School in the Seventies


by Mike

In England at the age of eleven we move onto our secondary school (11 -18), it was here that I was to witness c. p. for the first time and then 'feel it' on just two occasions. They are just 2 episodes in what must have been quite literally millions to have taken place in the seventies in Britain.

Our school was very large, nearly 2,000 pupils attended, and discipline was harsh - caning and slipperings (tennis shoe, plimsoll, trainer etc.) for any minor infractions of the many rules. In England at this time, schools' disciplinary methods varied - some had no corporal punishment at all, others had it just for boys and others, like mine, had it for both _s_e_x_es.

In the first year at this school I was in Mr Peter's class; he was the lower school (11-13) headmaster, and everyday, after morning assembly, he would usually cane several terrified boys' backsides (who had been sent to him by other members of staff) in front of our mixed _s_e_x_ class. Girls however, had the luxury of being caned in private, by a female member of staff. Of all cp administered I would think about 95% was on boys. Girls tended to be better behaved and would have to commit a serious breach of discipline to warrant physical punishment - but of course, this did happen sporadically. Boys on the other hand, were beaten for relatively minor misdemeanors. This was excepted, without question as the status quo.

Mr. Peter's was definitely a sadist, who I'm sure, enjoyed mentally torturing those sent for punishment. Being in his class I witnessed his technique many times. First he would verbally bully his victims, then he would insult them, and then, he would cruelly make allusions that he was undecided about caning them. Giving the quaking boys a window of hope. Mr Peters would then lean back in his seat pretending to make his final decision. With his left hand he would open his desk drawer, pull out the punishment record book and throw it onto the desk top - the boys' would know that their fate were sealed. He would take a great deal of time filling in this book, asking their names, form numbers, form teacher etc. The waiting must have been terrible. Some boys were already quietly sobbing by now, and their answers were indistinct - he would always angrily ask them to repeat themselves. He would then deliver a final lecture on how they were lucky that they were only getting 1, 2 or 3 instead of 6, and, that the next time they would definitely get 'six of the best'. All the time, he would tap his cane rhythmically on the desk, until he ordered the first boy to get the stool which was kept close by, and position it onto the marks on the floor, (this was so Peters knew exactly where to stand, when delivering the the strokes) he then ordered his victim to bend over and grab the bottom cross rung of the wooden stool. Mr Peters would make a point of inspecting the boy's bottom, to see if he had anything in his back trouser pockets, which would lessen the sting (handkerchief or picture cards etc.) when satisfied, he would slowly draw the cane back above his right shoulder and then viciously swipe it across (the usually) visibly trembling buttocks.

This violent sight shocked and frightened me, and certainly acted as a strong deterrent against bad behaviour, and being a shy and quite boy, for the first two years at the school I managed to avoid suffering this ordeal. However by the laws of average, I was living on borrowed time. In my third year and by now in the middle school (14 -16) whilst playing football (soccer) in the school yard, a toilet window got smashed, but being involved with the game, we just carried on playing. Unfortunately a small boy in the toilet room tried to clear up the glass and cut his hand. That afternoon all those involved in the game (about 12 of us) were summoned to the middle school headmaster's office, which we only just managed to fit in - it was quite a small room. I tried to get to the back of the group but the Headmaster - Mr. Stock - who I regarded as a kindly man, saw me, and commented, that he didn't think a sensible boy like myself, would have been involved in anything so stupid. This of course, didn't make me feel any better. He then told us, that we would have to pay for the damaged window, which he had worked out to be, 15 pence each - a very small sum now, but I remember thinking it was half my week's pocket money. I thought, that was it, but Mr. Stock, who, was as usual smiling, then said: 'Of course, you will all have to get the stick (his word for the cane) - not for breaking the window, but for not going into the toilet and clearing up the glass, which the first year boy had cut himself on.' He then asked us to form a queue outside and come in one at a time. Outside in the corridor, nobody wanted to be first and a scuffle broke out, then a weaker boy was pushed to the front. Mr Stock shouted for the first boy to come in. I was fourth in the line and by now, the fact that I was about to experience corporal punishment for the first time in my life, was sinking in - my main concern as we waited, was, having never been hit, how would I react? I desperately didn't want to cry and be regarded by the others as soft. I heard the cane swish twice, and the first boy came out of the room smiling bravely, seemingly none the worst for his experience. I was disappointed by this, as it put more pressure on me not to show any pain. My stomach flipped over with anxiety and I had a great desire to go to the toilet. But very quickly it was my moment of truth. I entered the office, Mr. Stock had placed a chair in the middle of his small room and it was obvious, without having to be told, that I should bend over it. I did so, and immediately the first stoke landed, it hurt, but not too much, the second landed across the top of my legs which hurt slightly more, but again, not enough to make me yelp. Incredibly it was all over, and I suddenly wondered why I had been so worried! After this, Mr. Stock shouted 'next!' and I left the room passing a pale faced boy coming in.

The sense of relief and probably the adrenalin surge, made me very pleased with myself. I had overcome my worse fear, and it had made me feel good about life. I became more confident, I actually felt physically bigger and my personalty became more out-going. Wrongly I believed that I had experienced a hard caning without any problems.

However my second and final experience, turned those feelings on their head. A year later - I had just turned 15 - I was involved in a somewhat bizarre set of circumstances. During a physical education class in the sports hall we were split into three teams for 5-a-side football - two teams playing, whilst the third team watched from the balcony. Situated on the balcony was the weight training equipment and we began to roll one of the heavy weights to each other. Inevitably the weight bounced over the edge and just missed the goalkeeper below. There was a few seconds of silence and then everybody burst out laughing. Everybody, except of course, the student teacher, who was taking the class. He instantly realised that the boy underneath the balcony, who it had narrowly missed, could have easily been killed, and went into a frenzy. He went quite literally mad, and screamed at us to come down. The great thing about my second punishment, was, that it taught me life can change from good to bad, in a matter of seconds. One moment, I was watching the football match going on below me, without a care in the world, the next I was descending the stairway knowing something very bad was about to happen. Mr. Bailey the young student teacher who had been at the school less than a week, was so angry, I thought he might explode! He shouted at us to line up and face the opposite wall. All the time in my head I kept thinking 'This cannot be happening,' as I instinctively knew, that I was about to get the second dose of cp of my life. At 15 I felt that I was now too old to be treated this way. But I made no protest, as I thought Mr Bailey who was just about hysterical, might punch me. He screamed 'Bend over and touch your toes,' This confirmed to me, that my bottom, was indeed going to be the target of his wrath. We all hesitated, looking at each other with disbelieving expressions on our faces. Mr Bailey shouted 'Now!' and we all did as he requested, in those days it had been indoctrinated into us, that you never disobeyed a teacher (unlike today). He went up to the boy at the other end of the line, I was waiting to hear a slap or something, to indicate that the punishment was in progress. What I thought I heard, was somebodies shorts being pulled down and the alarmed boy exclaiming 'Sir?' questioning what was happening. 'Mr Bailey snapped at him 'Shut up! Unless you want a double dose' I was too frightened to look around and just waited as he made his way towards me, lowering shorts as he went. He tugged both the legs of my shorts and they came down to my ankles then he slipped his fingers inside the elastic of my underpants and down they came as well, turning inside out and stretching across my thighs. Strangely, I remember thinking how pleasant the feeling of the unexpected breeze of cool air, now freely circulating around my usually covered private parts was. At this point, if somebody had made a rush for the door I would have pulled up my shorts and joined them, in a bid to escape the unimaginable from happening. Nobody did, and I was too scared to make the first move, in case I was regarded as a coward. The teacher went back to the first boy and began to administer a very, very hard spanking with his own trainer, I felt that I had entered some surreal dream world and the cries of pain and slaps of rubber on bare flesh could just not be happening. This noise of the punishments soon became muffled by my own heartbeat thumping and the blood coursing across my eardrums. I think my desire to wet myself was only stopped by the unusual fact, that I was bent over and staring at my own penis. When the boy next to me was receiving his '6 of the best' I noticed that he stumbled forward, on each impact of the shoe, so I knew Mr Bailey was putting every ounce of effort into each swipe. I could also hear the sniffs from the other boys suggesting they were finding it hard to prevent the tears from coming. Mr. Bailey positioned himself behind me and I braced myself ready for the onslaught, tensing my buttock muscles as tightly as I could. It did no good, the pain from the spank was agony - a hundred times worse than the caning from Mr. Stock. All I could do for the next 5 spanks, was to somehow hold on to my position, I remember shouting out loudly as each smack landed, hoping this would somehow lessen the pain. After my 6th smack he told everybody to pull up their shorts and go directly to the changing room for a shower.

When I look back now, I feel slightly sorry for the young student teacher who justifiably panicked. He informed us later later, that he had been educated at a public school (these are our fee paying schools that only about 7% are able to afford) and this was how boys were usually punished by prefects or teachers - pants down on the bare. But at State schools this method was virtually unheard of.

In the changing room, as it was the final lesson of the day, I simply got dressed and left for home (if one of the sports teachers had caught me doing this, I could have got a second beating, as showers were compulsory and failure to comply, meant the slipper), but I was too upset to even consider this.

On my walk home I tried to deny to myself that the incident had even happened! But of course, my buttocks were still hot and tingling from the assault. I angrily blamed everybody for my misfortune, from God, to the stupid boy who allowed the weight to fall. On entering my house which was always empty when I got home - mother worked as an early evening telephone operator and father did not get in until about 7pm, I rushed upstairs to my parents bedroom, where they had a full length mirror, dropped my trousers and looked at the damage. My bottom was a dark red with a tint of blue coming through - this was the bruising forming. Two days later it had changed into a grey, purple and light green mass of blotches.


More stories by Mike