Six To Remember
I was caned only once during my school career but the memory has always remained with me. Now that corporal punishment in British schools has generally fallen into abeyance, I thought it might be useful to record my personal recollections for posterity as a matter of sociological and even historical interest.In the 1970s I attended an independent catholic boys' college as a dayboy. Entry was by an 11-plus style examination and the school offered a rigorously academic grammar school type education. Discipline was pretty firm and pupils were generally diligent at their work and well behaved.
Although corporal punishment was in use at the school, the cane was wielded solely by the headmaster and was very much a punishment of last resort, reserved for the most serious infractions of the rules. The majority of boys went through their entire school career without ever suffering a 'swishing', although the knowledge that the cane was available for use undoubtedly acted as a deterrent where certain offences were concerned. For example, a boy knew that if he was found smoking or in possession of cigarettes he would invariably be beaten, and because of this incidents of smoking on the school premises were rare.
Because the cane was not often used, a degree of mystery and awe surrounded the punishment. I can recall an incident in my second year when two boys in my form were caned for bullying. I remember the look of abject misery in their faces when they were sent off to the headmaster's study for their punishment, and their even more crestfallen appearance when they returned. It was apparent that they had both been crying and although they later attempted to make light of what had happened to them, it had obviously been a most unpleasant experience. I should also add that there were no more incidents of bullying in the class that term.
Like most boys I received my share of less onerous punishments, such as lines and the occasional detention. My misconduct was never serious enough to warrant the ultimate sanction until an incident during my third year. This came about through my dislike of Latin - to me the most boring and pointless subject in the curriculum. Looking back with hindsight I can see the virtues of learning a classical language, but at the time Latin classes, with their rote learning of the conjugations of verbs, seemed like sheer grind.
I realised that I was likely to perform badly in the end of term Latin examination, which would mean being given extra course work to undertake in the holidays, so I decided to cheat. My method was quite straightforward, involving the use of a pencil box inside which I secreted tiny crib sheets listing many of those tedious Latin conjugations. To cut a long story short, my subterfuge was discovered and to my utter dismay I found myself sentenced to a caning.
As I have said, a certain awe attached to the cane at my school. As soon as it became known that I was up for a swishing I achieved a notoriety in the class. The handful of classmates who had suffered corporal punishment in the past were all to willing to inform me just how painful my punishment would be. The torture was intensified by the fact that I was kept waiting for a couple of days, giving time for my mind to dwell upon the ordeal to come. Before the wheels of justice could turn, I had to take a letter home to my parents detailing my heinous offence. A slip was enclosed for them to sign, acknowledging that they had read the letter and were aware that corporal punishment was inflicted for such serious misconduct. Needless to say my parents were angered by what they read in the official letter and told me that I fully deserved what was coming to me.
At last the dreaded moment arrived when I had to make my way to the headmaster's study to receive my just deserts. By now I was keen to get the punishment over and done with, but found myself having to wait outside the door for fifteen agonising minutes. It was like being kept waiting at the dentists! When I was finally ushered into the spacious office I found my 14-year-old knees turning to jelly and had to steady myself against the edge of the headmaster's desk. The worst thing was seeing the cane - a long shiny brownish-yellow rod with a curved handle - laying on that selfsame desk, ready for use. I had never seen a school punishment cane before and the sight mesmerised me. The implement seemed quite insubstantial and flimsy and I tried to reassure myself that the tales I had heard about the red hot pain of a swishing must have been exaggerated.
There was a knock at the door and my housemaster entered the study to witness the punishment. I was instructed to remove my blazer and was then made to bend over a large leather armchair, holding onto the arms. The housemaster pulled out my shirt tail, tucking it out the way, and then checked my backside for any padding. I felt myself trembling and gripped the arms of the chair to steady myself, at the same time shutting my eyes.
The headmaster was a tall athletic man and I noted his firm stride as he came around behind me. There was an ominous whooshing noise as he swished the flexible rod through the air a couple of times. He announced that my very serious offence deserved 'a good old-fashioned six of the best' and told me to take my punishment 'like a brave boy.' The next moment I heard that ominous whooshing noise once again as the cane scythed through the air and landed smartly across my backside with a resounding crack! I immediately felt a terrible searing pain, as if a red hot wire had been laid across the bare flesh. It took all my willpower not to jump up from the chair and rub my burning behind - or even flee the execution chamber. Somehow I managed to stay bent down over the chair, although the fact that I had five more excruciating cuts of the cane to come filled me with horrified dread.
The sting from the first cut was just subsiding a little when the second stroke of the cane landed, almost on the same spot, redoubling the burning pain. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and after the third stroke I could no longer control them. I was blubbing like a little baby! By the time the full six of the best had been delivered, my poor backside felt as though it was on fire, criss-crossed by lines of incandescent throbbing pain. Never in my worst nightmares had I imagined the cane could hurt so much. My tears were still flowing freely as my housemaster helped me up from the armchair, offering me a tissue.
Once I had managed to stop crying I was asked by the headmaster to countersign my entry in the school punishment book. Neatly listed in the headmaster's immaculate handwriting were my name and form, my offence Cheating in school exam and my punishment Six strokes. As I shuffled off to the lavatories to wash my tearstained face my backside was still smarting uncomfortably - and I resolved there and then never to risk another caning.