After she left Clathy Castle, Julie had a brief career as a model where she encountered another aspect of CP

 By Julie Baker

During an exchange of emails between Julie Baker and Kenny Walters involving the publishing of the Clathy Castle account, it became known that Julie had enjoyed a short career as a model in London around the same time as Kenny worked there as a photographer.

While Julie mostly turned down work that had a punishment theme, she did accept a small number of assignments. Further enquiry revealed an interesting story. 

Julie writes: 

My name is Julie Baker and I have already given an account of my time working at Clathy Castle in the mid 1970s when I received a short caning on my bare bottom from my employer (Caning at Clathy Castle). About a year after this incident I left that job and started work as a model. There was one assignment in particular that I’ll tell you about although this day was not one of my proudest moments.     I started modelling at the beginning of January 1976. I got a small bedsit in Notting Hill, which was not fashionable in those days, and would report into the Soho offices of the agency each day if I was not on an assignment. The work was a bit slow in the early days and soon I was struggling a bit financially, but I didn’t want to rely on my parents. I had a chat with my boss at the agency and he suggested that one way of earning additional income was to do a bit of nude work.   Taking my clothes off is not a particularly big issue for me but I did not want to do anything too extreme. He got me a photo shoot with a men’s magazine that was popular at the time called Mayfair. Their style was quite tasteful and the money was double what I would earn on a normal day.

There were other odd days of what you might call glamour photography but by the autumn of that year money was getting tight again. Once more I had a chat with my boss and he suggested that he might be able to get me some better paid work in the mild end of the pornographic sector. I told him that I would rather pack in and return to Scotland than get involved in that. I came from a good family and would be mortified if my parents discovered that I was doing that type of work. He didn’t push me and it was left at that.

However a few weeks later he said that he had a very well paid day’s work for a company that was producing a pictorial story for a magazine with a theme of corporal punishment in a school class room setting. It would involve some nudity but no physical contact. I knew that this was really beyond what I was comfortable with but I needed the money and convinced myself that it was little different to the Mayfair shoot. I accepted. I was given an address on an industrial estate in Peckham and had to report there at 9.00am a week later.

I arrived at the warehouse just before 9 and was shown into a small office cum changing room. Shortly there were six girls in attendance. We all looked about the same age and I presumed we would all be expected to look no more than 17 or 18 in our school setting. We were provided with school uniforms to put on; a school blazer complete with badge, white blouses, pleated dark blue skirts, short white socks and black shoes. I was asked to tie my long blonde hair up, presumably to give a more authentic school girl look. We were also given standard blue school knickers to put on. A full cut and even in those days, definitely not sexy.

We were then taken through to the main warehouse where a mock class room had been set up in the corner. Full lighting was provided and the setting looked very authentic. Again, apart from us six girls, all the staff on hand were male; Clive, the director of the shoot, the photographer, a male actor who was to play the role of the teacher, a lighting man, a makeup assistant and two further general assistants. Clive explained that I was the lead model who would be photographed getting my bottom caned and that the other five girls would be in the background to provide a realistic setting. I hoped that they were getting paid less than me!

I didn’t need to know the story line in detail but I was photographed taking a class room test, cheating by looking at some notes under my desk, getting caught by the ‘teacher’ and being hauled out to the front of the class. The ‘teacher’ then reprimanded me and I am photographed removing my blazer and then my school knickers in preparation for a caning. The blazer went on the back of my chair and the knickers were then neatly folded and placed in full view on the surface of my desk. It seemed to me the implication of the knickers on the desk was that they would clearly be of no further help in protecting my bottom from the long thin cane being brandished by the ‘teacher’.

Next I am standing behind a hard backed chair and soon I can be seen leaning over the back of it, stretched down to grip either side of the seat. My rear is perfectly presented for the camera and the ‘teacher’ is then photographed raising the back of my skirt to expose my bare bottom. Definitely memories of the library at the Castle at this moment in time!   Actually, I’m OK with everything to this point.

The ‘teacher’ then touches my bottom with the cane and draws it back for what would look like an action shot. And this is the moment when the whole event turned into a bit of a farce. They then wanted a shot of my bottom after six of the best had been administered with the cane. However there had been a clear understanding with my agency that no actual physical punishment would take place.

This is where the makeup man was supposed to come into play. His job was to use his skills and materials to make it look like I had experienced a severe caning even though I hadn’t. At this point, for practical reasons, I removed my skirt so that I was naked from the waist downwards. Next he was crouched down behind me at eye level with my bottom trying to apply makeup to replicate the effects of a severe punishment. Well, who has ever heard of a male makeup artist anyway (certainly not in 1976)? He was hopeless. He tried to draw red lines across my bottom but they weren’t straight and tended to smudge. At this point I could see Clive panicking. They had spent all this money and the crucial last photos were in danger of turning into a fiasco.

I must confess that I actually quite liked Clive. I began to feel sorry for him and I was trying to think of a way forward. I then heard myself suggesting that the only way we were going to get realistic cane marks onto my bottom was for someone to actually use the cane on me. There was a stunned silence. Clive turned a little pink but I could see he was desperate for a good outcome and was grateful for my offer. There was then a debate as to who would administer the caning. It could have been anyone as the purpose was only to be able to photograph the marks. Nobody seemed to want to be seen to be volunteering so eventually Clive asked me if I had a preference. I certainly wasn’t going to nominate the makeup man as he had got me into this situation and the other obvious candidate was the ‘teacher’ but I didn’t find him particularly attractive. So I plumped for Clive himself.

It soon became clear he was delighted to have been allocated the task of giving me six strokes of the cane on my bare bottom. He rightly pointed out that they would need to be reasonably hard strokes otherwise we would not get the required affect. He offered me the option of clearing the room of all other people but I told him that I wasn’t bothered. I do now regret that decision. It would have been better if it had been Clive and me alone. Then I had to suffer the make up man attending to my bottom again, this time using cotton wool and makeup remover to return it to its former condition.

In no time I was again bent over the back of the chair with my bottom exposed, but this time for a real caning. Everyone had stayed to watch and as Clive lined up for the first stroke you could have heard a pin drop. Same routine as Lord Clathy; a few taps on my bottom and then the first blow crashes down on my soft skin. I’d forgotten how unbelievably painful the cane was on an unprotected bottom. I leaped up and immediately started to rub where the cane had landed. There were already tears in my eyes and I still had another five to take. Clive looked vaguely apologetic but gave no indication that he was going to let me off or even ease up on the intensity. Once again I bent over the chair to present my bottom for more punishment. I gripped the seat of the chair even harder and resolved to stay in position until the caning was complete. Six with the cane is an awful sentence. The thin cane, which was only supposed to be a prop, repeatedly cut into my soft skin. This was honestly worse than Lord Clathy in the library!

However it was soon over and everyone gathered round to inspect the damage. Suddenly there was no embarrassment and everyone seemed to accept my partial nakedness as being completely normal. There were positive noises about the outcome and nobody seemed to notice that I was in floods of tears. The tears were partly because of my incredibly sore bottom but also partly for the shame I felt for getting myself into this position. This was precisely the type of work that I had told myself not to accept under any circumstances. It was my own fault but this didn’t make me feel any better.

We took the final photos and Clive gave me a nice hug and thanked me for helping him conclude a successful day. Unfortunately I hadn’t anticipated the late turn of events and had come in some very tight jeans. Pulling these up over my sore bottom was agony and I’ve never been so pleased not to be able to get a seat on the tube! Any pressure on my bottom for the next few days was sore. Sitting was to be avoided whenever possible and I couldn’t sleep lying on my back.

Normally I was paid through the agency after they had taken their cut, but that day I was paid in cash. A lot of money but I had done more for it than I had bargained for and I had marks on my bottom for 10 days afterwards. As it turned out I wasn’t offered anything other than normal fashion work during this period so the marks weren’t a problem.

I have no idea what happened to the photos from that day or where the story appeared. I was clearly recognisable in the photographs so I did live in dread of somebody I knew identifying me. I did think, though, that if anyone did identify me they would have to admit to reading that type of material, which was a useful safeguard.

I worked for another year at that job and during this time met my future husband. I worked on for a short time after getting married but soon after had my first child. I was then looking after children for several years and was into middle age by the time I came out of the other end. My modelling days had come to an end.

Julie Baker