The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles

Now the Commander's study was not really a study at all. He was so rarely at home that he did not need a study, but this place was his private room in which he could shut himself away from the nuisances of his wife and mother when at home. So although it contained a huge mahogany desk, this was largely empty and the rest of the furniture was of leather armchairs and a leather sofa, all very redolent of a gentlemen's club. In fact it was the Commander's private smoking room. After dinner that evening, Cedric Oliver entered, very hesitantly, his father's private domain. Lying on the desk was a very heavy leather razor strop, with a large handle. This was already a very inauspicious start to the "serious talk" which his father had mentioned. The way his father welcomed him into the room and the tone of his father's voice did nothing to dispel his fears.

"Come in, boy, (Boy! Not Cedric or son). Sit down over there, whilst you are still able. I have here a report from your Headmaster and I have to tell you that it makes depressing reading. It seems that you have adopted an attitude that you can do at school exactly as you wish. You have been continuously disruptive in class and in spite of several beatings the Headmaster felt that he had to birch you the other day because of your persistent unfortunate behaviour throughout the entire term. This is not the sort of behaviour I expect from my son. What have you to say for yourself?"

Poor Oliver did not know how to answer his father. He knew he had a high annoyance quotient at school and had come to accept that when he was thrashed, as he frequently was, he merited it. But he had no idea what to say to his father.

"For a boy who is so disruptive at school you seem to have little to say for yourself today, Cedric. I have to say that I blame myself for what has happened, for I allowed your mother and grandmother to talk me into a private education here at home when you should have been sent to prep. school much earlier. But, young man, there is no way that a son of mine behaves the way you have clearly done this last term. It has to stop. I am appalled by the number of beatings which Headmaster has felt compelled to give you to try to make you toe the line. However he has clearly failed to inculcate into you a sense of decency and responsibility and I therefore propose to attempt to achieve that goal myself today."

Cedric's heart sank at these words, for he realised now that the instrument of inculcation was the razor strap and that his father was going to beat him and that there was nothing at all he could do to avoid it. He watched with horror as his father reached for the strap: a viciously painful piece of equipment when used for the purpose which his father clearly had in mind.

"Stand up Cedric, drop our trousers and underpants and kneel on the sofa there, leaning over the arm. Hold your buttocks up high so that I can see what I am doing."

Although he knew he was pleading a lost cause, Cedric tried nevertheless to escape from the inevitable: "Please father, please don't beat me again. I was birched just two days ago and my bum is still very sore."

"Your bum, as you put it, is going to be a lot sorer in a few minutes, when I have finished with you, my lad Now, do as I said; drop your pants and underpants and over the arm of the sofa. I want a nice bare arse to beat."

"Oh father, please..."

"Pants and underpants down, boy, and over the sofa. Let me see your bare arse, boy and be quick about it!"

Cedric finally obeyed and waited, trembling, for the first stroke of that awful strap his father was wielding.

"The Headmaster seems to have done a good job recently on your backside, Cedric." said the Commander as he inspected his son's backside. "A few really well placed stripes from a recent caning and a good overall dispersal of the birching. I can see that a good thrashing with the belt will be an excellent means of consolidating your end of term punishment. Now, keep quite still until I have finished and keep your hands out of the way. I am going to give you twenty-four strokes of the strop, which I hope will finally bring home to you the seriousness of your situation. But just let me tell you that if you continue on your present path, I shall have no compunction in beating you again: none whatsoever!"

And so ended, very painfully, Cedric Oliver Ingram-Lewis's first term at school. The razor strop was excruciatingly painful; as bad as the birch or so it seemed, and poor Cedric howled and wept as he begged his father to stop. But it was all to no avail, for the Commander, as we all know, took great satisfaction in administering corporal punishment and the fact that the target today was his own son's arse was of no consideration. The Commander was administering punishment where he thought it was due and it never even crossed his mind that what he was doing was excessive. So Cedric had a rather uncomfortable few days over Christmas. His first term at school had been a baptism of fire.

THE END