Public school memories

It may be difficult for many people to imagine how deeply embedded in the
school life of my generation was corporal punishment. I went to a prep and
then a public school in the nineteen fifties and although at home there was
never any formal beating - just an occasional angry slap - most of the boarding
schools of that era operated a system of institutionalised physical chastisement.

My experience of corporal punishment at prep school was limited to a slippering
for talking after lights out in the dormitory. It was given by the headmaster
and administered across my buttocks with my trousers down. The slippering
was agony and I cried not just from pain, but shame as well. The headmaster
told me to shut up and to expect the cane next time.

I was so terrified of the cane that I behaved impeccably for the remainder of
my prep school days. I still have vivid memories of seeing boys standing outside
the head's study close to tears in anticipation of the caning to come. Afterwards
they were treated as heroes as they showed their 'stripes' to selected friends and
recounted the details of their execution to a hushed dormitory.

It was not until my transfer to public school that I tasted the stick for the
first time. However my first whacking was in fact a slippering from the deputy
housemaster whose study was just below the junior dormitory. Two of us were
'ragging' and making far too much noise, jumping on the floor. Mr. G. charged
in and summoned us for a thrashing.

'You'll need your tin breeches,' he said. We did not need to be told and
quickly got dressed again. I went in first and decided to confess all in the hope that
this would lighten my punishment. But like Stalin's victims it made not a jot
of difference and I soon found myself draped over the back of a Parker-Knoll
armchair. My ration was four strokes of the slipper.

I earnt my first caning from my housemaster, Mr E.J., by being awarded three
discipline impositions in the course of a week. Before proceeding
with the punishment the housemaster gave me a dressing down.

'You seem to have lost control. I think I need to teach you some self control.'

I knew exactly what the procedure was from other visitors to his study. He had
you bend over with your hands placed on the arms of his armchair. Usually he
called for you to bend 'tighter' and warned you not to look round or stand up
until told.

I am going to give you three strokes,' he announced, commanding me to bend
over the chair. I knew that the cane was going to sting, but even so I was still
surprised by just how much it hurt. I felt very glad that my punishment was limited
to three strokes. Once it was over he put the cane down, told me to rise and I had
to wait while he made an entry in the punishment book on his desk. Then he crossed
to the door and indicated that I should leave. He smiled at me in a not unfriendly
way, presumably satisfied that I had taken my medicine satisfactorily. I quickly
rushed to the toilet to examine my stripes.

At my public school I was caned on eight different occasions by five different
masters. A student master gave me my first six of the best - the result of yet another
dormitory offence. The student master had been left in charge and stormed
into the dorm to find another boy and myself out of bed. He told us to follow him to
his study. I entered first and saw a cane laying on the desk - a thin swishy rod
with a crooked handle, a bit lighter than the standard model used at the school.

'Take your dressing gowns off. I am going to give you each six of the best,' he ordered.

It was not just the cold night that caused me to be reluctant. I feared I
would not be able to take six across my pyjamas and replied 'But Sir, you are not
allowed to cane anyone without Mr H's permission.'

The student master agreed but observed that he knew such permission would be
forthcoming and that he would speak to the housemaster the following morning.
The strokes were painful but bearable and we both returned to the dormitory with
glowing backsides.

There were other memorable canings, including one from the housemaster of another
house who taught chemistry. I had been among a group of jokers who had filled with water
the bottles he used for demonstrating chemical reactions, so that they did not
work. He was a notorious thrasher and we were all terrified. Four strokes were
sheer agony at the time but something to be proud of afterwards.