After lights out

I attended a boarding school in the 1960s. By today's standards the school would be considered very strict, although many boarding schools were equally spartan at the time. The sleeping arrangements also provided a contrast with today's boarding establishments, where boys as often as not expect to have their own bedroom.We junior boys had to sleep in long draughty dormitories lined with institutional-looking brass bedsteads.

This did not come as too much as a shock since I had slept in a similar dormitory at my prep school, where there was the usual fooling around after lights out. Iif you were unfortunate enough to be caught, the punishment was a couple of painful whacks with a big slipper across your pyjama-clad backside.

On my first night at the senior school the housemaster warned everyone in the dormitory that we would be caned if we fooled around after lights out. But boys will be boys and there was the usual whispering and telling of ghost stories. We must have become a little too confident, or else the housemaster was deliberately lulling us into a false sense of security. Anyway, after several nights when our after lights-out activities went entirely unremarked, on one fateful evening the door flew open and the housemaster strode into the dormitory.

It was my bad luck to be the boy deputed to tell that night's ghost story and I was caught in mid-flow, sitting on the edge of my bed. Although I had been slippered quite a few times at my prep school I had never been caned. Naturally I had read any number of school stories in which there were 'whackings' and I had often wondered what the cane must feel like. Well, I was about to find out.

The housemaster told me to follow him to his study. My heart was pounding hard as I grabbed my dressing gown - I was scared but also intensely curious and I decided that although the caning was bound to be painful I would try to endure it as stoically as possible. When we reached his study, the housemaster proceeded to give me a lecture on how stupid I had been. He asked me if I had ever been caned before and when I said no he pointed out that in that case I was even more stupid, since I was going to suffer my first ever dose of the cane across a backside protected only by a layer of thin pyjama material.

The housemaster went to a cupboard and took out a swishy curved handled cane, just like the canes in the school stories I had read. At first glance, it did not look too fearsome and I consoled myself that the flimsy rod would probably not hurt as much as the big rubber-soled slippers used at my prep school. I was directed to one corner of the study where there was a single school desk. I had always assumed the desk was kept there for individual teaching sessions. However, the lesson I was about to be given was physical rather than mental.

The housemaster told me to remove my dressing gown and then uttered the dreaded words 'bend down over the desk'. I stretched across the top of the desk and reached out my arms to grip the well-worn oak seat. 'Push that backside well out.' I straightened my legs and pushed my buttocks outwards until the baggy striped pyjama material was stretched as tightly as possible. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the first stroke - and wondering how many strokes would follow.

The housemaster tapped my bottom with the cane in order to judge his aim and there was a swishing noise as the whippy cane scythed through the air towards my trembling rear. A loud 'crack!' rang around the study as rattan bit into flesh, but for a fraction of a second I felt almost nothing. But almost immediately a wave of burning fiery pain shot through my backside and I gasped in disbelief at just how much it hurt.

The cane swished through the air a second time and the pain in my poor behind became unbearable. I yelped and began to get up, but a firm hand in the small of my back pushed me back down. After the third stroke tears began to well up and I felt glad that none of my classmates were here to see me blubber. I must admit that I felt really scared by now, as I thought the housemaster was going to give me the traditional six of the best.

To my enormous relief he announced that I was to receive just one further stroke. However, it felt exta hard, almost cutting me in two, and I cried out in agony. 'You may get up.' I rose from the desk with my bottom still throbbing painfully and the housemaster kindly offered me a tissue to dry my tears. 'There's no need to feel ashamed - most boys cry the first time' he said in a gentle voice; at that I couldn't hold back and the tears really began to flow again.

The housemaster noted my caning in the punishment book and I limped back to the dorm nursing my tender behind. Once I was safe in bed I ran my finger tips along the tender ridges criss-crossing my buttocks. The 'tramlines' remained visible for over a week and were a subject of considerable interest in both the dormitory and changing rooms. Needless to say I did not take chances after lights out again.