Search This Blog

Thursday, 19 December 2019

The Spanking ‘Twenties’

From Janus Spanking Special 2
To any student of corporal punishment the decade immediately following the Great War is perhaps one of the most interesting of all time. In 1918 the vote was given to women aged thirty and over. In 1920 the University of Oxford admitted women for the first time in its history and in 1928 all women over the age of 21 were enfranchised. In those ten years women made the most of their emancipation. They flew airplanes, drove racing cars, and generally let the world know that the liberated woman had arrived.
One of the first things that happened was she discarded her ankle-length skirts, her long hair was bobbed or shingled, and her skirts appeared above her knees.
Thanks to the introduction of rayon and similar artificial silks, all women, no matter what their station in life, were able to afford silk stockings and silk underwear, things which had previously been the prerogative of the well-to-do. The fashionable colour was ‘Gun-Metal’ and the male population was treated to a vista of feminine legs, such as he had never dreamed possible.
Thousands and thousands of legs of all ages, every size and shape were clad in gleaming, tightly-drawn silk, flashing provocatively beneath skirts that in many cases were well above the knee. Quite often too, she regaled men with a flash of silken garters. These were in fashion at the time and came in a great variety of colours and styles from plain bands of elastic, to fancily frilled affairs of satin and lace. Some were buckled with bows; some had pockets for powder puffs, while others had little bells which tinkled as the wearer walked.
Garters were necessary because the corsetieres had not kept pace with the rapidly changing fashions. Young women finally refused to be confined in whalebone or steel. They tossed away their old thigh-length corsets, there were as yet no lightweight girdles, roll-ons or suspender belts, therefore they could use only garters to keep their silk stockings taut and eye-catching.
Similarly lingerie underwent a drastic change. White cotton or cambric drawers which for so long had been the mainstay of feminine underwear were definitely ‘out’ as far as the ‘Bright Young Thing’ of the Twenties was concerned. So too were those relics of her school days, the heavy fleece-lined, knee-length directoire knickers commonly known in Britain as ‘Bloomers’ or ‘Passion-Killers’. But what could she wear in their place? True there were French knickers but these delectable silken garments with their wide lace-trimmed legs were not at all suitable for wearing under short skirts.
A respectable girl had to be careful sitting down or going upstairs. Some bus conductors refused to allow short-skirted girls to mount the upper deck, on the grounds that it was disturbing for them to be exposed to how much the girls showed. The only suitable garments were directoire knickers made of thin rayon. These were still too long and were gathered just above the knee, but the young women overcame this handicap by simply pulling the legs up to the tops of their thighs, or by trimming the legs of the garment themselves. Later the manufacturers produced short-legged knickers to suit the short skirts and in a great variety of colours, the favourite being ‘Peach’. Many were trimmed with panels of coffee-coloured ‘ecru’ lace to accentuate their style.
For the schoolgirl of this period it was a time of paradox. True, some of the new freedom filtered down to her. Skirts became shorter, but not as short as her mother’s. She was allowed out in the evening to her girl-guides’ meeting or even to the pictures (movies). She learnt science and chemistry, she played hockey and netball and had lessons in gymnastics, In many ways it was a much better life than her mother had known at school, but of course, there were drawbacks.
To start with she was obliged to wear that bane of all schoolgirls, the gymslip. Made of thick serge, sometimes green or maroon, but usually navy-blue, summer and winter she wore it with a white shirt-blouse and a tie in her school colours. With this she wore a pair of black or brown stockings, woollen in winter and cotton in summer, and the ubiquitous navy-blue gym knickers, and, beneath those, a thinner pair of knickers known as ‘linings’. No doubt this was the start of the navy-blue knicker fetish.
As if this attire was not a cross enough to bear she soon discovered that there were other disadvantages to emancipation. ‘Equality’ meant not only equality of education and opportunity, but also equality of discipline. With acute dismay she realised that phrases like ‘getting the stick’ and ‘six of the best’ were no longer ordeals designed solely for her brothers. Of course, she was quite familiar with spanking, but that was done by mum or dad at home. It was usually in the bedroom that this took place where nobody could see her discomfort and her tears, but it was entirely different when her teacher said, ‘I shall have to cane you. Come out to the front of the class and touch your toes!’
At that time there were few co-educational schools so at least she was spared the extra embarrassment of knowing that grinning boys were watching as she bent over and touched her toes in front of the whole class. However she still felt her gymslip being lifted right up and trembled as the cane swished and stung her bottom until she squirmed and wept with the pain.
If our schoolgirl was working class and attended a council school, she could still expect this form of corporal punishment. At school four or at the most, six strokes of the cane across her hands or across her knicker-clad bottom was what she received. Yet at home a spanking from her mother or a ‘clip round the ear’ from dad was the only sort of punishment she knew.
If she was particularly naughty, Dad might take off his trouser belt and give his daughter a leathering. This meant that the girl would dangle and squirm on his lap as she tried to miss his swipe. Only Mum’s voice saying, ‘Oh, Bert, don’t be too hard on her!’ could be heard above the harsh lashing of the leather belt on the girl’s bare buttocks.
The working class, as a general rule, have never acquired the same outlook on corporal punishment as the upper class, nor do they expect the same obedience from their offspring.
The ‘sang-froid’ and ‘stiff upper lip’ that are characteristics of the British upper class, are the results of generations of tradition and discipline. The almost Spartan existence bred into their sons by being packed off to boarding and so called ‘public’ schools explains their character. Under such a system where boys have, for centuries, been flogged by masters and prefects alike, it is little to be wondered at that such people have developed an almost Teutonic regard for the ritual of corporal punishment.
After the Great War a large number of private schools for girls were opened. Their object was to cater for the daughters of the middle class, well-to-do tradesmen and professional people who wanted a better education for their daughters than the state and church schools provided, without having to send them away to boarding school. Such schools varied considerably as did their fees, curricula and the scholastic qualifications of the teaching staff. At that time anyone who wished could open a private school whatever his or her lack of qualifications, and many of them were run by people who were totally unqualified to take charge of young girls.
At a time when the cane was freely used in council and church schools it is clear that it was used even more freely in private schools. Here the girls were from a class who were much more used to the idea of discipline and who had been brought up in households where they learned to be obedient and not to question their parents or others in positions of authority.
Outwardly the girls who attended these establishments differed little from their less well-off sisters. They wore the same ubiquitous gymslip, stockings and gym-knickers, even if the clothing was of a better cut and quality. They probably learnt French and perhaps Latin, and struggled through a lot more homework, which they called ‘prep’. They were polite, soft-spoken and imbued with a sense of freedom and the ambition to become doctors, politicians and explorers.
There was no limit to what a girl with a good education could do. Of course, it meant lots of hard work, and sometimes the teachers seemed a little too keen, especially the Principal. She was very nice, of course, and one had to admit that she had only the best interests of her pupils at heart, but there were times when she was just a little too formidable. She expected so much and on those occasions when a ‘gel’ had perhaps not felt like doing ‘prep’, had skimped it and just hoped, then it usually meant having to see her in her study. It was all pretty beastly, really. There was all that hanging around in the corridor outside her door, waiting until she was ready to see you. Passing teachers and other girls looking at you and knowing exactly what was going to happen. Then our girl went in and stood in front of the Principal’s desk. This was followed by a lecture on good behaviour, and was full of phrases like ‘wasting your wonderful opportunity’ and ‘not tolerating slackers’. Eventually our girl felt so thoroughly miserable and ashamed it was almost a relief when the Principal got up and said, ‘I deeply regret having to do this but I have no alternative but to chastise you for your own good.’
Then, unencumbered by modesty considerations which fettered the council schools, our Principal picked up the cane and uttered the dreaded instruction, ‘Please take your knickers down and bend over the desk!’ Worse still when one’s gymslip and vest had been tucked up and one was humiliatingly conscious of being quite bare. It was so utterly shame-making but one soon forgot that when one heard that terrible swish and a dreadful scorching pain flamed through one’s rump.
Our girl tried very hard not to be silly and childish as stroke followed stroke, but it was very difficult when they were so hard and painful that her poor bottom felt as if it was being cut to pieces. She clung desperately on to the desk and tried hard not to scream but could not stop her tears or the undignified twisting and squirming. At last ‘Oh Thank Goodness’ it was over and she was allowed to stand and pull up her knickers with as much dignity as she could muster and then wait to be dismissed. She always hoped that the corridor was empty and she could reach the toilets unseen. Locked in there she could have a good howl and tenderly massage her poor aching little bottom until she felt fit to face the curiosity of her classmates once more.
When she left school the girl of the Twenties cast aside her hated school uniform. She replaced her gymslip with the shortest dress her parents would allow, and her navy-blue bloomers with the briefest and tightest of rayon knickers she could get hold of. Her black stockings she exchanged for a pair of gleaming silk stockings, gartered as high as they would stretch. Cramming her feet into her first pair of pointed-toed, high-heel patent leather shoes, she went out into the great big wonderful world with whoops of joy. She worked in offices, in shops, and in factories. Sometimes, if she couldn’t avoid it, she went into domestic service for there were still a large number of people who could afford to pay servants.
Out of her wages she had to pay Mum, of course, but there was plenty left to buy silk stockings, undies, make-up, powder, lipstick and mascara, even if she did have to wait until she was out of the house before she could use them.
She found a new world of boys. Boys who were only too willing to take her out in the evening. It was nearly always to the back row of the ‘pictures’ where she could gaze in rapture at Rudolph Valentino being so thrillingly cruel and masterful in the ‘Sheik of Araby’. Of course the boys always wanted to kiss and cuddle but having their eager hands exploring her breasts and a sly hand creeping up her skirt was so thrilling! There was the ‘Palais’ too. You could dance the ‘Charleston’ and then it was all right to kick your legs and give the boys a glimpse of your garters. Some girls, the fast ones, even showed their knickers! Yes, life was wonderful!
The only fly in the ointment was Dad. Dad was old-fashioned. He didn’t understand the younger generation. Like all previous generations of fathers, Dad was a reactionary and viewed his daughter’s goings-on with a highly suspicious eye. Quite often he put his foot down. ‘No daughter of mine is going to roam the streets until all hours,’ he said. ‘Ten o’clock is quite late enough for you, my girl! You better be home by then or you’ll get your backside tanned!’
In those far off days Dad was still ‘Head of the Household’ and his word was law. If his daughter dared to defy him and bounced in at midnight, flushed from struggling with her over-amorous boyfriend and smelling of port and lemon, she was apt to find that Dad had meant every word he said. No sooner had she taken off her coat than she found herself sprawling across his knees. In spite of all her sobbing protests that she was ‘grown up’ her short skirt went up, her knickers came down, and whack went Dad’s heavy work-hardened hand in determined and very painful slaps on her bare and all too vulnerable bottom.
If she lived in the South of England, a good spanking or perhaps, at worst, a dozen or so whacks with his slipper were all that she was likely to get. But if she lived in the industrial North, then woe betide her if she defied him. The men of Northern England, the miners, steelworkers, and shipbuilders had never accepted the equality of the sexes!
A woman’s place was clearly defined and Dad wasn’t going to accept any cheek from some chit of a lass! He said ‘Sith’ee ‘ere lass, tha’ be ‘ome by ten or I’ll skelp tha’ backside!’ and if she did try it on, she found Dad waiting up for her with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his belt already doubled dangling across his knee.
‘Get tha’ drawers down, lass!’ was all he’d say and, even if she was nearly 21, she’d do as he bid her. When she was ready, she’d go across his knee as meekly as a lamb, and with the fortitude bred of centuries of submission. Dad saw to it that his thick, leather belt raised red weals all over her sturdy buttocks, but, humiliating and painful as these spanking from Dad were, they could have been a lot worse for, as every girl knows, Dads have a soft spot for their daughters, however naughty they might be. She knew that if she did find herself lying across Dad’s knees for a well-deserved whipping she could easily halt the proceedings with some well-timed tears, probably ending up with half the strokes she deserved.
Parents with old-fashioned ideas were only one of the stumbling blocks for the 1920’s Miss to contend with. There were others too who seemed to think they had a natural right to administer correction, especially if the girl in question was dependent on them for her livelihood.
If our girl came from a middle-class background and went to a private school, it is quite possible that she would stay on and when she left take a course at Business College. Here she would learn shorthand and typing and would then look for a glamorous office job. She would have a variety of boyfriends from the local tennis club, but would only kiss them discreetly when no one else was looking.
Of course her Mother was very proud when she set off in the mornings for her job in the City. Dressed in a very business-like black suit with a crisp white blouse and new silk stockings, she was the apple of her eye. Life was very good to her. The boss was quite a gentleman and she was flattered that she had been chosen as his ‘Private Secretary’. The fact that he was a ‘jolly good fellow’ did not stop him from looking up her skirt when she sat in front of him to take dictation. Very discreetly, of course, but nevertheless she did have to remember to keep her legs closed and her skirt pulled down.
There were those times when he had to show her some document or other and his hand would come to rest on her hip. Now and then he would give her bottom a little pat of approval. Occasionally he would make suggestive remarks about someone or other deserving ‘a damn good spanking’ and he would be so emphatic that she sometimes wondered what he would do if she ever made a mistake. However she shrugged it off. He was far too decent to do such a thing.
Then had come the fatal day. That day she now looked back with such mixed feelings. The day she couldn’t breathe a word about to anyone — especially to Mummy.
The day had been much like any other until late in the afternoon, when it was nearly time to go home. There had been a phone call which changed his normally pleasant expression to one of surprise, then dismay, then, as he slammed down the receiver, one of fury. Slowly he’d put both hands on his desk and stood up.
‘You careless little idiot,’ he’d said in a tone that made her shiver, ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’
Dumbly she shook her head.
‘Those contracts you posted last night went in the wrong envelopes and now there is hell to pay. Those people are bitter rivals. God knows what I’ll be able to do.’
Then, very quietly, and in a way she could not fail to understand, he added, ‘But I know exactly what I’m going to do to you, young lady.’ Her knees suddenly felt like jelly as she stared at him in dismay. He glanced at the clock on his desk.
‘Send the rest of the girls home,’ he said tersely and, as her unwilling legs took her to the door, added, ‘and lock the outer door!’
She never knew how she mustered sufficient sang-froid to dismiss the typists, wait for them to get ready, and then bid them a smiling goodnight, just as if nothing had happened, or worse, was going to happen. Reluctantly she dropped the latch on the outer door and still more reluctantly turned her steps back towards his office. All the time she was praying she had misunderstood. He wasn’t really going to spank her? Perhaps he just meant a good ticking-off, but as she reached his door her hopes were completely shattered. Her heart gave a sickening lurch, for her chair had been turned around and he was waiting with obvious impatience beside it. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
All sorts of things came into her head. Desperate appeals for clemency. Varied excuses, threats to tell Daddy. A flood of thoughts went through her mind but she was unable to muster one word of protest. Suddenly he was unfastening her jacket, slipping it off her shoulders, folding it and putting it beside his own on the desk.
Then he was sitting down, taking her arm and pulling her, gently but firmly, down, down, until she was completely across his thighs. Oh why wouldn’t her thoughts make sense? Why wouldn’t the words come? Why didn’t she struggle and shout, ‘No you can’t. I won’t let you. I won’t be spanked like a naughty schoolgirl. I’m a young woman! I deserve to be —’
Oh my God, he’s pulling up my skirt and my petticoat. I ought to stop him now, but he is my boss and I suppose he has the right. I don’t know. Anyway if I refuse he will sack me and that will be awful. Mummy will be ashamed. Yes I DO deserve it. I was stupid and careless. Anyway a spanking is not much. I’m so glad I’m wearing my new cami-knickers! At least I look nice. Thank God I put them on. It would be awful if I had ordinary knickers on. He might have pulled them down! What’s he doing? Oh my God, he can’t! He’s feeling between my legs for the buttons!
For the first time she found her voice. Clamping her legs tightly together she gasped, ‘Oh no, please! No. I-I’ll do it for you, please.’ But it was too late, his fingers had found the two little pearl buttons that joined the narrow strip of material between her legs. Speechless with embarrassment she could only squirm in silent protest as his hot male fingers fumbled against her soft, feminine flesh until the strip parted. It was almost a relief when the back of the cami-knickers came up, even though it left her nude from waist to thighs. At least his hand wasn’t fumbling between her legs!
Flushed and embarrassed she lay there; too acutely embarrassed to be even apprehensive about her forthcoming punishment.
‘Oh Lord,’ she thought desperately, ‘I’m bare, absolutely bare! How shameful! I’ll never be able to face him again. I never felt like this when Daddy did it. Oh he’s looking at me down there, the beast!.’ She felt his right leg rising, felt herself being lifted as he wedged his heel high up in the leg of his chair.
‘Oh no,’ she felt herself go hot, ‘how could he? As if he couldn’t see enough already!’
All thoughts were abruptly banished as his hand suddenly descended on her raised bare buttocks. She felt her bottom quiver , then heard the sharp sound of the slap, then a tingling sensation in her right cheek. A second or so later a second slap made her left cheek quiver and tingle. Time passed and the spanks continued to fall with clockwork regularity and much harder than when he began. Her bottom began to wriggle and weave in rhythm with the spanking. Eventually she began to shout ‘Please sir, do stop. I can’t stand any more. Oh my poor bottom! Please STOP!
She wriggled and beseeched until like any naughty girl anywhere she burst into tears.
Dazed and bewildered, sobbing her heart out, she found herself standing up, her face pressed to his chest, her tears wetting his shirt. One of his strong arms was around her shoulder. His voice was softly soothing while his other hand was gently rubbing her bare bottom. It was, by this time, a painfully smarting bottom that throbbed like an enormous aching pulse.
She refused to listen to the little voice that was trying to remind how improper it was, not to mention dangerous, for a decent girl to stand being caressed by a man with her dress up around her waist and her knickers undone. A good girl was completely at the mercy of a brute who had just given her the spanking of her life and whose hand was still caressing her bottom.
Slowly she pressed against him and abandoned herself to an orgy of weeping that left her strangely relaxed and contented. When she could no longer sustain her sobs she turned her face towards him. Her lips were suddenly kissed, at first quite gently, then more and more urgently until, blushing, she had struggled from his arms and accepted a cigarette, a practice new to her.
‘You’re not going home yet, my dear,’ he said smoothly. ‘Phone your mother and tell her you are with a girlfriend. We’ll have a drive out to Maidenhead for dinner and a little fun. I promise to get you home by ten.’
Oh no, that day was certainly not one she could EVER reveal to her mother. Even if you could get her to understand the spanking and how it made you feel, what about the awful lies you told her on the phone? It would be impossible for her to comprehend the rest of the story. After a simply wonderful dinner of lobster and champagne, and you were lying on the back seat of his luxurious Daimler well, what was a girl to do? I mean if a man has unbuttoned your cami-knickers once that day and explored all you have to offer, there is no earthly reason why you shouldn’t let him do it again!


  1. Was the bare bottom caning of schoolgirls really once a commonplace as this article would have us believe? It's an interesting piece which seems to start off as a straightforward historical account but then gradually moves into the realm of artistic licence. It's amazing how the idea of bare bottom schoolgirl caning has taken on such an air of believability. In truth, however, I think that it exists mostly in sexual fantasy. I'm not saying that it never ever had occasion to happen but I think, even in those days, such practices would have been controversial to say the least or else were something that happened in clandestine circumstances. Much more commonplace, I think, would have been caning of the hands or on the bottom but across the skirt or maybe across the knickers. I also think it was much more likely that the task of disciplining girls in this way would have fallen to women.

  2. Bob here.
    I would say your above comments are probably spot on.
    My(obviously rough) guess,percentage wise would be that most girls,when and if caned at their school,would have received it on their hands (about 50% maybe ?),around 45% on the knickered bottom but only around 5% would have got it on the bare,at least where school was concerned;at any rate.

  3. Now that Brexit, and a Tory government given a whopping majority by millions of working class votes, is finally upon us could the new decade ahead see the return of the 'Spanking Twenties'? The lower orders' clamour to have their faces rubbed in the dirt is really most gratifying and I very much hope that this is something which will pave the way for such effective 'law and order' programmes as National Domestic Service (for 'Class 3 & 4' females aged 18-21) and the institution of the 'New Moral Order'. Well, we can dream (as ever!) can't we?

    1. I have been thinking along similar lines. I am sure the various roues and cranks making up the Tory frontbench will be very open to ideas for dealing with our moral decline as a nation a decline largely caused by errant and ill disciplines young minxes running wild.

    2. Yes, it is not often I'm to be found singing the praises of a female disciplinarian but the current Home Secretary, known for being a pro capital punishment (and thus what might be her private views on corporal punishment?) law and order enthusiast, is someone who I could very easily imagine taking the rod to some lower class unfortunate herself. Then there's 'old Moggy', a chap who luxuriates in the epithet 'The Right Hon. Member for the Eighteenth Century'. Though amiable enough seeming, something one could never say about the Home Secretary, there's definitely something of a wolf in sheep's clothing about him. I think he quietly yearns for a return to the days when the nobles openly lorded it over the common rabble.

      Nice to hear from you again, Mr Framley. Your splendid homilies on girl discipline are always most appreciated.