It was February 1963.
I was fifteen years old and in serious trouble at school. The Deputy Headmaster had sent me home after I had been caught up in the roof space above the school hall. It was during a history lesson, which I decided not to attend, preferring instead to relax in a hammock that we had installed in the attic. Access to the attic was via a stage lighting loft and the boy I was with worked the stage lights during school plays and introduced me to this secret world. We used it first to dodge games and PT lessons. It was easy as we changed into our kit and disappeared into the boys' toilets whilst the rest of the class out or into the Gymnasium. We darted out into the stage area that also adjoined the changing rooms and climbed to our hiding place. We had been doing this for some months and were getting bolder. We were both in the bottom stream at school and were not expected to get many O levels. The way I was going it would be unlikely to get any as I was dodging any lesson at which I thought I would not be missed. I was a quiet, generally well-behaved boy and few masters even noticed I was in the lesson. Things were about to change.
I was with by friend Steven in the attic, chatting and smoking, whilst below us a first form boy was receiving a violin lesson from a visiting teacher. He had obviously become a little upset by the noise we were making and reported it to Mr Wight, the school music master.
"What are you boys doing up there".
We froze. It was Mr Wight.
I ventured "Nothing Sir"
"I'm going to get the headmaster" and before we could do anything he left the hall below. We scuttled down to the stage and met the Deputy Head fuming across the hall in our direction. The Headmaster was out. We both looked our feet whilst he questioned us intently. I told him that it was a free period. It was for Steven. My lie was soon discovered as we followed him to his study and were told to wait outside. My bottom was itching as it used to when I was smaller in anticipation of a caning. We went in the study and I was told that I had lied. We were both told that we would have to see the headmaster as the matter was too serious for him to deal with and we had better go straight home and must consider ourselves suspended.
We left the school but did not go home. We were scared that our den would be discovered including the hammock and cigarette ends. We waited behind some bushes near the school entrance until we saw the deputy head leave the school. We nipped in and spent a good half-hour clearing up. We both arrived home late but easily made an excuse.
Discipline at home was lax. It wasn't when I was little and my father used a cane on me several times, always on my bare bottom, but the last time was when I was eleven. Interest in my progress at grammar school waned. As I was not self motivated I needed to be kept in line and forced to work as with many boys. I was caned a couple of times in the first and second year - on both occasions it was three strokes through my grey flannel shorts - but nothing more. I can think of numerous instances when I should have been punished. There were times when I fantasised about being caned, properly, with my trousers down. The school though, like my father, and perhaps like the 1960's was becoming permissive.
I was not really worried but was not relishing the visit the Headmaster in the morning. I expected to be caned. At least six strokes. The more I thought about that the more I wondered how I would react. Would he let me keep my trousers on? I had never heard of any boy being caned on the bare bottom at this school. I was playing truant though and that was serious. I thought about wearing a second pair of underpants under my trousers but decided not to. Although nervous I felt I wanted or needed to be caned properly. I cycled to school the following morning with butterflies in my tummy and a very itchy bottom. I was also aware that I was aroused. My friend Steven looked very unhappy. He had taken the precaution of wearing a swimming costume in addition to his underpants. He told me he had never had the cane. We were summoned to the Head's study after morning assembly. We were fourth and fifth in line. The three boys ahead of us were talking in assembly and each was to get two strokes. Hearing the noise of the cane and seeing the tears pricking the eyes of the three as they emerged did nothing for my confidence. He was a very unhappy headmaster. He lectured us thoroughly. It seemed to go on and on. I just wanted to be caned and go. . . .
"You are therefore suspended from school until further notice. You will go and collect your things and return here for a letter that you must take to your parents"
Oh! No cane! Great!
I went home with the letter and gave it to my mum who seemed not to be too upset. It seemed they wanted my parents to go and see the Headmaster. Dad could go she said and she telephoned him. I went to my room and read a book. I did not see my father that day. He had not come home by the time I went to bed. I got up the following morning and put my school uniform on as normal expecting to go back to school. I went downstairs wondering what Dad would have to say.
"Ah Philip. Go into the dining room", that was from Dad who I met in the hall. His tone of voice was commanding. I went into the dining room. My father came in shortly afterwards and he sat at the dining table. I went to sit also.
"Stand up straight facing me at the other side of the table" he said, in a voice I do not remember him using before. He sounded stern.
"I'm sorry, I'm sure" I muttered in a not altogether respectful tone.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that! You are in very serious trouble. Stand up straight with your hands to your side and look at me."
I now felt very nervous. He had never spoken to me like that. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that. I instinctively obeyed and looked him in the eyes. He looked back at me with a stare of such severity my knees turned to jelly and my bottom started to itch.
"I have been to see your headmaster. You are to be expelled from school"
"What!" I exclaimed.
"What SIR. You will address me as Sir during this interview in keeping with the gravity of the situation."
"Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir" I said as tears began to well up. I now felt like a ten year-old.
"Your expulsion has not yet been confirmed and I spent about two hours yesterday trying to persuade your headmaster that he should give you a chance. He has agreed that if you and I present him with an agreed code of conduct that he agrees is strict enough he will accept you back into the school on a term's trial. The code of conduct will mean a very strict regime of discipline for you, both at home and at school. Success will depend on how strict the regime is and how well you cope with it. If the description of the regime together with proof that it has started is strict enough the term's trial will begin. If it is not, then your expulsion is confirmed and I will decide what is to be done with you. It will involve finding you a new school that will take you on. Having spoken with your Head and understanding the kind of discipline the school can provide you with, I believe you are better off staying where you are. You will find out about that if we get over the first hurdle."
He looked hard at me. I looked down.
"It will depend on you, Philip. Let me tell you what I have decided. Look at me. We have one week. During this week your life is going to change dramatically. You are going to return to the status you had when you started at the school - that of an eleven year-old schoolboy. Now before anything else go to your room and undress completely. You will see a large carrier bag on the bed containing clothes. You will put them on and come back here."
"What are they?"
"Clothing suitable for a boy and before you ask you will see that the trousers are short. Now do as you're told. There will be no argument. Be quick."
Oh no. Short trousers! There on the bed was a large bag from the school outfitters. I emptied the contents onto the bed. There were grey short trousers, white underpants, grey long socks, grey shirts and pullovers. No school uniform as such. I undressed completely and put the crisp new underpants on followed by one of the grey school shirts. I then put my legs into the white-lined Terylene/wool worsted grey short trousers and pulled them up, tucking the shirt into the top and doing them up. I saw myself in the mirror - or rather a little schoolboy. I had to remember I was fifteen. I sat on the bed and put on a pair of the long grey socks. The patterned tops came right over my knees before turning them over. I put on the black shoes and a green V-neck long sleeve pullover. I looked rather like a Cub Scout. I was amazed how comfortable the clothes felt. I don't remember my old flannel shorts feeling like this. I also thought I looked rather smart and - really boyish. The long socks felt great and somehow secure. The tops had elastic built in. I used to wear gaiters. The lining in the trousers felt smooth to my bottom and I suddenly realised what I was now in for downstairs. The last time my Dad had caned me I was eleven. I went downstairs and into the dining room. I faced my father across the table upon which a school cane was resting. It was quite long and thick and of a yellowish colour with a bent over handle. It looked a lot more serious than the thin bamboo cane I was punished with when small. My tummy started feeling funny and there was a slight stirring below and yes, my bottom was itching again. I looked at the cane and then at my father. He somehow looked more approachable. I had passed the first test.
"My word, Philip you do look smart," he said as he stood up and walked around me. "A picture of boyhood. Let me apologise to you first of all for ever letting you wear long trousers. From today you only dress in short trousers"
He then picked up the cane.
"I also wish to apologise for not maintaining the strict discipline that you were used to as a small boy. During this week we are going to rediscover discipline."
He bent the cane double.
"This cane has been supplied to me by your Headmaster. I am going to use it on you now and at other times this week as punishment. I don't think there is any use in explaining why you need punishment. You know exactly why."
I was now feeling very sorry for myself and I fought back tears whilst looking down at my newly bared knees.
"You are suspended from school for the week during which time I am going to provide you with a severe regime of punishment and schoolwork. I do however have to go to work today and tomorrow but have arranged to be off on Thursday and Friday. We will spend those two days on intensive schoolwork. Today you are going to copy out a substantial section from the book of Proverbs from this Bible, in your best handwriting. I will set other work for tomorrow. I will check today's task in detail and cane you severely if I find any mistakes at all or if the work is not neat enough." He pointed to a Bible that was resting on the sideboard.
"Yes, Sir" is all that I had to say.
"Now I am going to give you your first caning from me for five years. It will not be too severe, but a very good introduction to what is to come. This evening I am going to thrash you very severely indeed. For this caning now, I just want you to bend right over and grasp your ankles. You may keep your trousers on"
I bent over as instructed. I was not going to argue. I had accepted my status and fate.
"Legs apart please. Stay down in position whilst I give you twelve strokes. If you move from position I will start counting again from one!"
I looked between my legs above the knees at the point where my smartly pressed short trousers gave way to bare flesh and saw the shadow of the cane. It gently touched the middle of my bottom through the grey cloth. A second later I heard a swish as the cane came down on me. I heard the crack and second later felt the intense burning of the stick as it bit into my bottom. I tried not to cry. This was punishment I thought. I fought the urge to stand up and clutch my bottom. I stayed and waited for the next stroke. It hurt more than the first. The pain was excruciating. I did not remember it hurting like that before. I cried out loud. The third stroke came and I began to panic that I would not be able to get though this. I bit my lips and clenched my buttocks as the fourth stroke landed. That one hurt with intensity that frightened me. I was really sobbing now. I relaxed my bottom. Stiffening it was a mistake. The next stroke landed on an earlier one and a new experience of pain came to me. To think I had worried about being caned at school. This was something else. The sixth stroke landed at the base of my bottom almost on my legs. I cried afresh. I was really blabbing now. I am sure a stranger passing the house would have assumed an eight year-old was being thrashed. I stayed in position, sometimes adjusting my feet to avoid falling forward as the cane struck me. My hands gripped the bottom of my socks so hard that I left bruising there. There was a pause. I could only hear my sobbing.
"How are you doing, Philip" my father spoke in a kinder voice. "You are halfway through"
"All right Sir!" I choked back more tears. I looked at the plain grey pattern of my sock tops. Smart I thought but I must keep them pulled up. My bottom was burning. The seventh stroke came down. It was the hardest yet and I screamed out in pain. The rest came slowly. The pain only grew in intensity but I knew I was going to survive. At about the tenth stroke I remember thinking how on earth was I going to cope with this on my bare bottom. Was that going to be tonight? The final stroke landed right on top of the one at the point where my legs took over from my bottom. Right on top of an earlier one. I was going to be aware of those particular strokes all day, even more than the others.
"Stand up and put your hands on your head. Do not move."
It was over but I dearly wanted to rub my wounds. My bottom felt as if it was literally on fire. I tried to imagine what it looked like. Was it bleeding? My father went out of the room and I heard the young voices of my brothers. Peter was eleven and Christopher was nine. I had temporarily forgotten they existed. They came in the room with Dad looking very sheepish. Peter seemed to be trying not to smile. They were embarrassed.
"Your brother has just been caned as I am sure you are aware. He is going to be caned again tonight and everyday at least twice for the rest of this week. You two must not talk to him and he must not talk to you. He is in total disgrace. You will also see, I am sure that he has returned to short trousers. This is permanent."
My brothers looked at me but did not speak. Peter was dressed in our grammar school uniform. I suddenly was aware of how smart he looked. He was wearing short trousers just like mine but his socks had coloured tops. I hoped I would be able to wear the school colours again. Their father ushered the boys out and I heard serious sounding talking outside. I felt they were being told off. I stayed in position trying to cope with the pain. When I thought it was safe I removed a hand from my head and gently rubbed my bottom through my shorts. It was ridged like a ploughed field. My brothers went off to school and Dad came back in and told me to take my hands off my head. I rubbed my bottom thankfully. The pain was less intense but the fire was still raging.
"Now I want to say how well you took that caning", my father said as he held out his hand. I realised I was to shake it. I offered my hand and he grasped it firmly.
"Well done, son. A good start." That made me feel really great.
The day was spent alone in my bedroom copying out Solomon. There was much mention of the rod of discipline. I knew all about that. My father had obtained an old school desk and chair and had replaced my old furniture with these. The chair was hard and seemed to carry on punishing my bottom. The fire turned to an itching that became more irritating as the day proceeded. The room was cold and my legs and knees developed goose bumps. I toyed with the idea of putting long trousers on but found that they had been removed from my cupboard. I dare not stop writing. I had to finish before father came home. That was the rule. Halfway through the morning I looked at my bare bottom in the mirror and was horrified by the bruising. I was to get more tonight. The afternoon wore on and the room became colder. I was locked in but my mother brought me something to eat at lunchtime. She was very short with me. At about five o'clock I finished to imposition. I had writer's cramp. Most of it was neat but towards the end there were signs of it being rushed. I felt it would earn me some strokes. I lay on the bed to wait for Dad. It was freezing now. I lay on my front and the cold air caressed the backs of my legs above my sock tops and below the hem of my shorts. It was in marked contrast to the still warm glow of my bottom. I comforted myself by rubbing through the front of my shorts. I thought of the thrashing to come. I thought about going back to school in short trousers. I would be teased unmercifully. That brought me back with a start and I sat up. I started to cry again and took off my shoes. I climbed into bed and must have fallen asleep. I woke to the sound of a key in the lock.
"Get out of bed this instance" my father thundered. I crawled out of bed. "Look at you. How dare you get in bed with your clothes on? Put your shoes on, comb your hair, pull your socks up, tuck your shirt in and get down to the lounge immediately!"
I was left reeling. I moved as fast as I could and presented myself in the lounge. My father was standing with his back to the blazing coal fire flexing a long thin whippy cane. It was not the cane he had used on me this morning.
"This is to be your main thrashing. It is to be across your bare bottom and legs but first I am going to give you six on each hand. Hold a hand out. I faced my father and felt the warmth of the fire on my bare knees. I held out my right hand. My father raised the cane and with a flick of his wrist brought it down on my hand with a terrific sting and I instinctively took my hand away.
"That one does not count. Do not remove your hand!"
I offered it again and it was treated the same way. Five more cuts were given. I bent double and put the injured hand between the legs of my shorts in agony. I had to take the same on my left hand and by the time that was over my tears were running freely. My father then stood in front of me and undid the clasp at the top of my shorts. He pulled down the zip. My hands were too injured to have done that.
"You will now kneel on the sofa and bend over the arm. First take off your shoes". He pointed at the left arm of the sofa.
I obeyed. I bent right over the arm and my damaged fingertips touched the carpet. My knees sank into the seat of the sofa. I felt my shorts being lowered. My underpants followed and I was aware of the heat from the fire.
"I am now going to give you twenty-four strokes" my father said matter of factly.
As with the morning the cane touched my bottom but this time there was no clothing to protect me. The thrashing commenced.
The cane was thinner than was used on me this morning. It cut into my flesh replacing the bruising with an indescribable pain. The strokes came quite quickly. I screamed and screamed. There was no letup. I heard voices outside of the door. The strokes just came down one after the other. The cane burned and burned my bare bottom. Some strokes cut into the backs of my legs. Some so low they would be visible under my shorts. I did not know what to do with myself. The punishment suddenly stopped. It was over. I was sent to bed. I staggered upstairs and climbed into bed. I lay on my front and cried myself to sleep.
That was the end of my first day of the new regime.