From Blushes 5
Since it is your intention to continue Blushes on well-researched and well-established themes of young and middle-aged ladies being admonished for their failures it occurs to me that you would do very well to seriously consider including an illustrated article, or a series of features, associated with the subject of the Penitent Nun.
For centuries the disciplines of the closed Orders of Sisterhood have engaged the enquiring mind and literally hundreds of books and illustrations have been published ever since the days of Boccaccio in the 14cc, the Decameron and the writings of Rabelais in the 16cc. Men’s interest in the penances of Nuns continued and considerably increased in Victorian times and is of no less interest now. There is a great deal of both factual and fictional information on the various Orders of Nuns to be found in the comparatively recent book The Nuns written by Marcelle Bernsteind published by Collins which could provide the substance for a very informative and thoughtful feature on the Contrite Nun and her disciplinary and reformative treatment. Published biographies of ex-nuns also endorse the facts that appear in that book.
I cannot believe it beyond your creative ability to present some of your models as nuns or junior postulants. Their habits and vestments for the purpose would be easily obtainable, just as they are available for the casts of theatrical companies staging shows such as The Sound of Music or the recent opera production in London in which the major part of the cast were dressed as nuns. Young women are received into an Order as postulants from the age of 16 or 17 up to middle-age which could offer you a wide choice in casting pious-looking models for the role of the Contrite and Penitent Nun.
Accuracy of dress would be most important so as to convey to your readers the illusion of being privy to the penalties awarded to sinful and slothful nuns. A description of a nun’s underwear can be found in the previously mentioned book The Nuns. The accent on all the nun’s clothing and habit is of austerity and economy. A postulant or novice entering one of the closed Orders is provided with a soft flannel vest, pants, a straight bodice and plain underslip. Over all is worn the scapular on the shoulders and a close fitting cap enclosing the hair is worn under the starched wimple. There are some Orders where the hair of the head is still cropped or worn short but this discipline is not now commonly enforced.
Before the turn of the century nuns wore no underclothing, since when they adopted over the years various hard-wearing undergarments ranging from convent-made longcloth drawers reaching to the knee and serge knickerbocker-type breeches closed below the knee for warmth and economy, but nowadays particularly in the more affluent and better endowed closed Orders they have taken to mass-produced knickers but still with the accent on austerity, decorum and economy. Short stockings of lisle or cotton are worn in warm weather, gartered at or above the knee, whilst in colder times long warm stockings suspended from the bodice and meeting at the closed legs of the bloomer-type knickers are adopted for warmth and decency in the dormitory.
Nuns do not wear brassieres, stays or corsetry except on medical advice, hence there is no constriction of the body, Since the nuns in closed Orders do not engage in outside pursuits or sporting recreation their figures are never exposed to the sun or weather hence their bottoms, like their souls, should be as white as the driven snow.
Nuns found failing in the many strict standards of propriety and who are ready, or needing, to be punished according to the accepted code of their particular Order are dealt with summarily. Strictures include such impositions as undue friendliness with another nun, the breaking of imposed silences or the sin of sleeping with the arms inside the sheets of her cot. Any indulgence in fact. Penalties awarded vary considerably but the formal and physical punishment may be given to nuns or novices by, and carried out in the presence of, the Prioress, Abbess or the Mother Superior, or by a Monitor Nun chosen and appointed for the purpose of upholding the dignity and discipline of the Convent. Less commonly known, the visiting Chaplain or Prelate may, at his discretion upon receiving a nun’s confession, chastise her if she has a wish, or a reason, to need such absolution. The possible advantage of the latter form of atonement is that it is a private matter which goes unrecorded and remains something between the priest and the nun’s conscience.
Physical chastisement may be administered, formally or discriminately, either in the privacy of the nun’s cell or some other place set apart for the purpose, or in the office or vestry of the Chaplain, bound over some piece of ecclesiastical furniture, reversed upon a prie-dieu or genuflecting on a section of altar rail. To be ‘sent to the altar rail’ or simply ‘to the rail’ is synonymous with the intent to impose a discipline.
Correction is usually carried out with the institutional cane or, occasionally in some closed orders where such an item is adopted, with the leather belt worn by a nun or novice around the waist of her habit and which is regarded for this further purpose as appropriate to her state of divestment and humility.
There is a great richness of thought to be gained through the contemplation of the rigid disciplines of the Convent or Nunnery — far more than can be hinted at in this letter. With your artistry and editing ability I feel certain that you could give your readers an enormous amount of quiet pleasure by revealing something of what happens to disobedient yet submissive nuns behind the closed walls of the Nunnery.
Well, what a magazine you produce! I have to admit that the sight of all those naughty girls getting their just deserts, really does something for me, which as a fellow naughty girl, albeit in her thirties, it should not!
I have to admit that I have not yet had the courage to go into a shop during a trip to London to buy your magazine, I have to rely on my boyfriend bringing it down at weekends. I suppose that I have always been into C.P.
One of my earliest recollections, as a girl, is seeing a BBC production of Jane Eyre in which Jane was caned right at the start by Mr Brocklehurst, which as you know is rather different from the way Charlotte Bronte wrote it. My earliest school memory is being sent to the Headmistress at 5 years old, for some terrible crime, and thinking throughout the lecture that I got, that at any moment I would be put across a chair and caned. I wasn’t! I can recall several whackings at junior school and as a fourth year (10 or 11 years old) being made on several occasions to take my plimsoll out to the teacher, a woman, and then being beaten on the bottom with it! When I was 11 I was sent to an all girls Church of England Secondary school. Things at church schools in the late 1950’s early 1960’s were a great deal different to the way they are today. Uniform was compulsory, white blouses, white socks, blue skirts and of course, navy blue knickers. We had to wear what the rules called ‘sensible shoes’. Girls could also wear stockings, if they wished, tights were either too expensive, or just unobtainable. Then of course, there was the cane. On our first day the Headmistress (how I feared that woman!!) told us that the cane was used, regularly, in the school. We would, she told us, normally be caned on our bottoms.
We all lived in fear of a caning for the first few months of the term. We heard about other girls getting it in other forms. I even overhead a caning, but I never saw one, until just before Christmas. The Headmistress caned two fourth formers in front of the whole school. Being a first year I was right at the front of the hall, my nose being only about eight feet away from the two girls’ tightly navy-blue knickered bottoms, down upon which the Headmistress brought the cane time and time again. Oh how the two girls howled! I got a really funny feeling in my tummy, which at the time I did not understand. Not long after some girls in my class got caned — again I got that strange feeling!
My first caning was a couple of months later. It was a cold day and instead of being outside at break some of us were hanging around inside, the prefects kept chasing us out, but as soon as they had gone we returned. Suddenly Miss Hunt appeared on the scene. She was a young mistress, attractive and most of us girls had a ‘crush’ on her. Instead of chasing us out she rounded all of us up, about a dozen girls in all, and marched us up to her room. She herded us in and made us stand in one corner, she got her cane out, and each girl went forward in turn to be caned. The older girls were caned first, four strokes each on the bottom, skirts up. It was a weird feeling seeing them caned and knowing that it would be your turn in a few minutes. I was really shaking when she finally pointed her cane at me. She told me to grip my ankles, she lifted my skirt back and hit me! The pain was unbelievable! I really howled! Then I got a second stroke, and that was it! I left her room, like the other girls, crying bitterly. Sitting down was not easy, I can tell you! I well remember lying in bed that night with a strange new feeling in my tummy as my bottom glowed warmly.
I got caned many times after that, as we got older the mistress seemed to regard every minor breach of rules as a caning offence, indeed often my entire class was caned. The worst mistress was the gym mistress. She was much older than I ever imagined a gym mistress to be, she was, however, very fond of her cane.
As my sporting prowess, like most teenage girls, was sadly lacking, as a result Miss Perrett’s cane made frequent visits to my bottom! Sometimes she would just cane us there and then, but normally she would wait until the end of the lesson, as we went to shower. She always had an interest in watching us shower, she would wait by the entrance to the showers, cane in hand, until we had hung our towels up, then as we walked past her she would either say nothing or order us to bend over. You got two strokes, on the bare arse of course, then I always rushed into the showers and turned the water on my face, to try to hide the tears!
Your friends always spend their time laughing at you. I remember a time in her gym, when Miss Perrett was punishing two of my classmates, for skylarking in the gym, which is a rather dangerous place after all, she was really thrashing Jean, whom she had bent across the vaulting horse, I had got myself into a good viewing position, and was experiencing a damp crutch, when I noted that Judith the girl awaiting her caning had wet herself in fear! Now we were about 14 at the time, very embarrassing! Eventually Jean was released to cry her heart out in the corner and Judith was called forward and bent across the horse, when Miss Perrett saw that Judith had wet herself she blew a fuse! She shouted at an already crying girl and then ordered Judith to take her knickers off, this caused a buzz around the gym. Poor Judith then got eight across her bare bottom. Certainly the best caning I’ve ever witnessed. The Headmistress was a woman to fear, she always awarded four strokes for any offence, but then found a reason to increase it to six or even eight, dirty shoes, wrong colour knickers any reason she could find. I had a four stroke caning for smoking increased to eight because my suspenders were the wrong colour.
I eventually left school, having been caned two days before, by Miss Perrett, I had several boyfriends but something always seemed to be lacking from my sex life, until I met my current one. Things were heading towards a parting and one night I had a terrible row with him, he grabbed hold of me, pulled me across his knee and spanked me! The old feelings flooded back! Sex was wonderful! We did not split up and I graduated back to the cane! Now after twenty years my bottom is once again receiving regular visits from a cane!
I bought issue 2 as soon as I saw the pictures of the girls in their cute little sailor hats undergoing some sort of naval discipline.
Standing in a bookshop on one of my infrequent visits to London, I chanced upon issue number 2. ‘Some of the best photographs you’ll have seen’ the cover proclaimed. I browsed through the pages and yes, they were indeed some of the best photographs I’ve ever seen!
A friend with a very vague interest in C.P. who has an occasional browse through my magazine collection, found the pictures more appealing than most C.P. mags that he’d seen. I asked him what he thought of Blushes in comparison to others and he said that the pictures seemed more honest and closer to the bone. In particular the photo on page 27 with the girl being ‘booked’. The discipline of such a pose really struck him. I knew exactly what he meant. I also think the picture on page 6 with the guy with the towel and the girl on her tiptoes is excellent.
I can just tell that Blushes is going to be the best C.P. mag around, if it isn’t already!
I don’t know what it is about Blushes photos that make them stand out above other magazines, but it might have something to do with the prettier girls, more imaginative poses and the stricter looking discipline. Plus the nudity! That’s what any magazine worth its salt that professes to be C.P. orientated should be aiming for. Discipline and Humiliation.
You see, my tastes in sado-erotica, as well as spanking and caning etc., veer towards more humiliating aspects such as nude P.T., punishment dress, and enforced exhibitionism among other things.
With a bit of imagination and co-operation there are literally dozens of different methods and rituals in punishing young ladies. Confiscation of certain items of clothing, the wearing of certain items of clothing, also enforced nudity can be, in itself a salutary discipline.
It would be very embarrassing for a pretty girl to have to bathe in a large tin bath in front of a roaring log fire, especially in front of invited relations or friends. Afterwards, even more humiliation is when she has her bottom talcum powdered, then a nappy and rubber panties are put on her.
Similarly, imagine that a gorgeous young girl is sent to her strict aunt’s for a long weekend of punishment to mend her disobedient ways. Three or four glorious days of floor-scrubbing, caning, boot polishing, slapping, exercise, tawsing, weeding gardens etc. Of course the cruel aunt would have to invite a few guests over to witness the girl’s retribution. She could also introduce things like marching drill, the girl dressed in an embarrassingly skimpy mini-kilt and black or white ankle or knee socks; and if knees weren’t lifted high enough, or fast enough, a whippy cane would be well employed.
Maybe it’s something to do with the censorship laws, or maybe it’s just a matter of taste, but to be honest I find the majority of C.P. magazines a bit bland. Sometimes, the only reason I buy them is in case I miss a good letter, story or picture that may appeal to my particular tastes.
I love the Victor Bruno books, and sometimes wonder why the harsher things such as bondage and restraint can’t be incorporated in the average bland spanking magazine. I don’t mean things like leather-clad dominant mistresses, it’s just that I personally feel that things could be a bit more imaginative and adventurous.
I think I must be a bit of a foot fetishist as most of my fantasies involve beautiful submissive girls with bare feet, or wearing socks.
Imagine that it’s a hot day and also a punishment day for Mr X’s pretty young wife. A shopping expedition has been planned. She is to wear a longish ribbon in her dark hair, a largish man’s shirt with the three top buttons undone, a leather thong belt tight around her waist and nothing else! The pavement feels hot and uncomfortable beneath the soles of her pretty little bare feet, and the shirt barely covers her bottom. The top of her thighs are clearly and visibly lacerated from the previous night’s obedience training session.
On the way back from the shops, she is loaded down with heavy shopping bags. They play little games, for instance, every time she steps on a crack in the pavement she gets a hefty crack across her backside.
Blushes seems to me to be the closest magazine to my tastes that I’ve ever seen, picture-wise at least anyway!
Congratulations on the new magazine especially on the quality of the photographic work.
I am prompted to write by your appeal for readers contributions, whether the following will be of interest remains to be seen.
Most readers of C.P. magazines have heard of the martinet, a peculiarly French punishment implement not much favoured by British C.P. enthusiasts or used by British parents.
I had always imagined that such objects were in fact just a bit of national folklore until that is I was in Nice last year.
During the course of a wander through the back streets, I was peering through the door of a small ironmongers shop and trying to decide what the French was for a television aerial plug, when my eyes lit on a bundle of objects hanging from the ceiling.
From descriptions in various C.P. magazines, I concluded that the items dangling amongst the brooms and dustpans must be the punishment device known as the martinet.
My curiosity being greater than my fear of looking a fool I entered the shop and after locating the required plug indicated that I would like one of the martinets.
The proprietor showed no particular surprise or interest in my request, an indication I surmised that such purchases were commonplace. It would seem that at least in that part of France any misbehaving child ran a grave risk of a well warmed bottom.
For the princely sum of seventy pence I had acquired a genuine martinet which was constructed as follows.
A wooden handle about a foot long had attached to it ten leather thongs again about a foot long and looking rather like old fashioned leather bootlaces. The whole thing was quite light in weight and was obviously intended to import a good sting to the recipient without causing serious marking or bruising.
I only purchased the martinet as a souvenir out of sheer curiosity, I had no intention of using it as neither my wife or daughter are aware of my interest in C.P. Certainly any attempt to punish my daughter with it would have caused a riot.
During the course of the year I showed it to several people introducing it in the manner of a joke. Most considered it another example of the strange and uncivilised ways of the French. At least two husbands were tempted to flick it across their wives’ bottoms amid shrieks of hilarity.
It was on an occasion rather similar to the above that having left the martinet in a place where it was certain to be seen and commented on, I came across the daughter of an acquaintance of mine examining it with some trepidation. I asked her if she knew what it was and her reply came as rather a shock.
‘It’s a martinet,’ she replied ‘I know because I’ve been given a good hiding with one.’
Naturally I was agog with excitement and asked her if she would care to elaborate on her remark. At first she was rather reluctant but when she realised I was not laughing at her she told me the full story.
Apparently she had been staying with a distant relative in France some four years ago when she was fifteen. During the course of the holiday she and the daughter of the family had been caught stealing from a local shop. Fortunately the daughter was known to the shopkeeper who instead of calling the police spoke to the girl’s father.
The upshot of this was that both girls were taken by the father back to the shop to return the goods and apologise. My friends daughter (who we’ll call Louise) heard her holiday companion’s father assuring the shopkeeper that both girls would be severely punished by him. She was curious as to quite what he meant but presumed that she would be sent home in disgrace, as to what her friend Nicole would suffer she had no idea.
When they got home both of them were sent upstairs to their room and Louise immediately asked Nicole what her father was going to do to her.
Nicole then said she expected she would get punished with the martinet, a term that Louise had never heard of.
She apparently did not have long to wait as within a few minutes Nicole’s mother appeared holding in her hand the item that Louise had found in my house.
After a long tirade at her daughter, Louise heard the furious mother telling Nicole to take her jeans off. Much to Louise’s surprise Nicole made no complaint but proceeded to take her jeans off as requested. It was obvious that this was not the first time that Nicole had been disciplined in this way even though she was some eighteen months older than Louise.
Still haranguing her daughter Nicole’s mother pushed her face down over the end of the old fashioned bed. This Louise said was the sort with a wooden bed end having a rail just about hip height.
Nicole’s mother then jerked her daughter’s brief panties down, another point that shocked Louise because as she pointed out they were only very tiny anyway and it hardly seemed they would offer much protection.
I’m sorry to say there was little ceremony in what happened next as recounted by Louise. She watched in horror as her friend’s mother began to lash the thongs of the martinet across her daughters bare bottom and upper thighs. Louise said Nicole yelled and kicked but her mother continued to beat her until her whole behind was covered with red stripes. There was I imagine little finesse about this process it was a punishment and designed to hurt.
When eventually her mother stopped Nicole’s bottom was bright red as were her thighs down nearly to her knees. Leaving her daughter sobbing on the bed Louise said the mother turned to her and began giving her a monumental tongue-lashing. The main point of this tirade seemed to be that had Louise been her daughter she would get a dose of the same, a rather unnecessary remark under the circumstances.
As it was she informed Louise she would contact her parents and she could go home as soon as a reservation could be made for her to travel, with that the woman left.
Louise said that she was quite surprised at how quickly Nicole recovered after her mother left and in fact she seemed more concerned that Louise was to be sent home forthwith.
It was Nicole who suggested that Louise might accept a similar punishment instead of banishment to England a course of action that Louise said she recoiled in horror from. As she said the idea of a beefy Frenchwoman thrashing her unprotected rear with what looked like a small cat-o-nine tails was too awful to contemplate.
Gradually however the full enormity of her position began to dawn on her. Not only would her rather pleasant (up till then) holiday be curtailed, she would also have to face her own parents who although she knew they would not physically chastise her would be very annoyed.
Louise said she discussed the matter with Nicole who seemed to think her a bit of a baby for being scared of getting a whipping. Presumably Nicole was used to such methods of punishment as she just shrugged when Louise enquired as to how painful it was.
Finally, Louise asked Nicole to go and ask her mother whether, if she were punished like Nicole, would the matter end there without her parents needing to be told. A short while later Nicole returned accompanied by her still angry-looking mother.
Nicole’s mother in answer to Louise’s question said that she had not yet contacted her parents but was prepared to drop the matter as suggested as long as Louise was quite certain she wanted to be punished like Nicole. Louise admits she was absolutely shaking with fear at this point but she confirmed she wanted the thrashing rather than a return home.
I am afraid that by now it was getting more difficult to keep Louise talking, she was obviously somewhat taken aback by my great interest in her ‘good hiding’ as she kept referring to it. However, after a pause to get me to promise I would not repeat this to her family or friends she continued. Nichole’s mother sent her daughter to fetch the martinet in the meanwhile telling Louise to take her shorts off. Louise did as asked and was then turned around and Nicole’s mother dragged her knickers down to her knees. Louise said that standing there like that was the most embarrassing thing she has ever had happen to her.
Nicole returned with the martinet and handed it to her mother. Louise was then just like Nicole pushed over the bed end.
She was rather alarmed though when Nicole sat on the bed and held her hands. Louise rather thought that Nicole was enjoying seeing her in this predicament.
In Louise’s own words ‘When the whip landed on my bottom it stung like a thousand nettle stings’.
She confesses that if Nicole had not held her wrists and her mother had not pushed her firmly down all the time she would have tried to get away after the second stroke.
As with Nicole the whipping did not last long but was very thorough and extremely painful. Louise says she recalls screaming and kicking but Nicole’s mother did not stop until she presumably thought justice had been done.
When it stopped Louise said she felt that her bottom was on fire.
Several hours later Louise recalls she went and examined her rear view in the mirror. What surprised her was that most of the redness had gone and the only real marks remaining were where the ends of the leather thongs had wrapped around her right-hand bottom-cheek. The marks on her thighs prevented her from wearing shorts or a bathing costume for a few days but there were no bruises.
As to what Louise thought now about her whipping she agreed it had not done any lasting harm and admitted that had her parents used similar methods of discipline she would never have dared to put a foot wrong.
It was still her belief though that corporal punishment was not a good idea in general but did say that perhaps if courts could order a whipping it might not be a bad thing in certain cases. I hope you have found this story of interest.
St Albans, Herts
Like M.A. of Bolton (correspondence of last issue) I bemoan the fact that teenage girls no longer wear navy-blue knickers as part of their schoolwear, nor in their leisure time. After the success of CAMRA and such bodies, I suggest the funding of the Campaign for Retention Of Navy Knickers (Cronk — at least it’s better than CRANK!)
However, all is not quite lost yet, as I discovered when visiting the Downland Open Air Museum near Chichester in W. Sussex just before the end of the school summer term. This is a museum dedicated to the preservation of old rural buildings (farm barns etc) which have been transported to this site, which is spacious with plenty of grass and trees between the various exhibits. I was staying with my aunt and we decided on a visit which, I thought, would be nice and relaxing after the hubbub of city life. Being a weekday and not yet school holidays I expected the museum to be almost empty — little did I know the delights to follow!
On arrival we decided to have a cup of tea at the cafeteria, it being an extremely hot day and we had had to endure two bus rides to get there. Most of the cafe’s tables were out in a field, and it soon became obvious that far from the haven of tranquillity I had foreseen that I was in for an interesting (not to say exciting) few hours. Spread all round this field, both at the tables and all over the grass were school children, all of secondary school age and mostly aged between 11-14 at a guess. There seemed to be three groups, all from different schools, one comprising a mixed group from an urban area (you could tell by their looks, dress and general behaviour, and I took no interest in this group) and the other two of girls only, in cotton school summer dresses in one case and in skirts and blouses in the other. I sat at a table with my aunt and observed their antics as best I could without signalling any interest on my part to my aunt, which was difficult!
These two groups of girls were mostly sitting in circles, facing inward, or behind trees where they could not be seen from any distance. However, there were odd clumps of girls dotted around, and it was a group of three such girls, in blue and white dresses, who sparked my interest. They were laying back sunning themselves (at a fair distance from me, but luckily I have good eyesight!) facing me, and one of them had her knees up and legs spread open, consequently her shortish dress was right up to the top of her thighs and there in view were, unless I was much mistaken, a pair of decidedly navy-blue knickers. By the time of this realisation my aunt’s conversation had begun to pall somewhat and I was finding it hard (nay, impossible) to keep my eyes from straying to this vision of nostalgia set before me. Suddenly this girl sat up, leaning on her elbows, saw me looking over towards her, said something to her friends and the next thing I knew I was being treated to the blissful sight of three pairs of navy knickers as worn by these thirteen-year-old (at a guess) schoolgirls, and obviously very much for my benefit.
Our cup of tea over, I shrewdly suggested to my aunt that we take a route to the first old farmhouse which involved passing much nearer these three girls. Sure enough, as we approached all three contrived to get into positions where, with much wriggling of bottoms and spreading of legs, their entire knickers were on view to us. My aunt now started tut-tut-ting and I had to feign indignation at the behaviour of these errant little trollops, pointing a finger and making a comment so that far from being forced to look away I was able to take in the fact that these were definitely regulation issue navy school knickers that I had long thought had gone out of existence for girls of that age.
This excitement having passed, we made our way to the first exhibit and then round all the others, trailing in the wake of a group of a dozen girls, from the other school I mentioned briefly earlier. They were led by a young schoolmaster, who appeared to get on very well with these girls who were aged fourteen or fifteen. They were wearing white blouses and grey skirts, mostly just above knee length so nothing too exciting, at least I thought not until we visited a house where access to the first floor was by means of an almost vertical and rather narrow set of stairs, more like a fixed ladder really. The schoolmaster elected not to go upstairs, but instead to stay at the bottom of the stairs steadying the girls on their ascent and, later, descent. I think I know why he chose to do so too, because as I followed the last girl up the stairs it was impossible not to look up and see her white-knicker-clad bottom in front of me and similarly on the descent, I made sure I was not last down so that the girl following me also presented her delectable white panties for show. It was perhaps a disappointment that this school’s uniform did not include navy-blues, but that would perhaps have been too much for one day! Incidentally, the discussion on the first floor among the girls had all been about how they had unavoidably shown their knickers to the person ascending after them and to the young schoolmaster standing below. They all knew he had been looking but none of them seemed to mind.
After this a quick return to the field yielded the ‘blue’ school having another tea break and of the three girls there whose knickers I briefly saw all were once again navy-blue, so I think I can safely say with authority that they were very much de rigueur for the girls of that school, which I would guess is a private one located not too far from Chichester, as it was by now gone 3 pm and they seemed in no hurry to get back. So ended a fascinating day — without my aunt’s presence and with a camera it might have proved even more so!
Perhaps other readers would write with similar experiences, and then perhaps we won’t need to activate CRONK!