The stranger bothered her almost as much as Jason Kincaid did. He was a large man with searching dark eyes that never seemed to rest. Also there was something about the set of his jaw reminded her of her father and that determined way he had. It was a cinch that the stranger, whoever he was, was here for Kincaid. But the question was, was he another hired gun looking to cash in or had he come for a showdown?

Kathy sighed and unconsciously tugged at an unruly blonde lock. Damn, her father would have known at a glance, he could smell wrongdoing at 100 miles. That thought brought back uncomfortable memories and past confrontations.

“But Pa I am a woman grown now, I am way too old for a spanking,” she had wailed just a year before.

Her father had regarded her with sad eyes and a firm set of his jaw.

“Kathy, as long as I am your father you will never be too old for a good sound spanking,” he had replied.

It wasn’t as if he had ever cut her some slack when confronted with wrongdoing. She had tried and failed with that line since she had graduated school, but it was always worth another try. But it had ended in the traditional way.

One moment she had been backing away protesting and the next she was upended across his lap with her gingham skirts getting bunched up into the small of her back.

“Please Pa,” she had whined as he tugged at the drawstring on her bloomers.

“Hush now, what kind of spanking would it be if I didn’t bare your bottom?” His voice had been warm and firm with a slight chuckle at its edges as if he didn’t quite take her protestations of being a woman grown seriously. “And if you don’t stop wriggling I’ll send you out back to cut a switch.”

It was a threat often followed through and even almost a year after her father’s death Kathy blushed to her ears. She remembered how in former times she had been made to go into the yard with her skirts pinned to the small of her back while she trimmed a switch or two from the hickory that grew there. More than once a passer-by had seen her and laughed, Kathy could have died.

That last time she had submitted quickly as Pa had bared her bottom. She had been a kid again as he tapped her naked hiney twice as a prelude to spanking her. His hand stung worse than any hairbrush or razor strop and within a half a dozen swats across her behind she was yelling up a storm past caring who might hear her. Hear her they did of course, they always did. It was a small town and the sheriff’s house was in Main Street just down from his office. Everyone knew when Kathy Earhart was getting a spanking.

A sound spanking from Pa always took an age and she was beyond merely sorry long, long minutes before he even thought about stopping. Then with her very red and very bare bottom still on display she had to stand in the corner of the parlour with her behind directed at the front door. The man who kept the towns justice was not ashamed to let the world know he knew how to keep the peace in his own home so many a time a neighbourly busybody would call shortly after Kathy had been spanked, an especially mortifying experience when the neighbour had a son or daughter in tow.

It might have been a shame from which Kathy would never had recovered but the young folk and most especially the grown-up daughters of the town were mostly handled the same and teasing had never lasted beyond a day or two.

A tear rolled down Kathy’s face as she remembered almost fondly such rough handling and would suffer any amount of spanking if she could have had Pa back. But enough of that, she thought returning to the present. Jason Kincaid was up to something and now she had this stranger. With her father dead the job had fallen to her.

“But being sheriff ain’t no job for a woman,” the mayor had protested.

Kathy had agreed but she noticed that Jedidiah Smith, the mayor and storekeeper, was in no hurry to step up himself or find a replacement. Nor had they needed one until Jason Kincaid had come to town.

Kathy reached into the folds of her dark grey skirt for the reassuring weight of her father’s pistol. These days her attire was more sombre and rugged, a vague attempt to be taken seriously. Then pulling down the brim of her mannish hat she made her way to the saloon and the stranger.

*

Jack Stone re-crossed his boots and shifted back in the chair on the porch where he had been seen sun-up. So far there had been no sign of Jason Kincaid, or anyone much. It was almost as if the good people of Mauston knew what was coming down.

In fact the only people he had seen were the preacher, who had crossed the dirt track street to avoid him, the storekeeper that doubled for mayor who had asked him his business in town and small young woman in dark clothing and an overlarge hat who had watched him.

She might have been pretty he thought, but not a smile had touched her face since he had seen her and she had hung around outside the sheriff’s office watching him. Maybe she was after the law as well, but Jack had tried first thing and to his certain knowledge no one had come or gone from the jail since then.

The one thing that did hold his attention about the girl was that she was packing. From the way she kept checking and rechecking her piece she was none too comfortable with firearms either. If she had ill intent towards him then that made it all the more dangerous as amateurs were apt to spook easily. For the longest time he considered approaching her, but she was probably skittish enough. No if she had business with him then let her make her move first. And so it had proved. After an hour or so the girl seemed to make-up her mind about something and started in towards him.

“Hey mister, what you doing here in town?” she blurted.

Jack’s eyes narrowed at her rudeness. Didn’t she know to talk more respectful to her elders? Well he was at least a decade her senior he figured so it was just about his due by now.

“Right now I am just setting ma’am,” he replied with a tip of his hat.

“You know damn well what I mean,” Kathy countered.

Jack’s eyes narrowed and he was genuinely shocked at her cussing.

“What business of yours might that be ma’am?” Jack asked in an even tone.

Kathy reached into her pocket and pulled out her father’s badge. She felt a fraud wearing it, but it was the only authority she had.

Jack saw the badge and sat up straight. He was still studying it when Jason Kincaid chose that moment to ride in.

“Excuse me ma’am,” Jack told Kathy, but his eyes had already dismissed her as they followed the rather dour hard-looking man on the horse.

Kathy too was watching Jason and her hand tickled at the handle of her pistol under her skirts.

“You have business with Jason Kincaid?” she asked.

“You might say that ma’am,” Jack muttered.

As he spoke Jack slowly got to his feet and adjusted his own pistol belt. Then before Kathy could speak further he said, “You know where the sheriff is ma’am?”

Kathy looked up at the man who was as broad as an oak as he stood more than head and shoulders taller than her. But there was something else, where his jacket fell open he saw that he carried a badge of his own, one bearing the legend US Marshall.

“My father is dead,” she said woodenly, “I am just about the only law around here at the moment.”

Jack turned and for the first time gave Kathy an appraising look.

“No offence ma’am but… well let’s just say Jason Kincaid is no lightweight maybe you should leave him to me,” Jack said with an easy smile.

Kathy frowned, that was just about typical of the condescending attitude she had come to expect from men. It didn’t matter that she had been hoping and praying for a proper lawman to come to town or that this one hadn’t said very much except the truth.

“This is my town and you will follow my lead,” she shot back her pistol now levelled.

She wasn’t entirely sure if the pistol was for this Marshall or Jason Kincaid and the long barrel hovered uncertainly in space.

“Put that away unless you mean to use it,” Jack said sternly.

There was an edge to his voice and Kathy couldn’t again help but be reminded of her father. Before she could say another word Jack turned and heading across the street to where Kincaid was tethering his horse.

“Just one minute you,” Kathy snarled at Jack’s back, and then seeing he didn’t turn hurried after him. “Hold up.”

If Jason Kincaid hadn’t been aware of them by then he was now and before Jack and Kathy had crossed the street he was standing arms akimbo on the opposite planked sidewalk watching their approach.

“You looking for me?” Kincaid yelled over.

Jack stopped but was immediately assaulted by Kathy running into his back and then staggering backwards to fall hard on her tail.

“Ow,” she squealed, “Look out you oaf.”

Instinctively Jack half turned to offer her a hand up a short sudden movement that hung in time and space, which as soon as he made it he knew his mistake. At that same moment Kincaid saw the flash of sun on Jack’s partially exposed badge and his hand slid to his gun.

Look out, Kathy thought and tried to shout, but all that left her throat was a scream.

It was less than half a second since Kathy had crashed into Jack but Kincaid’s pistol had already cleared his holster. His first shot whistled past Jack’s head as he ducked down behind the hitching rail. It was scant cover from a six-gun but this time it served as a shot from Jack blasted a chunk out of the wood between him and the bullet.

Somehow Kathy’s own pistol was still in her hand and a stray shot discharged into the ground. Jack tried to ignore it but the distraction made his second shot miss too.

Jason Kincaid hesitated. He know had two targets and for the longest quarter of a second his barrel hovered between Jack and Kathy. For the Marshall this time it was enough. Kincaid never heard the shot that smashed into his chest, he didn’t even know he had been shot until he hit the deck and could no longer grip his pistol.

“Damn,” he said in a resigned voice, the last word he ever said.

“Are you alright ma’am?” Jack asked a rather shocked Kathy as he helped her from the ground.

“No thanks to you,” she replied huffily as she gained her feet and dusted herself off.

Jack frowned.

“No thanks… you almost got us both killed,” he growled.

“I almost… well I like that…” Kathy rounded on him, but a sudden nausea got the better of her and she averted her eyes from the prone body of the late Jason Kincaid.

“What authority do you have here exactly?” Jack barked squaring up to the now white faced girl as she rocked unsteadily in the street.

There were others now and the mayor, Jedidiah Smith, emerged brandishing a shot gun.

“Someone call Doc Hollister,” he yelled authoritatively.

“He’s beyond a doctor now,” Jack said.

Jedidiah nodded sagely and then noticed Kathy’s demeanour.

“She don’t look too good,” he murmured, “Best if you take her home, I’ll set things a right here Marshall.”

Remembering the exchange Jack swung around to confront the brat who had almost done for him and then saw for the first time the way of things. He took one step forward and swept the girl into his arms.

“Unhand me,” she muttered, but with no conviction.

*

“I guess I am not cut out for law enforcement,” Kathy said ruefully as she brought out a coffee pot and set it on the table in front of Jack.

“I guess you’re not,” he agreed, “What would your Pa have said you toting a firearm like that?”

“Not a hell of a lot,” Kathy replied archly, “But he would have done plenty.”

Jack’s jaw tightened at her swearing, the second time he had heard it from her that day.

“Does that go for the cussing too?” he said dryly.

“I guess,” Kathy sighed. “I kinda miss his firm hand these days.”

“He spanked you?”

Kathy blushed and gave Jack a small nod.

Well you go cussing around me, or go packing a gun for that matter and I’ll show you what a firm hand can be,” Jack said menacingly, “I’ll spank that bare bottom of yours until it is the colour of a polished apple.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kathy said defiantly setting her hands on hips, adding “You damn well wouldn’t dare.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed and he slowly got to his feet.

“You know, you did nearly get us both killed and by rights I owe you something for that. On top of that we have the small problem of your foul mouth,” he growled.

“Oh no, y-you… you wouldn’t…”Kathy said backing away.

“You said it yourself, it is something you have been needing,” he sighed as he worked the buttons at his cuff and began rolling up his sleeves.

“Not from you,” Kathy blustered.

“Well in the absence of your Pa I am the law around here now,” Jack said.

From long custom and training Kathy yielded somewhat as the Marshall took her arm and pulled her too him. Her tottering heels on the rug resisted for only a moment before she was tumbled headlong across Jack’s lap as he sat back on the kitchen chair.

“Marshall… you can’t, you just can’t,” Kathy wailed. But her eyes were already saucers and her mouth formed a shocked O as one by one her skirts and petticoats were flipped up into the small of her back.

There was a long appreciative pause as Jack gazed upon the tight cotton drum of Kathy’s bottom and then he asked, “Did your Pa take these down?”

A flushed Kathy rolled her eyes back like a wild colt and tried to twist from the Marshall’s lap.

“You wouldn’t?” she wailed.

“I will if your Pa did,” Jack said sharply, “Did he?”

“No,” Kathy lied sullenly, but her voice carried no conviction.

Jack chuckled. “And what did he do when you lied?” he asked.

Kathy blushed furiously and thought of the hickory out back and the customary shameful display.

“Answer me,” Jack demanded, “and I strongly suggest you don’t tell me another lie.”

“He’d have me cut a switch,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Jack pressed her.

Kathy clamped her mouth shut and defiantly prepared for an onslaught to her behind.

“I bet the mayor knows, or one of your neighbours?” Jack offered.

“You heard what I said,” Kathy replied somewhat sharply.

“Switched you, did he? On the bare bottom?” the Marshall asked.

“Yes,” Kathy hissed through gritted teeth.

“And when spanking you?” he pressed her.

“Yes,” she said again, this time with rather less vehemence and a whole heap more nervousness.

Jack tugged at the draw string of Kathy’s bloomers and despite a sudden animated bucking on her part her drawers soon went south.

“You can’t do this to me,” she shrieked.

But she soon found that he could as the first mighty swat landed on her bare bottom.

“Ooh,” she squealed and kicked her legs.

Outside the mayor and two or three others looked up. They were surprised to hear pistol shots coming from the Sherriff’s house, but after a moment they were grinning as they realised the true nature of the sound. In any case, by way of conformation the sharp retorts were soon followed by Kathy’s lively hollering.

“I guess the Marshall is dispensing some more justice,” the mayor chuckled.

Meanwhile inside the spanking lasted a good 10 minutes until the globes of Kathy’s bottom were bright red and mottled and earnest tears were streaming down her face. The spanks fell in rapid earnest blasts covered her thoroughly rounds like a cannonade beginning at the top of her cheeks and rapidly descending until they beat down where her bottom met her thigh tops before repeating the action.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” Jack asked her not missing a spank.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy sobbed, she took comfort now that this was how her Pa had handled things and that this was how she had always responded.

“Good girl,” Jack sighed setting the crying woman on her feet. “Now I am guessing you have somewhere to go for a spell?”

Kathy nodded miserably and looking at the floor she pointed to the corner. It was exactly where Pa always sent her.

“Off you go then and no rubbing hear, I want to see that shiny red bottom of yours as it cools off,” he said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy sniffed.

Then without a word she took careful steps to the corner and put her nose tight to the wall.

“You move before I tell you and I’ll have you cut that switch,” Jack warned.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy said hastily and hiked up her skirts in back as her Pa had always made her.

It took less than 10 minutes for the mayor to come looking for him and he didn’t even bother to feign surprise at Kathy’s predicament.

“Just like old times,” Jedidiah chuckled.

Kathy sucked down a sob and shifted in the corner as she prayed that the floor would swallow her down. For a moment her face felt hotter even than her bottom.

“I’ll meet you at the jail as soon as I am done here,” Jack said disapprovingly.

The mayor glanced at Kathy’s exposed bottom and nodded, but he left only slowly.

Jack poured another coffee while Kathy recomposed herself and then took out his watch. He guessed another 30 or 40 minutes would be enough.

“Marshall,” Kathy said shyly from the corner.

“Yes,” Jack acknowledged.

“You sticking around in town long? I mean we need… the town I mean… we need some law,” she asked tentatively.

“Aren’t you afraid I might take you in hand again?” Jack chuckled.

“I guess I’ll risk it,” Kathy said ruefully.

“So long as you know I deal out justice with an even hand,” Jack said slowly, his tongue pressing against his cheek.

“I felt that about you,” Kathy said tartly as she risked an appraising glance back at him.

Jack winked and made a gesture with his finger that told her to turn back around. “You’ll feel it even more if you don’t mind me,” he said.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy sighed.

This story is a sequel to The Curious Case of Amelia Craven

It began with a humming noise like a slow metallic fly. Dr Marley was out of the workshop so instead of the usual disciplined attention to their work many of the apprentices moved away from their desks and started looking about. Even Amelia Craven, who had so much more to prove than any of the others put down the small cog she had been working on and lifted the right magnifier on her goggle set.

The hum was more of a throbbing purr by now and it was definitely getting louder, so much so that many of the younger men had moved to the windows to see what was approaching.

“It is coming from outside,” Redley said excitedly, his thin reedy voice complimenting his impossibly tall thin frame.

Amelia put down the cog and frowned.

“It’s an engine,” she said thoughtfully and then she too rushed to the high window to look up. “There see?” She pointed to the Zeppelin high above, one of the new German models.

The prospect of seeing a real life airship was too much for the Marley-Dexter apprentices and as one the whole lot of them rushed head long into the Highgate Street and on into Pond Square.

“Boys, boys,” old Mr Vance yelled, but he too was waddling out onto the street, his copious belly just ahead of him.

Amelia propped her goggles onto her head as she followed him, casually slipping her hands into her skirt pockets.

The long thick worsted skirt was the only concession Dr Marley allowed her on account of her sex. In all other regards she dressed as a boy and even wore a smart round bowler like the other apprentices. Her hair had grown out now, but she wore it up so as not to tangle with the machinery, giving her a curious air of a hybrid man-girl that sometimes drew puzzled glances, but not as many as they had for this was a new age of wonders. One where women could wear trousers and become engineers; and machines driven by the latest steam engines could fly.

“That is certainly a thing to see,” Vance marvelled as he mopped his brow.

“It is somewhat larger than the ones that Marley-Dexter builds,” Amelia said critically, “But it is not as fast.”

Amelia pushed her lips into a pensive pout as the airship was as much an affront as a marvel to her. Admiring it seemed disloyal to Ebenezer somehow.

Ebenezer Marley was her employer, mentor and an idol. It was he who had first spotted that she was a girl and instead of dismissing her, he had seen her potential and had promoted her to his Highgate workshop.

Still and airship was an airship and like the boys she stood until the great silver sausage had slipped from view on its way to Hendon no doubt.

“Back to work boys,” Vance said at last, extending his arms as if herding kittens away from the milk. “And you young Amelia,” he added sourly, although Amelia knew for a fact that the old man had a paternal affection for her.

In fact her latest project had been partly inspired by him. For one thing he had never quite worked out how to discipline her. Where Ebenezer did not hesitate to have her drop her overalls or lift her skirt for a lick or two of his belt, Mr Vance seemed reluctant to lay a hand on a girl.

Amelia suspected that it was baring her bottom that he most struggled with. After all he was approaching 60 and he had never been married.

This problem of discipline was the kind of thing other employers might use as an argument not to employ other girls in the workshop; hence her latest project.

It was coming along slowly on account of the secrecy involved. She was really supposed to be improving clock cogs; making a standard set ever smaller until a practical effective size could be found. It was important work but dull. Besides a dozen other apprentices were working to the same end so that they could all compare notes. No Amelia had a better idea.

*

Ebenezer Marley carefully lifted his myriad-lensed goggles onto the brim of his flat-topped hat and took up a commanding stance. He was a broad heavy-set man who always wore a hat and a long leather coat. He now stood with his arms folded as he tried to make something of the strange contraption he had found under a tarpaulin at the back of his Highgate workshop.

“Mr Vance,” he said at last sounding somewhat exasperated, “Mr Vance can you perhaps explain to me what that is?”

Vance knew from his employer’s tone that something was amiss, but he couldn’t fathom for the life of him what was of such import. Then he saw it too.

“Oh my lore,” he gaped.

The machine looked like a beer barrel set sideways with saddle affixed to it. There was a great iron wheel that appeared to drive various arms set at angles protruding from the barrel. At the end of each arm were various sized paddles and leather flaps, but asides from a crank on the wheel it was not obvious how such a device might be operated or what it might do.

“Dr Marley… I… that is to say Sir, this is the first I have seen of the thing,” Vance blurted.

“Dr Marley Sir, I can explain,” Amelia said eagerly as she entered the back room behind the foreman.

“Amelia Craven,” Ebenezer sighed, “I might have known. Alright, out with it and do pray tell.”

“It’s a punishment machine,” Amelia said brightly, “For girl apprentices so that…”

“What?” Ebenezer gasped in disbelief.

“You know Sir… it’s a-a p-punishment machine,” Amelia said, her confidence leeching from her with each syllable under Dr Marley’s withering stare.

“Who authorised this?” the Entrepreneur-Inventor asked. His voice was as keen as a razor now.

“I… I thought…” Amelia stuttered. “I did it in my spare time,” she added brightly, “Well mostly.”

Ebenezer kicked a stool towards her and then picked one for himself and sat down.

“Sit down while you still can,” he growled and then added wearily, “I think you had better explain from the beginning.”

*

“Does it work?” Ebenezer asked curiously as he leaned into the machine for a closer look.

“It should, I think it needs some adjustments, but I haven’t actually tried it, I mean…” Amelia shrugged and looked down shyly.

“A steam powered one of these could spank two dozen girls at once,” Ebenezer snorted in amusement. “Perhaps we might interest the work house or a girls’ school in such a device.”

“You think?” Amelia said eagerly.

Ebenezer frowned. “No,” he sighed, “I was merely jesting.”

Amelia was crestfallen.

“So how much of my money did this cost?” Ebenezer asked seriously.

“I made it from scraps, honest,” Amelia mumbled without meeting her master’s eyes.

“And how much of my time have you wasted?” he said pointedly.

Amelia pushed out her lower lip and shrugged. She kicked at the floor as if physically deflecting the question.

“A few hours,” she answered quietly, “That is… a few hours on most days… ah…” she shrugged again defensively, “for a few weeks now,” she added.

Ebenezer nodded and then sighed heavily as he unhitched his belt. “Hitch your skirts up and let down your draws,” he told her in a slow drawl.

Amelia made a purse of her lips and nodded. She turned as she obeyed so that when her bloomers made a puddle at her ankles she did not show him more than she ought. She only wore one petticoat; the works were too hot for more so she was quickly denuded below the waist and displaying her bare bottom.

She did not need to be told to bend over the bench beside the machine, nor too thrust her bottom up and out at him. But she did look back wistfully at him to regard Ebenezer with sad eyes.

“Must I go to the corner afterwards too?” she asked.

“With your bottom left bare,” he growled.

“But what if…? The men, they will come in… you understand, for parts and tools and things,” she gushed in anguish.

Ebenezer didn’t answer but only doubled up his belt.

“Yes Sir,” Amelia said ruefully, she understood, it had happened before.

The belt lashed her like a dragon’s tongue and she made an angry shout. Curses, she thought, they would have heard me. Not that the next few solid thwacks of the belt did not tell their own story.

Amelia tried to stay silent as her bottom steadily burned, but after two dozen or more a sustained keening wail began to force its way through her clenched teeth to join the silent tears already rolling down both her cheeks. The epic round curves of her posterior were already stained a deep red and the growing chaffing soreness would be with her for days, if not longer. Based on previous experience she would eat standing up for three days straight before she would be able to chance a pillow or two for some very ginger sitting.

Worse would be the smirks and knowing glances. Not that the others would tease her, well not much. Maybe in a fortnight it would be forgotten. Then she yelled and made a sustained growl. The belt strikes were coming thick and fast now, Ebenezer was plenty angry with her.

Oh well maybe this time she would eat standing up for a week.

Finally she broke to full sobbing and Ebenezer put up the belt.

“Silly girl, now off to the corner with you,” he sighed.

“Yes Sir,” she replied, her words leaking down her face.

It was hard not to claw at her seared bottom but rubbing was forbidden, as was any attempt at covering her shame.

“This corner, Sir?” she sniffed as she pointed to a place next to the window and not immediately lined up facing the door.

“It will serve,” Ebenezer agreed.

Amelia nodded, but after a moment as she stood nose tightly to the corner and her skirts hitched up behind, she burst into a fresh cascade of tears. Her bottom burned like it rarely had before.

*

For the adjustments Amelia had been allowed to retain her draws, but nonetheless her bottom ballooned up in the most undignified way as she bent over the saddle and Ebenezer adjusted the mechanism. Knowing that she was going to face this shy-making task she had opted for wearing trousers to work, but perhaps to teach her lesson or more likely because she had designed the machine with a bare bottom in mind, Ebenezer had bid her to strip down as she now found herself.

“This is quite an impressive machine girl,” Ebenezer chuckled, “An exemplary apprentice piece and it may have some practical application yet.

“Are you going to test it?” Amelia asked nervously, but she was genuinely curious nonetheless.

Ebenezer grinned and gave the handle a single crank. In response one of the smaller paddles swung down and delivered a moderate spank to Amelia’s upturned bottom.

Amelia squealed.

“Quite fascinating, it can be set to deliver any one of a dozen string surfaces as required or spank with all of them in turn,” the inventor said quite forgetting the human bottom under threat. “At maximum setting I think it could probably deliver two or three times the number and weight a man could.”

“Yes I know,” Amelia said nervously.

“Why ever did you invent such a thing?” Ebenezer was genuinely curious now.

“A screen can fitted between the… eh… target and the operator, so a conservative man can punish a girl without impropriety. That way there is no excuse for not hiring girls as apprentices.” Amelia explained. “Also a woman can punish as hard as a man or… well harder if needed. If a small steam engine were fitted then a girl could be placed across the saddle and left to her punishment while her master does something more productive.”

Ebenezer frowned. “Ingenious, but hardly… well let’s just say I prefer to do my spanking myself; even if I am only turning a handle. And that isn’t something I am contemplating as a general rule.”

“No Sir,” Amelia felt glad of that, but she was proud too that he liked her machine, if only from a technical point of view.

The inventor made another adjustment and then turned the crank to deliver another spank.

“Oouch,” Amelia hissed.

“You do want me to help finish this don’t you?” Ebenezer Marley chuckled.

“Yes Sir,” Amelia said ruefully, “Yessss Sirrr,” she added in a squeal as she was spanked again.

Sometime ago I chanced upon a reference to a birching tower in a book. There was no more information, but the most likely explanation that it was used for storage; or so I thought. In the History of the Rod there is a mention of birching rooms in gaols and apparently women prisoners were often ‘taken to the tower for decency’s sake,’

The engraving above of is of one such 18^th century birching tower, where recalcitrant women prisoners, were birched.

In England women could also be birched up until the middle of the 19^th century for other offences in lieu of incarceration. Maybe they were taken to such a ‘tower for decency’s sake.’

It is likely to a be a British, Dutch or perhaps French institution, as in Prussia and Bavaria (Germany) and Bohemia (Czechoslovakia) they had no such scruples about birching women on the bare and in public.

Nell in Bridewell had much to say on the subject, and although it must be remembered as fiction there is truth behind the inspiration for despite the official reasons, it may have been discretion for the witnesses that were uppermost in the gaolers mind. As for a fee the well-to-do were often admitted to bear witness to such punishments.

According to this account a “special whipping bench was placed in the centre of a large underground hall and this bench was equipped with stocks at either end. One held the girl’s neck and wrists; the other set of stocks clamped her ankles.”

“The condemned girl was brought in and stretched out along the bench, and her head and feet confined in the stocks. Her skirts were raised up to her shoulders, revealing her bare buttocks. Back then women did not wear drawers or bloomers, but shielded their modesty with heavy petticoats.”

By the Victoria era rods came in three basic sizes. The Nursery Birch, which was small and light, the Governess Birch, which was longer and heavier and used on ‘great girls,’ and the judicial birch for the one procedure described above.

Even noble ladies were not immune, but if they were lucky their modesty would be preserved by being punished in their own rooms to “receive the withes across their naughty bare bottoms.”

Perhaps in grander houses they might have a birching tower like the one above.

Writing in dotage before the Second World War, one Mary Louise Hammond has this to say in her memoirs.

“At approaching 20-years-of-age I deemed myself too old to be spanked, let alone soundly birched; this operation traditionally conducted upon my bared behind. So it was I refused correction from my old governess for some forgotten trifle. However, my dear Papa was not amused at my rebellion and I was soon paid out with high drama upon my hideously and shamefully exposed hindquarters until I quite begged quarter and forgiveness.

My governess was quite satisfied with my demeanour and treatment then, but added to my shame by setting me nose to the wall in the nursery for the remainder of the afternoon. You can be quite certain I did not think of resisting and all the while my mind dwelt upon what my justly angry Papa had seen during my chastisement. As amusing as it seems now, sometimes it shames me still.”