Mr Jones could not believe the number of times his new ten and six year old sons were in trouble with their mum. On fine days at weekends they only had to be in the garden for half an hour before there was trouble and one of the boys, usually the older of the two, would be upstairs in the house with his bottom bared to the slapping sounds of his mother's slipper, accompanied by howls and cries from the boy.
Mr Jones's lessons to gain the boy entry to the best seconadary school in the town continued. he and the boy's mother wanted the best for their son and if that meant a painful bottom to ensure proper concentration in homework then that was the prioce they would pay. Mr Jones had decided that a cane would help focus the boys mind and so, at a meeting of senior teachers in the area, he made a special point of discussing the matter with Mr Grindle, the deputy head of the best prep school in the area. It being 1962 the school at which Mr Gindle was deputy head ( a boarding school for boys aged 7 to 12) had ended corporal punishment with the cane, now only the slipper was used, as was the case at Mr Jones's school. Of course it being a boarding school the slipper was used much more often at Mr Grindle's establishment.
Mr Grindle was able to assist and confided that a stock of old canes was still kept at the school, now in an old loft. He invited Mr Jones back for a sherry and to collect a cane of his choice.
Some hours later Mr Jones returned home satisfied that the small whippy cane he had 'borrowed' would be just the job. he was visualising the effect it would have on his sons bottom and was eager to try it out. His pace quickened.
The next day.
'Good morning, my boy how are you this fine morning'' my new father said. I stirred, still half asleep.
''Time to get up, there's homework to do this morning''.
I turned over, and father was standing beside my bed holding a long thin stick in his hand. I opened my eyes fully and stared at the cane. I had seen canes in comics and on TV but never seen one in real life. I immediately knew what it was for. My father swished the stick in the air and said'' what do you think of this then?''.
I did not reply but sat up in bed. Father walked over to the door of my bedroom and hung the cane on the hook which was used for my dressing gown.
''We may be needing this later'' he said with a smile.
After breakfast, his wife and younger boy out of the way, Mr Jones informed his young son that he would set revision and later there would be a test. He added that failure to achieve the required pass mark would mean a caning.
I did not like the way my father smiiled when he mentioned the cane, and expeceted that the pass mark would be hard to achieve. The subject was history and I sat in the dining room of the house learning about the civil war. I knew that I had to learn details and facts or else.
After the hour was up father entered the room and took the history book away from me. I picked up my pen and reached across the table for the paper on which the answers to fathers questions would be written. Father began asking me questions and I wrote down the answers. At first all went well but then I became unsure of the answer to a question. Father could see I was confused but he said firmly ''either you know the answers or you dont know them' so I missed the answer off and waited for the next question.
After a while the questions enede and I was allowed to go outsidein the garden for a break. Father explained that he would check my taest score and call me back in when he was finished.
I went outside and kicked my football about but I was only thinking about how I had done in my test. I knew that some of the answers were wrong but maybe I would be let off punishment.
The next thing I knew I heard a knocking from an upstairs bedroom. I glanced up and saw father beckoning me. I ran into the house, took off my shoes and headed for the bedroom.
Father was standing at the end of my bed with the cane in his hand.
''I am not satisfied with your test result boy'' he said. Come in and take of your trousers. I obediently removed my shorts. I was then ordered to remove my teeshirt which I did, and was now standing in pants and socks.
The usual routine followed and I had to turn with my back to my father and take my underpants off slowly. I hated this part the most. Dad sitting on my bed looking at my bottom as I undressed.
I was placed across his knee and felt the stick on the middle of my botttom. It was being moved up and down, I dont know why.
Suddenly I felt it off my skin and then....
crack...
I had never such a pain on my bottom. It stung really badly and I cried out, begging my father not to hit me again. It was worse than the slipper, I remember that.
Moments later the cane was whacked down and I shrieked as a hot line pierced my skin. I started to wriggle and move to try and escape the pain but I was held in place by fathers right leg which stopped me moving off his left leg.
I dont know how many whacks of the cane I was given but only that the pain in my bottom was terrible and I was howling in agony when I was allowed to get off fathers knee. As I turned to face him he askled ''how do you like my new cane?''
I replied that I did not like it at all. Father then asked me ''how does your bottom feel son?'' I told him something like ''it hurts a lot daddy'' and he smiled back. I remember that first caning very well and it was the first of many I got over the next few years. I passed into the grammar school and my mother told me she was very proud of me. My father was convinced that the thin whippy cane that remained hanging in my bedroom ready for use for many years was the thing that helped me make it into my new school.
I think he was right about that.
Although I was to feel the terrible sting of the cane often, my father began to turn his attention to David, my younger brother, after I got into the grammar school at the age of eleven.