"There can be no doubt about it," one of my assistant masters said early one Monday morning.
I looked at him perplexed and bleary-eyed. I had no idea what he was blathering on about and my head was thumping away fit to burst. I had been invited out the previous evening to celebrate a friends birthday and I might just have had one or two glasses too many – not that we Headmasters ever drink too much, you understand. We are all upright sober citizens all the time - but it was fortunate that I was not driving home that evening. On the other hand it was most unfortunate that the friend who was driving me home was in an even worse state than I was. When he had failed to engage the right gear to start the car for the fifth time we both decided that it might be safer to walk home and off we trotted singing "For hes a jolly good fellow," at the top of our tuneless voices....
I now had to face the mornings problems at school and I had no idea what Mr Jenkins, the head of the Geography department, was going on about. So I looked at him blankly and hoped he would continue and I would get some clue as to what he wanted to say. Luckily he went on to elucidate, "Someone in my class has been stealing." He then stared at me as though I should instantly produce the culprit and have him dealt with there and then before school even started!
"Oh dear!" I managed to murmur, "Are you sure?" I asked - rather stupidly when you think about it - but I really was not up to asking sensible questions on that particular morning.
"Oh, yes, Headmaster," he went on, "You see it has happened now on more than one occasion. The first time I was not sure that the boy who claimed he had had the money taken from his desk was not mistaken but I am afraid several boys have been to me to say that things have been stolen from their desk as well.
Perhaps I ought to explain at this point that at the time I was Headmaster of an independent school and some things like stealing and truancy just did not happen. You could even leave money in your desk and be sure that at the end of the day it would still be there - and the desks were not locked in any way. How times have changed! I have now been in comprehensive schools where the pupils have to walk about in their raincoats because if they left them in the cloakrooms they would either not be there at the end of the day or they would be ripped and torn. Their desks are fastened with padlocks and even then they have been known to have been vandalised and the exercise books with all the written work of the pupil concerned were torn to shreds and scattered over the floor.
I had no idea what to do other than wanting to take a pain killer to stop the excruciating thumping that seemed to be going on inside my head. I looked up in despair, hoping that the enigmatic Mr Jenkins had his own solution to the problem. It was a vain hope. Mr Jenkins never had any ideas ever. He was a really uninspiring teacher with the most monotonous voice of anyone I knew. He spoke in a never-ending monotone. I should think he sent generations of pupils to sleep in his lessons.
Actually that brings to mind a true story that might amuse you – that is if you can bear to wait for the section that deals with the culprit being caned on his bare bottom! A former colleague of mine who was a very good teacher of English was giving a lesson to a class of fifteen year olds when one of the boys did actually fall asleep during the lesson. The master was a very good disciplinarian and at the end of the lesson when the bell sounded the lad was still fast asleep. The master ordered all the class to leave in absolute silence, leaving behind the boy who was still in the land of nod. The teacher then ushered in the next class of twelve year olds in utter silence. Halfway through the lesson the sleeping fifteen year old woke up to find himself surrounded by a totally different class of younger boys all of whom were highly tickled by the whole proceedings. One can only imagine the humiliation of the wretched boy who had fallen asleep in one lesson but who woke up in another!
But I am rambling on as usual. It must be time for my first sherry of the day – or is it my second? The fact is that I had no idea what to do about the stealing at that particular moment in time so I did what all good Headmasters do. I put off making any decision about anything. "Leave it to me," I mumbled, " and I will sort it out." Mr Jenkins trotted out of my study and I was left to cope with my splitting headache.
Of course the staff room was buzzing with the latest gossip about money being stolen out of the boys desks and it was not long before I had another visitor to my room. This was the then Chemistry master and he had a very bright idea – an unusual occurrence for a Science master....He said we could set a trap for the unknown thief. We could leave some money in one of the desks and he could treat this money so that when anyone touched it they would find that their fingers were stained and if they tried to wash the stain away it would only make matters worse and their whole hand would go green for a few days. This idea appealed to me immensely and I told him to go ahead and set the trap.
It worked like a charm. The very next day Andrew Pickett was caught trying to wash the dye off his hands in the boys toilets. Handy Andy we called him after this little episode. He was sent to my study and there he was standing nervously before me. He was a tall sixteen year old who had not been in any real trouble before and I was surprised to see who the villain was. He had been given a couple of strokes of the cane once or twice during his time but it was for minor misbehaviour with other boys and I suspect he just got roped in. He was a very introverted boy and I do not think he was kept short of pocket money so I could not imagine why he had taken to stealing. No doubt these days he would be referred for counselling and the school would be blamed for making it easy for him to steal. I am afraid I took a rather more hands on approach - as it were!
"You took this money?" I asked him, "or rather, you STOLE this money?" I added menacingly.
"Y-y-yes, Sir," he stammered, looking very pale and nervous.
" I could refer this matter to the police," I threatened even more menacingly, " but I prefer to deal with it myself."
"Y-y-yes, Sir. T-t-thank you, Sir," he muttered in a compete daze.
"You will be caned, hard. You will return to me all the money you have taken in the last few days and I shall return it to the boys concerned. If you are ever caught stealing anything again I shall refer the matter to the police for prosecution and I will expel you from my school. Is that clear?" I thundered.
"Y-y-yes, Sir. T-t-thank you, Sir," he mumbled again.
" Now lower your trousers and your pants and bend over my desk." I took out one of my canes and let is swish through the air, more for effect than anything else. I then went over to the lad who was now bent over my desk and pulled back the tail end of his shirt so that his nice white bottom was fully revealed. I gently felt the smooth curves and lined my cane up so that it was just a little higher than the centre.
"You will count out the six strokes."
With that, I brought the cane down hard on his outstretched buttocks and he sprung up with the sudden pain but immediately resumed his position. "Ow, one sir!"
I took my time and waited a full twenty seconds before I took aim just a little lower than the last stroke and a second whack was delivered. A second red line appeared very neatly. "Ow, two sir." He did not spring up this time but he did wriggle his bottom from side to side to try to alleviate the pain.
Another deliberate wait while he settled himself down into the position I wanted and a third red line appeared as if by magic. "Ow, Ow, three, Sir." I immediately brought the cane down a fourth time so that he was caught by surprise. He was expecting another deliberate wait. "Ow," he yelled, "four, sir"
It was at this point in the proceedings that my phone rang and I decided to answer it rather than let it ring on and on. I had a nice chatty conversation with someone for five minutes or so while this poor wretch was left with his bare bottom up in the air waiting for his final two strokes. I then returned to the business in hand and took careful aim for a fifth stroke on his now reddened bottom. He yelled once more and wriggled like mad but he still had to stay down for his final stroke. I waited for a full minute before delivering the last of his caning and he yelled once more and sprung up and rubbed his bottom like mad, trying to rub the pain away.
"Let that be a lesson to you," I said in the time honoured way. "You will return all the stolen money by tomorrow morning and I will return it to the boys concerned. I will not mention your name and I trust that this is the last time you will do anything so stupid."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I will never steal again."
I met him many years later in the High Street and we went into a local café to have a coffee and a chat. Of course, we eventually got round to talking about this incident and he assured me he had no idea why he stole the money. He did not need it and he could not explain his actions but he assured me that he had never stolen again. He had learned his lesson well. He now held an important job which he would never have obtained had he had a police record. He really was grateful to me for dealing with the matter myself rather than blowing it up out of all proportion and reporting it to the authorities. There is a lot to be said for the short sharp punishment that may be painful at the time but is over and done with and the slate is clean once more.