The Library of Spanking Fiction: Wellred Weekly


Wellred Weekly
Volume 1, Number 4 : January 6, 2012
 
Articles
Items of interest regarding all things spanking

In Praise of the Tawse
by Kirsty McHaggis




This is a bit of a facer, two Scots lassies trying their hardest to oblige by writing a 'piece' on the subject of the tawse, when it is probably a word which neither of us used, certainly not whilst we were growing up. The 'belt' was the name of this peculiarly Scottish punishment implement - as in, "Wee Jeannie got the belt the day," or, when transmogrified into a verb, the same information became, "Wee Jeannie got belted the day!" A pupil in any school in Scotland would likely never have heard of a 'tawse' and certainly not have spoken of it - much too posh!

Derivation: The Scottish schoolchild's hands were often, and with great regularity, held out, palms up, generally one on top of the other, in order that the avenging teacher might use a piece of tawed leather to strike them - hard. Some teachers actually kept their belts 'ready for action', curved over the shoulder under gown or jacket.

This punitive piece of animal skin/hide had been fashioned by a process known as tawing into a piece of 'tawie' (tractable leather), the resulting 'taw' (plural 'taws') becoming that dreaded object of punishment - having acquired a final 'e'. It is still being made to this day, but for a different purpose. The irony is that the demand for these authentically worked lengths of leather, split at the ends in the specified manner, are now no longer able legally to be applied to the discipline of schoolchildren, but there appears to be an ever-growing 'kinky' market which, remarkably, justifies the continuation of their manufacture. See here for more details.

A Belting Return For The Strap
Corporal punishment was outlawed in Scotland's state schools after a European Court ruling in 1982, but since the ban, the second-hand straps - known as the Lochgelly tawse after the small industrial town in the Kingdom of Fife where they were manufactured - have became popular amongst adults into spanking, bondage and domination.

Margaret Dick has followed in her grandfather's footsteps and makes belts to order from her workshop in Lochgelly. Now in her forties, she also makes key rings and sheaths for Skean Dhus, and decided to restart the family business after discovering there was a growing market for the old Scottish belt.

Margaret, of Lochgelly, said:
"I decided to restart my grandfather's business after I was made redundant from Ferranti's. There was a whole range of websites selling tawse to bondage enthusiasts and trading on my family's name, so I decided to set up a website selling authentic straps and the orders came rolling in. Some of my customers are collectors with a genuine interest in education history. But I have to admit I get a lot of enquires from the adult market. What consenting adults get up to is their own business.

"So I now make a good living supplying tourist goods, and the odd 'Lochgelly', so long as it's just for hanging on the wall and not for beating children. Once a mother even asked me for a discount because she wanted to belt her child. But I will not sell one if I suspect it will be used to beat children."

Millions of the leather lashes were exported from Scotland to terrify children across the world after Fife saddle-maker David Philp struck upon the idea of using a tawse to beat children with. The three- or two-pronged strap soon became standard equipment for schools as well as for judicial punishment, and production of the straps became a minor industry in Lochgelly. George Dick later bought the coach-building business but the associated leather goods shop soon closed down soon after the 1982 belt ban was introduced.

There is no doubt, however, that there has been a renewed interest in the leather strap made famous by Mr Dick over 30 years before.

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I have very vivid, if the most distant, recollections of the belt being used in my presence. Aged just over four, and living temporarily in a tiny village on the Firth of Clyde, I had been bundled off unnaturally (and probably illegally) early to the local school while my mother was busy giving birth to and nursing my younger brother. I was timid and very small and remember finding the echoing schoolroom, dominated as it was by the loud, unsmiling Classical scholar, Thomas Muir, schoolmaster there from 1938-1972, totally intimidating. These events might even happened on my first day, but certainly very early in my school 'career.'

A couple of local farm boys had been detailed to pick me up from home and take me to school each morning, along what was little more than a lane with no traffic other than occasionally their father's tractor. It was also one of these very snowy winters of which there seemed to be so many during childhood. The boys lost track of time that day as they added the finishing touches to a really splendid snowman, resulting in all three of us being late.

Mr Muir's voice - the loudest and scariest I had ever heard - ordered us out to the front and we lined up, alongside the other latecomer, facing the rows of desks. I just remember being in the 'line of fire' amidst the wails of little boys and the noisy din of leather meeting flesh, although I don't think he actually hit me. So scared was I, that he might well have done! It was totally terrifying. A few months later, I was removed to the city to my 'proper' all girls' school where I was to remain for the next thirteen years, never again to be threatened with any form of physical punishment. At school, anyway. But I never forgot that day.


and Philomena McPorridge

I was in Primary 3 - eight years old. The teacher had left the room for a few minutes and returned to find chaos: papers strewn around, cupboards emptied, and paint splattered over desks. She was furious. "Who did this?" she snapped.

No-one answered. Of course, we all knew who was responsible, but it never crossed our minds to 'grass' - it just wasn't done.

Miss Reid glared round the class. "I will give you one minute," she said. "If no-one owns up or tells me who it was, you will all be punished." She looked at her watch.

Silence. The seconds ticked by; one girl began to cry. Many accusing looks were directed at the culprits, but they didn't speak up.

"Very well," said the teacher. "Everyone out to the front of the class." She crossed to her desk, opened the drawer, and withdrew the dreaded Lochgelly tawse - the belt!

I began to shake, but even at that tender age I knew it wasn't with fear. No, although I couldn't explain it then (and still can't!) I knew it was excitement. We lined up, our hands held out in the time-honoured way (explained above) and Miss Reid walked along the row, giving each of us two stinging strokes - one on each hand.

And so began my love affair with leather.

All through my school-days that familiar thrill would course through me every time a fellow-pupil was belted. This may sound like schadenfreude, but I don't really believe it was - it was a fascination: the stirrings of the barely understood spanko desires that were to stay with me all my life. I was generally well-behaved, and so was seldom the victim myself, though I do recall owning up to something I hadn't done, so desperate was I to join the line of miscreants and relive that wonderful first experience.

In adulthood, when I knew what and who I was, my experiences changed. Only then was I able to revel in the feeling of submissiveness that comes from holding out one's hands for the belt. Theoretically, one could be forced over a knee or held in position over a desk, but in order for a hand-strapping to be carried out, the recipient must co-operate - and submit totally. There is no feeling like it: waiting for the belt to land, feeling that peculiar numbness which sets in, followed by a pain that increases in intensity, reaches a peak of agony, and recedes to a dull, throbbing ache that lasts for several hours. Even although I now take this voluntarily (am I crazy?) I still find it difficult to hold out my hands for more strokes, knowing how much it will hurt. And believe me, it does hurt, far more than when used on the bottom. It really is easier to take a dozen on the bare behind than even two or three on the hands.

Is it dangerous? I don't believe so. Unlike a cane, it cannot damage the small bones in the hands, though a stroke clipping the wrist can cause severe bruising.

Would I like to see its return to schools? Absolutely not! In the first place, it didn't work as a deterrent. I recall some of the 'hard-core' hooligans having competitions to see who could get the belt most often in a day. Could they all have been secret spankos? Perhaps, but I rather think it was more an act of bravado, having seen big tough lads of sixteen actually crying with pain when they thought themselves unobserved.

Secondly, there were far too many sadistic teachers out there. I remember one who routinely belted the last person into the classroom, for being 'late'. Of course, this led to a lot of pushing and shoving at the end of the line because no-one wanted to be last, so he had a chance to belt a few others for 'fighting'. Another teacher had burned the tips of the two tails, making the leather brick-hard, and liable to break the skin.

So let's keep it for us fetishists - it's far too much fun for children! Long live the Lochgelly!

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"Ach, right enough 'Meena, that's the way it was, an' how we'll aye remember it..."

"Aye, nae twa doots o' that, Kirsty. How'd ye think folks'd like it if we wrote a story aboot it?"

"No' a bad idea, I'd say, 'Meena. Let's gie it a go!"



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