Mark Truman stood facing the wall outside the door of the headmaster's office with his two friends, Ian and Steve. The three thirteen year olds had been caught smoking by a teacher earlier that day and told to report to the headmaster after school. Now they stood in their ignominious position, their hands on their heads. Ian had knocked on the door, but Mr Barlow hadn't been in. They had now been standing there, waiting, for over five minutes with just the occasional whisper to break the monotony.
They all knew what to expect. Ian had probably been sent to the headmaster for punishment as often as any boy in his class. In fact his last visit, about a month earlier, had also been as a result of having been caught smoking and had resulted in a sound caning. Steve, too, had felt the sting of Mr Barlow's cane on more than one occasion - though never for smoking.
Only Mark had never had the cane. He had joined the Wallace School only a few weeks before, when his family had moved to Guildford. The cane had not been used at the grammar school he had attended previously. In fact Mark's only experience of corporal punishment had been five years earlier at his primary school after he and two friends had been involved in a snowball fight - with stones inside the snowballs. Miss Fry had taken all three boys over her knees for six hard slaps from her trusty plimsoll. Mark still remembered with shame how he had started to cry even before the start of his punishment, and how sore his eight year old bottom had felt. He was older now and, he hoped, braver - but everyone said that the cane was a lot worse than the slipper . . .
The boys heard the tread of the headmaster walking up the corridor towards his office. He sighed as he passed the miscreants and entered his office without addressing them. He intended to punish these three lads severely and he was going to start by keeping them waiting for a while.
Mark bit his lower lip in anticipation and stole a glance at his colleagues. They didn't look much happier than he felt. He wondered if it was safe to whisper again, but Steve discouraged him with a grimace and a shake of the head. He knew how good Mr Barlow's hearing was, and what happened to boys he caught talking while awaiting punishment.
The boys had already been waiting for more than five minutes before Mr Barlow's arrival, and the headmaster kept them waiting a good ten minutes longer. Mark was not looking forward to his encounter with Mr Barlow - he knew he was due for a caning and was frightened that it was going to really hurt - but he was starting to wish that the headmaster would get on with it. He didn't intend to tell his parents about his punishment and the reason for it unless he had to. But if he was too late home his mum would want to know why, and he'd have to tell her. This wait was like a detention on top of the expected caning! He fidgeted nervously, unable to prevent his mind dwelling on what was going to happen.
Finally the door opened and the headmaster ushered the three waiting schoolboys into his office. He lined them up in front of his desk, their hands on their heads once more, and started to lecture them on the evils of smoking. He ordered Ian, who had recently been punished for a similar offence, to write out the line "Smoking is strictly prohibited by the school rules and is dangerous to health" five hundred times, and the other two boys to write it out two hundred times. The lines were to be handed in in a week's time.
Mark had never had to do more than a hundred lines before. Still, it wasn't too bad with a week to do them in. It would bite into his leisure time a bit, but he could do thirty lines or so each night and get them done. He was glad he hadn't got five hundred like Ian! The headmaster had fallen silent. Mark bit his lower lip as he looked at him. Was it possible that they would be let off with lines?
No, it wasn't! After a pause the headmaster spoke again: "And in addition to the lines I am going to cane all of you, severely. You all knew very well that smoking is not permitted here. Perhaps it made you feel grown up. I can assure you that there is nothing sensible or grown up about three thirteen year old boys surreptitiously smoking cigarettes. Boys who defy the rules of the school and smoke cigarettes know what to expect. You will each receive six strokes from the senior cane. And I can assure you that none of you will feel like smoking, or even sitting down, for a long time afterwards!"
The headmaster glanced at Mark. "Truman, I am sorry to see you here so soon after joining the school. But you knew the rules, you deliberately violated them and now you must take the consequences. I have no choice but to punish you in the same way as the others. I hope that this painful experience will be a lesson to you."
Mark dropped his eyes to the carpet, unable to meet the headmaster's eyes. He hadn't really expected to be let off and the other boys had told him that they'd probably all get six - although Steve had hoped that it might be only four. He couldn't help wriggling, however, now that he knew for sure that he was booked for a caning. The reference to the senior cane had gone over his head - so far as he knew a cane was a cane.
But the other two boys had gasped silently as they had heard that part of their sentence. They knew that the senior cane was generally reserved for pupils in the fifth year and above. It was said to sting a hell of a lot more than the one of which they had experience.
Mr Barlow stood and walked over to a tall cupboard in the corner of the room. He removed a long cane and walked back again, placing the cane on his desk. Involuntarily, three pairs of eyes fixed on the punishment implement. It was a straight length of rattan about three feet long and almost half an inch in diameter. Mark's eyes widened at the thought of the havoc that rod was going to cause his backside.
The headmaster waited until the boys were looking at him once more and then slowly removed his jacket, draping it over his chair. Then he carefully rolled up his right shirt sleeve. The boys were in no doubt that he wanted to make them realise that he had no intention of letting them off lightly.
"Right, Warman! I'll deal with you first," he said, looking towards Ian. "You two, go and stand by the wall, facing this way. You've never had the cane, Truman, so I want you to see from Warman and Lovell how boys at this school take a caning."
Steve and Mark walked to the side of the room and turned round with their backs to the wall. Taking his lead from Steve, Mark replaced his hands on his head.
"All right, Warman, you know the form. Fetch over the stool!"
Ian brought over a tall stool from a corner of the room and placed it in front of the desk. He had bent over that stool more often than he cared to remember!
"Trousers down!"
Ian loosened his belt and let his grey school trousers fall to his feet.
"And your pants!"
Mark, standing by the wall, was shocked. But the other two boys had expected no less. Without noticeable hesitation Ian pulled his underpants down until they joined his trousers on the floor.
"Now bend over the stool!"
With an involuntary anticipatory sigh, Ian lowered himself over the stool. The headmaster made him shuffle around until his vulnerable bottom was directly in Mark's line of sight. Mark had a clear view of the boy's small, pale bottom. As he looked closely he thought that he could just discern faint bruises, perhaps the last lingering marks from Ian's previous visit to Mr Barlow's room.
The headmaster rolled up Ian's shirt tail and vest so they were well out of the way and then stood behind Ian and a little to his left. He tapped the cane across the centre of the boy's pale backside. "Six strokes, Warman, and I shall expect you to stay in position throughout. If you stand up or delay the punishment there will be extra strokes!"
With that Mr Barlow administered one final flick to the exposed bottom before raising the cane high above his head and moving back. Quickly he half turned and lashed the cane down hard, stepping forward at the same time. The cane landed with terrific force halfway across the boy's bottom. Mark saw a tremor pass throughout Ian's body, but his friend gave no other outward sign of how much that tremendous blow must have stung. Ian remained firmly in position, his legs together, his bottom wobbling slightly. Mr Barlow stood back and Mark watched as two long weal marks quickly appeared, one on each bottom cheek.. "One!" counted Mr Barlow.
After a long pause Mr Barlow raised the cane once again and delivered a second stroke, just as hard as the first, that landed two inches lower down - just above the naughty boy's thighs. Once again a terrific thwack echoed around the office as the cane smashed into the boy's bare flesh. Mark was horrified at the force that the headmaster was using. He was obviously trying to really hurt Ian and had to be succeeding. Mark could not understand how his friend was remain so impassive under such an infliction. "Two!"
Mr Barlow had now marked out his "target area" and he aimed the next strokes within that two inch band. The whole of Ian's bottom was now a bright red. Mark noticed that, as each stroke lashed in, it first left a bright white line across the red, before turning a brighter colour and swelling into a weal.
Ian continued to take his caning stoically, hardly uttering a sound. Then the fifth stroke, as it landed, evoked a sharp gasp.
"Five!" counted the headmaster, standing back to observe the effects of his labours to date. Despite Ian's bravery it was apparent that he was in considerable pain. He was still in position over the stool, but he was now wriggling constantly and was breathing heavily. Mr Barlow took aim to deliver the last stroke diagonally across the marks left by the five earlier whacks.
Mark had been surprised by the violence of the earlier strokes, but the sixth and last was much harder still. The cane whipped down at full force across the swelling weals left by its earlier visits. Ian's body jerked convulsively and, for a moment, Mark thought he was going to leave his position and jump upright. But, finally, the caned boy settled back into position, gasping loudly. To his horror Mark saw spots of blood seeping out where the last stroke had crossed earlier welts.
"Six!".
Mr Barlow let the boy continue to wriggle across the stool for a while, before ordering him to stand up.
"Pants and trousers up, boy!" he ordered.
Ian obeyed silently.
"Now go and stand by the wall with the others!"
As Ian limped back over to his friends Mark could not see any show of feeling in his face. It was expressionless, like a mask.
"Hands on your head!"
Ian's hands went to his head, each hand tightly grasping a handful of his blond hair.
"Lovell! Come here!"
Slowly Steve walked forward to take his place in front of the stool, glancing back at Mark as he did so. Mark saw the scared expression on his friend's freckle-filled face. The red-haired boy lowered his trousers and underpants as instructed by the headmaster, before lowering himself over the stool. Mark noticed that Steve's bottom appeared even more pale than Ian's had done, before his caning.
Steve's caning started, as had Ian's, with two strokes - one across the centre of his bottom and the other a couple of inches lower down. Steve, however, was not so in control of his emotions as Ian had been. He managed to remain silent after the first stroke, but it caused him to drum his feet frantically and there was an audible gasp as the second stroke bit home. Mr Barlow did not moderate the force of his caning despite these reactions, but continued to wallop the cane down with full force across the boy's sore behind, counting each stroke impassively.
After the fourth stroke Steve was no longer able to keep up any pretence that it wasn't hurting. As the stroke lashed down he gave vent to a sequence of loud yells.
"OWWW! OWWW! OWWW!!"
Mark felt sick. Steve was no coward. Unbelievably he saw a smile flit across the headmaster's face as Mr Barlow heard the evidence that he was "getting through" to Steven Lovell. The headmaster counted "four" and raised the cane for the fifth stroke.
This time it was too much for Steve. He yelled loudly and lost his grip on the stool. He straightened up, almost tripping over the trousers around his ankle. He twisted around and leaned down supporting his weight on the desk rather than resuming his position over the stool.
"Get back over that stool right now, Lovell", barked the headmaster. "Otherwise you'll be getting extra. I'm not joking, boy!"
Shaking his head disbelievably and blowing repeatedly through his mouth Steve obeyed. Mark heard him mumble "Jesus!" as he resumed his position, but the headmaster ignored the blasphemy, merely telling the boy to straighten his legs.
As with Ian the final stroke was the hardest of all. Mr Barlow may have intended some mercy as the stroke fell parallel to the earlier ones and not diagonally across them. Nevertheless it still landed on an already caned area and evoked a wild yell of pain in response. Steve remained bent over the stool but wriggled jerkily, like a butterfly speared by a collector's pin. Mark felt as if his stomach turned over - it was his turn now.
Soon Steve had pulled up his pants and trousers and was stumbling back to the other boys. Unlike Ian's, his face showed clearly how much that caning had hurt. His lips were tightly compressed and his eyes seemed to burn into Mark's. Despite everything he had somehow managed not to start to cry.
"Truman! Your turn now!" Mr Barlow beckoned the scared boy forward.
"Trousers down!"
Mark's fingers fumbled with his belt buckle as he obeyed. He was about to lower his underpants, too, when the headmaster intervened.
"You may keep your pants up, Truman, as this is your first visit to my office!"
Mark was grateful, but doubted that his M & S pants would provide much protection from that wicked cane.
"Over the stool!"
Mark drew a deep breath and assumed the ignominious position. He closed his eyes and hoped desperately that Mr Barlow had already tired his right arm. Perhaps he might even have strained it!
Unfortunately for Mark the headmaster was well experienced in wielding a cane. He was just getting into a good rhythm!
Mark felt the cane tapping across his bottom. He took a tighter grip on the wooden stool. He was aware of Mr Barlow stepping back and tried to tense himself. The headmaster whipped the supple rod down for Mark's first ever taste of the cane. The impact knocked Mark forward and an instant later he felt the wild sting burning across his hindquarters. He yelped at the sudden pain, but as the headmaster counted "One!" he realised that it hadn't actually hurt quite so much as he'd feared. It had stung awfully, but it was bearable. He ought to be able to take his caning at least as well as Steve had.
As he was unable to see the marks left by the cane so clearly Mr Barlow used a different technique for Mark's caning, and he aimed the second stroke to land nearly in the same place as the first. It took poor Mark completely by surprise. Shocked by the intense sting, so much worse than he'd been expecting, the boy yelled at the top of his voice. Still gripping the stool he looked back at his chastiser, thinking that the headmaster had somehow made a mistake and had hit him harder than intended. But Mr Barlow merely calmly enunciated "Two!"
Mark twisted back into place, trying to tense himself for another stroke on his so-tender backside. He didn't have long to wait and this time it was just too much. He lost his grip on the stool and tried to stand up and grasp his smarting rear. Unfortunately, as Steve had almost done, he tripped over the trousers down by his ankle. Unlike Steve he did not regain his balance. He fell onto the floor and started to cry in shame and pain.
"Back over that stool, Truman! I've not finished with you yet!"
It took some time for Mark to resume his position and then he was shocked by the awful news that he still had four strokes to come as Mr Barlow wasn't going to count the last one.
"I warned you, Truman! I mean what I say, boy!"
Somehow the fact that he had already give way to tears allowed Mark to take the remainder of his caning with no more interruptions. He could not help bellowing loudly, however, at each of the four strokes that followed. After the last one he remained across the stool, sobbing loudly, until Mr Barlow told him to stand up and pull his trousers up. The headmaster slowly walked back to the cupboard and replaced the cane.
Then he told the two other boys to come forward and stand next to Mark. He passed a box of tissues to Mark. He took a couple, deeply ashamed of his tears. Mr Barlow offered the box to the other boys, but they shook their heads.
The headmaster walked behind his desk and sat down with a slight sigh, intended to indicate how pleasant it was to sit down after his exertions. He did not expect that these three boys would find sitting down at all pleasant for some time to come.
"All right. You can go. Don't forget, I want your lines by next Wednesday morning. And after that I never want to see you here again!"
The three boys left the office and made their way, painfully, down the corridor. When they turned the corner they all stopped and with a single impulse each boy's hands went to the seat of his trousers.
"Christ! He was in a foul mood! I'll be sleeping face down on top of the bed tonight!" breathed Ian.
"Oww!! Yes! That's the worst I've ever had it," agreed Steve.
"Don't tell anyone I cried, please," begged Mark, "I never realised it hurt like that. And it still hurts terribly every time I take a step!"
"Don't worry!" Ian reassured him. "Practically everybody cries, their first time for the cane. I know I did!"
"Yes," agreed Steve "that's right! And I was nearly crying just now, as well. It's going to hurt like hell for a while yet, a caning like that, take smaller steps, though, it helps a little."
And the three naughty boys resumed their slow, painful progress to the washrooms.