MY FIRST SCHOOL CANING

'Alright Stoddart, Curtis, Richards and Wilson. Since you cannot be bothered to complete your French prep on time you can all finish it tomorrow afternoon in detention.'

The French master's words struck me like a thunderbolt. I had banked upon getting my French translation completed during the lunch-hour; how was I to know that Mr Knowles would be collecting our work first thing that morning? None of us had expected this and now four of us would be serving detentions. I decided to appeal.

'Please sir, I'll have my work completed by this afternoon...'

'Homework is supposed to be completed at home, Stoddart, not in school time. You will serve a detention as ordered.'

We all considered the punishment rather punitive for such an offence, but the reason why I was especially upset was because I had now gained three detentions in the space of a term. It was a rule at my grammar school that a boy acquiring three such detentions received a mandatory caning - and it was that prospect which was now making me feel sick in the pit of my stomach.

During my two and a half years at the school I had never been 'swished'. Indeed, the cane was seldom used, being wielded solely by the headmaster as a remedy for such serious offences as bullying, fighting, vandalism and smoking. For some obscure reason, however, the 'three detentions' regulation existed, although we schoolboys could never see the logic of it. It was bad enough to suffer three detentions without having an extra - and worse - punishment imposed on top. I was now the victim of this regulation and as I thought over the events of the term the workings of justice seemed rather arbitrary.

My first detention had been imposed early in the term for latecoming. After that, I made sure I had a fully wound alarm clock in my bedroom. My second detention had been for talking in class - bad luck really - and after that I had been on my best behaviour, knowing the likely consequences if I put a foot wrong again that term.

I was generally a well-behaved type of boy, not the sort to incur a caning in the normal course of events, and as the term drew towards a close I had high hopes of avoiding further trouble. There had been just a fortnight to go and I had been looking forward to starting the next term with a clean slate; but now the very worst had happened and I was for it.

A boy in my year had been caned a week before for the same reason and I felt compelled to question him.

'What's it like when you get the cane?' 'Well, let me put it like this - I never want to get caned again if 1 can help it...'

'Does it hurt very much?'

'It hurts like hell!'

'How does the headmaster do it?'

'He calls you into his office and lectures you about your offence - and all the time you can't take your eyes off the big swishy cane he keeps flexing right in front of you, knowing that it's going to be used on your poor bum. Then he orders you to bend over and checks your trouser seat to make sure that you haven't tried to put any padding down there. He lifts up your blazer and drapes it over your shoulders, then takes that horrible cane and lays it on really hard. And Christ, does it sting!'

'And how many did you get..?.'

'I got four real stingers and my bum was throbbing aftwerwards, I can tell you. When the headmaster has got that cane in his hand he means business. I'm glad I'm not in your shoes Stoddart...'

I tried telling myself that my classmate was probably trying to put the wind up me by exaggerating the whole thing. But this thought didn't really reassure me and I spent the rest of the day feeling apprehensive and nervous.

The next day, a Friday, my form-master asked me to wait after morning registration.

'You were given a detention yesterday, I understand, making a total of three this term. You will appreciate that this means a caning.'

'Yes sir, although it doesn't really seem fair.'

'Fair or not, the school rules must be obeyed. It is a serious matter to gain three detentions in a row and the school shows its disapproval by caning the culprit. Now I must ask you to give this note to your parents for their signature and bring it to me on Monday, when you will receive your punishment from the headmaster. '

I put the sealed envelope into my satchel and went off to begin the day's lessons. All that day I found it hard to concentrate, so balefully did the prospect of the cane weigh on my mind. The worst part was to be kept waiting for it - anticipating, brooding....

At the end of afternoon school I served the hour-long detention, working on more French translations, and then went home with the note. My mother propped it on the mantelpiece to await my father's attention and did not ask me what it might be about. I was certainly not inclined to tell her. Later that evening my father opened the envelope and considered the contents, afterwards reading it aloud to my mother and myself:

Signed

(Parent or Guardian)

Turning to look at me, he added: 'You should be ashamed of yourself, Bob. Three detentions and now the cane...'

'It's not fair, dad. I never did anything very bad. It's dead easy to receive a detention if you get on the wrong side of a master. I don't see why I have to be caned as well...'

'I'm afraid that life's not always that fair, son. You'll just have to take your punishment like a man.'

'Please dad, I don't want to be caned, I really don't. Can't you write back and say I shouldn't be?'

'And have you suspended? Not likely! Take my word - it's like going to the dentist. A bit frightening beforehand but a great relief when it's all over and done with. By the way, do you get it on your hand or on your backside?'

'On the backside,' I answered, close to tears. I looked imploringly in my mother's direction but it was no use: my father had detached and signed the acknowledgement and my fate was sealed.

That weekend was purgatory for me. I tried not to think about the cane, but somehow my impending corporal punishment kept coming back into my mind. How much would it hurt, I wondered. How hard would the head beat me? Would the cane leave marks that would show up in the school showers?

Monday morning arrived and I set out for school with a heavy heart. My speculations were now directed as to the likely time of my caning - would it be directly after morning assembly, or later in the day? I handed the signed Corporal Punishment Notice to my form-master, who said that he would pass it on to the headmaster's secretary. But there was no indication as to when I would have to report for my caning.

The morning's lessons passed slowly and all the time I had a sick feeling in my stomach. At lunchtime I found that I had quite lost my appetite. My agonised waiting was ended abruptly at afternoon registration.

'Stoddart, you are to report to Mr Folley directly,' intoned my form-master. This was it!

I slunk off with my head bowed, trying to avoid the knowing looks of my classmates, and made my way slowly to the headmaster's office. It took all my courage to knock.

'Enter!'

'I was told to report to you sir...'

'Ah, Stoddart - stand there will you. At attention boy - don't slouch!'

Lying in front of me on the Headmaster's desk were the signed Corporal Punishment Notice, countersigned by my form-master, together with a shiny yellow crook-handled punishment cane. Try as I might, I could not take my eyes off that wicked looking rod.

'You know why you're here, Stoddart. You have gained three detentions in the space of a term and this deplorable record of misconduct cannot be ignored. Such a boy is invariably caned. You will oblige me by bending over and touching your toes.'

The headmaster prodded the tightly stretched seat of my grey worsted school trousers with his fingertipsto check for padding and then lifted my blazer up over my shoulders. I felt exposed and vulnerable. The touching toes position is rather uncomfortable to maintain for any length of time, yet I was kept bent over whilst the headmaster seated himself back at his desk and perused the junior school detention book.

'Keep those fingers touching your toes, Stoddart! And straighten your legs! Let us examine the reasons for your detentions: latecoming, talking in class, and failing to present homework on time. All minor offences in their way, but collectively striking at the very foundations of good order in a school such as this. You must learn to keep to the school rules - if you do not, you must expect to be punished...'

My bent-over position was now becoming extremely uncomfortable and at the same time it felt very humiliating having to wait in such a submissive posture for the cane. How I wished he would get on with it, although at the same time I felt sick with fear.

'I shall now give you four strokes of the cane and you will maintain your touching toes position throughout. Any jumping up or moving about and we shall begin all over again - is that understood?'

'Y-yes sir...'

'Now straighten those legs and push that bottom right out - that's the way.'

The headmaster tapped the cane lightly a few times against my rear to judge his aim. I shut my eyes, steeling myself for the first stroke .I heard a whooshing sound as the cane whizzed through the air towards my trembling buttocks There was a loud 'CRACK!' and a moment later I felt an intense burning pain. I wanted to jump up there and then and rub my throbbing bottom but I knew that I had to stay down and accept three more strokes, or risk an even worse caning.

'CRACK!' Stroke number two bit into my quivering backside, almost making me lose my balance. 'CRACK!' Another savage stinger, but at least there was now just one to go. 'CRACK!' The final stroke landed quite low, striking the part of my anatomy I would be sitting on for that afternoon's lessons. I let out a low moan of anguish and desperately fought back the tears.

'Up you get, Stoddart. I trust this punishment has taught you a lesson. Now you had better get along to afternoon lessons.'

Ironically the class I had to join was French, taken by the same Mr Knowles who was indirectly responsible for my caning. As I knocked and entered all eyes turned my way.

'I'm sorry I'm late sir, I had to see the Mr Folley.'

'And what was your business with the headmaster, Stoddart?'

'I - er - I had to be punished sir...'

'And what form did your punishment take? Answer me boy!'

Shamefacedly I replied: 'I was caned sir...'

'Well, I hope that your caning has proved to be a useful lesson. Has it?!'

'Yes sir.'

'Alright - go to your desk and we shall resume the lesson.'

As the form made its way to the next lesson my visit to the headmaster proved to be a subject of some interest.
'How many did you get?'

'Four,' I replied.

'Did it hurt very much?'

'Oh, It wasn't too bad,' I lied, still feeling very much aware of the four tender weals imprinted across my poor backside.