The most awful punishment

“’Twas the most awful punishment anyone could give a child,” says Watson. “Imagine, havin’ to lick your own father! I tell you, Josh, it near broke my heart. Say, didn’t it keep us good, though!”
      It wouldn’t have kept this infant good; I’d have laced the old bugger till his arse fell off. But then, I never had any proper filial regard, and if you’d ever met my guv’nor you’d understand why.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, pp.246-47, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Nose down in the gutter

But we stopped off for punch on the way, and the little snirp got so fuddled he couldn’t even walk, We helped him along, but he was maudlin, so we took off his trousers in an alley off Regent street, painted his arse with blacking which we bought for a penny on the way, and then shouted, ‘Come on, peelers! Here’s the scourge of A Division waiting to set about you!’ And as soon as the bobbies hove in sight we cut, and left them to find our little friend, nose down in the gutter with his black bum sticking in the air.

Flashman at the Charge, p.25, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.

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Wounded several times

I’ve been wounded several times, all of them damned painful, but you may take word for it that a ball in the bum is the worst.

Flash For Freedom!, p.240, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.

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Here lies Harry Flashman

   ‘My God, are you hurt?’ she cried, and for some idiot reason I had a vision of a tombstone bearing the legend: ‘Here lies Harry Flashman, late 11th Hussars, shot in the arse while crossing the Ohio River’.

Flash For Freedom!, p.233, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.

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A dangling skull

Well, they were likely big wenches, certainly, and they bounced along very jolly, but when I watch a wobbling buttock I prefer it to be unobscured by a dangling skull. And I’m no hand with women who look as though they’d rather kill and eat me than grapple in the grass.

Flash For Freedom!, p.76, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.

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Possibly, gin?

And there was case after case of liquor, in brown glass bottles, gin, I suppose you’d call it, but even to sniff the stuff shriveled the hairs off your arse.

Flash For Freedom!, p.55, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.

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Solemn word

…to this day I have his trick of rubbing one hand across the back of the other (when thinking deeply), and that I entirely lost my own habit of scratching my backside (when puzzled). Royalty – I have Bersonin’s solemn word for it – never claw at their arses to assist thought.

Royal Flash, p.129, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.

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Can't have missed by much

‘The Afghans murder our people, try to make off with our wives, order us out of the country, and what does our commander do? Shoots himself in the arse – doubtless in an attempt to blow his brains out. He can’t have missed by much.’

Flashman, p.167, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.

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