Sunday 4 October 2009

Matron Philips - Making a Man of a Boy


Part I


During his first two years, Mayhew had pleased his masters with his hard work, attention to detail and automatic respect for their authority. He had been proud to be part of the school and had always worn his uniform with the utmost pride feeling a strong sense of identity with the values that it represented. In fact, it could be said that Mayhew had built up a reputation as the perfect pupil and, in his masters’ opinion, was set for higher things and some of his maters even spoke of Mayhew as possible ‘Sandhurst material’.

He was a keen member of the school cadet force and enjoyed leading his small group of 1st form boys during Friday afternoon drill practice. During weekend camp, Mayhew had demonstrated his shared sense of order with the school when directing his young ‘cadet pack’ in being first to successfully erect their tent and pass inspection with flying colours. Each boy knew his exact task and when to fulfil it under Mayhew’s expert direction.

The young boys looked up to Mayhew and two of them in particular, Chapman and Bishop enjoyed listening to his stories and, at a mere eleven years old, were clearly still naïve enough to readily believe much of what their pack leader said. To a great extent, it was during that weekend camping adventure that Mayhew got to know his pack and win their respect as their fearless commander-in-chief. Like any great leader, he realised the value of being able to walk the walk and, above all, talk the talk and the ‘talk’ started after dark beneath the canvas of his victory tent. The boys lay in sleeping bags, their heads meeting together over a dimly lit pocket torch; Mayhew spoke and the younger boys listened and occasionally Chapman or Bishop would ask him more, plainly astonished at the bravery of his words. And the more they asked, the more he felt brave and the more he felt admired and respected and valued. And all at Matron Philips’s expense!

“What you have to realise, Bishop,” he explained with his finger waving in the darkness above the boys’ heads, “is that everybody has their weak points.”

“Everybody!” exclaimed the younger boy.

“Yes, Bishop. Everybody!” he said resolutely. “Even Matron Philips!”

At this point, the younger boys laughed nervously and listened on as Mayhew explained his case. “Have you ever seen her cane, then?” he asked with derision in his voice. “It’s tiny, I’d say probably about the size of her boy friend’s dick. And you know why?... Because she’s not allowed anything bigger than that - and that’s a fact!”

And it was thus that Mayhew’s bravado carried on through the weekend and then on into the weeks ahead as he and his minions met up at break and lunchtimes and after prep in various places around the school. Of course, he let it be known that he wasn’t really the model pupil everyone had thought he was. Of course, he had done his fair share of stunts, dares and forfeits. Of course, he had never felt the master’s cane upon neither palm nor hide, not because he was a goody goody or pesky swat, but rather because his daddy and eldest brother were terribly important in the ‘service’ and every teacher was far too scared to even think of laying a finger upon him… even… Yes, even Matron Philips herself!

To be honest, it was the snow ball effect. The more Mayhew boasted to the crowd the more his bravado took on new layers of bluster. He had always meant to lay it to rest, but the boys wanted to know more, to admire him, to gasp at his bravery, to look up to their leader who brought them victory at camp, who led them in drill, who could take on the scariest woman on earth and have her ‘eating out of his hands’ as he now so often liked to describe his relationship with ‘dear old Matron Pee’.


Part II

One morning, something very strange happened, very strange indeed. The boys in Mayhew’s dorm awoke to the sound of music. It was Matron Philips singing to herself as she walked straight through the middle of the dormitory between the double row of beds. “Wake up, boys,” she called and then she went on to announce the most impossible phrase that could never have come from between her lips. “Leave your beds to me. Just quickly get washed and get yourselves into that breakfast hall!”

Most could hardly believe it. A few pinched themselves to check to see if they were still dreaming as she carried on singing to herself. One boy even froze in terror utterly convinced that it was all some kind of a trick or cunning ruse to smoke out any last remnants of innate insolence that still lingered within him. But it was true, nobody was dreaming and Matron Philips even smiled at the terror struck boy, “Come on, Dixon,” she called over to him, “Your porridge is getting cold!”

Poor Dixon who had experienced the matron’s ‘darker side’ and was now ever mindful to always do what he was told, immediately hurried his pace, got washed and then changed into his uniform and stood to attention next to his bed. Matron Philips walked slowly up to the boy, shook her head imperceptibly, came closer and, with both hands, set to the task of readjusting his school tie. Dixon obediently raised his chin as her fingers skilfully slid the end of the tie through its knot and aligned it perfectly against his clean white collar. Just for a few moments, the neatly ironed pleats on Matron Philips’s tartan skirt gently brushed against his legs just below his grey regulation shorts.

The young boy felt intensely elated. A few more times, he felt the edges of the pleats on her skirt delicately brushing the area just above his bare knees. All the while, her eyes were intently focussed upon creating for him the perfect knot for the day ahead. The house matron slowly shook her head and then repeated his name a few times over. “Oh Dixon, Dixon, Dixon, what are we going to do with you!” she gently laughed to herself as her fingers slid around his shirt collar to complete her work.

“There, Dixon,” she said with genuine warmth in her voice and stood back to admire the very smart-looking young schoolboy now standing before her. “You may go now.”

As he left for the breakfast hall, it felt as though the pleats of Matron’s skirt were still touching Dixon’s legs and her fingers straightening his now perfectly knotted school tie. He listened to Mayhew and, this time, took avid notice of what he said. It angered him; it was Matron Philips after all whom Mayhew was so disrespectful of. And, as the new school day began around him, Dixon suddenly felt strongly resolved, he no longer felt guilty about what he had done the evening before. He knew why it had had to be done – after all, a beautiful young lady’s honour had been at stake!


Part III

Mayhew was somewhat puzzled all through his geography lesson during the late morning. At the beginning of the lesson, Parker had arrived with a note containing instructions direct from Matron Philips for him to assemble with his cadet pack in the dorm at twelve o’clock sharp. When he arrived there, he found his pack standing in a neat line, shoulders back, chins out and what could best be described as sheer terror in their eyes. Matron Philips swivelled around as soon as their leader appeared.

“I’ve just been admiring your pack, Mayhew,” she said to the boy as he hurriedly fell into line with the rest. “I can most certainly see that you’ve done a fantastic job on them, sterling effort, Mayhew. Really, a sterling effort if I ever saw one!”

Mayhew’s face was expressionless, he jutted out his chin in true school cadet fashion and replied, “Thank you, Mam!” and lightly stamped his foot military style.

“Excellent, Mayhew!” commended the house matron. She then gestured to them to take a look around the dorm. “I have a task for you, Mayhew. Look at all those unmade beds. I want to see if you can get your pack to do as good a job on them as they did with the tent during weekend camp a few weeks ago! Do you think that they’re up to it?”

Matron Philips nodded abruptly and started to leave. Then, as she reached the door, she looked around and shouted back, “Well, Mayhew? You had better get the boys cracking then, I’m coming back soon to inspect what they’ve done!”


Part IV

Mayhew really had mobilised his pack as best he could. They had been given little time and it was more than likely down to the young boys’ twitchy nerves which had made them under perform. Matron Philips was not impressed however. She trotted from one end of the dorm to the other pulling out shoddily tucked in sheets, looked under covers to find ruffled blankets and sagging pillow cases. She then returned to the line of nervous boys and began to speak.

“Appalling,” she announced with a clipped voice, “Totally and utterly appalling!” She then turned to Mayhew, looked him in the eye, he lowered his gaze automatically as she spoke. “Well, Mayhew. There’s only one answer to this, isn’t there? We’ll have to teach them a lesson for such shoddy work.”

Matron Philips walked over to one of the beds, produced her thin prep school cane and tapped it on the iron railing. “Chapman, here.” She commanded. She then walked to the next bed and tapped the cane on its rail. “Bishop!” . . . “Walker!” . . . “Thompson!” . . . “Curtis!” . . . “Simmonds!”

The boys dutifully took up their positions in silence as their cadet leader looked on. One boy began to sob whilst others visibly trembled as a faint wave of murmuring ran through the ranks of petrified young schoolboy cadets. Bishop could no longer restrain himself from calling out in utter desperation, tears strained his still childlike voice, “Please Mam, please, please, Mam.” All the time, not daring once to leave his position.

“Mayhew,” said Matron Philips. “With leadership comes the privilege of choice and with choice comes the burden of responsibility.” The English boys’ school matron pointed her cane towards the cold iron railings at the foot of Mayhew’s dormitory bed. “You must decide, Mayhew. Which is it to be? You or them?”


Part V

Once the pack had been dismissed, Mayhew took up his position, his hands firmly grasped the top rail of the end of his bedstead. Matron Philips gently tapped the back of his legs indicating for him to shunt inwards by a few inches; as he did so, he felt the grey flannel of his regulation shorts constrict around his backside leaving him a perfectly exposed target for the full force of the slender whip-like cane that now hovered near at hand. Once boy and matron were ready, a brief pause ensued. Mayhew braced himself for his house matron’s first move. Matron Philips slowly raised her cane, a fierce swish cut the air above him immediately followed by a firm crack as the tip of her cane whiplashed against his bottom and left a sharp sting there which, seconds later, began to spread out across the whole area like a forest fire of burning agony.

Mayhew gasped in pure shock at the sheer intensity of the first stroke. In Matron Philips’s hands, the small English prep school cane left a caustic bite which, within seconds, caused the whole bottom to sting with agony. When the second stroke landed with deadly accuracy upon the first, Mayhew’s clenched both fists around the rail of the bedstead and drew in sharply the air around him. By the third stroke, his body reeled and tears welled up and a feeling of desperate panic invaded his whole being as every part of him urged his mouth to scream out for clemency from his house matron who showed absolutely no sign of allowing the agonising torment to finally end.

After a few more strokes, Mayhew lost all reserve, between each stroke he whimpered pathetically and yelped like a small puppy each time the cane scourged his increasingly raw bottom. As the stinging intensified into a crescendo of undiluted pain, he could only see one thing in his mind’s eye; Matron Philips standing before him and speaking to him. “Learning obedience is never easy, Mayhew,” she said to the boy. “You have shown much courage, young man and earned the respect of your pack”. Mayhew nodded and tearfully thanked his Matron. “Yes, Mayhew, you are now learning what it means to be a leader, to take responsibility for others’ actions, to show sacrifice, to understand what will be expected of you, to be ever mindful of your duty as a leader.”

Whether Matron Philips actually spoke these words during his caning or whether Mayhew imagined them is difficult to say. The one thing that can be said is that the image of Matron Philips that seized his mind’s eye during that caning never really let go. Her image was akin to an icon that guided him to these conclusions and helped Mayhew to fully appreciate why his parents were sending him to the school he was at. Matron Philips embodied the very essence of the traditional English school; through strict discipline, she trained her boys to show automatic obedience, respect for authority and to develop a high regard for order and, above all, a sense of duty that overrides all personal considerations. She was moulding him into the man he was to be and Mayhew learnt to both fear and love his matron’s values and adopt them as his own.

When Mayhew was finally allowed to stand up, he extended his hands towards his matron. The cruel whip-like tip of Matron Philips’s cane stung each palm twice over and left Mayhew in a wretched state. He held both hands under his armpits and winced with agony as his matron placed her cane upon the end of a bed and came toward him. She stood looking at the wretched figure before her and then walked over to him and began to tidy the knot of his tie. “There, Mayhew,” she said with genuine warmth in her voice straightening the lapels on his school blazer. “I can’t have any of my boys turning up to their masters looking scruffy, can I, Mayhew?”

Mayhew silently nodded his head, thanked Matron Philips and waited to be dismissed.

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