THE CANING COMMANDO: 1
An army despatch rider rode his motorbike through the rural leafy lanes of wartime England, past the village of Lower Belting Bottom, and down the long drive that led to The Golden Hind Academy for Boys.
As he parked his machine outside the stately Victorian building, he could hear the swish of a cane from within, and the resulting cries of pain.
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In the housemaster’s study, a schoolboy was being caned by a teacher: Victor Grabham, a menacing figure in mortarboard and gown, tall and gaunt, yet with the strength of ten gym masters. He had a hawk-like nose, a cruel mouth and the cold, dark eyes of a Satanic exam inspector. A military medal instead of the customary tassel hung down from his mortarboard.
The schoolboy, Alfred ‘Half’ Mast, a gormless-looking scamp with ‘begging bowl’ eyes, had a somewhat ape-like physique, and was talking as he was being caned.
‘Oww! I likes being caned, Sir. It gives me a touch of class. Yaaah! Six of the best makes me feel like a toff, Sir. Aaah! Remind me again, Sir, what I did wrong.’
‘Just keeping my caning arm in, Alf Mast. So you’re contributing to the war effort.’
‘Thank you, Sir. Ooh! I’m a bit slow today, Sir. Why don’t we just shoot the Jerries instead?’
‘We don’t waste precious British bullets on the Hun. We send them back to Berlin with a red rear.’
The despatch rider, still wearing his goggles and gauntlets, entered with a telegram. ‘Caning Commando? Secret message from the War Department. Eyes only.’
Victor Grabham read the message impressively fast. ‘Bad news, Alf. Your nan’s street was bombed last night. She’s homeless. They’re sending us into occupied France to give the sausage-noshers a taste of their own medicine.’
He flexed his cane menacingly. ‘This calls for rearguard action.’
That night, the Caning Commando and Alf Mast were dropped behind enemy lines. Hiding in bushes, they observed a nearby French chateau with a swastika draped over it. It was the German H.Q.!
Grabham was now wearing an officer’s army uniform with his mortarboard and gown over the top of it. He turned to give an order to his assistant, Alf Mast, now dressed in a corporal’s uniform. Over his shoulder, Alf was carrying a golf bag containing a selection of canes.
‘Ready to lay down your valueless life for King and Country, Corporal?’
‘Yes, please, sir.’
‘Then hand me the number three cane.’
‘Number three, Sir? Are you sure, Sir? Isn’t that a bit strong, Sir?’
He passed across a cane that came in three separate sections. The teacher connected them together so it was like a chimney sweep’s extended brush. ‘Just think of your poor old nan, lad. Did the Boche show her any mercy?’ He flexed the super-cane. ‘When I’ve finished with them, their arses will be so red-raw, they’ll be able to guide our bombers in.’
Suddenly, they were surrounded by German soldiers. ‘Drop your cane, Englander schwein! The war is over for the Caning Commando and Corporal Punishment!’
Soon after, the plucky pair found themselves in a damp, dripping prison cell in the basement of the chateau.
‘What’ll they do to us, Sir?’ asked Alf. ‘Will they thrash us in a Hunnish way, Sir? I can take it, Sir.’
‘Don’t worry, lad. If they make the caning unbearable for you, I’ll throw myself in front of the seat of your pants and take the striping for you.’
‘Will you, Sir? You’d do that for me? You’re a hero, Sir. A real toff.’
‘It will require split second timing. We’d better practise now. Bend over.’ Alf duly bent over a chair. The Caning Commando bent over Alf.
Suddenly, a section of the stone wall slid open, revealing a secret corridor beyond.
‘A secret corridor!’ exclaimed Alf Mast.
Yvette, a beautiful French Resistance fighter in a tight-fitting sweater, appeared. ‘I am Yvette of the French Resistance.’ She took in the sight of the two of them bent over. ‘You British have different ways. But moving on, you must come quickly. You are to be caned at dawn. There’s a caning squad waiting and I am sorry to say it’s a dishonourable caning. How you say? “Strides down”. ’
‘The swine!’ muttered the Caning Commando.
Alf could not keep his eyes off Yvette. ‘Who’s that Bumpy Man, Sir? Why is he speaking funny, Sir? The Bumpy Man, Sir. He’s giving me a tingle, Sir. Is that right, Sir? Is it, Sir?’
‘You young scamp,’ scowled Grabham. ‘If I had my cane with me, I’d make you tingle.’
They headed down the secret corridor.
Alf was still looking open-mouthed at Yvette. ‘I can’t help it, Sir. I’m getting that tingling feeling below decks again, Sir.’
‘That’s it. You’re in credit for a thrashing,’ growled the Caning Commando.
‘Perhaps Mr Yvette could thrash me, Sir? I think I could take a thrashing from Mr Yvette, Sir.’
‘You’ll get no thrashing from Mr Yvette. That would not be contributing to the war effort.’
By now they had exited the corridor and entered the grounds of the German H.Q., Yvette retrieved the Caning Commando’s bag of canes from behind a bush. ‘We managed to get your canes back. There is a light plane waiting to fly you across the channel. Now please – we must hurry.’
The teacher took out a cane. ‘Our business here is not done, Yvette. We have to avenge Alf’s dear old nan. She was bombed out last night.’
Yvette looked concerned at Corporal Punishment. ‘Oh, you poor boy. You have lost your home?’
‘No, I stay with Sir at the school, Mr Yvette. I’ve got me comfy hammock in the boiler room. ’Cos I’m too common to sleep in the dorm with the other boys.’
Suddenly, German soldiers ran towards them. ‘Achtung! Achtung! Englanders escaping!’
Grabham turned to Yvette. ‘Stand aside. There’s caning to be done. Come dawn, their arses will be redder than your lipstick.’
Then the Caning Commando charged into the German ranks. Before they could take aim, he struck them a series of devastating blows with his cane, and their guns went flying.
As the Germans fled in terror, the Caning Commando pursued them, endlessly thrashing them with his cane. ‘Howzat for a Bouncing Bum raid?’ he snarled.
‘Nein! Nein!’ they pleaded over the sound of birch on buttocks.
‘Yes. Nine of the best for you, Fritz! Yvette! Turn away! Put the tea on! It’s time to Carpet Bum the Hun!’
The Germans were hurled through the air by the sheer ferocity of his attack as he roared: ‘I’m going to boot you up the Brandenburg Gate, you shifty-eyed schnapps drinkers! I’ll give you “strides down”, you Munich mutton munchers! You’ll get it up the Unter Den Linden, you panzer pansies!’
‘Aaaghtung!’ they screamed.
Alf had joined in, hurling blackboard dusters and booting fleeing Germans. ‘Take that in the South End for the East End!’
‘Nicely put, young Alf!’ smiled Grabham, then turned to Yvette. ‘How’s that tea coming?’
Later that night, their plane landed them safely back at the Golden Hind Academy. It was a good night’s work well done. In the housemaster’s study they listened to the proud and stirring words of Winston Churchill on the radio:
We shall defend our honour whatever the cost. We shall cane them on the breeches. We shall cane them on their heiling hands. We shall cane them over chairs, over knees and over desks. We shall never surrender.
A little misty-eyed at hearing the great man’s stirring words, Grabham began marking exercise books while Alf Mast started his day’s chores to pay for his keep. ‘Whitewash the latrines, lad. Make them fit enough to eat your dinner from. As usual.’
‘Thank you, Sir. It’ll be my pleasure, Sir.’
Their adventure concluded with a final caption:
‘Fall in for more caning capers with The Caning Commando in next week’s Spanker, chums.’
Serial Killer by Pat Mills & Kevin O’Neill is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.
Strides down! Hilarious stuff Pat, this has become my weekly pick me up.