by Stanlegh Meresith
Looking back in later life, Julie Meacher would chuckle fondly at memories of her 'rebellious phase' as a teenager at boarding school. And whilst her friends smiled indulgently at her tales of japes and scrapes, their eyebrows rose in shock at her casual talk of the strap and the cane, unaware that the corporal punishment of schoolgirls was practised nowhere at that time quite as readily as it was at Greystones Boarding School for Girls.
But memory is fickle - never entirely to be trusted - and Julie's was no exception. For if she'd known at fifteen how easily her adult self would make light of the painful price she'd paid for her rebellions that Spring Term of 1969, then she would have preserved the Polaroid Instant photos of their marked bottoms that her best friend Natasha had given her. As it was, she'd wrapped them in newspaper and secreted them in her aunt's kitchen bin in the Easter holiday, abashed at the prospect of discovery.
Although it was mostly Natasha's magnetic attraction to trouble that brought about the permanently sore bottoms they wore in those wintry weeks, Julie had, in fact, got there first.
She was eating breakfast three days before term started when her Aunt Agnes came into the kitchen waving a large white envelope with a crest embossed in the corner. "It's come, Julie - finally!"
Julie's heart sank. With the postal workers' strike ongoing since mid-December, she'd been hoping her Autumn Term report was lost among the millions of undelivered Christmas cards.
Her sister giggled. "This should be fun."
"Mary!" warned their aunt, pouring herself a cup of tea.
Mary smirked at her cornflakes. "Sorry, Auntie."
With their parents in Ottawa, where John Meacher was an attaché at the High Commission, the two girls spent their holidays with their aunt at her home in Salisbury, joining their parents only for the summer. Mary, thirteen to Julie's fifteen, attended a preparatory boarding-school in Hampshire, though her name was down to join her sister at Greystones that September.
Aunt Agnes patted the dreaded report. "I shall peruse this at my leisure after breakfast, Julie," she said, "though I can tell by your expression that I won't like what I see."
Mary giggled again. Julie tried to kick her under the table, but she was out of reach.
When their aunt retired to the drawing-room, Mary sat on the bottom stair and watched as her sister paced the hallway, sighing and rubbing the back of her skirt. Their parents had given Aunt Agnes carte blanche to spank them for bad reports, and this wouldn't be Julie's first - her aunt had punished her the previous summer for poor rankings and references to bad behaviour. Mary, the more academic of the two, and blessed with an innocent face, only ever received praise at school.
Julie turned for the tenth time at the front door and glared at her sister. "Do you have to sit there gloating?"
Mary smiled smugly and nodded. Tutting, Julie resumed her worried pacing. When the summons finally came, she gave her sister a V sign and entered the drawing-room, shutting the door behind her.
Aunt Agnes was seated on the sofa, the report on her lap. She took off her reading-glasses and shook her head. "Oh Julie, Julie, Julie," she sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"
Julie had a fair idea, but she wasn't about to make it more likely by saying it.
Her aunt patted the sofa beside her. "Come and sit here."
Trembling slightly, Julie obeyed.
"First, perhaps you could explain this?" She held out a small sheet - a bill of some kind. "Replacement of dormitory window," she read, "twelve shillings and sixpence."
Julie blushed. "It was an accident, Auntie. I'm sorry."
"Well, it's coming out of your allowance."
As Aunt Agnes laid the bill aside, Julie gave silent thanks that she hadn't been pressed for details. She was pretty sure she was about to get spanked anyway, but the broken window episode could only have made matters worse: she'd thrown a hairbrush at Tasha (in fun) and missed. They'd got a huge whacking from Rutter (Mrs Patricia, Housemistress), and been warned their parents would be charged, but Tasha was such a generous friend - her family were unimaginably rich - that Julie wasn't worried about the large dent it would make in her allowance.
"Now then..." Aunt Agnes replaced her glasses and picked up the report. It was a large sheet, divided on both sides into columned sections in which Julie's teachers had recorded their judgments and her rank in the class. "English and Art are really quite good, and R.E and Drama are satisfactory, I suppose, though you really should be in the top half of the class, shouldn't you?"
Julie shrugged. Being measured against other girls was, in her view, totally unfair.
"But the other subjects?" Her aunt frowned, running a finger down the page. "Tenth out of twelve in History and Geography, eleventh in Maths and Biology, and as for Chemistry..." She shook her head, "bottom, Julie - bottom of the whole class. It's not good enough, is it?"
"But Auntie, they're all really clever at Greystones. I can't help it if I'm in classes with... with a bunch of swots!"
Raising a sceptical eyebrow, Aunt Agnes turned back to the report with a grunt. "Maybe so, Julie, though you could try working as hard as they do. But how do you explain this?" She indicated the section for Physical Education, where students were not ranked. "If Meacher put as much effort into gym as she does into trying to show off, she'd be considerably fitter. As it is, she continues to do the absolute minimum," she read. "Hm? Doing the absolute minimum seems to be a theme, doesn't it, Julie?" She pointed to the Housemistress' concluding summary and held out the sheet. "I think you'd better read this yourself."
Julie took it and started reading.
"Aloud, please."
Julie shifted on her cushion and blushed. She'd seen enough already to know this was going to be humiliating. "Meacher's primary concern," she read, "is to get away with doing as little as she possibly can. Whilst she clearly enjoys and excels in Art and English, applying herself to subjects less to her liking is not something she appears to deem important." She looked up at her aunt with her widest, most innocent eyes. "What does 'deem' mean, Auntie?"
Knowing that look, and in no way fooled, Aunt Agnes tutted impatiently. "It means 'regard as'."
"Oh." Julie gulped, knowing her ploy had failed. Her bottom tingled in her knickers.
"Go on."
Julie's hands trembled as she read, "Far more effort is required, especially with the O-level exams coming up in June. As for her general conduct, both in the house and around the school, it has fallen well short of the standards we expect, as she has learned to her cost on several occasions. One hopes for greater maturity in a girl her age, a prospect not helped by her unfortunate choice of friends. A very disappointing term indeed. Patricia Rutter." Julie sighed heavily and handed back the report.
"It's that Natasha Babington again, isn't it?" said her aunt, annoyed.
Julie looked down.
"And what's this about learning to your cost "on several occasions"? How often were you punished last term?"
"Er..." Julie interlaced her fingers, blushing. "I... I can't remember exactly, Auntie."
"You can't remember?" Aunt Agnes lifted Julie's chin and turned her face. "You seem to forget, Julie Meacher, that I was a Greystones girl myself once. No-one forgets how many times they've been punished. Hm? Out with it."
"Five, Auntie."
"Did the Headmistress have to cane you again?"
Julie shook her head. She'd been swished once in the fourth form, but - somewhat miraculously - neither she nor Tasha had had to face the Head so far in the fifth.
"Well," sighed Aunt Agnes, "that's something, I suppose. Still, you've earned yourself a trip over my knee with this report, young lady, make no mistake. I'm extremely disappointed, as I know your parents will be."
Julie shrugged. Her parents' feelings in the matter were the least of her worries, distant as they were. Her aunt's, however, were of immediate concern. "Auntie, I'm sorry," she pleaded. "Please don't spank me. I get it enough at school, don't I?"
"Well apparently you don't, because you've had to be punished five times, Julie. Five!" She shook her head. "I'm ashamed for you - a Meacher, doing so badly, and so poorly behaved." She rolled up her sleeve.
"Auntie, please," Julie whined, bouncing nervously on the sofa. "I'll work harder, I promise, and... and..." Though unwilling to renounce Tasha, she was ready to promise almost anything else, "I'll be good from now on, and I'll work really hard, honestly I will."
"Promises are cheap, Julie. Come along." She tapped her right knee. "Get yourself over here."
Mewling faintly, Julie got up, knelt on the sofa and laid herself across the waiting lap.
"Auntie, not too hard... please."
Aunt Agnes grunted. "It'll be what it'll be, Julie. You've been lazy and disobedient, and I promised your father I'd hold you to the same standards he would, so I suggest you button your lip and brace yourself."
Although Aunt Agnes' hand wasn't nearly as bad as her Housemistress' butter-pat, which she'd tasted four times the previous term alone, Julie knew from experience that her aunt didn't stop till you were truly sorry. Her only consolation, as she felt her skirt lifted onto her back and her knickers yanked down, was that she hadn't had to promise to give up Tasha.
"Ready?"
Despite herself, she nodded, and the spanking began, firm slaps warming each cheek in turn. She remembered how methodical was her aunt's approach, finding every inch of her lily-white skin with the flat of her hand till her bottom glowed all over. But this part wasn't so bad - in fact, she quite liked the warmth these first smacks produced - it was what she knew came next which made her grasp the sides of the cushion beneath her face and utter a frightened squeak.
As the relentless palm revisited sites already sensitive from her aunt's opening salvo, the hot sting of each fresh blow made her gasp and wriggle. Her attempts to protect herself and twist away were in vain, for Aunt Agnes simply took a firmer grasp on her hip, pinned her arm and trapped her leg. The burning soreness grew apace and her gasps became yips and groans. Knowing her sister would have her ear to the door, listening for more to gloat about, she buried her face in the sofa cushion to muffle her cries.
But when Aunt Agnes' surprisingly sturdy hand stoked the stinging fire with its third tour of her bottom, sheer pain overcame any thought of maintaining her dignity. Her head flew up and - sod Mary - she let rip a continuous, piercing wail that just got louder as her bottom boiled at each tormenting spank. Bawling and kicking, she writhed over the unrelenting lap.
"Auntie, STOP! Please.... no more... I'm sorry!"
But the spanking went on till the job was done and Julie was sobbing in surrender, her bottom scorched and puce.
"There now," said her aunt. "Heavens, what a fuss! Come along, my dear." She helped her up, leaning back sharply to avoid Julie's elbow as her hands flew straight to her rear to clutch and rub. "I hope you don't behave like that when you're being dealt with by your Housemistress."
Kneeling red-faced with snot on her upper lip, Julie gave a final sob and muttered, "No, Auntie," thinking, but Rutter doesn't hit me forty bloody times like you do.
"I should hope not. In my day, Julie, we made it a point of pride to be brave under fire. The mistresses were firm but fair. They used to say that..."
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