I Got My Sister The Cane . .At my secondary modern school it was considered rather daring to smoke cigarettes as this was against the rules and if you were caught you were likely to be caned, whether you were a boy or a girl.
I’d smoked a few times without ever getting caught and one day my friend Barry came up to me with some cigarettes and asked me if I wanted to smoke one. So we went off together to our regular smoking place, a secluded corner of the playing field.
We had just about finished our **** when we heard someone coming. We were relieved when it turned out to be my older sister Lynda. But she shocked us when she said that she was a prefect and that she was going to have to report us to the headmaster. We didn't believe that she could really mean it and Barry wouldn't give her the cigarettes when she asked for them. She walked off, saying again that she would report us both.
We put out the cigarettes and went back inside for the rest of the lunch hour. Barry asked me if I thought Lynda might really mean it. I still didn't think so, but we had had a row the day before and Lynda could sometimes be a self-righteous *****, so I was starting to worry.
We found out as soon as afternoon school started. Miss Finch, our class teacher, read our names out and told us to report to Mr Johnson after school that afternoon. Mr Johnson was the deputy headmaster and was responsible for inflicting corporal punishment when this was deemed necessary in the opinion of the headmaster. I expect both of us paid even less attention than normal to the rest of that day's lessons after that. I’d never had the cane before and was still hoping we might be let off
But after school, as we made our way along the corridors to Mr Johnson's office, Barry told me that he’d had the cane off Mr Johnson for smoking before and he was sure we were both going to get it.
When we reached Mr Johnson's door Barry knocked and we went in. The deputy headmaster looked very angry. He asked us for the cigarettes and Barry opened his school case and dug them out. Unceremoniously the deputy threw the packet in the bin. Then he told them us to go and stand facing the wall, hands on heads, and not to talk to each other. When we were in position Mr Johnson resumed the paperwork he had been doing.
Nothing happened for more than a quarter of an hour. The period of waiting and apprehension added to the punishment for me. Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Mrs Whitfield, the French teacher, came in. She completely ignored the two of us and had a brief conversation with Mr Johnson. As they talked I hardly knew whether she wanted them to carry on talking and so delay my caning or whether I just wanted it all to be over. When she had finished Mrs Whitfield said "Well, I'd better let you get on then. I can see you've got some work to do!"
After she left I heard Mr Johnson get up from his desk and open a cupboard. Then I heard something being placed on the desk. I could guess what that was. The deputy headmaster told us to turn round and I saw the light brown cane lying on his desk. It was slender, slightly curved, and nearly three feet in length.
Mr Johnson said that he had no alternative other than to cane us both. He said that he hoped that I realised that my sister had only done her duty in reporting us. He also said that he would deal more severely with Barry as he had supplied the cigarettes and he had been punished for smoking before.
"Right, Barry," he said, "you know the form. Let's show Paul what happens to boys who smoke! Paul, you stand where you are and keep your hands on your head. It will be your turn soon enough!"
Barry moved a tall stool into the centre of the office. Mr Johnson watched impassively as he bent over the stool, gripping the lowest crossbar tightly.
I had a clear view of my friend's bottom, encased in tight-fitting regulation grey school trousers.
I watched in appalled horror as Mr Johnson picked up the cane. He tapped it across the centre of Barry's bottom, denting the tightly stretched trousers. Then he slowly raised it to the full extent of his arm and whipped it down with great force.
I had not fully realised just how severe a punishment a caning was. It was just terrifying to see the speed and force of that stroke, and to imagine the effect of that flexible cane wielded with a grown man's full strength across a my own bottom
Barry got four viciously hard strokes and gasped at each one. After the fourth one the deputy put the cane on his desk and told Barry to get up and go and stand next to me. He wasn’t crying but was damp eyed and breathing heavily. It was obvious that it had hurt a lot.
Then Mr Johnson turned his attention to me. "All right, Paul. Over the stool!"
I got three strokes, rather than the four Barry had got, but I didn’t take them so well as him. I yelled at each stroke and tears were running down my face by the end.
As we limped slowly down the corridor each step was painful. I said some unprintable things to Barry about my sister and he agreed emphatically. At the bus stop I said that I would make sure that we got our own back on Lynda and Barry said that he would help if it was needed.
It took me a few days to come up with a workable idea but my smarting bottom and Lynda’s smugness (she told mum I’d been caned!) kept me trying to think of something. Finally I told Barry that I had thought of a way they could get back on Lynda.
She was the prefect responsible for the school library and a lot of the books had gone missing recently and questions had been asked. I knew that some at least of these were at our house, brought there by Lynda. Of course I would not normally have told on her, but after what she had done to the two of us I thought we would be justified, so long as we weren’t identified as the ones who gave her away.
It had taken me a while to think of a way to achieve this, but my plan was to get our English teacher, who was the teacher in charge of the library, to come back to our house on some pretext so that he would see and recognise the books, as Lynda had just left them around the house, not expecting anyone from the school to see them.
It seemed a good scheme and we hoped that Mr Bradbrook, the English teacher, would report Lynda to the headmaster and she would lose her position as a prefect. I also thought that if mum found out that Lynda had been taking books from school without permission she might well slipper her. Both Lynda and I had felt mum’s slipper in the past – the last time for me being after she found out I’d got the cane - although the last time for Lynda had been some years before.
After the English lesson I asked Mr Bradbrook if he wouldn’t mind popping round to my house to see if he thought my new dictionary was ok even though it was second hand and he gave me a lift in his car.
Mr Bradbrook saw the books as soon as he arrived at her house and asked me if I had taken them. I said that I had no idea how they had got there. Then Mr Bradbrook asked mum if she knew anything about them. She said that her daughter, Lynda, had brought them home. Not realising that they were the school's property, she thought Mr Bradbrook was just impressed with her daughter's reading!
Then Lynda got home and was taken aback to see Mr Bradbrook there. He asked her about the books and on the spur of the moment she actually said that I had taken them home. But he told her what mum had said. Then she said she'd brought them home to repair the bindings, but he didn't believe the change of story and in the end she admitted it, bursting into tears. He left with the books, saying he would report Lynda to the headmaster and that she should go to his office before assembly next day.
Mum then sent Lynda to her room and she soon followed her. Soon I heard the sounds of a vigorous slippering which seemed to go on and on. I could clearly hear the loud smack of the slipper but no sound from Lynda. Mum was obviously not going to stop until she reacted and the whacks continued remorselessly. Eventually Lynda's resolution had to snap and she yelled out. Then, after a few last wallops, the sounds of the punishment ended.
My backside had still not fully recovered and I was happy that Lynda, who had reported us, had got a sore bottom of her own. She didn’t suspect that I had deliberately engineered the whole thing!
Next morning, before we left for school, I sympathised with Lynda about her spanking and she still showed no signs of suspecting me. But she did ask me something which surprised me. She asked me if I thought that she might get the cane at school!
Barry and I had never really considered this a possibility when I came up with the plan because it was virtually unknown for sixth formers to get the cane and unheard of for prefects. The most we had expected was that Lynda might get put in detention and have to sit in humiliation for an hour among naughty first and second years.
I told her how unlikely it seemed to me that she could be caned, but she responded that she'd almost certainly not be a prefect much longer; that the headmaster would probably say that she'd abused a position of trust and that she'd probably made matters worse by trying to blame me at first. "It's the sort of thing they take ever so seriously, Barry. I know it is."
I could see that Lynda was genuinely worried about getting the cane and noticed that she had decided to go to school wearing a pair of black trousers, together with a pair of tights, rather than a skirt. This was permitted for girls in the fifth form and above but Lynda never usually wore trousers and I realised that she was motivated by the hope that, if she was sent to Mr Johnson, she wouldn’t have to lift her skirt out of the way for a caning across her knickers and the deputy headmaster would let her keep the trousers on.
She apologised to me for trying to put the blame on me, and even for having reported the both of us the week before. I was feeling sorry for her by now as I thought her slippering from mum had been sufficient payback, but there was nothing I could do.
During assembly the headmaster said that the person who had taken the books from the library had now been identified.
"I am sorry to have to tell you," he went on "that it was Lynda Russell, a sixth form prefect and the girl most responsible for the safe custody of the books. Lynda is no longer a prefect and I can assure the school she will be regretting her behaviour bitterly before she is very much older!"
On our way to the first lesson after assembly Barry said to me that he was beginning to think that Lynda might actually get the cane. The headmaster's words had certainly left it as a strong possibility! We resolved to hang around outside Mr Johnson's office at breaktimes during lunch hour and after school - the times at which canings were usually administered - to see if Lynda really got the cane.
We were a little late in arriving near the deputy headmaster's office at the beginning of morning break as the History teacher kept the class in for a couple of minutes after the bell went. We made their way along the corridor and stopped some way short of Mr Johnson's door and pretended to be interested in some notices pinned to a board.
Although the sound was muffled by the distance and the intervening door neither of us had any difficulty in recognising the sound as that of a cane lashing down onto a bottom. Barry turned to me: "Yes! Your Lynda's getting the cane!".
I was equally excited, but more cautious. "Hold on," I said, "We don't know it's her. It could be anyone. It won't be long, a couple more whacks like that and we'll hear her yell!"
But, in fact, we heard stroke after stroke, at regular intervals of about fifteen seconds and no sound at all could be heard from the victim. Barry and me looked at each other. We had heard four strokes, and there might have been more before they arrived, and there was no reaction from the pupil being caned nor any sign that the punishment was reaching its end.
Perhaps Mr Johnson, too, was feeling some frustration. There was a longer pause before the next stroke and it sounded even more vicious than its predecessors to me. Still there was no answering yell. I realised that it almost certainly was Lynda in there, this had to be a senior pupil’s caning. And Lynda was not a softie, I remembered how long it had taken before she had cried out under mum’s slipper the evening before.
Finally flesh and blood could take no more. As the next stroke lashed down we heard an anguished howl, unmistakably in Lynda's voice. We realised that the punishment was at an end, a full six of the best, when we heard, through the faint sound of sobbing, the clatter of Mr Johnson's cane being put down on his desk. Once again we gave all our attention to the noticeboard.
Sooner than we expected the door the deputy's office opened and Lynda emerged. She was in a terrible state. Her long blonde hair was all over the place and her face was screwed up in pain. She was crying. With her left hand pressed to the seat of her black trousers the well-caned former prefect scuttled down the corridor as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her. She took no notice of us standing there. I’m sure she didn't even see us.
When I got home that evening Lynda was lying stretched out face down on her bed, naked from the waist down, with a folded wet towel laid across her caned buttocks. Before I had a chance to say anything Lynda once again apologised for reporting me and Barry. "I'm really sorry, Paul. I didn’t know just how much that bloody cane hurts! Well! I won't forget again in a hurry!"
I felt a wave of sympathy for my brave big sister. I had been going to taunt her and reveal how I and Barry had masterminded her punishment, but now I just felt ashamed.
Lynda asked her me to take the towel to the bathroom, rinse it in cold water, wring it out and bring it back to put on her behind. "My bum still hurts like hell," she said, "but I think the cold stops the stinging a bit."
As I picked up the towel I saw the mess that mum’s slipper and Mr Johnson's cane had made of Lynda's rear. The entire area of the buttocks was black and blue and covered with a network of raised weals. It was a lot worse than mine had been. On my return I very carefully laid the towel to cover my sister's battered bottom.
Me and Barry had definitely got our own back!