This is a true story. It happened to me at my cathedral public school in the late fifties.
Corpoarl punishment was absolutely the norm. Is you comitted a misdemeanour and were caught, you got caned. It was no big deal, getting caned, but it was a major topic of conversation amongst us boys. Who had been caned most recently, who had to report for a caning shortly, which masters caned hardest and so on. Most caning were in private, in your housemaster's study, bending over obediently, but some masters would beat us in class in front of our formmates. I think it is true to say that we all enjoyed watching our classmates being caned, even if we knew it was going to be our turn next.
My housemaster was also the school chaplain and he was particularly strict with us. I think he used the punishment register to make sure that we all got caned at least once a half term, even the goody-goodys, although most of us were beaten much more often than that. It was a rare thing to see a boy's bottom in the showers that did not bear the marks of a caning, and many would be recent weals.
To ensure a ready supply of boys for disciplining, there were house monitors, three, I think. These were more senior boys who were not empowered to beat you themselves (officially, that is, although a leather strap was kept in the changing room and used to hand out unofficial punishments), but they could "send" you. This meant that you had to report to the housemaster to be punished for whatever you had been "sent" for. The procedure was quite simple, you had to go to the housemaster's study and wait, as often as not with the other boys who had been sent. You would hear the sound of a boy being caned, normally three or four strokes, the study door would then open, a red faced boy would emerge holding his bottom, followed by the housemaster who would look at the queue and say "Next". Our housemaster would always make us change into pt shorts for canings so it hurt more (It was a caning offence in its own right to keep underwear on under sportswear) so we all be waiting ready in our pt shorts outside his study. When it was your turn, in you would go. He would normally be filling in the punishment book from the previous caning and without looking up say "Well". You would say "I've been sent for ragging" He would then say " I shall give you four strokes (or three if you were lucky)" There was never any discussion about the offence or recrimination. It had happened. You would therefore be caned. There was a leather chestefield sofa in his study, which he would have moved for the first boy so that the corner of it faced into the room with plenty of room for swinging a cane. He would take an interest at this point looking up from his register and picking up the cane from the leather top of his desk, and off which you had been unable to take your eyes since entering his study. It was a traditional schoolmaster's cane about three feet long with a curved handle. It was flexible and darkened with age and use at the business end. As you went over to the chesterfield he would swish it though the air. You had to bend over the corner of the chesterfield with your legs apart and your thin cotton gym shorts taut across your bottom. He would lift up your blazer flap so that it left your buttocks fully exposed. The cane would then whistle through the air and lash down on your bottom. The first stroke was always the most excruciating. I used to grip the sides of the chesterfield with my eyes shut hoping he would hurry up and get it over with, but he always took his time, just as you had recovered the cane would whistle again and the next stroke would come down . Then the next and the next, until you had been punished, which was what you were there for.
In a few moments you were out, clutching your bottom through your shorts feeling the hot weals coming up, and feeling rather proud of yorself. You had been caned, and taken it like a man.
In a funny way I always found myself looking forward to the next time.