A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...

7
of any great consolation during the actual delivery
phase.
I gritted my teeth and did my best to gather
myself. I repeated my only whops mantra over and
over in my head. I sensed that the time was
approaching and braced myself.
The whippy ashplant etched a fourth line of
white heat across my bum and sent another cycle of
nerve-jangling, teeth-chattering, eye-watering pain
coursing through my body. I bucked and jerked on
the bed as I struggled to maintain control of my
senses.
“It’s only whops, it’s only whops,” I repeated
over and over in my head.
Thirty more seconds and the cane whistled
through the air for a fifth time. It took all of my
resolve to keep from howling. My feet broke out into
an involuntary gig and my fists drummed on the bed.
My breath was coming in strangled pants and I felt
quite bilious.
Somewhere through the haze of pain I heard
Claire tell me, “Come on Rosemary, you know the
form, I need you to put it up and keep it up.”
I did my best to steady my nerves and then
with very little enthusiasm I pushed my bum up a
little higher. I knew exactly what to expect. Any
second she would unleash the killer stroke known as
the Closer.
The final stroke slices diagonally across the
existing stripes creating what is known amongst us
Woody Wags as a five-bar gate. It is a technique