The Scotch whisky mystery
Original Fiction – for adult eyes only
In
February 2006 Mr R. A. F. Brightlington-Pugh, a former housemaster at the
Ridgeway private boarding school in the west of England, passed away peacefully
in his sleep at the age of ninety-seven. Some years later, his
great-great-great-great nephew found a leather-bound travelling chest
containing diaries he had written during the 1930s and 1940s. This present
story The Scotch whisky mystery was inspired by the diary entry for 11th
November 1932.
The mystery of where the sixth form boys
obtained their whisky has been solved at long last. It had been troubling me
for many months. They thought I did not know they were taking nips after lights
out. There is nothing that goes on in this house that I do not know about.
Nothing. Sometimes, I believe it is better not to show one’s hand too early.
Whisky and all alcohol is naturally banned
at Ridgeway, but the senior boys had a supply from somewhere. We are an
isolated community and the boys are very conspicuous in the locale. The boys
wear grey short trousers until they enter the sixth-form; no purveyor of
alcoholic beverages could mistake them for anything other than schoolboys. Even
the sixth formers dress in bright red blazers with white trimming and
red-and-white-hooped school caps.
I was certain that nobody locally would
knowingly supply my boys with firewater. I was, however, quite wrong. There was
one person and he was I confess very adept at deceiving the school authorities.
I discovered it quite by accident. I had
been to the senior common room and found I had forgotten my pen which I needed
to correct some compositions. As I hurried down the passageway to my study I
espied Tom Nedley, the baker’s boy. He had secreted under his jacket an empty
Scotch whisky bottle. His stock in trade was loaves of bread and sticky buns;
not booze. Something was afoot.
One need not be Sherlock Holmes to work it
out. The idiot boy confessed under the mildest interrogation. He was the
supplier to the sixth form. He brought to the school full bottles and later
collected the empties. That way no evidence of illicit drinking would fall into
the hands of we schoolmasters.
Tom is I suppose at least eighteen years
old. I cannot be sure, but he stands at close to six foot and has a build that
suggests he has worked manual labour for some time. He looks much older than
that age. I know very little about him, except that he works in his father’s
bakery and the family has been supplying the school since Noah was a lad.
What would his father say if the school
cancelled its order and found a new baker for its needs?
“You have let your father down very
badly,” I told him.
His ruddy face paled significantly. Some
horror had struck him. “No, please don’t tell my dad,” he said. Then he
positively wailed, “Ple-ase!”
Within minutes we were in my study and I
was on the telephone to Mr Nedley. I could hear the alarm in his voice after I
threatened to cancel the school’s order.
“Keep the boy there. I’ll be right over.”
Mr Nedley was true to his word. Within a
quarter of an hour he stood in my study. Mr Nedley was his son’s father. Nobody
who saw the two together could doubt it. They were like two peas in a pod,
except that one was somewhat older than the other.
Tom quaked as his father entered the
study. There is no other word for it. There was genuine fear.
I had no prior knowledge of Mr Nedley’s
intentions. He was both young Tom’s employer and his father and legal guardian.
I sat in my armchair and watched as events unfolded before me.
Mr Nedley’s face contorted with anger as
his son confessed his misdeeds. He had supplied illicit alcohol to a variety of
sixth-formers over the past months. He had received a generous “tip” with each
delivery for his troubles. Yes, he confessed to his father, he knew he was
breaking the school rules and the laws of Olde England itself.
That was enough for Mr Nedley. His son had
erred and he had a father’s duty to punish him.
His eyes searched the room; until he found
what he needed. He carried a straight-backed wooden chair from against the wall
and placed it in the very centre of the study. Then, without saying a word to
his son, he unbuckled his wide heavy leather belt and in one swift continuous
movement pulled it through the loops on his thick serge trousers.
He sat himself down on the wooden chair. Tom stood horror struck. Clearly he knew where this episode would end.
“Take down yer trousers and drawers and
get across me knee.”
Tom shot a look across at me and then at
his irate father. He said nothing, but the panic in his eyes said, “No, please,
not in public.”
“Quickly, or I’ll do it fer yer.”
I watched impassively as the boy complied
with his father’s instruction. First his thick grey worsted trousers fell to
the ground. He hesitated significantly before sending his grimy grey woollen
drawers in the same direction.
For a few moments he stood; his private
parts on full display. His ruddy face was now scarlet.
“Over.” His father slapped his own thigh
as if there were any doubt what he meant.
Tom lowered his vast frame across his
father’s lap. At six-feet tall he made an imperfect fit. An over-the-knee
spanking is best administered to a small child; not to a strapping
eighteen-year-old. His knees were bent and his toes rested on the fairly worn
rug. He placed the palms of his hands flat on the floor. His meaty bottom was
raised at an angle against his father’s right knee.
In the time waiting for Mr Nedley to
arrive I had contemplated what punishment young Tom should receive. I fully
intended that the sixth-form boys would receive a severe beating with my
special Malacca cane. It seemed only fair and appropriate that young Tom should
receive similar treatment.
I had been prepared to offer one of the
two crook-handled rattan canes that dangled from the hat stand in the corner of
my study to Tom’s father. Indeed, I should have been prepared to administer the
thrashing myself had Mr Nedley felt he did not have sufficient expertise to
wield a cane effectively.
I watched as Mr Nedley trebled up his
thick heavy leather belt. I am an exponent of corporal punishment. As a
schoolmaster it is my duty to instil discipline in the young. I am the
representative of authority; of law and order. As such it is entirely
appropriate that I should deliver a beating at (quite literally) arm’s length.
A boy prepares himself for a beating and I lash the cane into his backside. Our
respective roles in this little ritual are clearly defined.
Corporal punishment delivered by a father
to his son is altogether different. The spanking is part of a loving
relationship and as such more intimacy is assuredly required. If I were to
order a pupil (even the most junior) across my knee eyebrows would be raised.
The relationship between schoolmaster and pupil is not at all intimate. The boy
most of all would resent the imposition.
I once had a colleague who told me that
when he was a schoolboy a certain master would always punish his charges with
an over-the-knee spanking. He was last dealt with in such a way when he was
aged eighteen. He had been required to lower his trousers and underwear and lay
across the master’s lap to allow him to slap the palm of his hand into his
naked bottom.
A realist would say that a hand spanking
could never hurt nearly as much as a swishing with a rattan cane and therefore
the boys should have been grateful to receive a lesser punishment. The boys did
not see it this way. Their dignity suffered. A caning was a “manly” punishment;
a spanking should be confined to the nursery.
I had never before witnessed a spanking,
but it was clear this was not new territory for Tom and his father. The boy lay
submissively, his head held so low that he was able to look underneath the
chair and observe the trousers and underwear bunched at his own feet. Mr Nedley
took hold of the tail of his son’s shirt and tucked it up his back so it was
away from the buttocks. Then slowly and deliberately he rolled up the
shirtsleeve on his own right arm so that any swing he might make with the
leather belt would be unhindered.
Then, without warning he lashed the thick
leather belt into Tom’s naked haunches. A sunset stripe appeared immediately;
followed by another and then another as Mr Nedley set about covering every
square inch of his son’s bottom.
The boy scrunched up his face to absorb
the pain. His mouth opened and closed silently, rather like that of a goldfish.
But, he made no sound. His father set about his task at a rhythmic pace and
soon two meaty cheeks were the colour of a good Burgundy. From my vantage point
on the armchair I could tell Tom must be in considerable pain. The flesh on his
buttocks looked scorched.
Sweat soaked Mr Nedley’s grubby cotton
shirt as he continued to pound his leather strap up and down; up and down.
Satisfied that there was no part of the boy’s bottom unbranded he turned his
attention to the back of the teenager’s thighs. That part of the anatomy is
especially sensitive and the boy wriggled and squirmed a little in response to
the sting of the strap.
At no point did Tom move the palms of his
hands from the floor. He made no attempt to resist the ministrations of his
father. He was as submissive as any one of my schoolboys when required to
present themselves to me for a thrashing. I admired the boy’s fortitude.
In no time Tom’s face was as red as his
backside. The leathering was having its desired effect. But Mr Nedley was not
yet ready to conclude the spanking. With renewed vigour he took his belt once
more around the circuit; smacking it into every part of the boy’s bottom; from
the top of the curves, across the fleshiest part of the buttocks and into the
crease at the under-cheeks where the rear end meets the thighs.
Then and only then was Mr Nedley
satisfied.
There was no lecture. All he said was the
single word, “Up.” The boy sprang to his feet and without waiting for
permission he whipped up his underwear and trousers. Within seconds he was once
again fully dressed.
Since we were in my study I felt the need
to say something that might conclude the matter. I assured Mr Nedley that I had
no intention of stopping further bakery orders. As far as I was concerned the
boy had transgressed and he had accepted his just punishment. We could all move
on now.
I did however warn young Tom that if he
ever dared to supply my boys with whisky or any other alcohol I would
personally see to it that he received a severe swishing with one of my special
Malacca canes.
He murmured something that might have
been, “Sorry, Sir,” and the pair of them went on their way.
All that was now left for me to do was to
decide whether or not when the sixth formers attended my study later that day I
would require them to lower their trousers and underwear.
Picture
credit: Endart
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