After the second world war the Commonwealth government set up Special Schools. Children from poor families were sent to these places where fresh air, good food and firm discipline did wonders for their constitution.
When I was nearly thirteen years old my mother took me to see the doctor, yet again. We were frequent visitors to his consulting rooms. How that good man must have sighed when he saw us in his waiting room. My father had been killed during the desert campaign. Ever since my mother had received that fateful telegram she had smothered her only son with love and affection. There was nothing physically wrong with me but her smothering had turned her precious son into a right little mummy's boy.
"What seems to be the problem?", the doctor asked, wearily. He was a handsome young man in his late twenties who had been up until 4.00am delivering twins.
My mother launched into a catalogue of vague symptoms while I passively looked on.
"Right. I'd better have a look at him. David, go behind the screen please and take off all your clothes".
"Mind you fold them tidily" my mother cautioned. She was well pleased the doctor was taking her seriously.
He joined me behind the screen and carried out a thorough physical examination. I submitted to an efficient foreskin inspection and allowed a surprisingly gentle finger to explore inside my fundament without complaint.
"How're you getting on at school, David?"
"OK thanks, doctor".
"Please don't use that American vulgarism". My mother's voice came through the curtains.
"Sorry, Mummy".
The doctor frowned. "What's your favourite sport?"
"I'm not allowed to play sport. Mummy says I'm too delicate".
"Hmmm. Ever get the strap at school?"
"No, doctor. I'm a good boy".
The frown got even deeper. "You can get dressed now, David".
The man washed his hands and dried them on a roller-towel. I put my clothes back on and then joined the grown-ups.
"Mrs McKenzie, David is the picture of health. Still, you were right to bring him to see me. His social development is seriously deficient for a boy approaching puberty".
"What does that mean, doctor?"
The doctor resisted the urge to tell my mother she was smothering the life out of her son.
"I'd like David to go to a Special School for three months and then I will re-assess him".
"B-but that would mean David going away from home". My mother was very upset.
"It's for the best", the doctor said, firmly. My mother opened her mouth and closed it again.
"I'll fill out the forms and set wheels in motion. By this time next week you should be settling in at Abbotsford, David. Goodbye, Mrs McKenzie".
Five days later I was on a train bound for Abbotsford. It had been a wrench for my mother at the station and it was with some relief to actually be on the moving train.
"All tickets please".
I handed over the square of cardboard to the uniformed Guard.
"Abbotsford, eh?" said the man as he clipped the ticket. "We'll have to organise a pillow for you to sit on for the return journey". He grinned at me and then continued walking with practiced ease up the swaying carriage. I had no idea what he was talking about.
Two hours later the train pulled into the tiny Abbotsford station. I got down from the train and then collected my suitcase from the Guard's van.
"David McKenzie?"
I turned around and looked up into the handsome face of a big man in his mid-thirties.
"Yes. I'm David McKenzie".
"George Balfour. I've come to take you to the school".
He picked up my suitcase and we walked out to the road where a pre-war Morris was waiting. We climbed on board and Mr Balfour drove the short distance to the school.
"I'm the attendant who works in your villa. That's where you'll be living while you're here". He looked down at me. "Keep your nose clean and you'll be right". I had no idea what he was talking about. Some adults seemed to speak a different language.
I learned during the short journey that Abbotsford had been a mining town. The coal had run out before the war. The government had given the small town a Special School which was now Abbotsford's largest employer. Mr Balfour had been a miner like his father before him.
The school buildings was constructed from stone from the local quarry. I was taken through the front door and placed into the care of a formidable looking woman who I was told to call Matron. She helped me unpack the suitcase and store everything away in the locker beside my bed. There was a total of eight beds in that dormitory.
Next, a visit to the school doctor. He tapped my chest and listened to my heart. My hands were inspected.
"Tsk! Small for your age". He made a note on a chart.
"Take down your shorts and underpants. Hurry up, boy! Haven't got all day". He inspected my bottom. "Splendid buttocks. Excellent". The doctor made another note and told me to get dressed again.
Matron who was hovering, whisked me off to the dining room. Two hundred children aged between 9 and 16 were cheerfully eating the evening meal. A place at a table was found and a plate of wholesome country fare placed in front me. To my surprise I ate the lot.
Afterwards, I was shepherded back to the villa. Seven boys of varying ages were introduced and then a nurse came around with Blaine's Emulsion. We were lined up and dosed, one by one. The liquid had a foul taate but was supposed to be good for us.
Mr Balfour towered over a 16 year old called Ginger before escorting him through a door marked 'Treatment Room'. Some time later Ginger came out again with tears streaming down his face. He was rubbing his bottom through his shorts which made me think the boy had been given an injection.
I read a book while the others did homework. Soon it was time to get ready for bed. After 'lights out' I thought briefly of Mummy but was soon fast asleep.
The next morning Mr Balfour supervised us under the communal showers. I noticed Ginger's bottom was covered with stripes and bruises. He must have been injured playing sport, I concluded.
We got dressed and had a hearty cooked breakfast. Then off to school. My teacher was Mr Sim, a young man not long out of training college. Mid morning and mid afternoon we had to rest on our beds for half an hour.
After school the boys from my villa were kicking a ball around. They invited me to join in. I surprised myself by doing just that and thoroughly enjoyed it.
That nurse lined us up again after the evening meal for another dose of that foul smelling liquid. When she came to me I clamped my mouth shut tight. She sighed and squeezed my nostrils, cutting off the air supply. I had to open my mouth to breathe and she poured the emulsion down my throat.
"Mr Balfour", the nurse said. "David needs to be taught some manners".
I felt the man's strong hand on my shoulders as he lead me into the Treatment Room and closed the door.
"What did I tell you about keeping your nose clean?" he asked.
I bowed my head. The big man fished out my file. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a thick leather strap.
"Normally, I'd give it to you on the hands but the Doc reckons they're underdeveloped. It'll have to be on the bum. Take your shorts and underpants right off and lie face down on the treatment table".
I did as I was told. Mr Balfour pushed my shirt-tails clear and then laid into my bottom with the strap. I'd never had so much as a spanking before so yelled and carried on at the pain of it. Each time the leather cracked across my quivering mounds, a broad band of pain erupted. The Attendant ignored my yells and gave me a real good hiding.
Like Ginger had the night before I left the Treatment Room with tears streaming down my face and clutching my bottom. Ginger came over to me.
"Balfour ?"
"Yes", I sobbed.
"He really knows how to hurt your bum", Ginger said, sympathetically. "Mind you, I get worse at home".
When I snuggled up in bed that night I thought about the strapping. I had been wrong to upset the nurse who was only trying to do her best for us. The leathering had stung like the devil but was well-deserved. Faced with one of Mummy's tearful 'silences' or the strap from Mr Balfour. I'd take the leather, any day.
The next afternoon we were all supposed to go swimming in the town pool. I did not own a pair of trunks because Mummy did not approve of my going in water where other people had been. Mr Balfour had a son about my age so very kindly lent me his boy's trunks.
The other children happily splashed around the pool. Mr Balfour and Mr Sim were in the pool with them. The Attendant's hsiry body contrasted with the teacher who was almost hairless by comparison. I sat on the edge of the pool, dangling my feet into the warm water.
"Come and join us, David", encouraged Mr Sim. I slid into the pool where the water came up to my waist. The teacher held me tight in his strong arms and encouraged me to float. By the end of the session I could manage a dog-paddle from one side of the pool to the other.
The weeks rolled by and my self-confidence grew by the day. Ginger and I became firm friends. One morning, a woman from the town took a painting class. I was showing off in front of Ginger and flicked paint at a girl. My aim was poor and the paint splattered our woman visitor on the face. Mr Sim was upset and, after he'd helped her clean the paint off, made me apologise.
"See me after school", he said.
So, at three o'clock when the other children had returned to their villas, I stood in front of my teacher's desk. He reprimanded me at length and then took down a thin, whippy cane from the top ledge of the blackboard.
"Hold out your hand".
"Please sir, Mr Balfour gives it to me on the bum".
"Bottom", the teacher corrected, automatically. There was a pause while he checked a chart with my name on it.
"Ah, yes. The doctor noted that you have underdeveloped palms for a 12 year old". Mr Sim placed the cushion from his chair on top of a desk in the front row.
"Tske down your shorts and underpants. Position yourself over that desk".
I did as I was told. Warm hands pushed my shirt-tails clear.
"Nothing underdeveloped about your bottom", the teacher observed, tapping his cane against my firm cheeks.
There was a woosh! of air as the stick thudded against my backside. For a moment I felt nothing but then my nether regions were engulfed in fiery hurt. I flung my head back and howled. The pain had reached a crescendo and was just starting to taper off when the cane struck again.
"OW!" I hollered, tears and snot streamed down my face.
The teacher ignored my distress and administered a full 'six of the best'.
The pain was frightful, and after he was done I lay across the desk, sobbing my heart out. Then, slowly, painfully, I got up and dressed myself.
"Use your handkerchief, David", Mr Sim said, gently. I found the grimy square of cloth in my pocket, blew my nose and wiped my face.
"Go back to your villa when you're ready".
I trudged off, head down and bottom still painfully throbbing.
The next morning Mr Balfour supervised the showers as usual.
"Your marks will last a lot longer than a few spots of paint on that woman's face" the Attendant said with a grin. "You're a tough little rooster", he added affectionately.
The weeks rolled by and all too soon Matron was helping me pack my suitcase. Mr Balfour drove me to the train.
"I'm going to miss you, son", the big man said. I responded by flinging my arms around him.
The steam locomotive whistled as it neared the station. The Attendant gently untangled me. We loaded the suitcase into the Guard's van. I found my seat and stood waving to Mr Balfour until I could see him no more.
My mother hugged me at the railway station and then took me home. A week or so later the doctor's receptionist arranged an appointment.
"Excellent report from Abbotsford", boomed the doctor. "Well, done!". I blushed and the man grinned. "I have even better news. Mr Sim from the school has arranged for David's secondary education to be at the Caledonian School for Boys".
"But Doctor", my mother protested, "Caledonian School is fifty miles from here".
"The government has a scheme for the sons of servicemen who gave their lives in the war. David will board at Caledonian - with all his fees paid by a grateful government".
My mother bit her lip as the doctor shook my hand. And so began my next great adventure ...