Sam Stinger

During my first two years in my senior school I successfully kept out of any serious trouble, only receiving one or two detentions, and the odd imposition. It was when I reached the Third Form that I suffered my first encounter with the cane.

So far I had progressed reasonably well in the school, achieving some success both academically and on the sports field Indeed, I had represented the school at swimming, athletics and rugger in my age groups. I was a regular member of the Colts rugger XV, playing as a centre threequarter with some flair and ability, according to our team coach. However, playing for the school involved travelling to other schools for matches, so we sometimes found ourselves getting home late when we took part in fixtures as far away as 80 miles or more. Attendance at such away matches was usually accepted as an excuse for not completing our homework on time. So when I and my friend Richard had been on an away fixture with the Colts XV, it was with some confidence that we offered this as an excuse for not having finished our English homework. Unfortunately we had failed to take into account the fact that the homework had been set several days earlier, and 'Dobbo' Dobbs, the English master, declined to accept the trip as a valid excuse.

Dobbo was annoyed with us, not only because we hadn't done our prep but also we had tried to pull the wool over his eyes, as he put it. He was normally a humorous teacher, and generally liked by the pupils, using his wit and humour to keep our attention during lessons. However, it was also well recognised that he could be a strict disciplinarian when needed, and it soon became apparent that he was moving into strict mode when he made his announcement.

"There are no excuses that boys like you can invent that I haven't heard before. You see, I too was once a boy, so I know all about you lazy creatures." The class received this revelation in stark disbelief: for we couldn't imagine that the ancient (to our eyes) Dobbo had once been one of us! It was inconceivable.

Richard and I were well aware that when Mr Dobbs considered he had just cause, he did not hesitate to apply his cane (aptly nicknamed 'Sam Stinger') forcefully to the backsides of errant schoolboys. 'Sam' was a very visible deterrent to misbehaviour, hanging from a hook by the side of the blackboard.

When Dobbo called the two of us out to the front of the class it became abundantly clear that we were about to become the latest victims of that slender, spiteful cane. We stood nervously in front of the master as he swished the cane through the air a few times, making that dreaded hissing sound. Mr Dobson addressed me sternly.

"Come over here. Face the door and bend over."
I bent over and touched my toes, all too aware that every eye in the class was trained on my backside. I felt very awkward and self conscious in this ignominous position, waiting anxiously for the caning to begin and wondering how many strokes I would receive. I felt the cane being pressed against the seat of my trousers as Dobbo judged his aim, making a couple of light aiming taps. After a nerve racking pause I heard the dreaded swishing noise as the cane descended, followed by a loud 'thwack'. The stinging pain was even worse than I had expected, as if a red hot poker had been laid across my poor backside.

I thought to myself, "Christ, I can't take many more like that!" But at the same time I knew I had no option but to accept the remainder of my punishment, whatever it might be. Another searing whiplike stroke and I jumped up like a Jack in the Box, clutching my burning bum. "Stay down boy! Touch your toes and keep still!"

Meekly I bent back down and touched my toes. Dobbo lost no time in landing a third stroke, even more vicious than the first two, and I felt my eyes moistening. To my enormous relief I was told I could get up. I stood in a daze of pain and distress, desperately trying to hold back the tears as my friend was commanded to bend over in turn.

Although my own backside was still tingling painfully amd I was feeling very sorry for myself, I empathised with Richard's evident suffering when the first stroke landed with a resounding "THWACK!!" leaving a visible indent across the shiny seat of his regulation school trousers. I observed that Dobbo's masterful caning technique ensured that the whippy cane travelled with terrific velocity and accuracy. No wonder it hurt so much.

Dobbo paused slightly as he aimed the second stroke, then as before a loud "THWACK!!" echoed around the classroom, I cringed again, knowing exactly what agonies my pal was suffering. Dobbo took his time delivering the last stroke, and it was obvious that Richard was having difficulty in maintaining his uncomfortable bent-over position. Once again, the cane whizzed through the air, almost knocking Richard off balance as it bit into his buttocks. 'You may stand up, boy!'

As my friend struggled up, frantically rubbing his incandescent rear, I could see that his face was wracked with pain and that he was on the verge of tears. Both well and truly chastened, we were lectured by Dobbo about our failings and warned of the dire consequences of any recurrences. We were then required to thank 'Sam Stinger' for the lesson he had given us. "Thank you Mr. Stinger," we muttered in turn, following which Sam went back to his hook, and two very penitent schoolboys returned to their places. Needless to say, I never neglected my English homework again.