It was the mid 60s and with the popularity of beat groups I was really keen to learn a musical instrument, the guitar being my preffered option. My parents agreed and, instead of the guitar they decided on the piano. On the recommendation of a friend they picked a tutor, Mr Pringle, who lived in a row of terraced houses not far from us in Edinburgh, Scotland..

My mother took me along to meet him and although only 16 I found that I was a good two inches taller than he was. I would guess he was about 50 or so. He was very pleasant to my mother, but much less so to me. He explained that it was his policy to get children through the various graded music examinations and if he failed to do so would refund half his fees. He went on to say that he was very strict with his pupils and that corporal punishment could not be rulled out. My mother agreed and signed the various documents presented to her.

He then made my first appointment, for 7 o'clock that evening. Turning to me he told me to make sure that my hands, face and legs were scrubbed also that I was neat and tidy. I asked him what my legs had to do with anything and replied that he had already mentioned on the telephone to my mother that all his male puplis who attended day school, regardless of their age wore short trousers to his lessons. My mother was nodding in agreement.

"Most parents take this chance to make their sons wear them all the time" he added.

I was really shocked at this as at 16 I regarded myself as an adult. On the way home we called in at a school outfitter and I was kitted out with two pairs of grey short trousers and long socks. She insisted that I kept a pair on as I was one of Mr pringles' pupils who would be wearing them all the time. I can't descibe the feeling as I walked out into the street in shorts for the first time in about 5 years. I felt everybody was looking at me, although in reality it probably wasn't all that rare for teenagers to wear them in the 60s, more so at the exclusive top schools. To this day I wonder why I didn't kick up more of a fuss at the time, I think I was in shock !

At home my father expressed his pleasure at my "new look" and hinted that it might be time to introduce a more stricter regime for me. He pointed out that my school work was less than satisfactory in his eyes and as my Higher grade examinations were looming now was the time to start. The first thing that was changed was my bed time. To my horror it was to be 9 PM. I protested but my father ignored me saying that I would also feel his hand and belt more often then left the room.

That evening I made my way to my first music lesson wearing my school uniform and new shorts. I kept to the back streets in case my friends saw me, I would face that later. I arrived at Mr pringles door about 30 minutes before my lesson was due and rang his door bell. In a few seconds he answered, looked at me and bellowed:-

"What are you doing here at this time boy. I'm not having you sitting through my present pupils lesson. Wait there".

He slammed the door in my face and opened it again in a few seconds. To my horror I saw in his hand a heavy 3 tail leather tawse.

"You can't belt me out here !" I blurted out.

"Would you rather I phoned your father?" he replied.

In view of my earlier conversation with my father I reluctantly, raised my hands and held them out in front of me with my palms upright for the belt, like I did often in school.

"No young man - I need your hand in good condition for your lesson," he shouted, "Bend over and grasp your ankles"

I was in a panic, I had never been belted across my backside before. He raised the tawse and swiped it down across my legs shouting.

"Move it boy or I'll have your trousers down."

I bent over and gripped my ankles. I felt him pull my blazer up and tug my sh my shirt tail out from my shorts. The belt was then tapped across my bottom. He drew it back and brought it crashing down. I let out a scream. By this time a snall group of people had gathered and were witnessing my thrashing, most were commenting on how good it was to see boys of my age being controlled.

He then delivered the next crashing stroke, I lept up clutching my bottom.

"Do that again and your shorts are down he shouted"

I kept my composure while he delivered another three strokes, the last of which landed on the backs of my legs, just below the hem of my shorts.

"Be back in 30 minutes",he shouted, slamming the door as he stormed inside. I was left, crying in front of a crowd of people wondering what lay in store for me.

more to follow.