(This is a true story).
I went to a secular school in the Antipodes, in the decade following WW2. The cane was used a very great deal. Boys were called to the front of the class and flogged. We were able to keep our shorts up for public beatings but were caned bare in private.
The school was in a rural town which was home to many Chinese market gardeners. They spoke little English but were generally well respected in the community for their hard work. The son of one family excelled in science at university so decided to become a teacher.
Mr Yee was short and not very manly. His voice was high and very soft. His control of our class of 12 year old third formers was ineffectual, to say the least. We literally rioted in the classroom while Mr Yee attempted to teach. His voice could not be heard. This charade went on class after class. Perhaps he thought we'd tire of it?
The teachers in the rooms on either side of Mr Yee must have heard the noise but never intervened.
One day it was bedlam as usual and I'm ashamed to admit that I was just as guilty as the rest. When the bell rang we trooped out except Mr Yee took a grip on my shoulder. His hold was so tight his fingernails dug into me.
There was a five minute break between classes to allow boys to get from one room to the next. Mr Yee shut his door which signalled to the fourth formers who were to follow us to remain in the corridor. Mr Yee picked up a cane and gestured for me to 'bare and bend'.
Of all the boys in my class I was probably the only one not to have been caned yet. Being small for my age and having to wear glasses meant I usually paid some other penalty. Shakily, I dropped my shorts and underpants and bent over a desk. Mr Yee administered six hard cuts. A 'sixer' was the maximum allowed by the education authorities. The pain was diabolical and I yelled my head off after every cut.
I left that classroom with my bottom a mass of fiery hurt. The fourth formers waiting in the classroom were quiet having overheard the beating. I dragged myself to the gym and changed for P. T. I had the changing room to myself as the others were already in the gym.
The P. T. teacher worked us on parallel bars that day and we also leap-frogged over the horse. Not easy at the best of times and most difficult given the state I was in. When we were dismissed and all back in the changing room my bottom was critically inspected by the other lads. They were most impressed because Mr Yee had managed to draw blood with every stroke - pinpricks of the red stuff, not a flood. No teacher had drawn blood on any of my classmates like that.
The consequence of Mr Yee's beating was a much better behaved Form 3b. Once we could hear him we discovered Mr Yee was really an excellent teacher. I don't recall him ever caning another boy.
With hindsight I think the other teachers must have persuaded him to cane one boy 'as an example'. It was too much of a coincidence, doing it right before gym class where teachers knew welts were inspected. But why pick on the smallest lad? Perhaps because they knew I'd yell the loudest!
At the dinner table that night my older brother told my parents I'd been caned by Mr Yee. Our Dad was a blue collar worker without much education. He placed a great deal of importance on learning. He was not in the least xenophobic which not many lads could say about their Dads back then. The upshot was a hiding 'for getting into trouble at school'. It was carried out as usual in the bathroom. Dad observed the impressive cane welts but just said 'serves you right'. His belt soon stoked that fiery volcano Mr Yee had made of my little bare bottom. I was sent to bed early, a very sore and sorry boy. The only consolation was my brother also got a hiding for 'telling tales'.
These days the politically correct would scream 'abuse' but that it was not. Form 3b finally got to hear their gifted science teacher so the end justified the means. Dad was perhaps a little too keen to use his belt but in every other way was an exemplary father.