In my accounts of my earlier school life (Two Canings, The Tawse and Another Caning and Instead of Expulsion) I wrote of how I respected our deputy headmaster, Mr Horne, but had lost almost all respect for the headmaster himself and that a lot of this arose from their use of the cane. The headmaster was capricious. You never knew when he would use it. He was grossly unfair and had caned me for something I had not done and he didn't even use the cane properly when he did use it. Mr Horne only had authority to cane when the headmaster was away and he was in charge. He used it a lot more than the headmaster did when he could, perhaps because he had a very limited opportunity to get idiots under control, and believe me, you noticed it when he was driving it into your taut backside. On the other hand, he was scrupulously fair. He never caned anyone without making sure that it was justified and he did his best to make sure that we understood what was wrong about our behaviour.
In those earlier years, I had also met Mr Hunt, the Games master's tawse, though this was entirely unofficial. That had developed and, while I was in the Lower Sixth, he and my Mum got married. Believe it or not, I didn't find myself getting his tawse regularly. In fact, I didn't get it at all. Then just as my A levels were due, I caught something like flu. Rather than risk getting nothing, I forced myself into school and did the exams but the results were fairly grotty. I had applied to university and I wrote to explain. They were very understanding and wrote back to say that they couldn't make any exceptions, as we hadn't got a medical certificate but they accepted what I said because they knew about the school's estimated grades and they suggested that, as well as just working for A levels again, I should also have a go at one or two university scholarships.
I hadn't even thought of doing that but I did. I even chanced my arm by trying for one in Cambridge. There was nothing to lose. Imagine my surprise when a letter came back soon after the exam saying that I'd got a scholarship but that I'd have to get O level Latin as well as the A levels to matriculate if I wanted to go. I started a crash course in Latin. The Latin master was very good. Most of that work was done after school in his own time.
However, there was one fly in the ointment. That bloody headmaster. By now, I was starting to think for myself. My contemporaries will remember that a few older boys started to have long hair about that time. At least, it was long for those days. Most of it would seem very tame today. The headmaster just could not tolerate the length of my hair (he hadn't noticed it being anything other than untidy in my second year in the sixth). It had not had more than a minor trim to shape it during the summer holidays and he saw it first thing of the first day of term. Immediately he cancelled my appointment as prefect. When I was up at Cambridge for the scholarship and entrance exams and interviews, an indiscreet don told my that his reference had been very much in my favour. It actually read, "I could never recommend a boy with a haircut like his." The don said that they'd welcome somebody who could retain independent thinking with a fogey like that in charge.
For most of that year, we operated at the level of an armed truce, each aware that a false step could spill over into actual, open warfare. He had the dual advantages of age and office. After my visit to Cambridge, I had the advantage of their endorsement that meant approval from the Governors because I brought a bit of glory to the school. At least one of my masters, with all of whom relations were good also went so far as to tell me that the head was afraid of me because he knew I had a better mind than his and he knew that he was likely to lose any confrontation between us unless he prepared his ground very carefully, checked every step and then took me by surprise. The comparison is not one on which I should comment. What I do know is that the confrontation, when it came, arrived completely out of the blue.
It was after our exams. We were still required to come into school, but had no lessons at all. Several of us were talking together in the library with Mr Horne when the headmaster came in. He looked round, saw me and said, "Ah, Johnson. Report to my study now."
I wanted no trouble. I had no idea what he wanted me for but he said, "Perhaps you'd come as well, Mr Horne. Johnson is getting far too big for his boots. I'd like a witness in case he's any trouble."
I was even more determined than before that he would have no reason to complain about my behaviour. At his study, I arrived a little before they did. I stood outside and was told to follow him in. Inside, the head and his deputy sat on one side of his desk while I stood on the other.
"We have several matters to deal with. I will list them. First you have been observed regularly using public houses. Secondly, you were in town this lunch hour and were seen going into an off licence. Third, you have been smoking on school premises."
I was shaken and confused. I didn't even know what the fool was talking about apart from the visit to an off licence.
I said, "I can explain the off licence, sir."
"It had better be a remarkably good explanation."
"I think it is, sir. There's no problem about being in town in the dinner hour. We've been allowed to go all the time we've been in the sixth form and, as you wouldn't have me as a prefect, I'm never on duty. Come to that, there's no problem with anybody going into an off-licence to get a soft drink or a bag or crisps."
I confess that I couldn't resist this little dig and the fool had asked for it.
"Are you telling me that that was all you bought?"
I replied, "No, sir. Actually, Mr Isherwood has been really good, giving me as much time as he has in getting me up to scratch with my Latin. I'd done a bit of asking, sir, and I found out that he likes brandy. I knew that he was going to be away for the rest of term after today because he's with the group going on the continent. I went to buy him a bottle as a thank you present. I don't think that I did anything wrong. We're allowed to go into off licences. Even the first formers go into some, to buy soft drinks. I'm nineteen and so I'm allowed to buy alcohol and I told the man behind the counter that I was old enough and gave him my name in case he wanted to check. The bottle stayed wrapped up until I handed it over to Mr Isherwood. If I was wrong, I apologise but I really did try to stick to the rules."
"You did do wrong and that's one of the things I'll be caning you for. There's also your frequenting of public houses and your smoking."
I replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I don't even know what could have given you those ideas."
"As far as your use of public houses is concerned, possibly the fact that a member of the board of governors told me that he had seen you in the Green Dragon might refresh your memory."
At last, the light dawned.
"It wasn't Mr Tatlock, was it, sir?"
"It was."
"There wasn't anything wrong there, sir. It was half past seven at night. I'm nineteen and I wasn't in school uniform. Apart from anything else, at that time and out of uniform, the school has no jurisdiction and you know it. What I was doing was perfectly legal. I met Mr Tatlock there for a pint. He knew my Dad in the RAF and he offered to talk to me about him. I hardly knew him. I was too young when he was killed. With the greatest respect, sir, I suggest that you will have misunderstood Mr Tatlock. If he said what you said he said, it's true, sir. He saw me there but he wouldn't have been complaining, just making a passing comment. He saw me there so that we could have a chat. He didn't say he saw me there to be reporting me for being there. He didn't think it was wrong, sir. I've arranged to see him there again tonight. That just leaves the smoking. Honestly, sir, I can't imagine who told you that I have been. I've never smoked even one cigarette. I've never had even one puff of one by borrowing one from a smoker. I don't like the smell and I don't expect I'll ever start."
"Then perhaps you'll be able to explain why, from this very window, I saw you putting an empty cigarette packet into that waste bin we can see. It didn't just look like one. I went out and checked it. It was one."
He opened a drawer and took a packet out.
"Now, turn your pockets out onto my desk."
I obeyed and he pointed to a box of matches, which was among the contents.
"I can explain that, as well, sir."
"You can explain all you like. I've had enough of you and your smart Alec evasions. I'm prepared to accept your explanation for being in public houses. I do not accept that you have the right to smuggle alcohol onto the premises wherever you say it is going and I'm not interested in any supposed explanation you offer to cover your smoking. I will cane you, here and now, or you can end your school career with us by being expelled."
This was more than I could take.
"That's stupid. There is an explanation and it's not an evasion. I didn't smuggle drink into the school and even you should be able to recognise that. Years ago you caned me for nothing. I tried to tell you but you wouldn't listen. I'm bigger and older now. You won't cane me today or ever unless I consider that I've done something to deserve it. I'll tell you this now, Mr Horne canes a _d_a_m_n_ed sight harder than you do but he's fair and that's more than I can say for you. If you want me caned then I'll make an offer. Hand me over to Mr Horne and let him judge. If he says I'm due for two dozen, I'd do my _d_a_m_n_edest to take them from him. If you want to expel me, then carry on, but I'll tell you this now and for free. I'll appeal to the governors and you'll have egg all over your stupid face for trying to cane me when it wasn't due. They aren't going to be too impressed with your expelling the school's first Cambridge scholar for five years either, are they, especially when it's for absolutely nothing except that you want to get your knife into me."
He had won in his way but I don't think he could have understood how. I was losing my cool and had gone over the top. He sat there slightly bemused and I said, "Well, what is it to be? Give Mr Horne the authority to cane me if I ought to be caned, or I walk out now?"
He said, "Very well. Let's see if Mr Horne can talk any sense into you."
Mr Horne said, "Very well. We've had perfectly acceptable explanations for the first two charges. I don't imagine that you would have invented the account of a present for Mr Isherwood when it is so easily checked. You are right about public houses as well. There is no reason why you shouldn't go into them. We'd prefer you not to wear uniform, but I expect you'd be out of that for an evening drink."
"Yes, sir. I think I said I was out of uniform."
"There's just the smoking, then."
"It's a bit difficult to explain, sir."
The headmaster said, "I'm sure it is. You can't invent an explanation for it."
I ignored the comment and said, "I don't want to get another lad into trouble, sir. Fortunately, I'm not a prefect."
Again, the headmaster intervened. "Of course you aren't with that hair style."
I went on, "As I was saying, when I was interrupted, I'm not a prefect and so I don't have to report a lad I might see smoking. There's one I know lower down in the school. I saw him smoking on the way to school. I was on my bike and he was leaning out of a bus window puffing away like mad. As I said, I know him out of school and so I saw him during the dinner hour and tried to get him to see how stupid it was. Well, sir, he saw the point and he gave me his packet and his matches. I took the cigarettes out of the packet and gave them back to him."
The headmaster said, "So that the fool could use them later?"
I confess that I sighed loudly at the man's blatant stupidity before I said, "No, sir. So that he could crumple them up and scatter the tobacco on a flower bed. If you want to, I expect you can go and see it. It was only this dinner hour that it happened. After that, he promised me he'd cut it out and we parted. I'm glad we did. It means he's been persuaded to stop without having a futile caning from the headmaster and if we'd been together a few seconds later, the headmaster would have seen us both."
Mr Horne said, "I think I know who that boy is. I saw him leaning out of the window as well. I was going to have a word with him. If you've spoken to him, we'll leave it and see what happens."
He turned to the headmaster and said, "With the greatest respect, headmaster, I have to say that Johnson has every right to use public houses in the evening, it is perfectly reasonable for him to buy a present for a member of staff and he took precautions to make sure that the school wasn't suspected of harbouring drunkards and there's no evidence that he was even contemplating smoking. There's nothing for him to be caned for."
"And what about his intolerable rudeness to me?"
Mr Horne replied, "I'll answer that now, headmaster. Knowing Johnson as I do, I'm sure he won't repeat this outside this room. If you, with all the power that a headmaster has, corner a lad with false accusations and refuse to listen to any explanation, even if it is a lad as mature as Johnson, you can't be too surprised if he goes marginally beyond what we might hope. I was surprised how long he remained polite and how polite he remained. With the greatest respect, headmaster, you brought it on yourself."
Then he turned to me.
"Johnson. There is another matter which needs to be looked at, I think."
He extracted three packets from the heap I had taken from my pockets.
"It has been a long time since I did any chemistry, but if my memory serves me correctly and these labels are correct, what we have here are the basic ingredients of gunpowder. I don't know whether there have been others involved, or you are the prime instigator and I'm not going to ask because you will accept all the blame whether it's true or not. I take it, though, that these substances are not totally dissociated from miscellaneous bangs we have been hearing around the school?"
"I'm afraid so, sir."
"You must realise that that is a caning matter. It would be if you were using professionally manufactured fireworks in school. Home made explosives are a thousand times more dangerous."
"I'm sorry, sir. Yes, you're right. It is a caning matter. Are you still in charge, sir? This isn't the business the headmaster passed on to you. I'd prefer to take the caning from you, sir. It'll hurt more but I'd prefer it done properly and, to be honest, sir, any residual respect I had for the headmaster went after his refusal even to contemplate that he was wrong when he was completely up the pole."
The headmaster said, "Very well. Mr Horne can cane you. I'll stay and make sure that he does it well."
I said, "Do you want me to change, sir? I've got some gym kit in school."
"Yes, please."
I went out and changed quickly. Back in the headmaster's study, for some reason, I assumed that we would be using the old position and I was right. Mr Horne pointed at the armchair with the cane. I bent forward into it. I knew I could take it and I knew that I had been squarely caught. I was also taking a grim satisfaction in the fact that the headmaster was still there and he would see not only a caning administered well but also that I took it properly. I forced my head and shoulders right down and my legs straight. I could picture my thin shorts as they held my two buttocks tightly. Now all I had to do was wait. Then, as I expected, it happened.
Crracckk!
The deputy headmaster drove the cane squarely and powerfully into my bottom, striking, as far as I could tell, exactly on the centre line. I felt the agonising but healing pain flood out from that line of impact. That was one gone. Now there was the pause Mr Horne always left.
Crracckk!
The second was just as powerful. It fell, exactly parallel with the first, about half an inch lower. Again, a pause while I forced myself back into position.
Crracckk!
That was the third. This time, the healing flood of pain surged from a line about half an inch above the first. I knew, should he stop now, that I would have three parallel lines to see in the mirror.
Crracckk!
The fourth was lower.
Crracckk!
The fifth felt as though he had driven it exactly along the line of the first. Then came the sixth. It was another resounding crack, but it cut straight into that sensitive area at the top of my legs. I jumped and gasped but was aware that it could well be the last. I was right.
"That's it, Johnson. You can get up and give it a rub."
Gratefully, I accepted his advice. I stood and my hands gently massaged my raging rump.
I turned to Mr Horne and said, "Thank you for being so understanding about it all."
He said, "You can be on your way."
I went, accepting that he was temporarily in charge and grateful for the opportunity to ignore that pathetic creature, my headmaster. He never spoke to me or acknowledged my presence from that day onwards and he must have had to grit his teeth when, at the next Speech Day, which I came from Cambridge for, I received my certificates as well as prizes for my A level results, and could see my name on the Honours Board as the recipient of a Cambridge Scholarship.
However, without speaking, he still had one more string to his bow. I told you that Mum and Mr Hunt were getting married. That was ages ago and I always accepted that he would leather me if I deserved it at home. During the following evening, Mum had gone out to a meeting and we were in together. At home, I called him Dad. He had adopted me, and accepted full responsibility, but he understood me not wanting to change my surname, especially with my real Dad being killed in the war. Anyway, after Mum had gone out he passed a letter over to me and said, "John, what have you to say to this?"
It was a typed letter to Mum from the headmaster.
Dear Mrs Johnson,
I regret to have to write to inform you that we have grounds for serious complaint about your son's behaviour and attitude.
I imagine that you will be unaware that he has admitted to us that he is in the habit of having regular recourse to public houses and he has also been detected smuggling a bottle of spirits into school.
When he was challenged about these matters he was intolerably rude and refused, point blank, to accept the caning which was rightly his due. I would not like his career in the school to end with his expulsion, but I feel it is right to warn you that he is fast approaching that possibility.
Yours sincerely.
It was signed by the headmaster.
I said, "How much do you know about it, Dad?"
"I had a word with Mr Horne after your mother rang me at school. I knew nothing until then. Mr Horne regarded the matter as closed and thought that the old man would never broadcast his _d_a_m_n_fool behaviour."
I said, "Fair enough. It won't take too much explaining. I didn't smuggle a bottle of brandy into school. It was in a bag, but I carried it openly and it went straight to Mr Isherwood. You know about when I've been to a pub. Actually, so far it's either been with you or Mr Tatlock. He didn't know about you but he knew about Mr Tatlock. About being rude, I probably was and I expected Mr Horne to cane me for it. Actually, he got me for something else. Did he tell you?"
"He said that he had but that it was for something minor that he wouldn't have reported home and so he wouldn't tell me."
I said, "I might as well come clean, it was for making home made explosives. At least, for having the wherewithal to do it. Actually, I think he was pleased he could pick up something the headmaster should have spotted instead of all the things he was trying to invent, especially because the labels were quite clear and the head is a chemist."
"I agree with you. Had the letter not come home, I wouldn't have intervened but it has. You escaped being caned for the rudeness because Mr Horne wanted to make the head realise what a fool he'd been. He thought you merited it and so do I. Even more so, now when we have a letter which worried your mother because she doesn't know what a prize idiot the school has as a headmaster."
"You mean I deserve a leathering, don't you?"
"Don't you think so, John?"
"Yes. I suppose so. Look, I've got my gym stuff at home. Do you mind if I change into it?"
"Presumably you are quite reasonably asking to wear your jockstrap for some privacy?"
I grinned and said, "Yes. That's ok, isn't it?"
"To be honest, at your age, I'd be a bit concerned if you didn't want to guard your privacy against an older man, even your adopted father. Shall we get it over?"
A few minutes later I was lying across his father's box as his tawse crashed across my striped seat. That dozen whacks from his tawse are something I'll remember for a long time.
That was the last time I felt the tawse just as the previous episode had been the last time I was caned. I am grateful for both. I'm sure they helped me learn to discipline myself.