Paying the Price

It was a fine and sunny Friday morning, but as 14-year-old Paul
Hammett made his way to school he did not really notice the fine
weather: his mind was grappling with a problem and somehow or other he
had to come to a decision.

The previous day Paul had been given a detention for talking out of
turn in class. Admittedly he had been warned about this earlier in the
lesson, and had then repeated the offence; but he still considered the
punishment to be rather harsh for such a minor breach of discipline.
Detentions were served after school on Friday afternoons and it would
certainly be tedious to have to stay behind for an hour, doing a boring
Latin translation under strict supervision. However, the punishment was
made worse by the fact that he had been looking forward to attending a
friend's birthday tea party directly after school that day. The
unexpected detention had seemingly put paid to that plan.

The decision Paul had to make was whether to risk deliberately
cutting detention in order to go to the party. He considered the possible
consequences in his mind. He would most likely have to serve a double
detention the following week (two boring hours of Latin translation!) but it
would probably be worth it for the fun of the party. All of Paul's friends
were going and he did not want to be the only one left out.

However, if he cut detention there was always the chance that a different
punishment might be awarded instead: the cane. Up to this point in his school
career Paul had never been caned and he was well aware that corporal punishment
was not actually imposed that often. Canings were only given by the headmaster,
who always announced the name of the offender in assembly.

Inasmuch as Paul had thought about the cane, he supposed that it must
hurt quite a bit - after all, there would be no point in the punishment
if it was not somewhat unpleasant. On the other hand, a whacking was
over and done with in a few minutes - probably preferable to boring hours
spent languishing in detention, he reflected. As he strode through the
school gates Paul Hammett came to a fateful decision. He desperately
wanted to attend that birthday tea party. Yes, he was likely to get an extra
detention or even be caned, but either punishment was bearable. He would
go to the party!

The detention register was checked at four o' clock and it was noted
that one boy was missing - Paul Hammett of form IIIA. The master in charge
made a note of the name; that boy would have to make his excuses to the
headmaster the following Monday.

Paul greatly enjoyed the party and almost managed to forget the serious
predicament into which he had placed himself. It was only over the
ensuing weekend that he began to worry. What possible excuse could he
offer for missing detention? However, he was an imaginative boy and felt
sure that come Monday morning he would have dreamt up a convincing
story.

On Monday Paul was summoned to the headmaster's office during morning
break. By now he was feeling rather uneasy for he had always been in awe
of the head, a tall distinguished looking man with a booming voice.

'I understand that you were awarded a detention last week and failed to
turn up. Can you offer me any good reason for your absence?'

Paul had thought up all manner of ingenious excuses, but faced with the
necessity of telling an untruth directly to this omnipotent figure he hesitated.

'Well boy - have you an excuse to offer me?'

'Er...I...I had been invited to a friend's birthday tea after school sir....I...I
had promised to go and didn't want to let him down..'

'And that is your excuse boy! As far as I can see you have been
deliberately disobedient. Detention is a school punishment and if you
are placed in detention you must attend. You have no choice in the
matter. '

'Yes sir...I'm sorry sir...it won't happen again sir...'

'I very much hope that it will not happen again. And to make up for
the detention you missed and show you the error of your ways, you will
serve the missed detention this Friday and an extra detention the following week.'

Two rotten hours of boring Latin, thought Paul. Still, on reflection
it was certainly better than getting whacked. He turned to leave the headmaster's
office.

'Hold on lad, I haven't finished with you yet. You have admitted to me
that you deliberately evaded detention in order to go a party. That is a
most serious offence. Can you give me any reason why I should not cane
you for your wilful disobedience?'

At the mention of the word 'cane' Paul suddenly felt queasy with fear.

'B-but you've given me an extra detention - sir...'

'You have been deliberately disobedient, young man. I deeply deplore
such deceitful behaviour and I consider that a caning would be well
deserved. You must learn that rulebreaking such as yours will be severely
punished.'

'But sir...please sir...I won't do it again...' The tears were now welling up in
the schoolboy's eyes, but the headmaster was unmoved.

'There is no point feeling sorry for yourself now, Hammett. You have
placed yourself in this situation and you must pay the price. I shall
see you here in my office directly after assembly tomorrow morning. Now y
ou may go.'

Paul slunk away with his head bowed. An extra detention and a
whacking...it seemed so unfair. Even worse was having to wait a whole
day for the punishment for, try as he might, he could not take his mind
off the subject. How many strokes would he get? Just how much would the
cane sting? Would it leave nasty marks on his bottom that would become
the subject of sniggers in the changing rooms?

Paul remembered that there was one boy in his class who had been
whacked earlier that term for playing truant. He determined to question
him.

'Why do you want to know about the cane?' the boy asked with a knowing
twinkle in his eye. ' You're not up for a whacking yourself, are you?'

'Er...no...I'm just curious that's all...'

'Well, I can tell you that the cane didn't frighten me! It's only a silly little
stick after all...'

'So it doesn't hurt too much then? You didn't think it was that painful?'

'You are up for a caning, aren't you? I can tell from the look in
your eyes! Come on, admit it, and I'11 tell you what it's really like.'

'Yes, it's rotten - I'm getting whacked just for missing a detention.
I might as well tell you now, since everyone will know tomorrow when it's
announced in assembly...'

'Well, I know I said that the cane is just a silly little stick - and
it certainly looks like that when you see it laid out on the head's desk.
You think that such a thin, bendy thing can't hurt that much. But to tell
the truth, it hurts like hell. I got six and I couldn't believe how much
it stung my arse.'

These confidences served to make Paul Hammett feel even more uneasy
and he found it difficult to get to sleep that night. He considered avoiding
school the next day by feigning sickness, but realised that it would be
pointless, since his whacking would just be saved up for a later occasion.
Better to get it over and done with.

On Tuesday morning, to his great embarrassment, Paul's name was read
out at assembly, together with that of another miscreant.

'Paul Hammett, form IIIA, who deliberately failed to turn up for detention
last week, and Andrew Silver, form IVD, who has been caught smoking
yet again, will report to my office directly after this assembly.'

Everyone knew that boys summoned to the head's office after assembly
attended there for only one purpose - to be caned. Paul felt that all
eyes were upon him and blushed with shame.

The two offenders had to wait in an antechamber to the headmaster's
office until the great man was ready to deal with them. This room was
also occupied by the school secretary, who was busily typing away, and
there was only a frosted glass partition separating it from the
'execution chamber'. Neither boy said a word and, although the fourth-
former had been caned on a previous occasion for smoking, Paul could
see that he still looked very nervous.

'Come in Silver!' The fourth-former obeyed and the door closed behind
him. Through the thin partition Paul heard the muffled voice of the
head giving the smoker a stern lecture, followed by the words 'bend
over the chair.' After a pause, the first 'CRACK!' of the cane rang out.
There were six cracks in all, the later ones accompanied by groans, and
when Andrew Silver emerged, vigorously rubbing his backside, he looked
considerably chastened.

'Hammett! Come in if you please! ' As he stepped into the room, Paul's
eyes were drawn immediately to the big punishment cane sitting on the
headmasters desk. This was certainly not the 'flimsy little stick' his classmate
had told him about. No wonder Andrew Silver had looked so miserable
after his six of the best.

To Paul's considerable relief the head strolled across to a corner cupboard
and selected a different cane, long and crook-handled like the other but
somewhat lighter.

'Remove your blazer and then bend over and hold your ankles.'

The headmaster always made junior boys bend over and touch their toes
in this way. He usually permitted senior boys to bend over a chair, although
if he considered that the lad needed taking down a peg or two he made him
'touch toes' like a junior, whatever his age.

'Bend right down, boy. Push your backside well out. I want to see the
seat of your trousers stretched as tightly as possible.'

Paul found the touching-toes position somewhat demeaning as well as rather
uncomfortable. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, wondering just
how painful the first stroke would feel.

'I am going to give you four strokes of the cane and you must maintain your
touching-toes position throughout the punishment. Any jumping up will
earn you extra strokes. Is that clear?'

'Y-yes sir...' The headmaster knew from experience that these words
of warning were very necessary. Although he would be punishing the boy
with a lightweight junior cane, he knew how to apply it so that it
imparted the maximum amount of nasty stinging pain. A youngster
suffering such extreme discomfort would feel an almost irresistible
compulsion to jump up and rub his burning behind - hence the warning.

After a couple of light taps to judge his aim, the headmaster lifted
he swishy cane and brought it down hard across the centre of Paul Hammett's
backside. A sound akin to a pistol shot echoed around the office and the
unfortunate boy groaned as a hot stinging pain surged through his buttocks.

'That was stroke number one, Hammett. I shall pause between each
stroke in order to give you the opportunity to think about the disgraceful
behaviour which has earned you this caning.'

SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! Three more strokes
landed, each one feeling even more agonising than the one before, until Paul's
backside was throbbing with fiery burning pain from top to bottom. But
at last the ordeal was over and the boy was allowed to rise, his eyes now
moist with tears.

Paul's behind was still tingling as he joined his class, trying to avoid
he knowing glances of his classmates. The caning had hurt even more than
he had imagined it would and Paul resolved never to cut detention again. It
just wasn't worth it.