often a hard task. So, Ingram-Lewis you have to stick fast to your powers as a prefect and if a boy questions your decisions and refuses to obey you, then you must refer him immediately to me and I shall then take appropriate action, which, I can assure you will be more severe than anything you are authorised to visit on a miscreant. However, I feel that those of you, who are honoured to be named as prefects, will rise to such occasions, which will equip you well for your future careers, where necessary decisions are not always easy to take."

"Now to a few practicalities; this chit, you can take to the school outfitters in town and they will provide you with your mortar board, which will replace your normal school cap now that you have joined the rank of prefects. It is a gift from the school in recognition of your new status. Wear it with pride, but please remember, Ingram-Lewis, that as of now, you must always wear your mortar board when you are outside the school premises."

"And, most important, there are the accoutrements of discipline, your personal junior and senior canes; they are on the chair behind you. Take them with you when you leave me and use them wisely; but do use them, for a good taste of the cane applied to the naked buttocks of a miscreant boy, is a miracle worker, as you yourself, I am sure, can testify."

"And so, Ingram-Lewis, it remains for me to wish you well in your new role. Oh, I believe that the Head Boy, Jeremy Meakin, whom I have informed of your elevation, would like to see you at the mid-morning break to welcome you to the fold and doubtless your fellow prefects will give you a warm welcome to their common room, which is also where they hold Court once a week to deal with any recalcitrant delinquents. I am sure, Ingram-Lewis that you will soon get the hang of things in your new role and integrate yourself into the elite group to which you now belong. Oh, and I quite forgot; you will, of course, have your own private study from now on; a privilege granted to all senior prefects."

After all that wordiness, Patrick left the Headmaster's study, clutching his two canes and went off to his first class of the term. He was walking on air: he was in seventh heaven: he was euphoric! He, Patrick Ingram-Lewis was now a prefect! Who would ever have thought it? Certainly not Patrick himself.

"Ingram-Lewis," said Mr Carruthers, the English master, whose class he had just entered late, "You are late for class, which would normally result in a punishment. However, on this occasion I believe that congratulations are in order, for I see that you are brandishing your two new canes, so I suppose we are to understand that you have been elevated to the level of prefect by the Headmaster."

"Yes sir, that's right, sir. The Headmaster has just told me of my appointment as a senior prefect and given me my two canes."

"Well, Ingram-Lewis, I congratulate you on your preferment as I am sure do your classmates, whom I would, nevertheless, now warn to tread carefully otherwise they might find themselves on the receiving end of one of your weapons."

Everyone laughed, if somewhat nervously, for there was more than a grain of truth in Mr Carruthers's remarks. But as the Headmaster had said, things were never to be the same again for Ingram-Lewis. He had become one of "them" and was no longer one of "us."

Jeremy Meakin, the Head Boy, saw Ingram-Lewis at the break and welcomed him into the fold: "Your fellow prefects look forward to welcoming you into their midst and you are expected in the prefects' common room after prep. this evening, when we shall endeavour to show you the ropes."

That evening, Patrick entered the prefects' common room for the first time as a member of the elite group. He had, in the distant past, been a regular visitor for the Friday night Prefects' Court, when the assembled prefects dispensed their justice on delinquent boys by thrashing their naked arses. The Friday night beatings dispensed by the Prefects' Court, was one of the all enduring fixtures in the Rigby calendar. It is safe to say that the prefects themselves loved it, whilst the boys, their "victims" had a rather different view.

The Head Boy explained: "The way it works, Ingram-Lewis (always surnames and never ever a Christian name!) is that we, the prefects, are authorised to use the cane to correct any boy whom we find committing a misdemeanour. The junior prefects may correct boys in the first year with the junior cane, but must refer any older boy to the Court of Prefects for punishment with the senior cane."

"The senior prefects, to whom you now number, can beat any miscreant boy from any class, using the junior cane on the thirteen year olds and the senior cane thereafter on boys from any class. The school rules limit us to six strokes, always applied to the bare arse, by the way, but of that I am sure you yourself are painfully aware of that as are we all. The one exception to this rule is myself; as Head Boy I have the right to give twelve strokes at any one time, a facility of which I regularly avail myself."

"Now, Ingram-Lewis, you have the right to cane individual boys as you see fit, if you find them breaking the rules. However, the Prefects' Court, which meets every Friday night after supper to deal collectively with the week's "harvest" of miscreants, needs to be certain that it has a regular supply of what we, among ourselves refer to as "cannon fodder" on which to exercise its disciplinary rights. Crudely put, Ingram Lewis, we need at least half a dozen arses available to beat every Friday night."

"It's all very unofficial of course, but we have to be sure that we have a minimum number of backsides at our disposal at every formal meeting of the court. Now, to achieve that target, each of us has a "quota", which is the number of boys per month each prefect has to deliver to the Court. So, your quota, as it is your first term as a prefect will be two boys a month, So, Ingram-Lewis you are expected to name two boys each month who will appear before us at Court and whose arses we shall proceed to beat."

" As Head Boy, I participate in this weekly dispensation of justice as I feel that there are always a few individuals who merit a dozen cuts, which only I personally am authorised to give. So, for instance, if you bring a boy before the Court, it is your duty to beat him, but you are limited to six cuts only. However, it may well be, as is so often the case, that the offence merits a more severe beating. So, as Head Boy I then step in and administer another six cuts, bringing his total up to twelve. And believe me, Ingram-Lewis, with twelve good naked arse cuts and our finely honed techniques with the cane, a Prefects' Court beating surpasses anything that the Head Master can hand deliver."

"We don't, brag about our prowess, of course, but it is a fact; I can assure you that boys leave the Court on Friday nights with an unbelievably painful backside. Of course, any boys you find over and above your monthly quota, you are free to beat yourself, or to hand them over to the Court for collective justice, as you see fit."

Patrick thought for a moment and said: "But supposing I don't find two boys a month who deserve a beating; what happens then? Take me for instance; I've been made a prefect partly because for the past two years I've kept myself out of trouble and never been beaten. Supposing I can't meet my quota, what happens then?"

"Ah, well, Ingram-Lewis, that would be unfortunate for you, as there is a sting in the tail of all this. Prefects who do not meet their quota are obliged to make up the lack with their own arses. So, old son, if you don't produce two boys a month, it's your own backside which will take six at the Court. But I would not worry too much, for it is dead easy to find errant arses to haul up before the Court."

"Remember outside of classes, our word is more or less law, so just keep your eyes peeled and pounce on any minor infraction. You'll soon get the hang of it. It's not difficult you know, and once you get a taste for thrashing a well-rounded pair of naked buttocks, well, I suppose I shouldn't say this as we are supposed to be administering a punishment, but most of us find it real pleasure as I am sure you will. I know I do!"

"Too bloody true, I will," thought Patrick, "There is no fucking way that any of you lot is going to take pleasure in tickling my arse with your canes. I'll make bloody sure that I not only make, but exceed, my quota. This is pay-back time for me and I intend to exercise my right arm on any arse I fancy."

We now move on to the Saturday afternoon following Patrick's promotion. This was to turn out to be the fatidic day on which he was to be presented with his first opportunity as prefect to try out one of his new canes on an errant but receptive arse, the junior cane as it so happened. He had just turned the corner to see a boy running down down the corridor in the opposite . When Patrick saw him he had almost reached the other end. Patrick stopped him dead in his tracks. "Tomlinson," he called, "Is that you I see careering down the corridor. Stop where you are Tomlinson, turn round and walk back to me; walk, boy, I said, not run."

The boy turned round and very slowly came back to stood trembling in front of Patrick, who, himself nearly six feet tall and towered above this first former. "Tomlinson, would you like to explain to me why you were in such haste running down this corridor? You are aware, I suppose, that running anywhere inside the school premises, excepting in the gymnasium, is strictly forbidden as it has been the source of several accidents in the past."

"Yes Ingram-Lewis; I'm very sorry I was running and I won't do it again. I was just making my way to the JCR (the junior common room) to have some tea and fruit cake. You know Ingram Lewis, it is Saturday and every Saturday there is tea and ..."

"Tomlinson, I have been at this school for the past five years and I am fully conversant with the catering arrangements, so I do not need you to tell me that there is tea and cake in the JCR on Saturday afternoons. What I do need you to tell me, however, is why you were breaking a cardinal rule of the school and running down this corridor. So come on, Tomlinson, let's be having an explanation for your delinquency (that word and all that it implied for the addressee made Tomlinson tremble in his boots) and it had better be a good one."

Patrick stood there gazing down beadily at Tomlinson, whom he could see was wracking his brain to come with some plausible explanation for his behaviour, for the very mention of the word, delinquency, had sent shivers down the boy's spine.

"Well, Ingram-Lewis, it's like this; you see I don't like strong stewed tea: it really does disagree with me you know. I do have a very delicate stomach and so I was hurrying along to the JCR so that I could get a cup of freshly made tea before it became stewed in pot. So, Ingram-Lewis, as you can see, it was a sort of medical necessity. I absolutely needed to get there before the tea became too stewed and ..." Here his voice tailed off as he realised the utter futility of his excuse. "Anyway, Ingram-Lewis I am truly sorry and as it is Saturday afternoon and as I do really need a cup of tea, do you think that I might go now?"

"Indeed I think you might go, Tomlinson, but not to the tea room, I am sorry to say. Just run along, figuratively speaking that is, and wait for me outside of my study. I will go and have a cup of tea myself and when I return, suitably refreshed, I shall be in fine form to deal with you. You and I, Tomlinson, will then get to the bottom of this; thrash it out together, so to speak," said Patrick with heavy irony.

"Oh please, Ingram-Lewis, have a heart; it is Saturday afternoon and there was no one around to see me breaking the rules so couldn't you just, for once, turn a blind eye and let me off."

"Tomlinson, you have broken a cardinal rule of the school and far from no one being around, I am someone and I was around and I caught you breaking the rules and I, as prefect have a duty to bring home to you what happens to any boy of this school, a junior boy to boot, who breaks a rule. So, Tomlinson: no blind eyes and no lettings off. Do as I say and go and wait for me outside my study. I will be with you shortly." Patrick was adept at using the very wordy English commonly use by prefects and masters when they were dressing down a boy. He literally laid it on with a trowel; it was all very theatrical and turned a minor infraction into a real life drama, turning Tomlinson into a limp leaf.

A deflated Tomlinson did as he was bidden and found himself standing alone in the corridor before the said study door for the best part of twenty minutes during which time Patrick regaled himself on tea and cake. During this long waiting period, poor Tomlinson, who let's face it, had not broken a very serious rule, spent his time engaged in that metaphorical act known in modern day vernacular as "shitting bricks."

Patrick arrived, opened the door and ushered Tomlinson, his first "victim" into his study. Tomlinson was trembling with fear as he knew only too well what was about to happen to him. "Tomlinson, the only thing I can say about your ludicrous reason for your lamentable lack of observation of the school rules is that you reminded me that it was Saturday afternoon and that there was was tea and cake available in the JCR. So, my dear Tomlinson, even though I am not exactly a junior, I went along there and availed myself of their generous hospitality and partook of tea and cake myself. And I can tell you, Tomlinson that I enjoyed it and, moreover, the tea, in spite of the fact that I walked there, was not stewed.

So, Tomlinson, as even someone as dim as you can see (it was common practice for prefects at public schools to berate and belittle the boys they were about to thrash) had you yourself observed the rules and walked like a gentleman down the corridor to the JCR, you too would have enjoyed freshly brewed tea and fruit cake. However, as it is, you did not walk: you ran and for that reason instead of tea and cake you are going to enjoy a very enervating experience as I whack your arse. I trust I make myself clear Tomlinson. So may I suggest, Tomlinson, that you now go to that chair over there; drop your pants and underwear, bend across the back of the back, put your hands on the seat and present your bare arse to me for examination."

Poor Tomlinson listened to this avalanche of sarcasm fomr Patrick, and then made one last attempt to rescue himself from the truly desperate situation in which he now found himself: "Oh, come on, Ingram-Lewis, be a sport, don't be so hard on me. It is a Saturday afternoon and I wasn't causing any harm or doing any damage and it is the first and only time I have ever run in the corridor and I won't ever do it again I promise, so please, Ingram-Lewis, please have a heart and let me off this one time."

Tomlinson ended his plea for "clemency" by painting a penitent look on his face, none of which moved Patrick in the slightest. As you can well imagine, Patrick had the bit between his teeth and was not going to let Tomlinson, his first "trophy" so to speak, off the hook. Tomlinson's arse was well and truly doomed that Saturday afternoon and he knew it.

"Tomlinson, you are trying my patience to the limit. Now let me see a naked arse across the back of that chair immediately." Tomlinson finally capitulated and did as he was told. Patrick looked at the pair of buttocks which were presented to him for his first onslaught ever with the cane and was singularly unimpressed. It was unclear what more he could have expected to find under the trousers of a thirteen year old boy and rational observer would have found Tomlinson fine for his age.