Like many boys before me I went through terrible anxiety of report card day. We had reports at the end of all three terms.
Like many others in my class (I discovered from my friends ) I received advance wanrings from my father of the consequebces of a poor report. I think teachers know from expressions on the faces of the boys in their class or discussions with parents, or perhaps innocent phrases used by the boys themselves, which boys will earn a punishment when they get home.
At school I had two special friends, Simon and Bradley. Like me they were more inot the outdoor life and sport than adademic work but unlike me they did not pass inot grammar school at the age of eleven.
I remember hearing Simon tell another boy during playtime one day when we were ten that Bradley got it on his pyjama trousers if his report card was not good. Simon had not noticed either me or Mr Green , our form teacher, listening into the conversation. I remember Mr Green smiling at me. I wondered if my father had told Mr Green what I got if he was not pleased with my reprt card and I blushed red.
The procedure on my return home with my report card was always the same. I think the meetings with my father had started when I was seven but I could not say for sure. My mother would greet me at the door with a sympathetic look, a large hug and a 'dont worry dear' a glass of cold milk and a large piece of cake. I wonder now if she could have changed anything. I doubt it. I had such a churning feeling in my stomach that I could never eat a bite of the cake. I always felt ill at this point. My mother would say things like 'oh well dear ...I am sure your father will be pleased''. I would think to myself 'no he won't..he's never staisfied and anyway you won't be the one with the stinging bottom anyway'. Whe father caned me he always did a thorough job, he never tickled me but gave me a thrashing.
Of course I was not allowed to change out of my school clothes. I know why now but I was never sure then.
I had to wait in the dining room for my father to arrive home from the office at 6.00pm sharp. I held the report in my hands which always started to sweat.
I heard fathers car come into the driveway and my stomach started to hurt.
'Charles...come here'' father would call from his study.
I walked down the hall to the study. I opened the door and walked into my position. Father stared directly at me but was silent. He went round me and shut the door firmly and then went to sit down behind his old desk. The desk was empty apart from the cane. It was always like this but it still frightened mme. I knew how the cane could bite my young bottom and the pain I felt from it.
I looked at my feet as father liked and I heard him open the report. For the next few minutes the room was silent apart from the odd comment under father's breath or words I could barely hear. He made me suffer. He enjoyed the formality od the occassion I think. I did not know if the report was good or not. If it was good I would probably get six stokes with his cane (he would make up a reason to justify it although as he did not let me see my report he could do anything he wanted with me and I would not be wiser). If he was not pleased I would get a lot more and it would lastr longer. I would also be sent straight to bed afterwards without supper.
''I am not happy with this report boy' father announced. My heart leapt into my ribs at these words and I just looked at my father. He had that stern 'I am going to beat you until it hurts' look on his face. I hated him. I knew that Brdaley's dad hit him on his pyjamas but I did not want to be caned. I knew I could not say anything or cry as this would make father more angry. I watched as he picked up his cane and flexed it in between his hands. I hated that cane and when he flexd it like that nearly as much as having my underwear taken down .
'Go and bend over' father ordered and I walked to the chair which I had to bend across for the cane. I undid my shool shorts and put them on the seat of the chair as I had to and then went and bent over the back of the chair and waited. My bottom was now up and facing my father. I had to wait for him. I did not know what he was doing while I waited like this but the blood going onto my head made me feel dizzy.
After a while I heard father coming and kept styi;ll while he pulled my underpants down. I had to lift myself up so that they were free to fall from my front side. Father always pulled my underpants down to my socks but never off altogether.
He placed the cane on my bottom and announced 'ready for number one'. I was not to answer so kept quiet as the cane was lifted away from my bottom before crashing down in a mark of geat pain on my exposed and soft bottom. The pain was like nothing else.
'Ouch, oweeee' I cried and father held the cane back on my heated and scorched bottom. The line of pain was more than I could bear. I felt my bottom tense up, clenching both buttocks togeter to try and relieve some of the stinging feeeling.
'Ready for number two...keep very still boy'' my father said
I waited but the cane was still resting on my bottom. Not for long though. A second stream of pain suddenly pierced my bottom as the cane fell again.
Instantly I howled in agony '''owweeeeee....aghhhh''
Father once again held his cane on my bottom and I felt the terrible pain from the second stroke...'please father...please....no more... plaese''
'Quiet boy' he shouted. 'Quiet..next term I want a better report boy'
At this time I thought that my father only wanted me so he could hurt me. I hated him, the school and everything. I hated his cane and I would come and find it and break it.
The caning went on. My botton clenched and unclenched and I was told to ''push it out higher, stop moving or else it would be worse, next time I would try harder'' The agony and pain were terrible. I cried, screamed oput, called for my mohter, begged and pleaded with father but he was a determined man and I was only a ten year old boy.
At the end of it I was made to go to my room. I cried uncontrollably as I climed the stairs with a striped and scorched bottom. I slept naked that night and when I woke the next day I felt my bottom and it stoll hrobbed. I was not going to speak to father again I decided and would hate him and my mother the whole of the school holidays.
As I walked down for breakfast mother asked me if I was alright. I was amazed even at that young age that she could not have come to look after me the evening before. I replied politely that I was 'alright' and said good morning to my father.
I did not speak during breakfast but when my father announced to mother that he was going to find a maths tutor for me to 'work me hard' in that subject during the holidays I could barely contain myself..........