A new term and school year was beginning and as ever we were a boisterous lot in our class. We might have been high achievers at this select boys' grammar school but we could be high spirited with the rest of them. On the third day, we were expecting to have the same old boring English teacher that the year above had before us. To our surprise, the Headmaster himself strode into our class and announced the school had a new teaching member as Old Jarvis had been laid off permanently by the doctors. New staff were usually introduced on the first assembly of the year but there must have been complications as no mention had been made. He then introduced John Cornard-Wells to us. He was very tall and athletic with quite a ruddy complexion and quite pronounced dark hair and eyebrows but with sparkling blue eyes. He also had a ready smile and we learnt that he had been away for some years teaching in Kenya. We expected him to have a pronounced accent the way our Rhodesian boy had first had some 15 months before but his voice was well rounded and he took great care in his intonation. The most obvious thing we could notice was a heavy stress on the second syllable of longer words.
He soon established himself as a favourite with us all as although he made us work, which we were all capable of at the approaching age of fourteen, he seemed to bring about a light atmosphere into the class. I think the thing that struck us was his passion for words and literature. He often read to us and books just came alive, even the dull classic texts. He also was a keen proponent of modern literature and this was refreshing.
One day, as he bounded rather than walked into the room, he announced we were to have a simple grammatical test. Nothing too hard, just twenty questions but he expected excellent results and woe betide any slacker. The atmosphere changed and was suddenly ominous. What had Cornard-Wells got in store for us? The test got underway and although I had to think a little, it was only moderately difficult. We swapped papers between columns and the marking got underway. Most of us got between 12 and 17, a fair score but there were three out and out failures, scoring 6, 7, and 8, poor scores by any reckoning. At this point he said he had to introduce a friend to us and we expected maybe a student teacher to enter at this point. Instead he delved into his shabby Gladstone bag and placed a well-worn size 11 plimsoll on the desk. "This is the niff", said he and it likes to get acquainted with the posteriors of silly boys. Ever the class clown, I enquired why such a name and was told that when you were struck by it, it was the kind of sound you might make if you were suppressing a scream. At this point he offered me a demonstration but I backed down and the class quietened immediately.
He then called the three boys with the poor scores to the front of the class and lectured them on their inattention. My friend is now going to help you improve your ways as it gets to grip with your buttocks. At this point I thought Ashby was about to faint, he had gone deathly pale and fear mirrored in his eyes. He was called first as he had the lowest score, strange really for the boy was a regular swot and also a real namby pamby, the kind that brings a lucky rabbit foot to examinations. He muttered protest but was guided to a bending position so that we all had an excellent view of his trousers tightening over a slim figure. Cornard-Wells brought down the plimsoll and although it was only a mere glance, a scream leapt from his lips. Personally I think he was so terrified that he would have screamed if the desk had been hit instead. Splat! Another moderate stroke brought another yell. Most of us were disgusted with the boy, as this did not seem excessive. Splat! A third stroke brought hysterical crying and with that he was sent back to his seat where he whimpered for the rest of the day.
Now it was the turn of Finister, an angular freckly boy who was in the middle of the class in most things. He had the middle score and expected the same treatment. Not being so wealthy, there was a real sheen to his trousers as he bent over, his longer legs making a higher and more defined rump. Along came the niff with quite a bit more force and he did make the expected grunt. Whap! Another definite stroke had him gasping audibly. Whap! Whap! Two strokes in quick succession produced a little yelp and a shuffling of feet as he struggled to stay still.
Whap! Whap! A final two fair cracks had landed and he moaned audibly. He was told to stand and sent to his seat where he wriggled a little on the hard wood.
Now it was the turn of Hall, our white Rhodesian boy, you just knew that although he had the best score of the dunces that he was in for it and already there had been developed a running dialogue in classes between these two with African experience. He assumed the position that now seemed expected and was a joy to behold. He was actually almost 15, having been held back a year because of his overseas studies and although not too tall, his bottom was lot more meaty as his legs started to change from boy to man.
Whap! Whap! The niff was landing regularly in quick succession and amongst the studied concentration of us all you could tell that these first two strokes were with much more force than any others witnessed. Hall gave out a Ha! which could have been an expiration of breath but sounded like and was taken as an insolent challenge. Cornard-Wells paused and remembering the African heritage commanded Hall to prepare for spanking in the traditional way.
"Like in Salisbury, Sir?" Questioned Hall to which he received assent. Quickly to our amazement, Hall unfastened his trousers and lowered them revealing a white pair of underpants contrasting with his well-tanned complexion. When nothing happened he then lowered those also and we all could see his bottom which was starting to get hairier and his low hanging testicles were also visible. As he stretched his legs and made ready, I think we all noticed there was no evident tan line and wondered how he kept that still in England.
"You did well to comply! Hall" said Cornard- Wells as he brought the niff down and it really seemed to cling as it slapped against the bare skin. This definitely produced a grunt and an immediate red patch. Whap! Whap! Whap! three well directed shots brought forth an Aargh! and the bottom was becoming red all over. Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! made the bottom definitely red all over and Hall was now steadily moaning but never screaming and holding position well.
"Get Up Boy!" said the teacher and placed the niff back on the desk. Hall stood and as he was by now sideways I was sure that his c_o_c_k was much more meatier than I remember at other times in gym/shower though I still understood little of these things. He dressed and returned to his seat and although he was flushed and his eyes glinted, perhaps a little watery, he sat straight down and the class continued in a subdued manner.
All too soon the lesson finished and we milled around the punishees like a pack of newshounds. Ashby was threatening all sorts of trouble and would speak to his father, though in the event his best friend pointed out that he had the abysmal score and the favourable treatment and surely his father would be more angered about the score. Ashby piped down and just resolved never to risk the niff again. Finister had fewer friends and would just admit that it hurt more than he thought; though he was mighty brave about it. A lot clustered around the hero who was surprisingly modest and when pressed about the "African Way" just stated that it was routine to expect admonishment for poor effort and cheekiness. He had no complaints that he had suffered for the better of the scores and just admitted that Cornard-Wells knew him better than most. We all broke up for the day, each resolving not to suffer the same fate, each exhilarated all the same by the day's course and all wondering what would happen on another occasion.
NOTE: Rhodesia is now known as Zimbabwe, Salisbury as Harare. To be continued....