Jay Bee - Undercover Agent

                      Author : Jay Bee JBates3327@aol.com

It was a quiet Wednesday evening in the second week of September 1963. I was in my room working on plans for the scouts’ long weekend. We were going to an organised camp ground about fifty miles way. There would be swimming, shooting, rock climbing, archery and, what I was trying to sort out, a hike with overnight camp. I’d worked out two routes for the patrols. I was looking at a third. The idea was that I would fix the camp sites then the patrol leaders would do their own routes. But the sites I chose had to be achievable by twelve year old boys.

I heard the door bell ring. I took no notice. Soon I could hear voices in my landlord’s, Mr Foster’s, study below. The site I was examining meant crossing a river. It was a little further than the others but it looked good. Then I heard Mr Foster calling me. I sighed and put my map and notes aside. I went downstairs and knocked at his study door. He told me to enter. I went in. I stopped in the doorway and gasped with shock. There, sitting in the armchair, was Mr Lewis my boss.

I worked as a clerk for the planning department of the local council. Mr Lewis was the senior planning officer. I’d had my performance review last Friday. It went quite well. They liked my work but I should concentrate more. I tended to be forgetful. I accepted what they said and promised to do better. So what was Mr Lewis doing here? Was I in trouble? I shivered. I’d had Mr Foster’s tawse and cane only six days ago. The marks were still clearly visible on my bottom. I definitely didn’t want another spanking.

"Relax Jay," Mr Foster smiled. "There’s nothing wrong. Mr Lewis needs to speak with you here."

"I’m sorry to disturb you at home Jay," Mr Lewis started, "But we have a rather sensitive problem and would like your help."

He went on to outline the situation. It seemed there was a boy’s school - Tangmere Grange - that specialised in `A’ level candidates. It had planning permission for up to fifteen boarders and another ten day boys. It was down a country lane in a posh area. Residents had been complaining for some time. They believed there were more boys there than allowed. It was causing traffic problems and the school was much noisier. This in turn was thought to be affecting house prices. The planning department had inspected twice but could find no evidence of any breach of the numbers condition. Nevertheless an enforcement notice had been served. That had helped. Now complaints were increasing again. A local councillor was going to raise the matter at the next Council meeting. What was needed was someone to go in and have a good look round without alerting the school. I got the picture.

"You want me to go back to school, sir," I gasped. I was horrified. I hadn’t liked school at all.

"Jay you’re perfect for what we want. I know you’re eighteen but you could easily pass for sixteen. As a member of the planning department you could solve this problem for us in a week. Then we could have a decent report for the Council. Otherwise we’re going to look stupid."

"A week," I said resignedly. I could see my name would be mud if I refused.

"Yes," Mr Lewis smiled, sensing victory. "They do weekly boarding from Monday to Saturday lunch time. You would go as a new boy next Monday stay there for five nights and Mr Foster will pick you up on the Saturday."

"But what about uniform and things?"

"Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that."

I said I’d think it over. It was a formality. We all knew I was going to do it. Mr Lewis gave me the file on the school and left. I went back to my room and read the papers. One of them was the Tangmere Grange brochure. I didn’t much like the bit that emphasised `firm discipline.’

The next day at work I was summoned to see the Town Clerk, Mr Arnold. He was God to the boys that worked in the Council. He never spoke to us. If we saw him in a corridor we flattened ourselves against the wall to let him pass. Even though Mr Lewis was with me I couldn’t help shivering a bit as we waited to go into his office.

Mr Arnold was brisk, if friendly. He wasn’t sure about me going to the school. It was only because they could get away with paying for just the week I’d be there that he had given his permission. If I was to give evidence in court I’d need proper authorisation. He formally appointed me a planning officer with the Council. I was given a card that I had to sign in his presence. He then counter signed it and added the date.

"Misuse that authority, young Jay," he warned me sternly, "And you’ll see Mr Edwards so often you’ll come to regard the basement as your second home."

I shuddered. Mr Edwards administered a cane or strap to our bare bottoms when we did something wrong. He had a room in the basement to whack us in. I vowed there and then never to do anything that might get me sent to him. Mr Arnold shook my hand, wished me luck and started looking at a folder on his desk. The interview was clearly over.

Back in Mr Lewis’ office I got my final instructions. I could have tomorrow off. If anyone asked me, I was going on a course. I should carry the card with me at the school. If I was unmasked I should show it to them and get out fast. Otherwise I should observe as much as possible and make notes of what I saw. Needless to say I should try not to get caught making the notes or leave them lying about. Breach of the enforcement notice was a criminal offence. I might need those notes in court.

"Now," he concluded, "You’re registered with them in the name of John Beare." He paused and threw me a roll of name tapes. "You’re sixteen and a half. Your old school was Challen Court. That school knows about this and has vouched for you. Unfortunately they’ve mislaid your papers. You’ve been enrolled to study for English Literature and British Constitution `A’ levels. Tangmere has a scheme where you have a week’s trial so we’ve taken advantage it. Have you got all that."

"Yes sir."

"Alright, off you go and good luck."

The next Monday morning at 8.00 Mr Foster drove me up to Tangmere Grange. As we got to the lane the school was in I could see what the residents were complaining about. There were a lot of cars and the traffic was damaging the surface of the unmade road. Mr Foster let me out in the school drive. I grabbed my small suitcase and closed the car door. He waved goodbye and drove off. I watched the car until it was out of sight. I had never felt so lonely.

Sighing I looked around me. The school was in a heavily wooded valley. To one side of the drive was a playing field, on the other a vegetable garden. Ahead lay the Grange. It was an imposing red brick structure that had obviously been some wealthy couple’s home at one time. I sighed again and made my way to the entrance. Other boys passed me but I didn’t really look at them. I was sure that a burly headmaster would be waiting for me, cane in hand, ready to denounce me as a spy.

But there was nothing like that. The entrance hall had a small reception office to one side. I went in. A lady was typing away. She looked up as I entered.

"Ah, you must be John Beare. Go down the corridor to Mr Tyrell’s study. You can’t miss it. It the only room in the school without a door."

I thanked her and went along the corridor. Sure enough I soon came to a room with no door. I knocked on the frame but there was no reply. I settled down to wait. I couldn’t see much of the L shaped room. Opposite the door was a bay window with a leather bench running across it. To one side I could see the corner of a desk. There were the usual group photos on the wall. As I was waiting a few boys passed the study. They looked at me curiously but didn’t say anything. Then I heard a heavier tread. I straightened myself up. A tall, gray haired teacher appeared.

"Are you John Beare?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes sir," I replied.

"Well I’m Mr Tyrell, the deputy, come inside."

I went into the study and turned towards the desk. I stopped abruptly, nearly falling over my suitcase. On the wall behind the desk was a rack with four or five canes in it. Hanging from a hook on the desk itself was a broad leather strap. Mr Tyrell came straight to the point.

"At this school you do as you’re told, behave yourself and work hard. If you don’t you can see the consequences in front of you."

"Yes sir," I stammered, wondering where the phone was.

He outlined my programme for me. I got a timetable. I would be in Mr Whitehead’s form. A list of rules followed. They were to be strictly observed. He rang a bell. A minute later a boy nervously put his head round the door.

"Right, Maynard," Mr Tyrell snapped, "Take Beare down to the Lower School."

On the way down I kept quiet. Saturday seemed light years away. Maynard didn’t seem to want to talk either. We left the main building and walked down a tarmacked path. It led into a pine wood, the floor of which was covered with rhodedendrum bushes. They had obviously been there some time as most were over ten feet tall. A little further along the path twisted to the left. As we came round the corner everything fell into place. In front of us was a single story wooden building. There was nothing like this in the plans in the school’s file.

Inside the building were three rooms. I was shown into the middle one. Ten boys were seated at tables. A thin, ascetic looking teacher pointed me to a vacant chair. With a thud a book landed in front of me - Shakespeare’s ` Macbeth.’ Another thud announced a workbook. With no introduction or anything I was plunged into it. I remembered the rack of canes in Mr Tyrell’s study. I took copious notes.

At ten o’ clock Mr Whitehead - I assumed it was he - left. I looked around. No one was talking so I kept quiet. Then a boy with a prefect’s badge approached me. With a minimum of chat I was directed to put my case in a steel locker. I had been told to bring a padlock. Now I realised why. I locked the case up and returned to my chair. Another teacher entered. I found out he was Mr Soames. A book on the British constitution was handed out along with another workbook. The lesson started.

By lunchtime I was really fed up. I knew what was going on. In this unknown building the school had more than doubled its size. I could leave now. But Mr Lewis wanted me here for a week so a week I had to stay. Lunch was in one of the other rooms. The meal was carried down to us. We took our chairs in and stood round a big table made up of that room’s desks. Mr Whitehead came in. Grace was said and we all sat down. The meal was surprisingly good. I had expected it would be rubbish. But Mrs Davies would have approved it. Also there was plenty of it. I got a second helping. During the meal I kept quiet. I listened to the conversations. It was typical schoolboy stuff - who was in the football team, who was in trouble etc...

After lunch came games. I got changed into my kit then went into one of the loos in the building. I jotted down notes of what I had seen, came out, put them in my case and locked it up. I had to do a cross country run. The course took us to the top of the hill on one side of the valley, then all the way round. It was wet, muddy and miserable. We went to the main building for a shower. That was a revelation. Nearly half the bottoms on display were well marked. I went to my afternoon lessons in a very subdued state of mind.

With a good supper inside us it was prep time. I had two essays to do. We worked in silence in our form rooms. I was wondering where we would sleep. After prep the mystery was revealed. The tables were pushed to one side of the room. From a cupboard came camp beds, pillows and sleeping bags. Within a few minutes the classroom was turned into a dormitory. I struggled a bit with my bed. Another boy came and helped me. We chatted a bit but I was careful not to say very much about myself. I undressed and got into bed. My planning officer’s card was in my wallet. I took the wallet from my jacket and put it under my pillow. I didn’t sleep very well that night.

The morning routine was a bit of a shock. Up at six thirty for a run and cold shower. Then the dormitory was turned back into a classroom. Once again a meal appeared and we tucked in. Halfway through the first lesson the phone in the hall rang. It was answered. Then a boy knocked.

"The headmaster would like to see Beare now sir," he told Mr Soames.

"Right, off you go Beare," Mr Soames said.

With a heavy heart I left the room. Somehow the head must have found out. Outside I checked my wallet to make sure my card was there. I hadn’t got a few yards down the path when I heard Mr Soames’ angry voice.

"Beare, at this school when the headmaster sends for you it means at the double. Run!"

I ran. When I got to the side door I paused to recover my breath then walked up to the head’s study. As I went down the corridor I heard a loud crack. I passed Mr Tyrell’s room and couldn’t believe my eyes. There on the bench across the window knelt a boy; trousers and pants around his ankles. His knees were wide apart. His bare bottom was striped red. Even as I watched in horror the cane whopped through the air and onto its trembling target. A howl of pain ensued. Shivering I moved on. As I got past the door Mr Tyrell came into view, raising the cane for the next stroke. A cry of agony pursued me down to the hall.

The headmaster, Mr Rowan, was a short, stout, balding man with a large beak of a nose. He looked at me over his glasses. We discussed my career so far. I was asked why I had left Challen Court. I muttered something about bullying. He wondered why my papers hadn’t arrived from that school. I said the office there was a bit chaotic. He promised to give them a ring to speed things up. I shivered. After about quarter of an hour he let me go.

"Oh, Beare," he said as I turned to leave, "One more thing. You probably don’t realise it but a school like this is in competition with other schools. We’ve been having trouble with our rivals for some time now. I’d prefer you didn’t talk too much about life here to outsiders, alright?"

"Yes sir," I smiled. Outside the study I nearly burst out laughing. Trouble with rivals my foot. He had trouble with the planning department. I was still grinning when I got back to the form room. Mr Soames suggested I share the joke. I went bright red and buried my face in my books.

The week dragged on. I made friends with a couple of boys but shrugged off questions about my last school by saying that I was bullied there and didn’t want to talk about it. Every day before games I made up my notes in the loo and locked them away in my suitcase. Otherwise I counted the hours until Saturday.

Thursday was another cross country run. It was raining. I was really fed up. The course was a loop of about five miles. We ran out down a track and came back the same way. On the way out I let the others get ahead then nipped into the undergrowth. I sheltered, shivering with cold, under a large oak tree. After about three quarters of an hour I heard the others coming back. I waited until they had gone past then tagged onto the rear. No one seemed to notice anything.

After the shower I wandered back to the Lower School with one of my friends. I was looking forward to supper. The meals were always good. Also tonight there would be a film in the Upper School hall. But first there was a long period with Mr Whitehead to get through. It was terrible. For some reason he was in a foul mood. Two boys got sent to Mr Tyrell for bad work. They came back with tear marks down their faces, rubbing their bottoms. The rest of us put our heads down and prayed for the lesson to end.

Supper was a relief. We trooped next door with our chairs. The tables were set up. The meal arrived together with the headmaster. We always had either him or Mr Whitehead with us at mealtimes. Grace was said. The twenty eight boys of the Lower School sat down. I reached for a piece of bread. The headmaster banged on his table for quiet.

"The Book of Numbers. Chapter thirty two, verse twenty three," he intoned. "Be sure that your sin will find you out."

There was dead silence as twenty eight frightened boys frantically reviewed their actions over the last day. He gave us plenty of time.

"Be sure that your sin will find you out," he repeated. "Beare stand up."

I jerked with horror. Ice water seemed to run through my veins. Trembling I rose to my feet.

"Did you enjoy your run today Beare?" he asked.

My heart sank. He knew. I just stood there. What could I say?

"You didn’t do the run today, did you boy?" he continued when he saw I wasn’t going to answer.

"No sir," I whispered.

"Well at least you’ve got the sense to admit it. Go and stand outside Mr Tyrell’s study."

"Yes sir," I said shakily. I took one last longing look at my vanishing supper and turned to go.

"Oh, Beare, would you say you are a patriotic boy?"

What? I glanced around. The others were looking down at their plates. There was no help there.

"I suppose so sir," I replied.

"Then you won’t mind if Mr Tyrell emblazons your bottom with a union jack will you? Tell him from me to make it a nine stroke one."

Tears formed in my eyes. Nine. "Yes sir," I managed and started the long walk to Mr Tyrell’s study. On the way I got my planning officer’s card out. I longed to be able to flash it in front of Mr Tyrell’s surprised face. But I knew I couldn’t. If I gave the game away for this I’d get a painful trip to Mr Edwards at work. After that no doubt Mr Foster’s tawse would have a few things to add. Sighing I put the card safely back in my wallet. I’d had it.

Mr Tyrell wasn’t in the study. I waited outside it for what seemed ages. As I stood there, trembling with fear, I could hear the boys of the Upper School having their supper. I had no appetite. I just looked at the leather bench across the window. I knew that shortly I’d be kneeling on it, my bare bottom on display to anyone passing by the doorless room, while Mr Tyrell’s cane taught me not to skive off. Nine. I hoped I wouldn’t yell. But I knew I would. I wished I had never agreed to come here. I cursed Mr Lewis. Yet inside I knew the truth. It was my own stupid fault. Why oh why didn’t I do the run? I bet this never happened to James Bond.

My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. Supper wasn’t over as I could still hear the boys at their meal. But the heavy tread came towards me. I straightened up. Mr Tyrell appeared. A massive weight settled in my stomach. This was it. He swept past me and into the study. A wave of shivering washed through me. After about a minute he called me in. It seemed as if my legs were frozen in place. I took a deep breath and marched to my doom.

He was standing behind his desk. On it was a pair of binoculars.

"Look out of the window Beare," he snapped.

I looked round. From the window there was a good view of the North of the valley. Suddenly I saw what he was getting at. The hill we had to run up was clearly visible. All anyone needed to do to check the runners was to stand at the window with the binos. I turned back and looked at the floor.

"Have you anything to say for yourself boy?"

"I’m sorry sir. I won’t do it again."

"Sorry isn’t good enough is it?"

"No sir."

"What did the headmaster say you were to have?"

I drew a deep breath. "Nine, sir and something about a union jack."

"Ah," Mr Tyrell grinned. "I haven’t done one of those for a while. Do you know what it means?"

"No sir." I said in a small voice.

"Two strokes on the top of your bottom, two at the crease with your legs, three dead centre then two done diagonally across both ways. Your backside should end up with a union jack neatly marked out on it."

I felt faint. I knew it would really hurt, especially the two cross strokes. I stayed quiet, shaking from head to toe. Mr Tyrell turned to the cane rack. He picked one out and flexed it. For some reason it didn’t meet his approval. Frowning he replaced it and selected another. That was better. He gave it a little swish through the air. Then he turned back to me.

"Right young man, over to the bench."

Still shaking I went slowly over to the leather window seat. At close quarters I could see there was a wide gap between it and the window. Suddenly I became aware that the background noise of the Upper School at supper had ceased. Chairs were being scraped back. I felt a rush of blood to my head. In a couple of minutes the whole school was going to be walking past the study. I half turned to beg for at least some privacy. But even as I did I knew it would be no use.

"Take your trousers and pants down"

Tears began to form in my eyes as I reached for the fastenings of my trousers. I fumbled with the buttons. When they were undone I kept my grip for a moment. I could hear the sounds of the boys walking towards us. The cane swished impatiently behind me. With a gasp of fear I let the trousers fall. I had some coins in my trouser pockets. The weight sent them straight down to my ankles. I put my hands inside the waistband of my pants and pushed. They joined the trousers on the floor. As I stood there I heard the first boy go past.

"Kneel on the bench and put your hands on the floor."

I knelt on the cold leather seat. I bent right over and rested my hands on the rough floor. The wooden boards were marked by spots as if the roof leaked. How many boys had knelt here, their bare bottoms exposed to the world?

"Get your knees wide apart and lift yourself up."

I did as I was told. All the time boys were passing. I heard one of them say "sssh, someone’s getting it."

When I was in position Mr Tyrell came and stood next to me. He pushed my jacket and shirt up my back. Then he took up position a little further away. The cane tapped my bottom.

"Right Beare, nine. If you jump up or put your hands in the way it will be more, clear?"

"Yes sir," I squeaked. I determined to keep down. This wasn’t Mr Foster who could be merciful. This was Mr Tyrell who meant what he said.

The cane tapped my bottom again. Then it whopped through the air getting me just under the top. It was a reasonably heavy cane and the blow didn’t sting but it really hurt. It sent a wave of pain through me. I gasped in shock but stayed still. The second quickly followed. It landed in almost exactly the same place. I yelped and writhed. Even through my pain I could hear the other boys walking past. I cringed with shame.

The third was dead centre. It blazed a new trail of fire across me. I shivered in torment. I managed not to yell but I knew it was only a matter of time. The fourth was the same. Another direct hit. I couldn’t hold back a high pitched squeal. I writhed and wriggled a bit. He waited until I’d settled down then sent the next one in. Another red hot strike across my burning cheeks. It was too much. I howled. Tears began flowing down my face and onto the floor. The sixth was nearly as bad. That got me low, almost on my thighs. I wriggled and gasped but somehow didn’t yell.

Someone knocked on the doorframe.

"Go away or ....," Mr Tyrell started, "Oh it’s you Michael."

"Hello James," said Mr Whitehead’s voice, "Sorry to interrupt but can you just sign this for me?"

Mr Tyrell moved away. I heard the cane being placed on the desk. A short discussion ensued about whatever it was to be signed. I knelt on the bench sobbing softly. My bottom was throbbing with pain. I longed to put my hands round to comfort it but didn’t dare. Although the main flow of traffic down the passage had stopped there were still one or two boys going past. I knew what they were seeing. A shaking, red striped, bare bottom whose owner was getting what he richly deserved.

"Thank you James," Mr Whitehead said. He paused and I knew he was looking at me, "That’s Beare isn’t it. Keep up the good work."

I heard him leave the study. There was a clack as the cane was picked up from the desk. Mr Tyrell came to stand by me again.

"Now," he mused, "Where were we? At number five I think."

A wave of panic shot through me. "Sir, please sir! I’ve had six."

"Are you sure Beare?"

"Yes sir, please sir."

"Hmmmmm. No I think it was five. Four more to come."

"Oh sir," I wailed, careless of who would hear me, "Please sir."

The only answer was the tap of the cane on my backside. It rested there for a moment then lifted away. It whopped down near my crease again sending another wave of pain through me. The respite had given me a little strength back and I managed not to yell. But I gasped and wriggled. It was back to the centre for the next one. That finished me. I raised my head and howled my sorrow to the rooftops. I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard me in the Lower School.

There was a pause as he shifted position. Then the first diagonal, from left to right, swept in. It was agonising. It relit the flames of the centre ones and managed to score on the top ones as well. I jerked forward with the blow, nearly losing my balance. Once more I howled. I writhed so much that he had to tell me to keep still. When I finally settled he moved again. The last whack was the worst. It rose from the floor getting the ones by my crease and the centre ones yet again. I screamed in a continuous wail that seemed to go on forever. I just knelt there sobbing my heart out. But at least it was over.

Eventually he let me stand. As I turned round I saw Mr Rowan leaning against the door post.

"Well Beare, learnt your lesson?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I sniffed, my tears beginning to dry.

"Get dressed and go," Mr Tyrell ordered.

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

After the film show that evening another show was put on in the Lower School. It featured my bare bottom. Every boy wanted a look. I had to put myself on display for a good ten minutes while people oohed and aahed and said stupid things like `I bet that hurt.’ I’d seen myself in the mirror. I didn’t quite have a union jack on my bum but it was close. For the rest of my time at Tangmere I did exactly as I was told.

On the Saturday morning Mr Foster picked me up. I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my life. I nearly kissed him. I was quiet in the car and he sensed my mood and left me in peace. Home was wonderful. I fled to my room and changed out of my school clothes. Then I just walked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. I went downstairs for lunch. Mrs Davies made a big fuss of me. She’d cooked my favourite meal. I relaxed for the first time that week. I was home.

Mr Lewis called round that evening. I told him what was going on. I showed him my notes. He asked me how I had been treated there. I had to tell him about the spanking. Both he and Mr Foster exchanged glances. A union jack? They’d never heard of it. To cut a long story short I ended up taking my trousers and pants down so they could see what I meant.

The following Monday at ten o’ clock two cars pulled up in the driveway of Tangmere Grange. One contained Mr Lewis, Mr Findlay my immediate boss in the department and me. In the other was a plain clothes police inspector and a man from the inland revenue. We went straight to Mr Rowan’s office. We all identified ourselves. When I handed him my card he threw it down on the desk with a contemptuous sniff. But he knew the game was up. His shoulders sagged. The life seemed to go out of him.

In silence I led them to the Lower School. Classes came to a halt as I showed how it worked. I opened one of the cupboards where the bedding was stored. I explained how meals were delivered. Mr Lewis counted the twenty seven boys. They looked at me as if I was the lowest thing on earth. One of my former friends made as if to spit on the floor. I turned away. I felt really sorry for Mr Rowan. Yet on the other hand he was now learning the truth of what he had told me - `Be sure that your sin will find you out.’

Jay Bee

June 15 1998.