Those who read the first instalment of this autobiographical account of English school life in the 1960s will know that, at the age of eight, I was sent away to a boarding prep school in Gloucestershire. I have given it the name of Manor School, but that is not its real name. The substance of all that I write in this series of stories is true. All I have changed are names and the occasional detail which might identify schools or people.
In the first instalment, "A Manor Boy", I told of my arrival at the school, how I made some new friends and, of particular interest to my readers, how my bottom came to make its first acquaintance with the dreaded "slipper" (in fact a large rubber soled gym shoe). To recap, my friend Rowntree and I were caught talking after lights out by our dorm prefect. We were sent to see Matron, a large and strong woman of about 45, and she proceeded to administer the inevitable punishment: two very hard strokes of the gym shoe on our bare bottoms. That happened some three weeks into my first term. This instalment will deal with my next experience of corporal punishment. But, before recounting that, I should say something of how the other new boys were getting on in that first term.
As will be recalled, I had the dubious distinction of being the first boy in my year to be slippered (none had yet been caned). Of course, Rowntree suffered his punishment moments later, but I was nevertheless proud that it had been my bottom, not his, which was first turned scarlet by Matron's gym shoe. Anyway, our punishment was not to remain unique for long. I suspect, once word got around that two new boys had been slippered, that the masters, under-matrons and prefects felt that any tendency to leniency in their treatment of the first form boys could now be consigned to history.
It was only two days after my first slippering that three more boys succumbed to temptation and felt the sting of the slipper on their bottoms. The scene was the wash room next to our dorm. The time was bedtime. Twenty 8 year old boys, all naked as the day they were born, were washing hands and faces and brushing teeth. Well, that's the point, they weren't all doing that. They should have been, but three found another pastime to occupy them. Each was armed with his towel. There is something about a boy with a towel and other boys with bare bottoms which almost invariably tempts the towel bearer to indulge in a little "flicking". A well executed flick of the towel connecting with the bare flesh of a young bottom can produce a very satisfying reaction. If the corner of the towel reaches its target in the right way it can lead to quite a sting. Well, Rampton, Barnard Minor (the younger brother of the head boy) and Johnson (to whom you were introduced in the first instalment) gave in to temptation that night. As they waited for basins to become free they started flicking their towels at the bottoms of the innocent boys who were doing what they were meant to be doing. Soon, small yelps of pain (or more likely of surprise) began to fill the room. But the fun could never last for long. Miss Slater, the exceptionally attractive 18 year old under-matron, came rushing to the rescue.
"Stop that at once".
The three miscreants lowered their weapons and did their best to look innocent.
"I won't tolerate such behaviour. When you are washed and in your pyjamas I will deal with you. Now hurry up boys."
With those words Miss Slater returned to the dorm.
For a few seconds there was silence as we all pretended to concentrate on our ablutions. But it could not last. I don't remember who it was, but one boy piped up.
"Oh dear", he said, "looks like there are going to be some more sore bums tonight".
Soon we were all chattering excitedly about the fate of our three towel tormentors. Rampton and Barnard Minor were looking rather apprehensive. Johnson, however, gave an appearance of almost extreme nonchalance. He, it may be remembered, was the boy who told us, on our first day, that he had been slippered by his father in the previous holidays. Because of that experience he felt able to reassure his fellow delinquents.
"Don't worry", he said to them, "she's far too weedy to hurt. When i got it from my pater" (we really did talk like that in those days) "it really stung, but he's miles stronger than Jenny". I should explain that we had discovered Miss Slater's first name and, perhaps out of some sort of chivalrous respect for her _s_e_x_, used that in place of the nickname which would undoubtedly have been given to a man.
No one dawdled in the wash room. We all, I have no doubt, were hoping that the execution would take place in the dorm and we all wanted to witness it. Within five minutes we had donned our pyjamas and got into our beds. All, that is, except Rampton, Barnard Minor and Johnson. They, on returning from the wash room, had been directed by Miss Slater to stand by the ends of their beds when dressed in their pyjamas. We watched as she slowly walked down the central aisle between the beds. She seemed to be looking down at the floor as she went. We soon discovered what she was doing.
"Ah", she exclaimed as she reached Rowntree's bed, "those look ideal. I shall borrow one of your slippers Rowntree". She bent down and picked up a slipper from under his bed. All now made sense. Rowntree's slippers were not of the soft cosy kind that many of us had. Though their uppers were of some soft fabric, their soles were of the hardest leather. She had been looking for a weapon.
Armed with the slipper she walked to the window end of the room. There, under the window, was an upright armless chair. She turned it to face the window. Then, standing to its left, she called Johnson forward.
"Bend over the back of this chair Johnson. Hold the seat with both hands. Stay like that until I tell you to get up."
He did as he was told. I think I have already said that Johnson, like me, was quite tall for his age. But, you must remember, he was only eight. He was, of course, much smaller than Miss Slater. As he bent to take his punishment he certainly looked very vulnerable. His pyjama jacket was quite long and it covered the top half of his bottom. Miss Slater gently lifted it up and folded it over his back. She stood back. We all had an excellent view of the small round bottom tightly clad in regulation cotton pyjamas. She slowly slapped the slipper into the palm of her left hand as she looked on her target. We were all, I think, holding our breaths. I would like to be able to describe how Barnard Minor and Rampton were reacting to this scene. I am sorry to say, however, that I could not drag my eyes away from the main players.
Miss Slater did not bother with the aim taking pats of slipper on bottom which Matron had employed. Suddenly, without any apparent preparation, she swung the slipper behind her back and slammed it straight down onto Johnson's bottom. She was only a girl and she did not look particularly strong, but we were all impressed by the force of that first blow. There was a resounding thwack which echoed round the room. I recall that Johnson gave an involuntary little jump as the slipper connected. He was clearly as surprised as the rest of us at her ability with the slipper. She paused for a moment and then swung again. He was obviously prepared this time and managed not to move. I was wondering whether that was it when I saw the slipper again being lifted behind her back and swinging forwards. A third crack filled the otherwise silent room. There was another pause. Then she spoke.
"OK Johnson", she said, "I'm feeling generous. That's all this time, but don't think you'll get off so lightly next time. Get into bed".
Johnson stood up and rubbed his bottom fiercely. As he walked to his bed, however, he managed a rather forced grin at the rest of us. Barnard Minor was then called forward. He was not so tall as Johnson, but he was a sporty and athletic boy. He probably also had rather an advantage over most of us because he would have known that his brother had got through many punishments in his time at Manor without being adversely affected. Anyway, though he certainly did not look happy, he walked forward with a steady gait and promptly took the required position over the back of the chair without waiting for the order. Miss Slater then repeated the performance and another slim young bottom felt the sting of Rowntree's slipper. Three strokes again and, again, a small boy returned to his bed with both hands rubbing his buttocks.
Rampton was looking miserable as he walked to the chair. But he was no coward and, like the others before him, he did not delay taking up the traditional stance of the naughty schoolboy. Both Barnard Minor and Johnson had already revealed themselves as being somewhat cheeky lads. That could not be said of Rampton. He was a quiet and usually reserved boy. I am not saying he was what we would have called a "goody-goody", but he was studious at his studies and attentive to the instructions of his superiors. It was, indeed, something of a surprise that he had joined the other two in their display of mischief in the wash room. I think, if we had had a bet on it, most of us would have predicted that his first taste of corporal punishment would not have come as early as this. I remember wondering whether Miss Slater, realising he was not a naturally naughty boy, would go easy on him. As I think most of us were to discover over time, if she slippered a boy she did it with all her energy. This was no exception. Rampton's three were just as hard as Barnard's and Johnson's . The look on his face as he hobbled back to his bed clutching his no doubt burning bottom demonstrated that his punishment had been equally painful.
With the last slippering accomplished, Miss Slater left us for our twenty minutes of reading time before lights out. The three victims knew what was expected of them without being asked (talking was strictly forbidden). Each got out of bed and dropped his pyjama bottoms to allow the rest of us to see the damage. All three small bottoms were splendidly scarlet. The site of recently slippered bottoms was, of course, still something of a novelty to us. We all eagerly examined them and returned to our beds with a sense of renewed admiration for our pretty under matron.
So far the only punishments I have described have been ones given by women. I am conscious that MMSA Stories does not encourage stories of boys being punished by females and I apologise for breaking the rules. But this account is a true one and, if I had failed to describe my introduction to school corporal punishment as it had actually happened, I would not have told the truth. Anyway, my readers will be relieved to hear that I am now going to move on to tell you about punishments administered by masters.
I think it was about two weeks after Miss Slater had demonstrated her prowess with the slipper that Barnard Major, the head boy, gave me 50 lines for being a couple of minutes late for breakfast. He told me to deliver them before breakfast on the next morning. I decided to get them over and done with during morning break. So many years have passed that I now cannot remember what diverted me from carrying out that intention. Neither can I recall why I did not do the lines after lunch. If my memory serves me right, however, I had completely forgotten about my punishment by the time afternoon games were over. I certainly remember my feeling of horror that night when, having washed, changed into pyjamas and climbed into bed, I suddenly remembered the lines. There was nothing I could now do. There were no writing implements in the dorm. Creeping out of the dorm late at night to find pen and paper would have been incredibly risky. We were not allowed up before the first bell in the morning and there would no free time between then and breakfast in which to complete my task. I sunk into an uneasy sleep as I came to terms with the almost certainty that I would be reported to Mr Sadham (or "Sadman" as we predictably referred to him).
Sadman was our usually pleasant young form master. He was also responsible for day to day discipline. Generally speaking, if a prefect considered we needed more punishment than he was allowed to give, he would report us to Sadman. At the time of my failure to do the lines, I think that two or three boys in our year had been reported to him. The result had been the same on each occasion. The boys had been soundly beaten with a large gym shoe. I realised that there was absolutely no reason why I should not share their fate. I think I do remember desperately hoping that Barnard Major would take pity on me and give me further time to complete the lines, but I knew that mercy of that sort was not to be expected from any 12 year old prefect.
Sure enough, at breakfast on the following morning, Barnard Major asked where the lines were. I apologised profusely and explained that I had forgotten to do them, but could certainly get them to him by lunch time. He would have none of it. I was to report to Sadman before first lesson.
I was, of course, in a nervous state as I knocked on Sadman's study door later in the morning. But I knew that my punishment would not be instant so I was reasonably calm and collected. The convention was that, if a boy was reported to his form master by a prefect, any corporal punishment would be delayed until the evening. Accordingly, I was aware that all that was about to happen was that sentence would be passed. It would not be carried out for a considerable time. I heard the command to enter and opened the door.
It was a small room with two armchairs, a desk with two hard back chairs and a corner cupboard. Sadman was sitting at his desk.
"What is it Lineham?"
"I've been sent Sir, by Barnard Major".
"And why have you been 'sent', pray?"
"I was meant to do 50 lines for being late for breakfast yesterday Sir, but I forgot."
"Is that your only excuse, that you forgot?"
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir."
"Very well. You will report for a slippering this evening. You may go".
That was it. No further instructions, just a peremptory order to report for a beating. Of course, I knew the form. First form boys were punished at 6.00 p. m. in the gym. If told they were to be slippered, they were required to change into gym kit first. If told they were to be caned they did not have to change. There was no need for any of that to be spelt out to me. I left the room and set about a normal school day's routine. Normal except for the fact that every minute would bring me closer to my first Sadman thrashing. His reputation as a punisher was well known to me. Older boys had revelled in telling us new boys about how hard our form master was with slipper and cane. The boys from our year who had already suffered had confirmed the truth of those reports. During the morning I did my best, with some success, to drive my forthcoming fate from my mind. Most of the talk at lunch, however, was about what was to happen to me, so I could not avoid thinking about it then. I concentrated fiercely on Latin, however, in the first lesson after lunch and, until shortly before it ended, managed not to think about slippers and sore bottoms. But then something happened to remind me.
One of our class, Smith, made a paper dart and threw it at another boy when the master (Sadman) had his back to us. Unfortunately for the culprit, Sadman turned round just as the dart took to the air. He glared at the boy and slowly opened the large desk in front of him. Just as slowly, he removed an enormous looking gym shoe from the desk.
"Stand Smith".
Smith stood up.
"Step forward Smith".
Smith walked slowly to the front of the class.
"Face the blackboard and bend over."
Smith bent over. Again, no further instruction was necessary. We all knew exactly how Sadman liked our bottoms to be presented for punishment. Feet had to be planted six inches apart. Ankles had to be clutched. Knees must not be bent. Sadman lifted the tail of Smith's jacket and folded it over his back. The grey school trousers hugged the small round bottom tightly. Sadman raised the shoe behind his shoulder. There was a small pause. Then it crashed down, with what seemed incredible force, on the waiting bottom. Smith almost lurched forward, but managed to steady himself. There were two more strokes, just as hard, and then the boy was told to return to his desk. He was wincing with pain and clutching his bottom with both hands. When he sat, he did so very gingerly, wincing again as his buttocks met the hard seat. I fear we all took some pleasure from watching our friends being beaten, but I was not so happy as the rest of the class. I had just been given a vivid demonstration of what was to happen to me later in the day. And it did not look fun.
I somehow managed to concentrate on the rest of the day's lessons, but my mind was, more and more, fixed on my appointment in the gym at 6 o'clock. We played rugby that afternoon. Smith showed me his bottom when we were changing. It was not the pinkish colour I was used to. It was heavily bruised. I was now beginning to experience real dread. After games we showered. I saw Smith's bottom again. Then we had tea. All the boys around me were talking of only one subject: Lineham's forthcoming slippering.
"How many do you think you'll get Liners?"
"Do you think you'll blub?"
"Will you show us afterwards?"
The questions and comments came thick and fast. I did my best to look cheerful. But it was a difficult task.
Tea finished at 5.30. Prep started at 5.45. I would have to change into gym kit before prep. I left the dining room and went straight to the changing rooms. Two second year boys were making the same journey. They, I knew, would be punished at 6.15, but they also had to change before prep. They seemed incredibly cheerful. But I think I knew it was just a show. They included me in their conversation, which was kind since they were 9 years old and I only 8. They said they were expecting four strokes each. They were fortunate, they said, not to be getting the cane. They considered, from their own experience, that I would get three, but three from Sadman was no piece of cake.
Slowly, and now with legs shaking, I undressed completely. I looked at my small white bottom and thought of how painful it was soon to be. Then I pulled my thin white shorts on (no underpants were allowed). Next I put on my socks and my own gym shoes (not nearly as big as the one my bottom would soon be meeting). Finally I added my short-sleeved cotton shirt to the ensemble. My new friends did the same. The three of us emerged into the corridor and walked together to prep room one (used by both first and second formers for prep). All eyes were on us as we entered and took our places. Prep started. I desperately tried to follow the maths calculations we had been set, but I was getting nowhere. I kept looking up at the clock as the minute hand moved inexorably towards the 12. At five to six I coughed and asked the prefect who was presiding if I could be excused because I had to see Mr Sadham. He gave me a not unfriendly grin of sympathy and nodded towards the door. I could feel eighty or so eyes drilling through me as I walked out.
I was outside the gym at two minutes to six. I stood all alone at the door waiting for Mr Sadham's arrival. My hands were clammy with sweat and I rubbed them on the seat of my shorts. My legs felt as though they were shaking uncontrollably. My tummy was turning somersaults. At a moment or two past six I heard heavy footsteps around the corner at the far end of the corridor. I looked up and saw Mr Sadham turn the corner and walk slowly in my direction. He was carrying the same large gym shoe which he had used on Smith. As he got closer he spoke.
"Let's get it over with Lineham. Open the door."
I pulled the door open and held it as he passed inside. I followed.
"Middle of the floor. Bend over".
I walked, unsteadily, to the spot, took a deep breath and bent over. This was to be my first experience of being punished without some physical support (my father's knees or Matron's armchair). I remember worrying that I might fall over when the slipper connected. I looked between my legs and saw Sadman walking slowly towards me. He stopped and took aim, patting my bottom a couple of times. Then he started the pull back. I shut my eyes tightly and waited for the blow. It came in an instant. The pain was appalling. I longed to jump up and scream. But I had read enough school stories to know what expected of a boy in my position. I gripped my ankles more tightly, kept my mouth firmly closed and blinked back some involuntary tears. I looked again. The slipper was already behind his shoulder. I shut my eyes and waited. I had not thought the pain could get worse, but, as the second stroke slammed into my bottom, i knew how wrong I was. This was true, unadulterated agony. And yet I stood firm and not a sound passed my lips. I didn't look again. I just waited. The pause seemed to be longer, but finally the third stroke was delivered. I prayed that there would be no more. I remember thinking to myself that I could not understand how anyone could take six. I opened my eyes. The slipper was by his side. It looked as though it was over. He waited a few seconds. Then he spoke.
"All right Lineham. That's it."
I stood up. I had sworn to myself that I would not give him the gratification of letting him see my grab my bottom. But I could not help it. Both hands flew instantly to my throbbing cheeks. I wanted to jump up and down, but I managed to stop myself doing that. I wasn't crying, but my eyes were definitely watering. Sadman smiled at me and said the worst was over. Then he turned and walked to the door. I ran after him so as to be able to open it for him. He turned right. I turned left. As soon as he was out of sight I jumped several times in the air. The pain was still awful, but it was already beginning to fade. I looked around. No one was there. I risked a quick peek at my bottom. I pulled the shorts down at the back and saw the reddest bottom I had ever seen. I knew it would be bruised later. At least, I thought, I'll have something to show the boys in the dorm.
I managed to smile as I went back into the prep room. I sat very carefully in my place and was relieved that the pain did not get appreciably worse as I did so. The worst was indeed over. After a couple of minutes the two second formers left for their punishments. I gave them a conspiratorial grin and a thumbs up sign. They both smiled back. Then I turned back to the maths. About ten minutes later the two nine year olds returned. One was still rubbing his bottom. The other winked at me as he went to his desk. The room remained silent.
After prep the three of us went to the changing rooms while everyone else headed for the junior common room. My pain had been bearable for some time. There was still a bit of an ache, but nothing I couldn't put up with. We all stripped together. They had had four. But their bottoms and mine looked about the same. The marks which had earlier been red were now a bluish bruised colour. We admired our war wounds and then got dressed.
Back in the junior common room I was immediately surrounded by all the first year boys. They shot their questions at me without waiting for answers. Gradually they calmed down and I managed to tell them what it had been like. I fear I may not have been entirely truthful. Of course it had hurt, I said, but it wasn't that bad. After all, it was only three. I reckoned I could have taken double without a problem.
In the dorm that night I was again the centre of attention. My bottom was undoubtedly an impressive sight and there was much oohing and ahhing as it was examined by my friends.
Another milestone had been passed. I hoped that I could avoid more punishment for the rest of the term. But I knew I could take it if it was necessary. One day, though, I would have to face the cane. That would be yet another staging post in my career as a schoolboy. But, with any luck, it could be delayed for a while yet.
NEXT INSTALMENT: THE FIRST CANING