When I was at prep school the headmaster did not punish boys in his study, but did a round of the dormitories just before bedtime. He told me years later that he had a theory that if boys were punished during the day it would distract them from their work or other activities. Conversely, if they were sent to bed with a throbbing bottom, they would have nothing to distract them from the pain. From personal experience I can confirm the validity of the second part of his theory. These nightly punishments were known (by the boys) as "dormings" – presumably a portmanteau word derived from "dormitory" and "beating" or some other word ending in "-ing" signifying chastisement.
This was the procedure: if your dorm had a boy who was to get it that night the headmaster would knock on the door and announce (usually fairly jovially) "Headmaster with his slipper." This was a signal for all the boys in the dormitory (already in their pyjamas) to scramble to the sides of their beds and stand to attention. Being a sporting gentleman he would wait for a few moments for everyone to get into place before actually opening the door. Generally, anyone who was in for it knew it. The head would saunter into the room and take a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and slip on his reading glasses. He would then begin, "The following boys will remove their pyjama trousers and stay by their beds. [He would then read the names of the miscreants in the dorm off his list] The rest of you form up behind me."
There would be a general shuffling round the room with the unfortunate slipping off their pyjama bottoms and the fortunate lining up to watch the unfortunate get it. Meanwhile, the headmaster would position a low stool (every dorm had one and its sole purpose was for boys to bend over) in the centre of the dorm. When everyone was in position the headmaster again consulted his list and called out the name of the first boy on it to come forward. The boy would (according to his temperament) approach the headmaster with trepidation or confidently. (I came into the former category and always made sure I went to the lavatory if I expected a beating, for fear of disgracing myself.) The boy would then be taken hold of and placed over the stool with his little bum well up in the air. If the boy attempted to hide his privates the head would make a point of handling the boy in such a way that they were plainly put on view. The number of whacks was announced (usually three or six) and the head would then extract a leather-soled slipper from his pocket. (He wore a tweed jacket with copious pockets.) The culprit would receive the announced number of strokes which, particularly if he got six, would leave him rather red. Some boys cried and others did not; no shame was attached to crying, as it was known that the head did not hold back when he got his arm going. I always bawled my eyes out. When he had finished, he would order the boy to put his pyjama trousers back on and get straight into bed. He would then put the slipper back in his pocket, get the list out again and continue, repeating the procedure until all the boys on his list were tucked up in bed with sore bottoms. On one famous occasion, a statistical anomaly, there was no audience and the whole of the dorm got it.
One day there was a dramatic change to the standard procedure. The headmaster stormed into the dorm without his customary knock, announcing in an angry voice, "Headmaster with a thick leather strap!!!" We were all over the dorm and hurried to our places. The headmaster affected not to notice the disarray.
"With the exception of Grainger, all those expecting punishment today will get it tomorrow. Grainger! Lie face down on your bed. Everyone else, gather round Graingers bed."
We all obeyed quickly; we had never seen the headmaster like this. When we were in place, the headmaster approached Graingers bed, where Grainger was lying as instructed. He looked around and selected two boys. (Later I realised that they were the two heaviest in the dorm, although by no means fat.)
"You," he said, pointing to Smythe. "Sit in the middle of Graingers back facing his feet. You," pointing to Thornton, " sit on his legs facing his head."
The boys took up their positions with their legs stretched out in front of them.
"Stupid boys!" exclaimed the head with exasperation. "Kneeling, unless you want you legs strapped."
The boys hastened to adjust their positions. (I had never seen Smythe move so fast)
"Smythe, pull Graingers pyjama jacket up. Thornton, pull his pyjama trousers down. Thats it; as far as you can without getting up."
Grainger was now exposed from the middle of his back to the middle of his thighs.
The headmaster produced something rolled up from his jacket pocket. He unfurled it to reveal a wicked looking leather strap, which he folded in two. There was a murmur round the bed.
"Silence! Unless you want to share Graingers punishment."
We were silent.
"You will both hold Grainger down. If I think either of you is not trying I shall give you both twelve with the slipper. Lean back and give me room you two."
Smythe and Thornton leant back and gave him room.
"Grainger you are a filthy, disgusting beast! You are a disgrace to this school! You may consider yourself lucky that I cannot bring myself to write to your parents. I cannot believe what I saw you do! I shall give you the severest beating I have ever given a boy. Prepare yourself."
I wondered how Grainger was supposed to prepare himself. In any event he did not have long to meditate on his predicament. The strap was raised and brought down on his defenceless bottom and a livid crimson weal was raised. Grainger howled. The beating continued with the strap working its way up and down Graingers bum. The leather seemed almost to have a life of its own. As the strapping continued Grainger struggled to free himself, but the head had chosen his warders well. The bottom got redder and redder. (Blenkinsop, the dorm wit, remarked the next morning that Graingers arse was redder than the reddest part of Little Red Riding Hoods red riding hood.) Grainger continued bucking and blubbing, but never begged for the beating to stop. I think I would have done. Perhaps he was in too much pain to think about the form of words. At one point Grainger, with a supreme effort, almost broke free. I was standing towards the bottom of the bed and as his bum rose in the air I caught a glimpse of his hole before the strap descended again.
At last Graingers ordeal was over and the head rolled the strap up and tucked it in his pocket. We all later agreed that Grainger had received fifteen strokes.
"Thank you, Smythe and Thornton. You may get down"
They got down.
"Grainger, I hope that was a lesson to you. No need to speak now."
Grainger did not speak then.
"You will join me for tea tomorrow afternoon. Goodnight boys." And with that nocturnal valediction, the head left the dorm.
We all slowly moved away from Graingers bed, intuitively realising that after such a severe thrashing he needed some space. I noticed that one or two boys had, just as I had, stiffies pushing against their Wynciette. We all went quietly to bed. Within two minutes the dorm monitor had switched off the lights. A new world record.
My bed was one away from Grainger and I heard him sobbing quietly into his pillow. A few minutes later I was aware of him pulling up his pyjamas and climbing into bed. A few snuffles and the dorm subsided into silence.
Despite endless pleading and bribes of sweets, marbles and even money, Grainger would never tell anyone what the crime was that merited such severe punishment. He just said that the splendid tea made up for the hiding. We did not believe him.
Some years later I met Grainger in the lobby of a hotel and we reminisced about school days. He casually enquired if I remembered the belting he had got for crapping in the rhododendrons. (Remembered!? Etched with concentrated sulphuric acid in my brain cells!!)
"Oh! Thats what it was for."
"Wouldnt say, would I?" he laughed. "I had a bit of tummy trouble and got desperate. Knew I wouldnt make it to the bog. Dashed into the bushes and just got my pants down in time. Short-lived relief. You-know-who comes by and catches me wiping my bum with some dried leaves. Talk about incandescent with rage! Too frightened to tell him I was unwell. Spanked me there and then and told me Id get a lot worse later. Which I did. As you know. Learnt recently that his father was a sanitary engineer. Must have outraged the family honour by declining to make use of the sewer."