Please note: following the posting of 'In Defence of Corporal Punishment' on this archive, I received the following text from an anonymous correspondent. It is reproduced here with his permission. (UKboy).
In 1947 my parents sent me to a school well respected for its academic excellence. A small boarding establishment adjacent to the school, became my 'home' for the next five years. The place catered for 20 boys aged 13 - 18. It was run by a pleasant middle-aged couple who provided the essentials of life. At night they retired to their cottage and the P. E. teacher from school watched over us.
Mr Smythe had played County cricket. He was physically very fit and still in his thirties. He had spent the war on a minesweeper and was regarded by the 700 or so boys at the main school as a hero.
I was small for my age but able to stand up for myself. I'd never been away from home before so was a bit homesick. Corporal punishment was used to maintain discipline. I was scared stiff of 'the stick' so kept my head down to avoid trouble.
I had no brothers of my own and sharing the single dormitory with boys of varying ages was strange. The oldest lad was nearly 18. When I saw him strip for the shower I was impressed by the size of Sammuel's penis which 'grew' from its forest of black curly hair. My own pee-pee was tiny and hairless, by comparison.
One night after I'd changed into my pyjamas, another boy told me Mr Smyth wanted to see me in his study. I knocked on his door and was told to enter. There was a cheerful fire and the room was cosy. I looked up at the housemaster. He proceeded to catalogue a list of 'offences' I was supposed to have committed. None of them were true but when I tried to tell him that he got very angry and called me a liar.
He picked up a thin, whippy cane and told me to bend over the arm of a comfortable chair. I did as I was told, shaking with fear. My eyes studied the impression Mr Smyth's ample buttocks had left in the chair cushion. I felt him behind me. His hands gently pulled my pyjama pants down until he had bared my small bottom.
There are no words to describe what happened next. Slowly and methodically he beat me with that cane. An adult male using all his considerable strength to thrash a 13 year old boy. The pain was ferocious. I yelped and cried but he continued to lay into my quivering bottom. 12 hard strokes I endured before he was finished with me. Then he gently pulled my pjs back up over my swollen behind and I was permitted to return to the dorm.
The other lads saw my tear-stained face as I flung myself facedown on my bed. Sammuels pulled the covers up over my small frame and I cried myself to sleep.
At least twice a month I was summoned to that study where I endured hideously painful thrashings. Other boys were also beaten but they only received one or two strokes on the seat of their serge trousers. My school work suffered and I developed a stammer. I was also flogged by other masters for being 'inattentive'. It was a miserable existence.
One night as I tried to concentrate on my prep work Sammuels came over and sat beside me. The next day was a Saturday. The older boy said he wanted to talk. Then I got summoned to the study again and received yet another beating.
Next afternoon Sammuels took me into the town for a 'treat'. He watched while I devoured a lemon sherbert. The older boy told me he knew what was going on. He advised me to talk to the Headmaster. I shook my head. The thought of having to tell that strict authoritarian man about Mr Smyth required more courage than I possessed.
When we got back to school. Sammuels took me into the changing rooms beside the swimming pool. The place was deserted. He asked if he could see the marks on my bum? I dropped my trousers and shorts. Sammuels gasped when he saw the 'damage'. The flesh was covered with purplish welts and a mass of bruises. The senior boy's hand gently touched my bottom. Then he cupped each cheek in his hands. Gently, he prised open my twin-orbs and touched my tiny anus with the tip of his finger. He asked if the housemaster had done 'rude things' to me there? I shook my head more conscious of my 3 inch pricklet standing to attention as a result of Sammuel's attentions. He ignored that and I got dressed again.
Later that evening it was the senior boy who was summoned by the housemaster and given four strokes of the cane. Afterwards Sammuels and I were alone in the bathroom. He showed me the 'tram lines' on his muscular buttocks. His erect penis was quickly covered by a towel. I shyly touched his big bum which was very hot as a result of the beating.
The next school day the Latin master gave the class a test. I scored the lowest points so had to stay after the class was dismissed. The master administered four strokes to my trousered seat which rekindled my still smouldering buttocks into a blazing inferno.
The next lesson was History and I very gingerly sat down on the hard wooden seat. The master was elderly and droned on. Then a boy came in with a message. I was told to report to the headmaster!
My stomach lurched as I made my way along the empty corridors. When I found the headmaster's study I was surprised to see Sammuels standing there. He hugged me and whispered to be 'brave'. The headmaster closed the door behind us.
Sammuels told the distinguished looking gentleman how Mr Smyth had made my life a misery. It was too much and I burst into tears. The floodgates opened and I cried my heart out. The headmaster then told the senior boy to take me into the town to see a doctor. A grim faced GP inspected my torn rump while Sammuels looked on. Then we returned to the school.
The housemaster was gone by morning. The beatings I had endured were never referred to again. The other masters were very lenient with me as they tried to make up for the ordeal I had suffered. Freed from tyranny, I began soaking up knowledge like a sponge. I ended up with a decent education.
I think that corporal punishment is a quick and effective discipline tool when used by wise and caring masters. Today, teachers could receive psychological testing which would weed out the Mr Smyths from the profession. However, 'the stick' has now gone and I doubt it will return to the classroom in my lifetime.