Judge Melissa Banbury sentenced yet another seventeen-year-old girl to five months in a young offenders’ institute and then adjourned the court for lunch. As she sat in the dining room of the court she mulled over the value of sending young girls to institutions when there was a very high chance of them reoffending within six months of being released.

Melissa mulled this very topic over whilst tucking into a tuna salad with her colleague on the circuit, Judge Caroline Montague. There was much food for thought. Caroline related the case of a girl called Camilla who, a few months previously, had opted for a type of informal rehabilitation offered to her by a stranger in the street rather than being arrested and appearing in court for the umpteenth time.

Caroline had made her own enquiries with the local police who had handled the situation, and they had given her the details of a Victorian house called ‘The Retreat’ so that she could find out how this sort of informal arrangement worked, what had happened to Camilla, and whether it had been effective. The judge had visited and had spoken at length to Sonia, a stern, polite, schoolmistress-like lady who was in charge. She had been shown the punishment room where miscreants were bent over a box and given the cane or a strap on the bare buttocks.

The judge was surprised but pleased to hear that it had in fact been a terrific success. Over the last four months, Camilla’s behaviour had vastly improved and she had even started her own company, knitting soft toys; a skill learnt on her weekly visits. The ladies at The Retreat had told the judge that they voluntarily signed up to the rules, which were firm, but on the whole seemed very fair, even if the sanctions were considered beyond the gates as outdated by modern standards.

“Maybe surrounding these girls with a plethora of role models, where we turn a blind eye when suitable corporal punishment is meted out, is a way forward?” Melissa questioned.

“It does seem to be working in the case of Camilla,” Caroline responded. “We can’t, for safeguarding reasons, use it for under-18s, but as soon as they are able to make their own decisions, legally, it seems we can at least offer this as a solution. For young ladies between 18 and, say, 21 it could certainly be a life-line. I know that Sonia could take a few of them into her care for further trials if we wanted.”

“So, this wouldn’t have been any good for my last case as the defendant was only seventeen but my next case is one where the girl has just turned eighteen and, even though the offence of spray-painting a public building was committed when she was underage, she could now go to prison. She has already been convicted in the past of violent crime, theft and she has violated parole more than once,” Melissa observed. “Maybe I will give her this option because otherwise I will have to send her to prison.”

Back in court, Pollyanna Payne stood in the dock and nonchalantly pleaded guilty. She was a small girl, standing at five foot two inches, wore her brunette hair in a plait, had wide brown eyes and was wearing a leather jacket, very short denim skirt, black tights and black ankle boots with white socks protruding over the top. Her breasts were full and ample as was plain for all to see when her jacket fell loose, and her white t-shirt barely left much to the imagination, especially with the light blue bra visible through the thin material. Maybe she had been hoping to sway a male judge, Melissa thought.

Judge Melissa spoke, “Now young lady, given your past history I have no option but to send you to prison as you are eighteen-years-old and hence over the age permitted to be admitted to a young offenders’ institute.”

“What? I was seventeen when I did this,” Pollyanna replied, staring back at the judge.

“Well you are now eighteen and I don’t have any other option. I don’t think this sentence will have any positive effect on you and I am sure that within six months I will be seeing you again.”

Pollyanna stood there trying to look unmoved, but she was worried about being with adults in a proper prison.

“Please approach the bench,” Judge Melissa continued in a low voice. “There is another possible option. I can place you on bail and suspend your sentence for six months. In that time you will spend each weekend at a place known as ‘The Retreat’. It is a different type of place, where justice is informal, in proportion, swift and painful but it does seem to work as the ladies there are kind.”

Pollyanna looked quizzically and remained silent.

“This is a one-time offer, young lady. It has worked once in the past and believe me your first few weekend visits will not be pleasant, but it may help keep you away from bad influences in prison and let you re-evaluate the decisions you make.”

Pollyanna nodded that she understood and thought for a while.

“I will go there, ma’am,” she finally decided.

Judge Banbury announced her decision to the court. Pollyanna was to be released on bail and her sentence was delayed for six months in which time she hoped to hear that Pollyanna’s behaviour had improved. She didn’t mention the other conditions but asked to see Pollyanna in her chambers once the court had finished for the day.

At 4.30 pm Pollyanna was ushered into Judge Banbury’s chambers.

Both Judge Melissa and Judge Caroline were sitting in very expensive-looking leather arm chairs having a coffee. They both looked up and motioned for Pollyanna to sit on the leather sofa opposite them.

“We have rung ‘The Retreat’ and they are expecting you this Friday at 2.00 pm. When you get there, ask for Helena and she will look after you. I expect to hear from Sonia, who runs the commune, that you have attended every week from 2.00 pm on a Friday until 10.00 pm on Sunday for the next six months. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for the opportunity, I will do my best not to let you down.” Pollyanna already sounded contrite and positive.

“Maybe this will work?” Melissa said to Caroline as the girl left.

“We will see.” Caroline smiled.

Pollyanna arrived at the ‘The Retreat’ at 2.25 pm. Her bus had been delayed in the town centre and she had run the last half mile, but not made it on time as she was carrying a rucksack with clothes and personal effects in it. She was nervous and flustered as she rang the bell. An elegant lady answered and introduced herself as Helena.

“I’m sorry ... I’m late … it was the bus …,” Pollyanna gasped.

“That’s fine, these things happen,” Helena calmed her down.

“Let’s go to your room. You will be sharing it with Camilla who also comes here at the weekends and, like you, has been in trouble in the past,” Helena continued.

As they entered the room, Pollyanna noted it had two single beds. There was plenty of wardrobe space to hang her clothes, there were two sitting chairs under some bookshelves, with books on them, and a lovely view of the grounds. The large bay windows were full length and could be opened in the summer. It was beautifully decorated and felt warm and cosy. Off to the side was a bathroom with enough shelf space for toiletries.

Camilla wandered in and introduced herself to her new room-mate. She then took Pollyanna on a basic tour of the building and grounds, but omitted to show the new inmate the punishment room as that would probably have been a step too far at this stage. They ended the tour in the lounge where quite a number of mainly middle-aged ladies were quietly sewing or doing jigsaw puzzles or reading. Calm classical music was playing in the background. The two girls sat in a corner and spent the afternoon chatting away quietly. It was the first time anyone had taken an interest in Pollyanna and she was warming to everything about The Retreat, so much so that she had completely forgotten that Helena had taken her mobile phone away.

Around 4.45 pm one of the ladies who had been knitting stood up. She was about 40-years-old and was wearing a white blouse, a light blue cardigan, a grey woollen mid-thigh length skirt with grey woollen tights and flat black shoes. She was 5 foot 8 inches tall and had a full figure including what one might think of as heaving breasts held firmly in position. Her greying hair was up in a bun and she had crystal blue eyes. She frowned as she got up with a sort of resigned air and the others smiled and nodded at her in a sympathetic way, as if they knew what was going on.

“Why are they looking at her like that?” Pollyanna asked Camilla.

“I’m pretty sure she is in trouble. All discipline, for those who have broken the rules, is dispensed by Sonia in the punishment room at 5.00 pm,” Camilla replied.

“What do you mean by discipline?” Pollyanna asked nervously.

“Spankings,” Camilla said very matter-of-factly. “They are hard spankings on the bare bottom, with a cane or a strap. Occasionally Sonia will give a hand spanking or use the slipper in her office. These are less painful but equally chastening and embarrassing and on the bare bottom as well.”

“Oh my God,” Pollyanna whispered looking worried. “They sound awful.”

“Well they are much more preferable than prison, I would say,” Camilla smiled encouragingly. “Everyone here is supportive when you get a spanking and we accept them as part of life. Adjusting our behaviour to avoid them means we live better lives and we are much happier.”

The conversation between the two girls about the merits of corporal punishment continued. Time flew and just before 6.00 pm Camilla took Pollyanna down a wooden-panelled corridor to the dining hall. They passed the lady who had left the lounge earlier. She was stood facing the wall, holding her skirt up above her waist. Her light grey, cotton knickers and grey tights had been lowered to her knees and there were eight purple angry-looking ridges clearly visible across her ample bottom. They were perfectly parallel to each other and spaced out with meticulous care, as if the distance had been measured by a ruler. In between the ridges the flesh of the bottom was red and looked very sore.

“Looks like Jenny got the cane,” Camilla whispered. “Sonia will confirm she got eight strokes and why she got them, over dinner.”

Pollyanna felt sick, knowing that at some point over the weekend she was more likely than not going to be punished for her misdemeanours and her bottom was going to be as sore as the poor woman facing the wall, the results on view for all to see.