1: REVELATIONS
Dr. Septimus Seiss-Urquart, Ph.D., D.D., M.S, High Master of Whippingham, England’s most strict and snobbish boys’ public school, answered his study telephone with a laconic snarl. He was not in the best of tempers that morning since his haemorrhoids were immensely swollen and distended with blood. He winced as he moved slightly on his well-padded chair. He thought he felt one of them burst and the reduced pressure made him gasp with joy.
‘There’s a Lord Plume to speak to you, High Master,’ came the well-modulated voice of his secretary, Miss Spankington, through the earpiece. She added, ‘He’s a parent, sir, and he seems a little annoyed.’
‘Put him through please, Miss Spankington, and check who his fucking son is. Which house is he in? Anything I need to know.’ A click, and a patrician voice came on the line. ‘Seiss-Urquart? How are you, my good man? Plume here. You have my boy, Harrison.’
‘Ah yes, your Lordship. Harrison Plume. A remarkably young chap. Doing rather well for himself, if I make no mistake.’
‘What? Are you mad? He’s a total little shit. I only sent him to Whippingham in the hope you’d thrash some sense into him. And you seem to have failed even in that.’
‘I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, my dear sir, why I was only saying to his housemaster last week, er, how well he was responding,’ floundered the High Master. To his relief, Miss Spankington swept in with the boy’s record card and Seiss-Urquart noted that the creature’s name was the Honourable Harrison Quentin Plympne (apparently bizarrely pronounced Plume), that he was the oldest boy in the Lower Third in Ramsbottom’s and that he had been thrashed once a week on average for the last two years for stupidity and laziness. ‘I understand that Mr De’Ath, his housemaster, has been most attentive to your son’s disciplinary needs,’ purred the High Master.
‘That’s as may be, Seiss-Urquart. But I have a letter here from young Harrison and I am most disturbed by its contents. It seems he has become overly fond of a fellow in his dormitory and he has been upset to discover this other boy is a Jew. I am not very happy about this state of affairs. I am not paying your exorbitant fees to have my boy wanking with oily kikes.’
‘A Jew? I am sure there must be some mistake, your Lordship. We have a very strict policy about admissions. Mr De’Ath would never have accepted a Jew into his house. We even have a separate house for Catholics so as to avoid ethnic contamination.’
‘Are you doubting my son’s word, Seiss-Urquart? He writes to tell me that this other boy, someone called Benjamin Hightree, on whom he has a severe pash, is a Jew. Apparently the brat’s father was originally called Hochbaum but they changed their name for professional reasons and have been posing as Christians ever since!’
A cold shiver of terror coursed down the High Master’s spine, causing his engorged piles to contract in agony. Having served in the Secret Service, he knew all too well how many Jews, fleeing the Nazis, had changed their names in order to disguise their ancestry. He groaned: his fluent knowledge of German told him how Hochbaum could have turned into Hightree all too easily. If the news got out that Whippingham accepted Jews, the school could lose half its most prominent pupils overnight as respectable families reacted with horror.
‘I shall investigate this, Lord Plympne…’ he began, mispronouncing the surname to rhyme with “Impney”.
‘The name is pronounced Plume, sir, Plume!’
‘A thousand apologies, your Lordship, a slip of the tongue, occasioned by the distressing allegations I have just heard. Rest assured, my dear sir, if what you say is correct, that a son of a peer of the realm has been permitted to pash with a Jewboy under the roofs of Whippingham, then I shall personally punish everyone responsible! Mercilessly.’
‘I am pleased to hear that, Dr Seiss-Urquart. I shall look forward to hearing from you within a day. Otherwise I shall be obliged to withdraw Harrison. Good day to you sir.’
The High Master replaced the receiver and sat back in his chair, the enormity of what he had just heard slowly sinking in. ‘Miss Spankington,’ he bellowed, ‘I assume you were listening in as usual. Get Mr De’Ath in my study, plus the two boys. Now! This instant!’ He sat back carefully, trying not to squash his haemorrhoids. He considering which of his canes he should use, the 36-inch Malacca or the 40-inch Trinidad Special. By God, but there would be some sore arses in Ramsbottom’s House before the night was out.
2: RETRIBUTION
An hour later, after an intense and detailed interrogation of the suspects, Dr Seiss-Urquart, with an unsmiling Miss Spankington seated by his side, looked at the three miserable creatures standing before him. He was consumed with rage, but he concealed his true feelings with a mask of cold contempt and (he hoped) effortless superiority.
‘So,’ he intoned in a low but dangerous voice, ‘I can sum up as follows. You, Mr De’Ath, were unaware that the boy, the so-called Hightree, was racially Jewish, having been taken in by the subterfuge carried out by his slimy parent, Herr Hochbaum from Breslau, or Wrocslaw as it is now known. You insist on denying that you accepted a £1,000 bribe from Herr Hochbaum to overlook his son’s prominent nose. In spite of the fact that the boy swears that is the truth. In spite of the unlikeliness of your story, I am naturally obliged to accept your version over the lies told by a Jew. I am particularly horrified that you permitted young Plympne here to defile himself by pashing with this young Israelite. Thus, I shall fine you £2,000. You will also lose your caning rights for two terms. All canings at Ramsbottom’s will be carried out by your Deputy, the excellent Mr Payne. Your shame will be there for all your boys to see.’
‘Thank you, High Master, for your leniency,’ mumbled the deeply ashamed Mr De’Ath. He knew full well that all hopes of promotion at Whippingham were now dashed. He also knew that Seiss-Urquart would never give him a decent reference, so his career path had come to its end.
‘You, young Hochbaum, are expelled from Whippingham as of tomorrow. However, do not think you are getting off as lightly as that. This evening you will be publicly flogged in the School chapel. I shall administer 40 strokes myself. With the Trinidad Special, and you have no doubt heard what that means in terms of physical damage. Mr Payne will administer the other 40, as I shall need to conserve my strength to deal with Plympne here.’
‘Oy vey,’ wept the unfortunate Hightree.
‘That will be an extra 10 strokes for insolence,’ snarled the High Master. ‘From me.’
‘Master Plympne. I am most displeased with you. You have shown unbelievably bad taste, taste unbecoming of a Whippinghamian, in forming a pash with a Hebrew. Not only that, you have secretly written and posted an uncensored letter to your Pater, revealing your romantic indiscretion. You have brought shame upon your house, expulsion upon your pash, and you have ruined the career of poor Mr De’Ath here. You too will receive 40 strokes from me publicly this evening in chapel. However, I shall show mercy and use the 36-inch Malacca on you so, with luck, your arse may avoid permanent scarring. You will also be barred from entering this term’s inter-house wrestling contest, a far greater punishment, as I understand you were odds-on to win.’
‘God bless you for your leniency, sir,’ the repentant youth murmured in genuine relief, as he knew how lucky he was to have escaped the Trinidad Special.
‘You three can all get out of my sight now,’ ordered the High Master imperiously, with a wave of his hand. ‘Miss Spankington, kindly make all the necessary arrangements for the double flogging this evening. Alert all housemasters to tell their boys to attend in Sunday best, all staff in full academic dress. After the flogging, I think a good choice of hymn might be, “Jerusalem the Golden”, so please instruct the chaplain to arrange that.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘You had better ensure that Dr Jones is there from the village surgery in case of emergency.’
‘And you, Mr De’Ath, it will be your task to telephone Herr Hochbaum to tell him to collect his brat in the morning after the formal expulsion ceremony in Great Quad. I suggest he comes with an ambulance.’
Later that night, Dr Seiss-Urquart reflected in his study after Masters’ Supper over a glass or two of port that the flogging had been a great success. Over fifteen hundred boys had cheered him on as he laid into the two miscreants, each strapped onto the traditional flogging posts which had been placed in front of the High Altar in the chapel. The High Master really had to admire young Plympne: not a sound had passed the lad’s lips as the thrashing proceeded; he had taken what was coming like a man. Lord Plympne could be proud of his son when Seiss-Urquart told him in the morning. Why, the plucky youngster had even managed to bow and thank him before fainting and being carted off to the Sanatorium to recover under Sister Sims' tender care. It was such a delight dealing with the aristocracy. Perhaps one might relent about banning the boy from the inter-house wrestling (always assuming he had recovered from his wounds in time).
As for the Jew, what a snivelling little wretch he had shown himself to be! Screaming and begging for mercy, calling on his Momma and Poppa, even offering bribes to be spared! The good pedagogue shook his head in sorrow and reflected that breeding would always show itself. It was slightly irritating that the child had not survived his ordeal as a formal expulsion in Great Quad was always an invigorating event which kept up school morale. The casting out of the naked expellee into the moat was somehow hugely symbolic of Whippingham’s proud traditions of discipline, Godliness and racial purity.
Never mind, Seiss-Urquart murmured to himself as he sipped on his eighth glass of vintage port. Things could have been worse: at least Dr Jones’ charges for signing the death certificate as an accident due to heart failure had been gratifyingly moderate. And he had managed to get in 48 strokes of the Trinidad Special onto the little bastard's arse. The High Master frowned in irritation when he realised the School would probably have to refund part of the boy Hochbaum’s tuition fees to his grasping father. The Bursar would be less than happy about that.
'Miss Spankington,' he called out to his ever eager-to-please secretary. 'I'll have that blow job now, please.'
Author notes
It shouldn't be necessary to explain but some readers are quite dumb and overly-sensitive. So here goes, so you know:
1. This is SATIRE about the corporal punishment regime in force in English public schools until about 1960 ("public school" = "private boarding school" btw). Whippingham is semi-fictional.
2. It is NOT an encouragement of or an approval of the homosexual friendships which developed in single sex educational environments.
3. It is also a SATIRE on the rampant anti-semitism which was rife among the British upper and middle classes 30 or 40 years ago.
4. The High Master's name is a joke on the fact that there was an Alfred Seyss-Inquart who was a senior ranking Austrian nazi and thug in WW2.
The Whippingham College Saga continues in Part 2 at http://www.allpoetry.com/poem/4107479 .....
In a list
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A contest entry
- Promote Your Best, And Get comments while you're at it by RyanosaurusWrecks.
7015 points, ended April 23, 2008, 22 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Does this not move you deeply?
Comments
1 - 31 of 31
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I have never read anything like this before. And I have decided I never want to read anything like this again.
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As a RAF Aircraft Apprentice during 1936/39 I was witness to the last public flogging carried out. It had already been banned for `men`but still applied to we brats. Your description is very accurate, were you applying the Malacca? But perhaps you are not as old as rumour implies.
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I am sure that the reimbursment of tuition fees lessened the blow of losing a child quite considerably for Herr Hochbaum.
A delightful tale this, and well told. I shall read more.
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Teacher! Leave them kids alone... Ha! Ha! I haven't read you for a while and you certainly haven't lost your touch for provocatively profound satire... and strong messages... Made me smile and think [and hear Pink Floyd in my head] All are very good things!!!
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You were correct, I did find this most amusing! I shall be sure to read more of this 'Saga' from your list.
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Guess I'm overly sensitive.
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So what?
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My goodness! You and your tales. They really are creative. You're pretty good at these satires. They have such strong messages but I guess someone has to be brave enough to speak out.
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YOu are such a character!
What in the world.......would this earth do without you!
that was incredible writing..you had us gasping
through out...and wisely little pearls hidden too!
ears/Seattle
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Genius. Purest genius. What more can I say? Well obviously a few extra words if I want to get my commenting points. That's it, then. Applause.
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interesting....
interesting satire here, very interesting use of names and metaphors... interesting ending too....
"'Miss Spankington,' he called out to his ever eager-to-please secretary. 'I'll have that blow job now, please.' "
good luck in the contest
mike, aka jonathan wikkins -
Very interesting. I liked it, kept me on my toes with entertainment and rather witty names. Great job.
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wow.. haha i have to say you made my work day ease over smoothly.. ha i enjoyed this piece.. its very very interesting and funny..
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Hell I love this. It's so clever and funny and mostly intense.
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Critical
Hello there, Flopsy!
As much as I like to read entertaining and thought-provoking satire, I can't imagine why you would ask for critical responses to a piece like this. I would be willing to give you some, but I'm not sure what you are after.
G'day,
BJ.
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If you're willing to comment, feel free. Why would you find it hard to imagine I would welcome critical response?
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show me your crits
I dunno - what kind of crit are you looking for?
Look at the Casual Feat Box - there's a contest there called:
Has your privacy ever been evaded?
It's a typo, but a good one!
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I don't understand your comment. I'm not "looking for" any "kind of crit". If you have any comments, make them; if not, not. And I don't suppose "evaded" was a typo; you are being too generous.
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Certainly cutting, biting write you have penned here, not the poetry entry I expected, but worth read. Very crafty and filled with wit - can expect nothing less from you.
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Whoa, this is interesting, as a poem it is akin to Moby Dick in length, as a short story it is just fine.
Good Luck in the contest.
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Beautiful, Edna. It reminds me of a book which I came across in a Latvian book-store (I bet you would be surprised if you knew how few books in English are available in here) - Beware Of God by Shalom Auslander. I've been laughing my ass off ever since.
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Well my friend it has been a while since i've seen something new from you, but the wait has been worth every second. I wish I had half the talent you show the world in this write.
I can't understand how anybody could actually read this and not realise the sattire behind the story, or the lessons included.
Excellent as always.
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Utterly delightful. I love how you are obliged to explain it's not in support of naughty things in case dickheads misunderstand.
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The very best spoof I have read to date. In writing this, you have shown how very educated you are. The clever use of their names added to the meaning behind your words! Glad to be reading your poems, again!
Shana
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Another clever entertaining read from you. I love the names of all the gross characters and the school; how very apt they all are.
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your talant for writing satire is flawless. This has reminded me of why I love your work. I wish I could give you more than 3 claps. I was deeply moved by this wonderful piece of writing
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A great work that shows careful thought and execution. It's wonderful. The names worked quite well and I'm glad you added that note about the High Master; it made it all the better. Best of luck. -R.T
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Yes, it does not move me deeply, but it's amusing.
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Very entertaining as usual.
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Deeply
I am deeply moved. A biting satire. Also an inspired piece of writing. Genius shows in the choice of names. The subject matters are still very touchy, and I imagine you will be pilloried for this. I have to think that that was your intention. I wish you the best of luck in collecting 100 comments on this work. I will be interested to see if 100 people will be able to read this all the way through and still retain the thread of the story. I will watch with interest.
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your vocabulary and immensity of time to put into this contest is very well received...i am glad you placed clarification into your author notes, for sensitive readers are not ness. oversensitve, but sometimes rather wary and easily offended, for sometimes messages and words strike close to home...but freedom is adbundant on this site, and i do not condone censorship, so let the controversy come as it may...all in all, an intriguing script, and the best of luck to you in the contest...and remember, per guidelines, be sure to comment on all other entries...best of days to you,
-ryan
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