The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 05

But Turnbull could not let matters rest and treated Patrick to a stream of invective. "Ingram-Lewis, who the fuck do you think you are, ordering me to appear before the Prefects' Court. I am in the sixth form and every bit as good as you are and you don't boss me around. And as for punishing me like a first former at the Prefects' Court, well just forget it; it just ain't going to happen my friend." And so he ranted on, digging himself ever deeper into the hole in which he already found himself.

Patrick turned to Atkins who had been listening to all this and said: "You know Atkins, I think our friend Turnbull here is going to need some very special care this evening: don't you? So Turnbull, we look forward to welcoming you to the Court this evening, when you will find that you are not an exception to the rule; indeed not, Turnbull. You will either toe the line and appear before the Court or I will haul you before the Headmaster and you will go straight to the punishment room and the worst birching of your life; don't try me Turnbull; I mean what I say. And in case you are wondering; you are right; let me assure I am not at all as nice as I look; eight sharp at the Prefects' Court, Turnbull. And by the way, as you are wet, just put on your gym strip for your appearance this evening it will suffice admirably." And with that Patrick and Atkins turned away and left Turnbull, livid with rage and cursing under his breath.

This encounter was the beginning of what might be called the "Affaire Turnbull" who's gross and uncouth actions did not stop here in the snow, but were to go from bad to worse as term progressed.

That evening, in spite of all his bluster, Turnbull arrived at the door of the prefects' common room where the Court was held to find himself waiting behind two fourth formers, also in their gym strips and waiting to be called to account. As they waited together, Turnbull heard the unmistakable sound of a cane landing on naked flesh accompanied by a howl of pain. He and his two companions had to wait there and listen to stroke after stroke accompanied by cries of pain as the prefects did their duty by the present miscreant, eventually, the door opened and a tearful first former emerged, rubbing his raging arse.

Turnbull was forced to wait outside and listen to the sound of the cane as the two fourth formers successively entered the study and took their punishment. It was a salutary moment for Turnbull as he finally came to terms with the painful fate which awaited him when he was called to enter the Court. Any truculence he had had, had by now disappeared in a wave of apprehension. It was not the first time that Turnbull was to have his arse beaten, but he somehow divined that this would be no ordinary beating; and he was shortly to be proved right.

Turnbull was again left waiting a further five minutes before the door reopened and he was summoned into the room. He found himself facing a frightening scene. Sitting at the central desk was Ingram-Lewis, the Head Boy who was presiding over the proceedings; arranged around him in an arc were, to the left, the six junior prefects each brandishing a bath brush and to the right, even more menacing, the six senor prefects each with a cane in his hand. Turnbull then saw that in the middle of the room was what was clearly a beating stool, replete with padding and wrist straps.

Patrick opened the proceedings and said: "Turnbull, you know why you are here. You, sir, were caught in the act of bullying a first former in the snow earlier today. You were behaving like a lout and certainly not like a Rigbyan from whom much better manners are required. Mallet, the boy you were bullying, is only half your size, which makes your offence even worse. Moreover, Turnbull, although this is the first time you have been caught in the act, you have acquired the reputation among your classmates of being a bully, a quality which you have to be made to lose entirely."

"In addition, Turnbull, you chose to be verbally abusive to me personally, using language of the gutter ill-suited to someone of your background. You questioned my authority to summon you, a sixth-former, to appear before this Court, under the mistaken impression that you were somehow not subject to the rules of the school. Well let me tell you that sixth-former or not, you are subject to the rules of this school as are we all, myself included. Turnbull, you are now going to pay a very painful price for your actions as we, the Prefects, are going to beat you; indeed Turnbull, we are going to give you probably the hardest hiding you have ever had at Rigby by way of retribution for your actions, in the hope that when you leave this room with a very, very sore arse, you will realise that you have to change your ways. If you do not take heed of this warning, then let me assure you Turnbull, we shall have no hesitation of calling you to account again, with all that that implies."

"Turnbull, you are to receive six strokes of the bath brush across your naked arse. These will be given one each by the six junior prefects by way of an introduction to the main event which will be six strokes of the cane, given again one each by the six senior prefects. Thus in retribution for your bullying of Mallet, you will have received twelve strokes in all and have experienced the punishment capabilities of the full complement of prefects. We have found that by pre-conditioning a boy's arse with the brush prior to passing to the traditional cane, that the strokes of the cane are much more effective; put more simply, Turnbull, they are much more painful for the unfortunate recipient, which brings home to him, in a more immediate manner, the error of his actions."

"But then Turnbull, you have to answer to me for the unfortunate verbal abuse you heaped on me personally. Turnbull, your manners were quite inexcusable; you may not speak to any prefect and least of all to the Head Boy in the way you addressed me. And for that, Turnbull, you are to be punished. I shall myself give you three additional stroke of the cane. So, Turnbull , if you would kindly step out of your gym shorts and bend across the beating stool which is standing behind you, one of the junior prefects will help you adopt the correct position and make you comfortable and we shall commence."

Turnbull, who had entered the Court looking somewhat penitent, had listened to all this in complete silence but was by now seething with anger and indignation. "Ingram-Lewis, you don't mean to tell me that I am going to be beaten by six junior prefects all of whom are a year younger than me. What the fuck do you think you are playing at? It's bad enough to be beaten by a group of stuck-up schoolboys who are playing God, but to have to suffer the humiliation of being beaten by six guys who are younger than me is downright indecent; it's just not done."

"Turnbull; allow me disillusion you and to bring you back to the realities of life at Rigby. We the prefects, junior and senior, are charged with maintaining order outside of class times. Under my leadership as Head Boy, we are totally responsible for enforcing the rules and punishing wrongdoers, to which unfortunate group you belong today. And so it is not for you to tell us who should administer the punishment. I and I alone decide that and I and I alone decide on its severity; and in your case Turnbull, you will receive twelve strokes from the prefects, junior and senior combined , followed by an additional three strokes from me personally. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ingram-Lewis, you're a fucking megalomaniac; obsessed by your power and you are bloody-well out of your mind if you think that I am going to submit to being beaten by you lot. The lot of you; you can bloody-well fuck off."

"Turnbull, as I told you when I caught you bullying Mallet, if you choose not to obey me, and I would remind you that I am in loco domini, then we can go immediately to the Headmaster and believe me, Turnbull, you will get the most horrendous birching and will possibly be expelled. So, Turnbull: what's it to ne, us or the Headmaster?"

Turnbull, seething with rage, finally dropped his shorts and bent across the beating stool where a junior prefect attached the wrist straps to stop him getting up, during the punishment. At first sight it might seem that to have one's arse beaten with the back of a bath brush is no big deal; but think again; in the hands of the junior prefects, this long handled brush brought down with force against the naked flesh of a well muscled arse, which is exactly what Turnbull had, is a very painful experience. By the third stroke, Turnbull was already howling and by the time the last of the six strokes had fakken, he was in tears. By the time the junior prefects had finished their part in the beating his arse was already bright red and that he was in agony, was plain for all to see. But the worst was yet to come.

The brush, painful though it is, by its flat shape spreads the pain across a large flat surface and does not actually cut into the flesh. The cane, on the other hand, does exactly that; correctly and vigorously applied, the cane produces intense pain; and when applied to an arse preconditioned by a good dose of the the brush, as had been Turnbull's, the pain is well nigh unbearable. The great art in administering the cane is to know one's implement and to know just now hard one can flog a boy's arse without breaking the skin and drawing blood. And this is exactly what Turnbull now had to suffer. And as you might have guessed, the prefects did not hold back on the force and Turnbull was begging for the punishment to be stopped after the first two strokes both of which raised deep furrows in the burning arse. But of course, there was no leniency and all six strokes were delivered.

There was then a slight pause. Turnbull was left bent across the stool, his naked and roasted arse sticking into the air, whilst Ingram-Lewis himself selected a cane for his part in the flogging. Brandishing one of Mr Godber's mature, mahogany coloured Molucca canes, he stood surveying Turnbull's burning arse and said: "Turnbull, in view of the way in which you have, despite several warnings, continued to use foul and unseemly language to me, I have no alternative but to increase the severity of your punishment. So Turnbull; brace yourself for six more strokes of the cane. This will mean you will have suffered a total of eighteen strokes in all, a total well within the maximum of the two dozen cuts authorised by the school governors. You will finally fully understand the meaning of the expression, Rigby Rigour."

Patrick went ahead and applied six vigorous strokes of the splendid old cane across Turnbull's already flaming arse. Turnbull was completely quelled and did nothing but weep as blow followed blow. When it was all over, he was released from the wrist straps, told to put back on his shorts and leave. You might have thought that anyone who had just suffered such a severe flogging from his peers would have crept away in silence to lick his wounds in private; but you would have been wrong.

Turnbull, full of resentment and seething with rage and humiliation, could not hold his tongue. He turned to Patrick and said: "Ingram-Lewis, you are a fucking sadist. Just look at what you and your bloody acolytes have done to my arse; I'll not be able to sit down again for a week. You're a fucking maniac Ingram-Lewis; you all are; so just bloody well bugger off the whole miserable lot of you!"

"Turnbull; you have clearly learned nothing in the past few minutes and even after a severe beating, you cannot hold your tongue and continue to direct your utterly insulting remarks at the prefects in general and at me in particular. Kindly drop your shorts again and resume your previous position across the beating stool; you are clearly in need of some additional correction, which I have to say I shall be delighted to give to you".

"Atkins; would you be so kind as to go to my study and fetch me the birch? I think our friend Turnbull here will welcome a change in the implement with which his punishment will be completed. Turnbull, I am going to give your arse six strokes of the willow birch. I think that you will find this a very satisfactory complement to your punishment this evening. In fact Turnbull, it will bring the total number of strokes applied to your well deserving arse to the maximum allowed by the school rules: twenty-four in all. It is the first time I can ever remember any boy being given the maximum number of strokes allowed, but frankly Turnbull, I cannot think of a backside which more deserves it than does yours. Ah, here is Atkins with the birch. Brace yourself again Turnbull; this is going to be very painful."

At the mention of the birch, Turnbull had blanched and suddenly become sullenly quiet. Most of the prefects had never seen the willow birch made for Patrick by Mr. Patterson; nor for that matter had they ever seen a boy's naked arse being birched. A few of them had suffered the birch themselves in their earlier years at Rigby, but none had watched someone else having his backside thoroughly roasted. And Patrick with consummate skill laid each of the six strokes with as much force as he could.

Turnbull's cane welted arse was very quickly covered with the small marks produced by the fine twigs of the birch and by the time he was told to get up, his arse was bright red and the welts of the cane were already turning to purple. If ever a boy had had a thorough beating it was Turnbull this evening. And he finally left the Court with his tail metaphorically between his legs; all his braggadocio had been beaten out of him and he went off to bed with what was truly a well beaten arse. But he still could not resist making yet more derogatory remarks to Patrick.

I suppose one ought to feel a certain sympathy for Turnbull, as he truly had undergone a very severe beating. But he was a bully and had such gross manners which were totally alien to the way boys of his background were expected to behave.

Patrick looked at him and said: "Turnbull, it is clear that what we have done for you in the last few minutes has not taught you enough of a lesson; you still think that you can verbally abuse me and my co-prefects with impunity. Well, Turnbull let me disabuse you of that idea: it simply is not so. And so, Turnbull, working on the principle that repetition is the essence of learning, I think you need another appointment with me; an appointment at which we will conduct a refresher course in what we have been attempting to teach you today."

"Today is Tuesday; so shall we say immediately after Chapel next Sunday? By that time your backside will be in a state to receive and I might add, to require and benefit from further corrective instruction. So, Turnbull, my study at eleven thirty next Sunday morning; oh and by the way Turnbull, don't forget to bring your backside with you; it's going to play an important part, in fact the key part, in the proceedings."

Turnbull made as if to protest, but Patrick cut him short: "Eleven thirty sharp next Sunday. Don't be late Turnbull. I'm already looking forward to the refresher course I intend to give you."

CHAPTER 12

Following chapel the next Sunday morning, Patrick went straight to his study and awaited the arrival of the odious Turnbull. He had asked Atkins the senior prefect, together with whom he had found Turnbull bullying the young Mallet in the snow, to join them by way of a show in solidarity. As Atkins had been present from the start, it seemed only polite to invite him. But there was an ulterior motive in Patrick's mind. As we already know, he and Atkins had had sex together, which both had enjoyed and Patrick was wondering if here was any hope of renewing that liaison. Atkins had indicated at the time that he would not mind another session but since that first time neither of them had made any advance.

Patrick had had the beating stool moved to the prefect's common room for the beating of Turnbull earlier in the week, but it was now once again in its permanent place of residence: Patrick' study. He wanted to be sure that Turnbull was firmly tethered as he intended to give the boy another hard thrashing that morning. Patrick had no intention of letting Turnbull get away unpunished after the rude remarks he had made leaving Prefects' Court earlier in the week. Retribution was once again to be exacted and Turnbull's arse was again going to pay the painful price for his foul mouth. Promptly after chapel, a surly Turnbull presented himself at Patrick's study.

"Turnbull; I think you know why you are here; but to make matters quite clear, after we had beaten and birched you on Tuesday evening, you decided once again to direct a stream of abusive remarks at the prefects in general and at me in particular. I would have thought that someone who had just been given a severely painful beating, firstly for bullying a smaller boy, but also for making foul mouthed comments, would have learned by then to hold his tongue. But no; I was wrong and you chose to dig yourself still deeper into the hole in which you found yourself. Turnbull, your behaviour was totally unacceptable and for that reason I propose one again to punish you. As I said at that time, repetition is the essence of learning and I think a further thrashing is in order to try to make you understand that your behaviour will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?"

Turnbull stood there silent for a few moments and then said: "Ingram-Lewis, I think that I have been punished enough for one week. My backside is still very sore and I don't think I should be beaten again; as I said I think that you are obsessed by your position as Head Boy and any further punishment by you could be seen as sadistic. Anyway, I'm sure your mind is made up and without any justification you are going to beat me, so do your bloody worst. Ingram- Lewis you are a right bloody bastard."

"Turnbull, once again you have a way with words; you simply cannot hold your tongue and refrain from using foul language towards me. Turnbull, you deserve all that you are going to be given this morning. I can think of no boy who deserves a beating more than you and it is my painful duty to give it to you. So kindly drop your trousers and underpants, bend across the beating stool and Atkins will make you comfortable, I have to tell you that today I am again going to use the birch. You will take twelve cuts with the junior birch, the green birch, with which you familiarised yourself earlier in the week and which will provide a suitable refresher for your jaded arse."

At the mention of the birch, Turnbull started trembling at the thought that this hideously painful implement was again to be applied to his naked arse. The thought of the birch filled every school boy with horror and Turnbull was no exception. He quailed inwardly at the thought of what was now about to be inflicted upon his still painful arse; but he was still not capable of holding his foul tongue as he said: "You really are a sadistic sod, Ingram-Lewis," as he now obeyed the order and bent over the stool for punishment. His arse was still suffering from the ministrations it had received earlier that week.

Patrick surveyed the target area in front of him. The whole buttock area was still inflamed where the brush, cane and birch had . a few days ago, done their duty. But having listened to Turnbull's latest remarks, Patrick had no qualms whatsoever about giving him another dose of the birch. He picked up the dreaded implement, swished it down through the air a few times for effect; the fine twigs made a higher pitched noise than the normal cane, which gave an added dimension of horror to the whole proceeding. Then with low and deliberate, well placed strokes, he proceeded to give Turnbull's arse a very thorough and painful second birching: twelve cuts in all. By the third cut, Turnbull was howling with pain and was soon in tears. It might well be called the junior birch but it was a very, very painful experience for any boy who had the misfortune to merit it. And of course Patrick was an absolute pro. at extracting he maximum potential from this very painful implement.