The first two instalments of this true account of my time at English boarding schools in the 1960s described my first term at Manor Prep School in Gloucestershire. To assist new readers in identifying those stories, they were called "A Manor Boy" and "Forgetting the Lines". To recap, for those who have read them, the first one told of my arrival at the school at the age of eight and of my first encounter with that instrument of punishment known euphemistically as the "slipper" (it was in fact a large rubber soled gym shoe). That punishment was administered with great efficiency by Matron on my bare bottom. The second story described my first slippering by a master, Mr Sadham, for forgetting to do some lines set by the head boy, Barnard Major. On that occasion I was given three very hard strokes when wearing gym kit (without underpants). Both punishments were given in my first term at the school.
In this instalment I am going to jump forward to the first term of my second year. During the remainder of my first year I was not, by any means, immune from corporal punishment. As far as I can recall I was slippered twice in my second term and three times in my third. But the crimes were minor and the punishments no more severe than my first slippering from Mr Sadham. To describe them in this history would be far too boring an exercise, both for author and reader.
We arrived back at the school for our second year there (most of us now nine years old) to find a new regime in place. Our parents had all received letters during the long summer holidays informing them of the sudden death of the headmaster, or "boss man" as we referred to him. A new headmaster, who came from another school, had been appointed. So we knew that things might be somewhat different. Some of the changes were explained to us on our first day.
The new headmaster was called Mr Spencer. He was a younger man than his predecessor. I should think he was about thirty five. We knew little about him, other than that he was a Cambridge cricket blue and had gone on to be a county player of some distinction. Our first meeting with him was before tea on the first day. Instead of the usual talk from a prefect, we were told on arrival, that Mr Spencer would address the new boys first and would then give a talk to the rest of the school before tea.
We gathered in the school hall at the appointed time. We second formers, being the youngest boys present, were in the front rows. The older boys were behind us. There was a lot of chatter as we waited for the head's entry. Then Richardson, the new head boy, came in and called for silence. All talk stopped and in marched Mr Spencer. He was tall and extremely fit looking, still tanned from the long hot summer. He was the sort of schoolmaster who commanded instant respect without saying a word. He walked up to the rostrum and started talking to us in remarkably quiet but deep voice.
The first part of the speech was mainly about what a privilege it was for him to be headmaster of such an excellent school. There was a lot about how he would not be changing much, just building on splendid foundations. He expressed the hope that we, as old hands, would help him to find his feet. Then he got onto the changes which he had decided on. The main difference, he said, was going to be in the arrangements for care and discipline. Instead of form masters having overall responsibility for those matters, he was introducing a house system. Not physical houses, he told us. We weren't going to have to move out of the building. But the school would be divided into notional houses according to age. There would be three houses. The first and second form boys would be in Junior House. The third and fourth form boys were to be in Middle House and the Fifth and Sixth form in senior house. He said he hoped to choose some more inspiring names later. Each house would have a housemaster who would take primary responsibility for the care and discipline of the boys in his house. He would be housemaster of the Senior House, Mr Jamieson would take on Middle House and our old friend Mr Sadham would be in charge of Junior House. In the future, when, "as sadly I realise does happen occasionally" boys misbehaved outside lessons, any prefect or master catching them would send them to their housemaster. He would then decide how the boys concerned were to be punished or, if he considered the offence grave enough, he would send them to Mr Spencer himself.. Offences committed during lessons would continue to be dealt with by the master conducting the lesson unless it was felt that the boy concerned required a visit to the headmaster's study.
Nothing was said about the types of punishment to be given in the future, but I don't think any of us were under the illusion that the cane and slipper were to be discarded. When he finished his talk, Mr Spencer told us that Junior House boys should go to the junior common room, Middle House to the new middle common room and Senior House to the senior common room. Once there we would be addressed by our new housemasters.
We filed out. When we got to the junior common room we found the twenty new boys already waiting. We joined them, but of course did not deign to speak to them. Before we had any chance to indulge in much speculation about what these changes would mean, Mr Sadham arrived and we all fell silent again. I think that most of us were hoping for a little more explanation as to the details of the new regime. We were particularly interested in learning more about the punishments we could expect to be given when we strayed from the straight and narrow. But he did not enlighten us. Instead we got a stirring talk about his aim to make Junior House an institution of which we could all be proud. We were to excel on the sports fields. Our academic work would be better than ever. Above all, we were to be a house which would become renowned for its friendliness. With that aim in mind, he was introducing a system of mentors. Each second year boy would be given the responsibility of looking after a first year boy during the first half of term. It would be the mentors' job to ensure that all the new boys found their feet as soon and as happily as possible. A good mentor, he assured us, would always stand up for his charge. He would always be available to advise and help. "Of one thing I am sure", he concluded, "and that is that bullying of new boys will be something which is consigned to history."
I regret to say that we seasoned second formers were not universally delighted with this new approach. We had all, in the previous year, suffered our fair share of moderate bullying and, boys being boys, we had all been looking forward to being able to lord it over a crop of new boys. All this advising and helping did not sound the thing at all. But, before we had an opportunity to moan to each other, we were told that we were to have yet another talk, this time from Laidlaw, one of the prefects attached to Junior House. Mr Sadham left and Laidlaw went to the front of the room. We did begin to chatter, but, in a surprisingly commanding tone, he demanded silence. We complied. We then, at last, got the talk we really wanted.
"OK lads, now for the nitty gritty. First important thing for you to know is that we now have our own Junior House notice board. It is the one immediately outside here, in the corridor. You must all remember to look at it every time you come in here. It is particularly important that you check it every day straight after breakfast and tea. If you forget and you miss an announcement concerning you, you will have no excuse. You will be punished. After we've finished in here, you will find that the mentors' list is already up there. There is no need for first formers to check that. All second formers will do so. Each of you will find the name of the boy for whom you are responsible. You will then come back in here, find that boy, introduce yourself and take him through to the dining room for tea. You will each sit next to your charge at tea, as you will for the whole of the first half of term, and you will talk nicely and informatively to him about the school. Now for the new punishments system. Prefects will continue to give lines for minor offences. All more serious offences will be reported to Mr Sadham. The names of all boys who have to see him will be on the noticeboard immediately after breakfast and tea. If you see your name after breakfast, you will go to his study at the start of morning break and he will deal with you then. If your name is there after tea, you will see him then, before prep. You second formers will be pleased to hear that there will no longer be any need to change into gym kit if you are going to get the slipper. That is because Junior House boys will now be slippered and caned by Mr Sadham with their trousers and pants down and the punishment will be given straight away when you see him. As before, Mr Sadham will only use the cane on first formers for very serious offences. Normally, they can expect to get the slipper. But second formers will now find that the cane is used rather more than in the past. Mr Spencer thinks, and all the prefects agree with h! im, that once a boy is 9 and has been here for a whole year, there is no need for him to go on being molly coddled like a new boy. So housemaster punishments for second formers will nearly always be with th cane. Matron will continue to use the gym shoe and under-matrons will continue to use the slipper, but I think you will find that prefects will prefer to report you to Mr Sadham for punishment, rather than to Matron.
It is one of the curious features of English private school life that boys manage an instant transformation from poacher to gamekeeper as soon as they are appointed prefects. Laidlaw, you must remember, was probably only 12 at the time. I could vividly remember that, only in the previous term, he had been something of a hero to us first formers when he had been caught having a midnight swim and had taken six of the best with the cane from the headmaster. Neither had he been too proud to allow us to see his, to our inexperienced eyes, rather awesomely striped bottom in the showers. And yet now, here he was, obviously looking forward with relish to the prospect of sending us to Mr Sadham for the same treatment. But we did not consider his transformation to be in any way strange at the time: indeed, we thought it entirely normal.
When Laidlaw's talk was finished we second formers went into the corridors to see which "new bugs" we had been assigned for our new caring roles. As we jostled to look at the noticeboard there was a great deal of excited chatter about the new regime and, particularly, about what being "swished" was going to feel like. I eventually found my name on the board and saw that I was to look after a boy called Staughton. With, I fear, not very good grace, I went back into the common room to find him. The new boys were all huddled together at the far end of the room looking, for the most part, somewhat uncomfortable about proceedings. Several second formers were already facing them and shouting out names. I joined them and called for Staughton. After some confusion, he stepped forward. He was tall (though not as tall as me) and slim with blond hair. I remember thinking to myself that he didn't look to be a weed and that he might not be so bad after all. He had a pleasant open smile and didn't look nearly as nervous as his peers. But I was also pleased that he greeted me with the respect which I clearly deserved.
"I'm Staughton", he said as, rather formally, he offered me his hand. "I hope I won't be too much of a nuisance to you".
Although I was not eager for my friends to see me being too nice to a "new bug" I did find myself warming to him. I gave him a small, probably almost imperceptible smile and shook his hand.
"Ok Staughton, I'm Lineham, I'm sure we'll get on fine just so long as you remember that you are only a new bug and I'm a second former. Come on, let's go and get some tea. I'm famished."
With those not very charming words I hurried him out of the room and towards the dining room. We didn't speak again until, after grace had been said, we were sitting next to each other at the long Junior House table. Then, I thought, I had better start my caring talk. Of course, after so many years, I cannot remember word for word how that conversation went, but I do have a fairly good recollection of its tenor. It was something like this.
"OK, Staughton, I'd better find out a bit about you first. I hope you're not a goody-goody. We don't like them here. You ever get your bum whacked for being naughty?"
"Oh yes, my father thinks all boys need to be whacked. He's always smacking me and once in my pre-prep last term I got the slipper from the headmaster."
"Did you cry when you got the slipper?"
"No. I know you're not meant to cry when you get a school whacking".
"Good. You should be OK here then. 'Course, you'll find it hurts a lot more here but at least you'll only be getting the slipper. Second formers get swished you see. Swishing's what we call the cane".
"Yes I heard Laidlaw saying that. Does the cane hurt a lot?"
It simply never occurred to me give the truthful answer that I had never been caned. I didn't want this new boy to think I was not a man of the world. So I lied.
"It's pretty bad, but once you get to my age you find you can take it without blubbing."
Staughton looked suitably impressed as he asked for more information on the punishments he could expect in his first term. I gave him a graphic description of the enormous gym shoes used to beat boys at Manor School and of the vividly coloured bottom he could confidently expect to be showing off in his dorm before long. It was my turn to be impressed. Far from looking petrified by my exaggerated account of Manor slipperings, he seemed to take it all in his stride. Perhaps, I remember thinking, this boy is not going to be too bad, for a first former.
I sometimes wonder, now I am so much older, when it really was that my extraordinarily obsessive interest in corporal punishment began. It is tempting thinking back to that conversation with Staughton, to think that I was already unusually affected by the subject. But I'm not sure that that would be right. You must remember that beatings were an important part of daily school life in those days. It would have been strange indeed if we eight and nine year olds did not think about them a great deal. In fact, I am sure that our conversation must have been very similar to many that were going on around us that tea time. Of course, it may have been that there was some added element to my interest in the subject which was not shared by all my peers, but I am pretty sure that it had not yet started to manifest itself in the way that it did a bit later. And I don't want to give a misleading impression of that first conversation with Staughton. We did not spend the whole of tea talking about slipperings and canings. We got onto other subjects like sport, our families, what we had done in the holidays and so on. But now, after such a long interval, I am afraid that all that really sticks in my mind is what we said about whackings.
We all soon got used to the daily grind of school again. During the first couple of weeks of term nothing much happened of any interest and the new regime, with the exception of our having to spend time with the new boys, did not make much of an impression on us. I vaguely remember hearing reports of an eleven year old boy having been the first to feel the effects of Mr Spencer's cane. By all accounts, the new headmaster had shown himself to be something of an expert. The stripes, although I did not see them, were said to have been pretty dramatic. One or two second formers were slippered by Matron, but no one had yet been sent to Mr Sadham and none of the first formers had yet been slippered.
The third week started. I remember that it was exceptionally warm and sunny that week. For some reason (maybe Mr Spencer's prowess at the game), we were still playing cricket, rather than rugby, in the early weeks of the term and I was beginning to discover that I did actually have quite a talent for bowling. I spent many happy hours on the cricket pitch. For a few days I had not a care in the world. But then things went wrong. It must have been the Wednesday of that week, because I remember that the First XI were playing a home match against another prep school and they always happened on Wednesdays or Saturdays. I know it wasn't a Saturday because I remember that we had had lessons in the afternoon. When they were over, four of us second formers went to watch the match together. As far as I remember the others were Rowntree (I am sure he was with me because we were still best friends), Barnard (no longer "minor" because his older brother had left) and Chapman. We became engrossed in the match. Our side was batting and we were doing quite well. We applauded enthusiastically at every run and became positively ecstatic when a four was scored. Laidlaw was on 48 (I remember it as if it had been yesterday), when a cry of "Howzat" went up from the visiting team. The ball had hit Laidlaw's pad. They were asking the umpire to give him out for lbw (leg before wicket). We held our breaths as we waited for the decision. Slowly, the umpire raised his right index finger. Laidlaw was out. The four of us were absolutely horrified. I have to admit that we were not in the right place to be able to form any reasonable judgment as to whether the ball would have hit the wicket if Laidlaw's pad had not been in the way, but that didn't stop us from, far too noisily, expressing our consternation at what we were convinced was an appalling decision. Our behaviour was, of course, reprehensible. But the match was so exciting. We just couldn't help ourselves. Unfortunately for us, we had not noticed that ! Mr Sadham was standing just behind us. He could hardly ignore such unsportsmanlike behaviour from four of his charges.
"I will not have Junior House boys questioning an umpire's decision". The familiar voice came as a complete shock to us. We all looked round and, with heavy hearts, realised we had gone too far. We waited for what I think we all thought was inevitable. But he must have had some sympathy with us because the order to attend him in his study did not come. "You will all go to your dormitory and lie on your beds for the rest of the match. You will be absolutely silent for the whole time A prefect will come and tell you when you can come down."
The prospect of missing the remainder of such an exciting match was depressing indeed, but not nearly so depressing as the prospect of finding out what a caning would feel like. We trudged off, sad at not seeing any more cricket but happy that our bottoms were to remain pain free. There were no other boys in the school building. Everyone was out in the glorious sunshine. It was eerily quiet as we made our way upstairs. Once in the dorm we threw ourselves on our beds and, for quite a few minutes, stayed silent as we listened to the happy shouts from outside. But nine year old boys can't remain silent for ever when there is no one around to hear them. Soon, we started chatting about how unfair it was that Laidlaw had been given out before getting his 50. After a while we found our inactivity becoming unbearable. It was Rowntree, I think, who suggested that we play what he called indoor cricket.
It was a matter of a moment or two before we had found a rolled up pair of socks to act as ball and removed a wobbly leg from a chair to be the bat. I can't remember now what we used for a wicket, but we certainly found something. Barnard was first to bat. I bowled and Chapman and Rowntree fielded. Soon we had completely forgotten our earlier depression as the socks were knocked for 4 and then 6. Barnard was doing well, but he did not stay in too long. He hit a high ball right into the air. I threw myself at it and somehow caught it. Chapman went in to bat. I don't know how long we had been playing when Laidlaw walked in, but it must have been quite a time. None of us saw him until it was too late.
"Hey you lot, you were told to stay on your beds. What do you think you're doing?"
I think I answered. I mumbled something about how sorry we were, but we had just got so bored. We threw ourselves on the prefect's mercy. But Laidlaw knew his duty.
"Look, I'm sorry lads. I know you're only here cos of complaining when I was given out, but I can hardly pretend I haven't seen this, can I?"
"I spose not", I think that was Rowntree.
"I'm afraid you had better make sure you look at the house notice board after tea. Anyway, I came to tell you that Mr Sadham says you can watch the end of the match. It's the tea break at the moment so you should be able to see us bowl out Upham (the name of the other team's school)."
I remember being ludicrously happy about this reprieve from our sentence, despite knowing what was likely to happen to us after school tea. We all rushed for the door and headed down the stairs.
It was a walkover. Our side's bowling and fielding was magnificent. Upham's batting was pretty hopeless. It was all over in an hour. We were all elated as we headed back to the school's main building. There was still half an hour before tea. We went to the junior common room to discuss the finer points of the match. I, and I think my fellow delinquents as well, had managed to push our forthcoming meeting with our housemaster to the back of my mind. But that did not last long. I glanced at the notice board outside the common room. Laidlaw had already put the notice up.
"The following boys", it said, "must report to Mr Sadham after tea: Barnard, Chapman, Lineham and Rowntree".
That put a bit of a dampener on things. It was, of course, a matter of only seconds before the whole of Junior House learnt the news. The four of us were surrounded by other second formers all asking what we had done. The first formers kept a respectful distance, but they were obviously listening avidly as we explained our crime and sadly agreed with the general consensus that we were bound "to be swished".
Tea was not a particularly pleasant experience that day. I remember nibbling at my food as I thought of the fate that awaited me. Staughton was very sympathetic.
"I say Lineham, it's really bad luck getting punished just for supporting your own team. I mean, I reckon that Laidlaw wasn't lbw too. I nearly said so as well but I thought I ought to keep quiet."
"Thanks Staughton, but I can't complain. We're always being told how important it is not to question umpires' decisions. I reckon we were lucky not to get swished straight away. It's our own fault we're going to get it now. If we'd just stayed on our beds we'd be OK. Just hope he doesn't give us 6".
"Wow, do you think he will? I mean that's a bit over the top isn't it?".
"Maybe, just have to wait and see." I did appreciate the first former's sympathy. I wanted to be nice to him, but couldn't immediately think of anything to say. Then I realised the nicest thing I could do. "Hey, tell you what, would you like to look at my stripes later?"
"Crikey Lineham. Thanks a lot. I'd love to see what a boy's bum looks like after a swishing. That's really kind."
Tea ended all too quickly. There was no point in going back to the junior common room. We knew what the notice said. Rowntree, Barnard, Chapman and I made our way dejectedly to Mr Sadham's study. We knocked on the door but there was no answer.
"Reckon he must still be in masters' tea", I said, "I spose we'd better just wait here."
We stood outside the door. The time for talk had gone. We were all preoccupied by our thoughts of what was shortly to happen to us. I remember two older boys, they were probably 11 year olds, walking past and grinning at us. "Bad luck, he's a really hard swisher you know". We tried to grin back, to show how unconcerned we were. But it wasn't easy. Then Mr Sadham came into sight. He wasn't rushing. We all looked down at our feet as he approached. He walked to the door and opened it before speaking. Then he turned to us.
"I'll call you in in a minute".
He stepped into the room and shut the door again. I remember my palms being sweaty. I rubbed them on the seat of my shorts. I took several deep breaths. Then we heard his voice from behind the closed door.
"All right boys, you can come in now."
We opened the door and filed in, still looking down at our feet. Then I looked up. He was already holding the cane. It looked a terrifying weapon. I looked down again.
"You boys were very lucky not to be caned for what you said about the umpire. You've only got yourselves to blame for the fact that I'm going to have to cane you now. Have you anything to say?"
"No sir", we mumbled in turn.
"Very well, take your shorts and pants down."
We all fumbled with our shorts and pulled them down to our ankles. Our pants followed. We stood in a line, naked below the waist, facing Mr Sadham.
"You can be first Lineham. Bend over the back of that chair". He pointed at a hard backed chair. I stepped forward and bent over. At least it was quick. I felt the cane tap my naked bottom twice. Then, a moment later, there was a swishing sound as it flew through the air and a crack as it hit my bottom. A second later I felt the pain. It was, I thought, a thousand times worse than the slipper. But I stayed still and kept silent. There was only the briefest pause before the next stroke connected. I wanted to shout, but I didn't. Then the third. I was in agony. But I waited in position dreading another stroke. Fortunately it didn't come.
"OK Lineham. That's it. Get up".
I stood with, I am sure, an audible sigh of relief. I remember feeling my striped bottom before pulling up my pants and shorts and then standing with both hands clutching my small buttocks as I watched my friends getting their punishments. Rowntree was next. His small, firm bottom was absolutely white as the cane tapped it. Then Mr Sadham took his first swing. I was to see much more powerful swings than that as I grew older, but it still looked, to me, to be incredibly hard. The cane pushed into Rowntree's flesh and, as it was lifted back for the second stroke, I could see a thin red line all the way across his bottom. The second was just higher. The lines were absolutely parallel. Our housemaster was clearly a very good shot. Rowntree stayed still and silent. I winced as the third stroke hit him, but he made not a sound. There were now three red lines across his bottom. He waited for the instruction to stand and then, just as I had done, he grabbed his bottom with both hands.
Barnard and Chapman followed in quick succession. They took their beatings as well as we had done. Like us, they had slim, firm, unmarked bottoms as they took their positions and, like us, they soon had three red lines across both cheeks.
The final stroke having been delivered, Mr Sadham walked over to the corner cupboard and gently placed the cane back in its place. Then he turned to us and, with a smile, said "well done boys, you took your punishments well, off you go now, and stay out of trouble".
"Yes sir, thank you sir" we said in turn as we made for the door.
Once outside, without having to say anything at all, we all turned in the direction of the junior changing room. We just had to go and look at our stripes. As we shut the door behind us we all pulled down our shorts and pants again and looked in awe at the first stripes to be seen on bottoms in our year. They were nothing like as impressive as the ones I had seen on Laidlaw's bottom in the previous term, but they were still vastly better than the slipper marks we had sported in previous terms. They were red, not pink, and, much to our delight, they were slightly raised. Yes, we certainly had something worth showing off in the dorm that night.
Looking back, I can see that that first caning could hardly have been called severe. The pain had been real and thoroughly disagreeable during the punishment and immediately afterwards, but it was quite bearable by the time we got back to the junior common room. We were met there like heros returning from war. Everyone wanted to know what had happened and we told them with undisguised pride. Although we were tempted to drop our shorts there and then to show off our wounds, we knew that that would be a dangerous thing to do, but we promised a show in the dormitory later in the evening. The first formers, however, would have to wait until the next morning. Other than Staughton. I had made a promise to him and I was determined to carry it out. I called him over and whispered to him that he should ask to be excused, to go to the lavatory, exactly ten minutes into prep. I said I would do the same and that, once we got to the lavatories, I would show him my stripes. I could see his face glow with pleasure at this news. I knew he would gain a great deal of kudos in his dormitory when he was able to tell all his friends that he had been given a private showing of a second former's stripes.
Davison, the other Junior House prefect, was taking our prep that evening. Exactly ten minutes after it began I put my hand up.
"Yes Lineham, what is it?"
"Please Davison, I need to be excused."
"Why didn't you go before prep?"
"I didn't need to. Please, I'm desperate."
He gave in and I left the room. Staughton was coming out of his prep room at the same time and we walked together, in silence, to the lavatories. No one was about and, as soon as we shut the door, I undid my shorts and pulled them and my pants down. The new boy's reaction was well worth it.
"Wow Lineham, that looks so painful. Gosh it must have hurt like anything. I hope I'll be as brave as you when I'm your age."
"'Course you will be", I said rather patronisingly, "I can tell you'll be ace at getting swished."
"Hope so, but I haven't even had the slipper here yet."
"Don't worry, you'll get it soon enough. It's a good thing to get out of the way, you're first really proper school whacking. I was the first in my year and that was good, cos then I knew I could take it OK and I didn't have to worry any more."
"I hope I'm the first of this year's new boys to get it. I'd really like to be like you Lineham".
I pulled up my pants and shorts and we both went back to our respective prep rooms.
That night in the dormitory we four miscreants throughly enjoyed the popularity we had earned by being the first of the second formers to be caned. It goes without saying that we had all been through hell earlier in the day, particularly during the hours of waiting for our punishment. But it also has to be said that, within minutes of the beatings being completed, we were all in seventh heaven. Of course, our bottoms still stung, but the pain was going and was clearly not going to get any worse. Some, not familiar with the ways of schools and schoolboys in those days, might think that, after such a serious punishment, we should have been hanging our heads in shame. Maybe we should have been, but we weren't. Our reaction to the punishment was identical to that of the thousands of boys in private schools up and down the land who were caned every year. It was a matter of pride, not shame, that one's bottom had been thrashed and one had "taken it like a man". How could one avoid being proud when one was given such unadulterated admiration as our school fellows heaped on us that night? You might think that we would, at least, have shown some shame when in the presence of masters who knew of our fate. But again you would be wrong. It was a strange culture in which we lived. Masters, just as much as boys, looked upon canings a sort of badge of honour. We talked quite openly and happily to them about what a "hard swisher Mr Sadham is Sir", or how it "really stung Sir but I bet you're even harder". We, or most of us, even boasted to our parents (at least our fathers who understood these things) about our punishments. Indeed, I remember longing to write my weekly letter home that week so I could brag to my father about how I, yet again, had achieved a first in the corporal punishment field. No doubt it was good that one had the feeling that a caning wiped the slate clean and allowed a completely fresh start with no hard feelings on either side. But I do have to admit that it would probably be tr! ue to say that some of the deterrent effect of corporal punishment was lessened by our knowledge that, once it was over, we would bask in glory.
By this time I had overcome my earlier distress at having to be nice to a "new bug". Over the weeks, Staughton had shown himself to be a real "Manor boy". He continued to give me the respect due from an eight year old to a nine year old. But he also demonstrated a lively spirit of mischief and fun. I had to admit that I enjoyed his company. Of course, with such an enormous age gap of almost a year between us, there was no way that he would have been able to qualify as my best friend (a post anyway held by Rowntree), but I was prepared to accept him now as a friend of sorts. It was therefore with considerable pleasure that I learnt the news that he was to achieve his ambition of being the first of the new boys to be slippered.
It was only a few days after I had been caned. I dropped into the common room before tea, to see who was around. I glanced at the notice board as I walked down the corridor. There was a notice pinned to that part of the board which dealt with punishments. I was naturally curious to see who the victim was. There was, indeed, just one name on the notice. It was Staughton's. I hadn't seen him since lunch and he hadn't mentioned being in trouble then. So he must have done something since. I rushed into the common room, but he wasn't there. There were only another ten minutes to go before tea, but I somehow felt cheated that I would have to wait so long before getting the details. I set out to try and find him. He wasn't in his dormitory. He wasn't in the modelling room (where we assembled our models of second world war aeroplanes). There was no time to look outside. So I had to wait for tea. In fact, I had used up the ten minutes anyway, so I sped off, walking as fast as I could, to the dining room. I got there just in time. He was already standing in his place, waiting for grace. I joined him, longing for the long Latin words to be over. At last they were and we sat down.
"Hey Staughton", I gabbled in my excitement, "do you know you've got to report to Sadman after tea?"
"I haven't looked at the board yet, but I knew my name would be there."
"This is brilliant", I exclaimed, "this means you are going to be the first new boy to get the slipper."
You might think that expressing such a sentiment was hardly the act of a friend. But he fully understood what I meant. Boys who had been beaten were always admired by their peers. To be the first boy in your year, however, was worthy of adulation rather than simple admiration.
"I know Lineham. I don't mind telling you I'm a bit sort of nervous, but I'm really pleased to be getting it first. It'll make me like you."
"Better than me", I replied generously. "When I got it first it was just from Matron. You're going to get it from Sadman and he's really hard. Hey, what did you do?"
"I was going to be late for games so I ran down the gym corridor. I didn't think anyone could see me, but Davison was there, worst luck. Anyway, he said he was reporting me."
My dear reader, at this stage you are thinking that I must be indulging in fiction. How on earth, you are thinking, could anyone justify beating an eight year old boy for running. I can assure you that this is gospel truth. Running inside the school was considered to be a major offence. As a result, it was almost unheard of for a boy to do it. Indeed, it was only in circumstances like those that Staughton had faced (the choice of running or being punishably late for something) that anyone would consider risking it. So it did not strike me as being in any way odd that he was to be thrashed for such an apparently minor offence.
"Crikey, that's bad luck. Why was Davison there? I mean he should have been at games too shouldn't he?".
"That's why I thought it was safe. But he had a chit from Matron cos of having some infection or something. So he's off games."
I commiserated again. For the rest of tea I performed what I took to be my duty as a mentor in these circumstances. I ran through what would be expected of Staughton when he went into Mr Sadham's study and what the beating would feel like until I was satisfied he knew it all back to front. Looking back, I can see that I was, perhaps, a little insensitive. It might have been kinder to talk about something else in an attempt to take his mind off his fate. But I am afraid that just never occurred to me. The boy to whom I was mentor was going to be the first of his year to be slippered: I could not see how it would be possible to talk of anything else.
Grace was said at the end of tea and we all rose. I remember glancing at Staughton's slim, shorts clad bottom as he stood up. I also remember having a strange, but fleeting, feeling that it would be good to give it a playful slap. But it passed. We walked out together. He had already told me that he was going to go straight to Mr Sadham's study because, now I had told him his name was on the board, there was no need to go to the common room first. So he turned right and I turned left. But I didn't go to the common room myself either. We had arranged that we would meet, immediately after his punishment, in the junior changing room so that he could show me the damage. I went there and paced back and forth, longing for him to come in. It was odd, since I was not the victim, but I do recall feeling nervous myself, as if I, not he, was about to bend over. I had butterflies in my tummy and the familiar sweaty palms. It seemed an age but, at last, the door opened and Staughton came in, still rubbing his bottom. I am sure he was in pain, but he had the most delightfully happy grin on his face. I knew the feeling. He had achieved something truly remarkable.
I demanded full details and was given them without hesitation. Yes, he had dropped his shorts and pants. Had he had to bend over and grip his ankles or had he got the chair routine? It had been the chair. How many had he got? Three. Were they stingers? Sure were. How did it compare with home punishments? Miles harder. What about that time he had been slippered at his last school? That was nothing compared to Sadman. All this excited chatter went on while he was undoing his shorts and pulling them, and his underpants, down. Then he proudly showed me his bright scarlet bottom. The sight of red bottoms was, by now, pretty familiar to me. But I was still fascinated. Mr Sadham had clearly done a good job, as he always did.
"That's great. It looks really sore. Well done Staughton. I'm proud of you."
He grinned again, the happiest boy in the school. I knew that his elation would continue for some time. He would be bound to be surrounded by all his peers when he returned to the common room. Then there would be ages of boring prep, but after that would come the best. The gasps of admiration as he stripped in the dorm would be like music to his ears.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Although I could, perfectly truthfully, continue with many stories of canings and slipperings administered when I was in the second and third forms, they would, I fear, become rather repetitive. In the next instalment, therefore, I will advance a couple of years to when I was 11. As you will discover, it was at that age that I first began to realise that my interest in corporal punishment was, shall we say, a little more intense than was entirely normal. I do hope that you feel free to email me if you are finding all this factual stuff too boring, but I should say that I think the later instalments are likely to be of more interest.
Next instalment: "A Boss Man's Swishing"