I Used to Get the Cane At School
I was in the third year, so 13/14 when I received my second caning.
On Tuesday and Friday mornings my class had Latin in a room used by a first year class as a form room. This was where they would register and have a good proportion of their lessons, and where there were desks where they could store their books and equipment. Our lessons were the ones immediately before break, when the first years had PE in the gym. For the lessons following break they returned to their form room.
Any boy was permitted to store stuff in his desk in his form room, which was useful but for one factor - they weren't lockable, and were therefore susceptible to 'interference' by others.
One morning a couple of friends and I decided to play a little prank on the younger lads. When our teacher had left the room at the end of Latin, we would spend a few minutes scrawling rude words inside all the first years' desks. At the end of lessons the Latin master would sweep out on the bell, gown billowing (probably desperate for a cigarette), leaving us to pack up and depart for break at our (relative) leisure. We couldn't be too slow, however, as within three or four minutes a prefect would appear doing his breaktime rounds, kicking out any boys he found into the playground.
The plans were made, several pieces of chalk were purloined, and all was set for Friday morning.
The bell rang, the master speedily departed, the rest of the class hurried out for their break, and we set to work. Taking ten of the thirty desks each, we scribbled in large letters inside each desk lid a single word - 'knob', '****', '****', 'shag', '****', '*****' and '***' were among the witty choices.
We had made pretty good time, and instead of rushing out we stood around, momentarily congratulating ourselves on our achievement. Then, as we were about to depart, the prefect arrived.
'Come on you lot - outside.' And he held the door as we sidled past.
Apparently, the joke turned out quite well, but we, of course, were not present to witness the hilarious results. We were present, however, when it was announced at Monday morning's assembly that my two friends and I were to report to the Deputy Head's office at morning break. None of us was in any doubt as to what this was about.
The great man wasn't there when we arrived, and the waiting was torture. When he did arrive, he was clearly in not too good a mood. He brusquely ushured us in. There was a brief interrogation, we admitted to being the culprits, and our fate was sealed. Two of us were sent outside, the third boy remained behind.
After a short period of muffled talking in mainly a man's tones, there was a longish pause, followed by a very distinct THWACK! We looked at each other anxiously - how many would he get? A second THWACK! was heard, followed by a third and a fourth. There was a bit more talking, and then M. slowly emerged, his face a picture of agony, tears streaming, and his hands clasped to his backside.
'Ooyah bastard. I got four, and it kills.'
I was next in. The chair was ready, and the DH was holding what looked like the same cane as the one he had used to punish me previously. A few words were said about conduct, and I was instructed to bend over the chair. The usual adjustments were made, I felt the cane tapping on my bottom, and then THWACK! the first stroke landed, planting a brand of fire across my buttocks.
The second stroke intensified the agony, and I didn't know how I could manage to stay down for strokes three and four, but I did, and the pain in my bum reached a crescendo of searing anguish.
At last I was allowed up and my hands shot straight to my tortured buttocks. A few words of admonishment were spoken, I was instructed to sign his book (4 strokes on the 'Seat' for 'Vandalism'), and I was permitted to go.
As I passed the still-waiting boy, I confirmed, 'Four. He's right, it kills'.
I paid a quick visit to the empty cloakroom. There were lines - not that dark, but very sore and tender. Sitting wasn't going to be easy for a while. I splashed my tear-stained face with water, used the loo, gave my backside a good rub, and went to class gently massaging my burning buttocks as I walked.
On Tuesday and Friday mornings my class had Latin in a room used by a first year class as a form room. This was where they would register and have a good proportion of their lessons, and where there were desks where they could store their books and equipment. Our lessons were the ones immediately before break, when the first years had PE in the gym. For the lessons following break they returned to their form room.
Any boy was permitted to store stuff in his desk in his form room, which was useful but for one factor - they weren't lockable, and were therefore susceptible to 'interference' by others.
One morning a couple of friends and I decided to play a little prank on the younger lads. When our teacher had left the room at the end of Latin, we would spend a few minutes scrawling rude words inside all the first years' desks. At the end of lessons the Latin master would sweep out on the bell, gown billowing (probably desperate for a cigarette), leaving us to pack up and depart for break at our (relative) leisure. We couldn't be too slow, however, as within three or four minutes a prefect would appear doing his breaktime rounds, kicking out any boys he found into the playground.
The plans were made, several pieces of chalk were purloined, and all was set for Friday morning.
The bell rang, the master speedily departed, the rest of the class hurried out for their break, and we set to work. Taking ten of the thirty desks each, we scribbled in large letters inside each desk lid a single word - 'knob', '****', '****', 'shag', '****', '*****' and '***' were among the witty choices.
We had made pretty good time, and instead of rushing out we stood around, momentarily congratulating ourselves on our achievement. Then, as we were about to depart, the prefect arrived.
'Come on you lot - outside.' And he held the door as we sidled past.
Apparently, the joke turned out quite well, but we, of course, were not present to witness the hilarious results. We were present, however, when it was announced at Monday morning's assembly that my two friends and I were to report to the Deputy Head's office at morning break. None of us was in any doubt as to what this was about.
The great man wasn't there when we arrived, and the waiting was torture. When he did arrive, he was clearly in not too good a mood. He brusquely ushured us in. There was a brief interrogation, we admitted to being the culprits, and our fate was sealed. Two of us were sent outside, the third boy remained behind.
After a short period of muffled talking in mainly a man's tones, there was a longish pause, followed by a very distinct THWACK! We looked at each other anxiously - how many would he get? A second THWACK! was heard, followed by a third and a fourth. There was a bit more talking, and then M. slowly emerged, his face a picture of agony, tears streaming, and his hands clasped to his backside.
'Ooyah bastard. I got four, and it kills.'
I was next in. The chair was ready, and the DH was holding what looked like the same cane as the one he had used to punish me previously. A few words were said about conduct, and I was instructed to bend over the chair. The usual adjustments were made, I felt the cane tapping on my bottom, and then THWACK! the first stroke landed, planting a brand of fire across my buttocks.
The second stroke intensified the agony, and I didn't know how I could manage to stay down for strokes three and four, but I did, and the pain in my bum reached a crescendo of searing anguish.
At last I was allowed up and my hands shot straight to my tortured buttocks. A few words of admonishment were spoken, I was instructed to sign his book (4 strokes on the 'Seat' for 'Vandalism'), and I was permitted to go.
As I passed the still-waiting boy, I confirmed, 'Four. He's right, it kills'.
I paid a quick visit to the empty cloakroom. There were lines - not that dark, but very sore and tender. Sitting wasn't going to be easy for a while. I splashed my tear-stained face with water, used the loo, gave my backside a good rub, and went to class gently massaging my burning buttocks as I walked.
By:
Grumwit
Age:
56-60
,
Male
67
responses
