"Mr. Foster" and Burke Hall circa 1957.
This story is written by a former student.
The names are not the real ones. "Mr. Foster" is Mr. Peter Beer SJ.

Francis was fearful, yet excited and his bike seemed to fly up the road to school with him as a passenger hanging on.
From their corner block on High Street, Kew to Burke Hall in Studley Park Road was over a mile.
First you went up Marion Place to the top and turned left into Studley Park Road and then struggled up the long hill to the plateau.
Then it is down hill and along the flat to school.
Usually the bike plus Frank's small thin body felt like lead as he tried to blot from his mind the sure knowledge of what was to come.

If he thought about it, he would wonder how many "cuts" Mr. Foster SJ,
a holy young man in the early stages of training for the Jesuit priesthood,
would give him today and how many Mr. Ryan SJ, another scholastic, would give him today;
would it be 2 or 4 or 6; would that be all together or each. It was a chilly day,
so when he got his first ones in the morning Religious Knowledge class,
it would still be hurting when he went to Latin after lunch.

If he thought about it at all he would lose his nerve and ride somewhere else.
If he did that, he would be expelled, he would never be a Xavier boy and since his education
and "finish" would be less than the best a Catholic boy could have, life would, therefore, never be good.

Tomorrow the sun would shine and light up the day with its warmth and its friendly colours
like it used to before he came to this school. Since that first day, the same day as he was first strapped by a Jesuit,
the sun appeared as a glaring disapproving orb in harmony with the red and angry faces
of the Jesuit scholastics and priests who carried their fury like capricious and malicious
dragons wrapped close around their heads and sinister black shrouded bodies.

Francis must have been smiling as he walked toward his classroom because the playground supervisor,
Mr. Ryan SJ, called him over with "Burke! What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to class Sir, to put my bag in Sir."
"Take that silly grin off your face Burke, or I'll do it for you!"
"Yes Sir, sorry sir. Can I go in now Sir."
"May, May May May you go in now Sir?"
"Sorry Sir, May I go in now Sir?"
"Hurry up!"
"Thank you Sir."

The line up was unremarkable. There were only four boys given "6 of the best" in front of
the assembled school for playground misbehaviour. The two big boys from class 8 took it in
satisfactory silence; as though they were unconscious.
They were boarders with no secret corners left to hide in, day or night; except in their souls.

The two little boys, both day boys from grade 4, looked pitifully terrified and confused,
but took it well enough; so that they were not given extras for showing that they were hurt.
Mr. Foster SJ gave it out this particular morning.
"He would be 'in the mood' for Religious Knowledge class this morning", Francis heard the boy behind him whisper.

Francis looked around slowly and carefully, so as not to attract attention and be punished for "fidgeting in assembly".
As the sharp reports followed one after another, louder than a 22 shot, but sharper than a shotgun,
and the occasional inrushings of air as the victims tried not to cry out,
Francis saw the grim and whitened faces of the pupils; some as young as 8, others as old as 13.

Then, when the echoes of the cracks of the "cuts" had ceased and there was that total "satisfactory silence",
the lined-up children made their disciplined march into their classrooms.

Mr. Foster SJ, the short square figured young Jesuit scholastic glared fiercely with his deep
set and terrifying eyes as the orderly lines of boys filed out of the concreted square area
between the classrooms and the chapel and on into their various classrooms.
He knew each boy had looked at him, but none had raised his head to do so.

He had returned his strap to its place inside his long cassock and was comforted by the feel
of it's cool polished weight down the outside of this thigh. They had grown cunning;
these boys had grown cunning and he would get them for that too: in time.

Once the most senior class, form 2 it was called, full of tough insolent boarders down
from their country farms, some of them big, two or three actually as tall as himself if they stood straight,
had passed by him and entered their room on the lower floor, Mr. Foster SJ turned sharply and climbed the stairs.
Without pausing he stamped his way past class 4 where Mr. Ryan SJ was already taking charge and on into class 5 at 8.55 am, right on time.

He mounted the platform at the front of the class and looked at the boys.

He slowly pulled his strap from its special long pocket , waved it around to enjoy its tough flexibility,
took a few steps further along the platform and slapped it noisily a few times on his desk.
The boys, who never failed to be impressed by this daily pantomime had risen quickly and
fearfully to stand, hands clasped in front, heads bowed in reverence,
while he intoned the first part of the Hail Mary with which, Francis believed, Catholic children all over Australia,
if not the entire world , started each lesson.

The boys gave their response, "Holy Mary Mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death; Amen."

The prayer over Mr. Foster S.J. motioned them to sit and noisily they clattered into their desks
and just as suddenly there was a total silence save for Mr. Foster SJ pacing up and down the
platform at the front of the class with his black leather strap held in his clasped hands
behind him like some demonic tail which pointed accusingly from side to side as he stepped.
Unlike a flexible tail it stood straight up, erect and black.

Mr. Foster made three passes from one side of the classroom to the other then stopped.
It was 8.59 am. He glared at the boys and his nostrils flared. His face became even redder
with that dark liverish red that each of these scholastics, Kennedy, Ryan, Richards and Foster could, seemingly, affect at will.
He brought the strap, 20 inches long, half and inch thick of polished black leather
(stiffened by having a length of spring steel sewn into the centre of its laminations) out in front like a baton.

He pointed toward the back of the class and barked out his first catechism question to the Peter Collins,
the boy at the back to Mr. Foster's left side. As Peter rose, there was the faint click as Francis threw the switch.
All eyes were on Peter's face and the small sound was not noticed. It was 9.00 am.

Mr. Foster SJ barked his question to Peter Collins who in the playground could virtually
recite the whole of the catechism and was very helpful to those who were struggling to learn it.

" Questions 63 to 71! Questions relating to the Marks of the Church. Question 63 Collins.
What are the marks or signs by which people may know the true Church of Christ?"

Poor Peter had a little problem which Mr. Foster SJ knew well. He knew it would undo Collins, he employed it now;
timed perfectly for when poor Peter opened his mouth to speak.

" Hurry Up Collins.!"

Peter Stammered, he stammered and his face twitched and he had to take another breath..

"Too Late Collins!" said Mr. Foster SJ as he pointed with his strap and artfully motioned with it for Peter to come out the front.
The background noise of pop pop pop from different parts of the school became obliterated by the loud clap of the strap hitting Collin's left hand,
then a moment of silence, then a collective inbreath as the class,
along with Peter drew the breath that would stop them screaming, then silence again, as Peter put out his right hand.

Then the second blow and the second inbreath; then silence.

Only a moment passes and Peter is heard walking back to his seat. Once there he jams his injured hands under his armpits,
but not too obviously as he must appear to have his arms folded neatly or Mr. Foster SJ will do it all over again until
there is the perfect decorum he demands.

Sitting next to Collins is John O'Brien, he is already white faced as he rises to answer the question.
Collins had tutored him in this question just before class, but he was a boarder at school and was not
so easy to rattle with such obvious tricks. His answer was softly spoken, but given steadily.
Francis wondered how Mr. Foster SJ would turn this perfectly delivered answer into an opportunity.

"Christ's words," said John evenly and with the correct phrasing to render the meaning clear,"
and our own reason tell us that there are four chief marks or signs by which the true Church can be known.
The true Church is One, Holy; Catholic, that is, Universal; and apostolic."

As if offended, Mr. Foster SJ simply barked "sit" and John slowly sank down onto the bench of
his desk where he could feel through the wood, the tremors of the pain Collins strove so hard to hide.
If there was time and Mr. Foster could quickly get through the whole class before time ran out,
John knew he would be asked another question; and Foster would get him then.

In front of Collins, Ellery Costello sat nervously; his was the next question.

"No 64. Costello, What Church has these four marks?"

The rushed response comes slightly incorrect, but Ellery is not aware of his early mistake and finishes well.

"The Catholic Church is one, holy, universal, and apostolic, and is therefore the one true Church of Jesus Christ."

He becomes alarmed only because of the silence. He sees the fear and pity on the faces turned toward him.
He looks at Mr. Foster SJ. He is waving the strap at him, indicating that he should come forward.
Bewildered he does so. He does not dare ask what his mistake was.

He will have the rest of the class to find that out as the pain takes hold of him through his hands up his arms and into his guts.
Then the pain will turn hot after about 10 minutes and his hand will heat up and instead of seeking warmth for them under his arms,
he will seek cool for them in the wood of his desk.

He will feel all this and force the pain down inside somewhere so that he will be able to listen,
to listen for his error as he will be asked again either later in class, or even during play and another mistake will result in four cuts.
So he denies his pain, forgets his body and concentrates his mind on the next answer which will be to the same question he failed to answer correctly.

Brian Halden rises quickly to answer, he has trouble standing still and swings his arms and tilts his head slightly as he answers correctly,"
The Catholic Church alone is one, holy, universal, and apostolic, and is therefore the one true Church of Jesus Christ."

"Next time you give me an answer lounging about like that Halden, you will be punished. Sit down."

Ellery has failed to hear, in this correct answer, his error and the cause of his pain. Halden has been, in his fear,
unable to understand what he did wrong to deserve the warning.

"Costello", banters Mr. Foster SJ while pointing his strap at Ellery, "The Catholic Church alone, do you hear, alone,
is the one true Church of Jesus Christ. If you are not in that one true Church Costello, your soul will be lost.
I won't let that happen to you my boy. I won't let that happen to you or",
he shouts to ceiling and pushes his strap in and out as if poking the air to push the message in,"any of you under my care!"

The next question goes to the class head of the Sodality of Our Lady, Gerald James. Every one in the class,
and the one outside it, hears the change in tone as the question is asked.
It is known that Gerald wants to be a priest; he, as they put it, has a vocation.
Gerald is lucky, God he is lucky, God has smiled on him and given him a vocation and they,
those Jesuits in Black, they know he is one of their's: he is truly blessed. The rest are not.

"Gerald", says Mr. Foster SJ, " No. 65. Why do you say the Catholic Church is one?

"The Catholic Church is one because all its members -believe the same truths; offer to God
the same Holy sacrifice; share the same Sacraments; and are united under one visible head on earth - the Pope."

This answer has been rattled off by one who clearly loves it, has eaten it up and has made it part of his very being.
It came like machine-gun fire and all the others except Robert Dugan,
who shares both his desk and the Sodality of Our Lady with him,
bow their heads unconsciously almost as if they have been slapped on the back of the head and they flinch or are ducking away.

"Very good Gerald" says Mr. Foster SJ, smiling and looking almost human. Gerald sits confidently and Robert Dugan stands in the same movement.

"And now for you Robert, No 66, Why do you say the Catholic Church is holy?"

"The Catholic Church is holy because it was founded by Jesus Christ;
and through its holy teaching and the Sacraments it gives us all the graces that in every age make men and women remarkable for holiness. "

Though the answer was given well, Robert blushes from fright making his face as red as his short cropped hair.
It is not yet sure if he has a Vocation or not, so everyone watches him for the signs.
He has the look and self conscious nervousness of one who is always watched. In this place, he is right to appear so.

Francis has only three more people between himself and Robert Dugan and has focused on remembering his catechism.
His courage drains out through his feet as he feels the pain of Peter Collins whose hands
are soon to become hot and Ellery Costello's hands which are still in shock and feel like
cold stones sending their freezing tendrils up the veins and nerves in the arms to ache us far up as the arm pits.

His stomach will still be tight and tending to ulceration as his back and knuckles will be storing up the pain in tensions that will,
if unrendered, wrack his body with arthritis in his middle and old age.

Dugan sits down and there is a slight shuffling in a wave across the class and back as Mr. Foster SJ focuses on another sure victim.
"Dempster stand up, Question No. 67 is just right for you. Why do you say the Catholic Church is universal?"

Michael Dempster starts his answer loud and clear as if hoping momentum will carry him through.

"The Catholic Church is universal because its Founder, Jesus Christ, appointed it to teach all nations; and everywhere "

Michael's answer trails off into a whisper; then silence. He takes a breath and looking Mr. Foster SJ full in the eye,
he marches down the the row of desks and holds out his hand high; too high. Mr. Foster. SJ strikes at it and hits it on the edge.
The other hand is held too low. In Dempster's eyes is a contempt he cannot hide. The strap catches this hand hard, but more on the wrist.
Dempster turns to go, but Mr. Foster SJ pushes him in the chest with the strap being used as a prod.

"Again Dempster, this time we do it properly. " He waves the strap menacingly before Michael's eyes
and indicates with it the level at which Michael is to hold his hands. This time Mr. Foster. SJ
puts a concentrated force into each blow; so much so, he snorts slightly with each and has to breath deeply to regain his composure.

Dempster holds his face still and his eyes steady. Already his back and limbs stiffened, as with rigour,
and his contempt fully developed. Michael, like several others in this class, Francis included,
has never escaped the strap in Mr. Beer's Religious Knowledge class this year,
nor in Mr. Ryan's class in the previous year. He has given up trying to avoid it and only attempts an answer occasionally.

More often than not he walks out to be strapped when the question is put,
Brian Cassell is on his feet before Dempster, walking insolently slowly, has reached their
shared desk and has blurted out his answer in time to sit as Dempster does.

"The Catholic Church is universal because its Founder, Jesus Christ,
appointed it to teach all nations; and everywhere and in every age it teaches everything that He taught"

"Cassell," barks Mr. Foster SJ, " get out here you snivelling little coward. You must learn to wait you turn properly.
We must never hurry for the likes of idiots like Dempster".

Which of course Brian was not, but he happened to be too near Michael Dempster and there was too much rage left over.
The rage unfortunately spilled on Cassell and he was given one hard strap. Now it was Alan Smith's turn, the next after that would be Francis.

"Smith" barked Mr. Foster SJ and his nostrils flared in anticipation.
The normally happy round face of Alan Smith with its infectious grin and friendly manner had become a loose mask,
a pale mask with curiously thin lips as if he had drawn them in and bitten off his open smile. His eyes,
with their well developed laugh lines, were now slits as he readied himself.

"Question Number 68. Why do you say the Catholic Church is apostolic?"

"The Catholic Church is apostolic because the Bishops of the Catholic Church can trace back
their authority in an unbroken line to Jesus Christ and the Apostles."

"Very good Smith, but you paused, " said Fr, Foster SJ brimming with smug delight.

Fatally, Alan had paused between the word "Church" and the "can".
That pause cost him two cuts and he joined the company of those in direct pain while the
indirect pain of the rest of the class increased along with their panic and anxiety.
It also served to dramatically increase the rage of George whose puzzled wandering had become
a more agitated and purposive pacing. He was inside the building now - ranging around the hallways - upstairs and down.

Then he heard his own name, that of his son's, barked out in a nasty way that was like a physical blow to his face.

"Burke!" , shouted Mr. Foster SJ with an eagerness he could not disguise.
He seemed to stretch the short central syllable as if tasting it in his ever prudent mouth.
Francis Burke rose trembling from his seat. His thin, small body and untidy uniform would make him noticeable in any group.
In this class his thinness alone drew much dangerously curious attention from teachers and playground bullies alike.

Both scholastic and lay teachers seemed to be drawn to his untidiness in his oversized school suit.
Perhaps the religious scholastics in the early years of their vows of chastity found
Francis Burke too effeminate for their precarious sensibilities.
Perhaps they were annoyed perpetually because they knew he could do better with his studies
as he was not as stupid as his marks indicated. He must have been a shirker. Whatever the reason, Francis Burke ,
received quite special treatment from each of the young scholastics at the school.

All the school's pupils knew it. Some would warn him of the dangerous presence of the schoolyard supervisor during breaks,
others would deliberately bring him to the master's attention or bully him in clear sight;
knowing they would be safe to do so. All this he had told his skeptical father and troubled mother.

"Burke, Question Number 69. Are these four marks found in any religious body except in the Catholic Church?"

"No; " came the clear reply, " these four marks are found in the Catholic Church alone."

"Good Burke, since you managed that short answer so well, you will answer the next question too. "
Mr. Foster SJ waved his strap before Francis's eyes and added sarcastically, " and I hope - as well."

"Question Number 70, Burke," sneered out Mr. Foster SJ, a young man with a vocation to be a Jesuit priest,
a man with a special love and devotion to Jesus Christ, a man who has sworn to lay down
his life for the cause of spreading God's love throughout the world by spreading the
loving message of God's Charity and the good news of the teachings of the Catholic Church,
"Is everyone bound to belong to the Catholic Church?"

"Yes," again came the clear answer, "Everyone is bound to belong to the Catholic Church,
because Our Lord said to his apostles: Go ye into the whole world, and preach the gospel to every creature.
He that believeth and is baptised, shall be saved: but he that believeth not shall be condemned. (Mark xvi, 15, 15)"

"Ha! Did you all hear that! This cunning rat thought he got it right; but he didn't, too smart for his own good."
Mr. Foster SJ almost squealed his delight while triumphantly showing his contemptuous hatred for his victim.
"Who knows his mistake, come on who knows it? Come on Gerald, come on Robert, who knows it?"

No-one moved, no-one made a sound. Mr. Foster SJ says nothing, but flicks his strap in an
impatient wave to Francis to come out the front. Francis moves slowly out. He answered well,
he does not know his error. His face is twisted with fear and an agony of failure.

Mr. Foster chants at him as he limbers up his arm "15, 16; 15,16; 15,16, you said 15,15, not 15,16. Mark xvi 15, 16, Mark Chapter xvi,
verses 15 and 16, you worm, you vile little worm. Hand up".

Mr. Foster SJ is raging like a primitive and frenzied beast, the liverish redness of his face
is radiating around him like spikes, his hot breath has become foul and seems poisonous.
As his frenzy increases he seems to spit flame and smoke in his rage and he grabs Francis' arm
with a series of jerks, pulls him onto the platform. The air rushing through his nostrils and the shuffling of feet are the only sounds.

"And what are you smiling at Burke!" It was Mr. Foster's voice cutting savagely through the blissful veil of Francis' dream.

"Nothing Sir".

"Come out here Burke, how dare you day dream and smile in my class. This will wake you up.
This will teach you once and for all!"

Francis was given two 'cuts' there and then without even being asked a question.
He was then sent back to his desk. As he sat down to warm his hands he heard his name called again.

"You haven't answered a question yet Burke, that was for day dreaming, now you'll answer question number 71."

Francis struggled to his feet. he could not use his hands to pull himself up from
his desk as they were settling into a throb which sent a stony iciness up the arms.

"Now Burke, Can those who are outside the Catholic Church be saved?"

"Those who through their own fault are outside the Catholic Church cannot be saved;
those who through no fault of their own are outside the Catholic Church will be saved if they die in the state of grace. Sir."

"'Sir' is not written down as part of the answer, you cannot just add things to the answer because of a little hurt.
The blessed Jesuit saints who brought the word of Christ to the savage Hurons and Iraquios in Canada
didn't add words to their answers when they were tortured by the savage heathens - I am sure. Out the front!
Hurry up boy, out the front you cringing little pretty boy. Out the front now"

Francis had managed to get to his feet and take a few steps forward when Mr. Foster SJ had him
by the arm and dragged him out onto the platform with a rough series of jerks that made his
head rock backwards and forwards. There he was given "six of the best".
No-one stopped it,
no-one could help. Francis would return for more tomorrow and not be expelled.
He would go on to be a Public School boy at Xavier and be in a 'state of grace'.
The whole class sat in terror-filled silence and Francis had yet another story to tell his skeptical father and distracted mother.

The End.