In my case, the fascination with CP began at the age of nine years thanks to the lady who taught Polish in our primary school. Our teacher, a tall blond lady, beat all of us with a leather belt.

One day, in seventh grade, I smoked a cigarette with a friend in the toilets and we were caught by our teacher. She brought us to an empty room at the very top of the Administration section of the school. We had to remove our pants so she could strap us across our bare bottoms.

When I tried to protect my bottom by covering it with my hand, and then ignored her instruction to remove my hand, she put me across her lap and held my hand. We each received ten strokes with the strap. I cried out loudly and ended up with bruises across my bottom.

Friday May 24th

May 24th was the last day of the school year for best friends Erika and Crystal, and also the final day of their junior year. After the end of the day they would be high school seniors.

The two girls decided to treat themselves to breakfast before school. Crystal drove them a few miles to the neighbouring town of Trinity where they eat at a McDonald’s.

Lovelady High School’s tardy policy allows students to be tardy to school twice each semester before they face any disciplinary action. As both girls had clean tardy records they were not particularly worried if they were a few minutes late to school.

After eating breakfast, the girls left the restaurant to find an inconsiderate customer had parked blocking Crystal’s car in its parking bay. Waiting for the owner of the vehicle to come and move it probably only took a few minutes, but it was to be a costly delay.

Erika and Crystal eventually arrived to sign in at Lovelady High School’s front office seventeen minutes after the start of the school day. Unfortunately for them, students at LHS can only be counted as tardy for school during the first fifteen minutes of the day. After that time any student who is not in class, and has not been excused to be absent, is considered to be skipping class.

While it may be the last day of school, and they may only be two minutes too late, Lovelady Principal Richard Cooper was clearly not in the mood to let standards slip. Both girls would receive four swats of his paddle.

When it comes to paddling students Principal Cooper was not known to mess around. And he seemingly did not believe in going easier on girls either. A little over a month earlier, eighteen year old senior Michelle tweeted how he set her butt on fire with his hard swats.

At 8:39 am May 24 2013, Erika was the first of the pair to be punished. As Crystal waited nervously outside the Principal’s Office door she could hear her friend crying out in pain, while Mr Cooper repeatedly instructed her to remain still. Inside the office, the searing pain of the swats had Erika screaming out loud and leaping around.

At 8:48 am, it came to Crystal’s turn. She seemed determined to take her spanking better than her friend. After entering the office she bent herself over and placed her hands on Principal Cooper’s desk, and she appeared proud of the fact that she managed to remain in position throughout the four hard swats.

While Crystal may have taken her paddling better than Erika, it does not appear that Mr Cooper went any easier on her. Some ninety minutes after the swats she was still feeling their effects.

Megan L

(Continues from an earlier recollection)

The following Saturday, after I had committed the original offences of using bad language, objecting to having to wear uniform to go to Church and then having a poor attitude, I was told I would be punished for my disobedience. I had to serve the first of the two Saturday afternoon detentions (5 hours each) which I had been assigned.  This meant whilst the other students were, for the only time in the week, allowed to go into town unaccompanied and with some more relaxed if still smart dress, I was confined to one of the classrooms under the supervision of a teacher wearing a long tartan dress and long navy cardigan.

Unfortunately I didn’t take the task assigned of copying out 20 A4 sides of The Bible seriously enough and I was shocked when my work was reviewed by the teacher at the end of the five hours. It was not long after I had started attending the finishing School and didn’t realise this would happen. I tried to leave when the five hours were up, which did not meet the teacher’s expectations, and she made me stand facing the wall for 10 minutes whilst she checked my work. She was furious at my lack of effort. Her review revealed 110 mistakes in the 20 sides and on the spot she put me across the desk, lifted my dress and I got four strokes of the plimsoll. She then sent me to stand outside the Principal’s office.

After what seemed like forever I was taken into the Principal’s office where I had to stand in front of her desk with my Tutor also present. I had to stand in silence and be lectured on my failings, which made me feel, even though I was 19, like a naughty little school girl which was of course in part the purpose.  Suffice to say my punishments were increased for having failed to comply with those given for the original offence by my idleness in my detention work and fiddling with my dress and cardigan during my detention.

The Principal assigned my new punishments as I stood resigned to my fate.  I was grounded and given detention for the next four Saturday afternoons (5 hours each). Principal also bestowed a further sanction.  I had to wear the outfit I had objected to for Church attendance for the next four Sundays.

She informed me that given the severity of my transgressions she had informed my parents who were not impressed and were fully supportive of the punishments I was to receive. She added that I would of course write to them immediately to apologise, which I knew would mean yet further sanctions at Christmas time when I went home.

She completed by telling me that because my behaviour had been so irresponsible and immature she had decided my physical punishment would be appropriately childish.  I was to be spanked by Matron; she had decided it would be done in private but that I would be taken in front of the other students afterwards and they would be told what I had received. To give me time to reflect on my stupidity I would be spanked at 8 am the next morning before we all went to Church.

I spent the evening in my room with two other girls who were suitably sympathetic when I told them what was to happen to me. As you can imagine, I spent a very restless night thinking of the immediate humiliation I was to suffer and what was to follow for the rest of the term and during my holidays.

I reported at 7:30 am at The Principal’s office the next day wearing my blouse, tartan pinafore, knee socks and arran cardigan and stood, as I had been told to, facing the wall with my hands on my beret covered head. When I was taken in The Principal was sat behind her desk whilst the Matron was sat in the middle of the room on a wooden chair. I meekly apologised and the Matron then made me undo my cardigan before laying me over her lap with my arms outstretched.

Matron told me to remain still with my hands to the floor, otherwise I would receive extra. She then placed my cardigan and the skirt of my tunic over my back and I suffered the indignity of having my knickers pulled down to my ankles. She then proceeded to spank me across my backside. I don’t know whether it was the humiliation or the pain or both but I was soon reduced to tears.

Unlike the slippering there was no finite end to the spanking and it seemed to last forever. After a while she told me to stand and put my hands on my head.

Whilst the Matron stood up, the Principal told me off again and said: “You don’t seem like such a smart young lady now, do you Elizabeth?”

Then to my horror the Matron took me back over her knee, rearranged my clothing and started spanking me with a large hairbrush. It was agony as she reddened not just my already sore behind but also the backs of my thighs. When, eventually, it ended Matron pulled up my knickers and I was allowed to stand again with my hands on my head.

The Principal told me she hoped this would be the start of some much improved behaviour and I agreed it would be. I was then marched to the entrance where the rest of the students and teachers were ready to set off for Church. I had to stand crying whilst The Principal told everyone of my transgressions. The following four weeks were as humiliating and laborious as you would imagine from the regime I had had assigned. I did absolutely everything to comply and did my best to excel in deportment, cooking, flower arranging, typing, shorthand, public speaking, literature and needlework as well as my detentions.

Despite that, it did not spare me a further ‘reminder’ spanking from the Matron. Again, I found myself with my cardigan and skirt raised, my knickers around my ankles and her hand slapping me repeatedly across my bare behind.

When my four weeks of punishment were completed, the Principal decided that for the rest of the term I would be allowed back to the usual school timetable and freedoms with the exception that I would still have my clothing specified for me on the Saturday afternoon when we were allowed out unsupervised.

My parents ensured I was severely dealt with for my disobedience and misbehaviour when I went home for Christmas 1973.

LS

My dubious claim to fame is that I might well be the last school girl in England to be legally caned.

I was born into a strictly Catholic family in Nottingham in March 1981. My family has Spanish blood in its ancestry, as evidenced by my maiden name which was Martinez. I was christened Lucy and inherited black hair with dark colouring, presumably from my father’s side of the family. I have two older brothers who also have olive skin colour and we were all regarded as tall, strong children whilst we were growing up. I have always loved sports and have always kept myself in good shape. It’s not for me to say but I think I was generally thought of as a pretty and attractive girl during my early years with no shortage of male attention!

When I was 13 my parents sent me to a traditional fee-paying girls Catholic day school in Nottingham with about 500 pupils. Academic standards were good and there was a high emphasis on sport, particularly team games. Every year that I was at the school I was in the hockey team for my year and I also represented the school and my county at tennis. Discipline was very strict and even though corporal punishment didn’t exist in the vast majority of schools in the 1990s my school did retain this as a sanction during my time there.

Physical punishments could only be administered by the headmistress and in my time that was generally restricted to infrequent slipperings of particularly troublesome juniors. We were occasionally reminded that it was possible for students to be caned but I was not aware of this taking place in the time that I was there.

My disciplinary record, though, was excellent. At home I was always well behaved and my parents very rarely had to tell me off. At school I was popular with the teaching staff and never got close to being sent to the headmistress for disciplinary reasons. In fact I was appointed to the position of head girl in my final year at the school. This meant that I had a room of my own within the school building and I worked very closely with the head, Miss Jones. Miss Jones had only been appointed to the position a year earlier. She was in her early forties and had been Deputy Head at another independent Catholic school elsewhere in England before coming to us. She and I got on fantastically well and formed a great team in that final year.

My view is that everyone should have a friend who is somewhat opposite in character to themselves. I had two. They were called Kate and Emma and they were high spirited risk takers but great fun to be with. They were always up to something and sometimes I had to make a conscious effort to not get involved with some of their schemes. That last year at school was particularly tough. I was trying to keep up with playing sport, trying to ensure that my A Level results were good enough to get me into a top university and, meantime, trying to make a success of being Head Girl. I think I was managing this balancing act quite well and eventually our final exams were behind us and we could all relax a little.

There were two clear weeks after exams before term ended. The weather was glorious and we were enjoying spending time with our friends and not having to do any more academic work. I was lucky having a room of my own and Kate, Emma and I would often spend time together chatting and drinking coffee in there. However it was on such a day when I made a fundamental error of judgment which would involve all three of us in dire consequences. I knew that Kate and Emma occasionally smoked pot out of school but as far as I knew they had never brought any drugs onto school property. One afternoon, though, they decided to share a joint in my study while the three of us were chatting. I suppose I reasoned that I was not taking part, and in all of that year I could count on one hand the number of times that a member of staff had knocked on my door.

Next thing there was a knock on the door. The window was open anyway and there was a mad scramble to get rid of the joint. I knew in my bones that we were in real trouble and when I opened the door I was face to face with Mrs Cranshaw, who was head of sixth form. I hoped that I could deal with her inquiry without inviting her in but I think she must have sensed there was something going on. She pushed past me and discovered Kate and Emma plus the unmistakable sweet smell of the drugs. We were ordered immediately to follow here to Miss Jones’ office. We were left in the secretaries’ office which adjoined the headmistress’s office while the matter was discussed between Miss Jones and Mrs Cranshaw.

After a few minutes Mrs Cranshaw departed without comment and the three of us were called in to the head’s study. She went through us like a dose of salts and made a particular point of telling me that she was very disappointed with my behaviour. She concluded by telling us that the school rules left her no room to manoeuvre and that were all expelled forthwith. Emma made a valiant effort to defend me by saying that I had not actually taken any of the drugs and that, on that basis, I should be exempt from any expulsion. Miss Jones pointed out that it was not possible to positively tell who had been taking the drugs as we were all in the room at the same time. I pleaded that Emma was correct that I took no active part and finally Miss Jones requested that we all leave and that I alone should come back to see her in half an hour.

We all left and went back up to my room. The other two seemed quite unperturbed by the turn of events and reasoned that going home a week earlier than planned had few consequences for them. That said they could see that I was upset, although couldn’t fathom a way to help me any more than they had. I just felt that I had massively let myself, my parents and the school down with a horrible lapse of judgment. My unblemished school record was potentially going to be wrecked by being expelled in my last school week. Kate and Emma departed to gather up their possessions and I returned to see Miss Jones.

When I got in I sensed that she was almost in tears and I could certainly feel my eyes welling up. I apologised again and even offered to go to my doctor so that he could do a blood test to prove that I had not been smoking the pot. Miss Jones said she fully understood my role in the matter but the fact of the matter was that I had knowingly let something happen in my room that was absolutely forbidden both by law and by the school rules. She said she had thought about it and suggested that I stay at home tomorrow, which was a Friday, and report to her at 10.00am on Monday morning. This would give her a chance to discuss the matter with the head of the school governors and see if there was some route through the awful mess I had got myself in.

Of course I had to tell my parents about what had happened, although they were remarkably supportive. I spent an uncomfortable three days at home and returned to school on the Monday following. I went to see Miss Jones as requested and was pleased to see her a little more composed than she had appeared the previous Thursday. She said she had made a bit of progress with the Head of Governors and here was the deal. I could either accept the original decision and depart the school with immediate effect or I could submit myself to be physically punished in the form of six strokes of the cane on my bottom. She said that corporal punishment had been banned in state schools since 1987 but that parliament had only decided to ban it in private schools in England the previous year and that the ban came into effect the year we were in (which was 1999). She confirmed the governors were still firmly in favour of corporal punishment although she had not resorted to it much during her time at the school, due to the impending legislation.

I was a bit stunned. I hadn’t seen that one coming. I was desperate to retain my unblemished school record but I had not been punished in this way before and I found the prospect quite terrifying. I asked Miss Jones who would carry out the caning and when. She confirmed that it would be her, which I pretty much knew anyway, and that if I did go down this route that she would need written confirmation back from the Head of Governors, so this would leave Wednesday afternoon as the likely time.

I made up my mind there and then. I would accept the caning. Miss Jones nodded without comment and asked me to report to her study at 2.00pm on the Wednesday unless she sent me a message to the contrary. She also reminded me that pupils were required to attend appointments for physical punishments in their full gym kit.

Another couple of uncomfortable days followed. There was no gossip that I came across about my predicament and I only confided in a couple of close friends. I got no pleasure from being able to relax in the hot weather and, strangely, Wednesday afternoon couldn’t come quickly enough for me. After lunch that day I went straight up to my room to prepare myself. I stripped off and looked at myself in the full length mirror. Not a bad figure, I thought. I then turned round to look at my bottom; smooth, soft and completely unblemished.

Gym kit consisted of a white polo shirt, short dark blue (almost black) pleated skirt, white cotton knickers, white short socks and trainers. No jewellery.

I had brought with me that day a brand new pair of white panties that I put on first. In the mirror they looked very bright against my skin. I put on the rest of my kit and finally I tied back my hair in a tight bun. This was normal for me when I was playing sport and often people had commented that they thought that I was prettier with my hair up. However on this occasion I was more mindful of the fact that I was likely to be bending over shortly and long hair in the way was not going to be a help.

I was fortunate that both my room and the Head’s study were both on the second floor of the school and relatively close together. It was not unusual for somebody to see me in my sports kit but I dreaded the thought of bumping into someone who might then guess where I was heading. I saw nobody until I entered the passage that led past the door into the staff room that in turn was next door to Miss Jones’ office. As I passed, the young physics teacher, Mr Aitchison, came out of the staff room but gave me nothing more than a brief nod. The next door along led into the school secretaries’ office, which was like an anti-chamber before the head’s office.

I knocked on the door. I could feel that my hands were clammy and, although it was a hot day, I felt strangely chilly. I heard Mrs Smith, the senior secretary, call me in. I entered. She was sat behind her desk and Miss Beattie, the newer secretary, was sat on the other side of the room. I liked Mrs Smith. She gave me a kindly smile and beckoned me to sit on the chair by the door into Mrs Jones’s study. Miss Beattie must have only been a couple of years older than me and she did not look up from her work. At that stage I had no idea whether the two secretaries knew what was about to happen to me. Mrs Smith phoned through to Miss Jones to tell her that I was waiting and the next moment the door into the head’s study opened and Miss Jones ushered me in.

The room was very familiar to me. There were two sash windows on the far wall which opened onto the school courtyard. The lower windows were open as it was an extremely hot day but the curtains were motionless signifying a total lack of even a breeze. The head’s dark mahogany desk was in front of the window. It was reasonably clear of papers, with a high backed chair behind it and one of those oscillating fans at the far end. It was switched on producing a low hum and some intermittent air movement. There was an old traditional fire place on the wall backing onto the secretaries’ office with two easy chairs on either side, and a brown leather Chesterfield style sofa in the middle facing the hearth. The only other feature of note was the door on the side wall which gave direct access into the staff room next door.

Miss Jones invited me to sit in one of the easy chairs and she sat in the other. We had often sat like that over the past few months discussing what was happening in the school and making plans to ensure that everything ran smoothly. I thought that she looked a little nervous but she was quite impressive in her dark grey two piece suit with hair tied back in much the same style as mine.

“Lucy, this is not going to be easy for you or me,” she started. “I have assured the Governors that you will be dealt with in exactly the same way as I would deal with any other pupil under similar circumstances. I will help you all I can and explain what I am doing as we go along but the process must be by the book. I am sorry. This will be a painful experience in terms of both the caning and your wounded pride. However you have chosen this form of punishment and you have got yourself into this position by making a serious error of judgment. This is not a situation that I have created and for the sake of my career I need to be able to demonstrate that I have followed the Head of Governor’s instructions precisely.”

There was a brief pause and then I spoke. “OK Miss, I understand all of that and I would like to say again just how sorry I am that I have put you in this position. I am grateful to you for believing my side of the story and arranging this alternative punishment. I’m not looking forward to it but in my mind it will bring the matter to a conclusion today which will be a big relief.”

“Thank you for that,” she replied.

Another pause and the only sound was the hum of the fan.

“I think I’m ready to get on with it,” I said.

“OK,” said Miss Jones. “The first thing you need to do is to go through to Mrs Smith and ask her for the Punishment Book and the school cane.”

She could see my face was colouring up with the potential embarrassment of going through and asking that question. It would be in front of Miss Beattie and then there would be absolutely no doubt those two ladies would know my fate.

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but that is the normal procedure. The pupil receiving the punishment has to collect the implement and the book themselves and I’ve already told you that I cannot afford to be seen to be acting differently because it is you.”

Without saying anything I got up and went next door to ask for the book and the cane. There was no change of expression on Mrs Smith’s face when I made the request but I did notice Miss Beattie’s head pop up. Mrs Smith handed me the Punishment book from her desk drawer and then turned to open the cupboard behind her. She reached up onto the top shelf and brought down a long light brown cane. It looked quite new and not dissimilar to a garden cane, given that it had little rings around it at regular intervals. It was very smooth to the touch, straight except for the crook handle at one end, and maybe a little thinner than a standard garden cane. It was probably just under three feet in length and when I had it in my hand it could sense that there was a bit of flexibility in it. Without further eye contact I returned to Miss Jones’ study.

“Thank you Lucy. Please put them on my desk.”

I did as requested and stood in the middle of the room waiting for Miss Jones to make to next move.

“Right, Lucy, I want you now to remove your knickers.”

Well if she could see my dismay at having to collect the Punishment Book and cane, she could certainly see my distress following this request. I didn’t know where to look or what to do.

“I should maybe have explained,” she said. “My last school was also a Catholic establishment and the normal punishment was a slippering, which was either administered over the skirt plus panties or sometimes the girl would have to raise her skirt and the punishment would be given over the panties only. We used a gym shoe and the punishments could be pretty severe. However it was almost impossible to do any damage to the girl other than give her a red and sore bottom.

“The cane is very different. I need to see the effect it is having on your bottom as the punishment progresses. We do not want any serious damage; that is not the objective. Do you understand? Keeping your thin cotton panties on is not going to reduce the pain from the cane. I can see why you would feel more comfortable keeping them on but we are two females together and I have seen plenty of girls’ naked bottoms in my time so it’s nothing special for me. It’s for your own good.”

“OK Miss I understand.”

I reached under my skirt and slid my knickers down my legs and then stepped out of them. I put them on the end of Miss Jones’ desk. I remember thinking how the bright white panties contrasted to the dark wood as they lay there. Miss Jones was right. They wouldn’t help me avoid the pain from the cane but somehow having them on had made me feel a bit more secure.

“Now I think we are ready to get started,” said Miss Jones. “I’m happy to give you the choice as to what position you want to be in. With the juniors I have often got them to simply touch their toes. They usually just get a couple of gentle slaps with the gym shoe but if this feels better for you then it is an option. If I think that there is a danger the girl might reach round with her hand part way through the punishment to protect her bottom then I get them to stand behind a straight back chair, bend over the back of it and grip the sides of the seat. With older girls I have sometimes got them to bend over the end of my desk although the desk surface is, of course, hard and there is little give to help absorb the impact of the punishment. It has the advantage though that your head is not lowered which you might find preferable. Or finally you could go over the back of the Chesterfield if you think this would give you the most comfortable position. It’s up to you.”

Well that wasn’t a difficult decision. Anything to do with hard chairs and desks didn’t sound good and I wasn’t sure that I could hold my position if I simply touched my toes. Also, in this position I could imagine the skin on my bottom being pulled tight and I didn’t have a lot of flesh on my bottom to start with.

“I’ll bend over the back of the sofa, please Miss.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “But please could you use the end nearest the door? I’m right handed and I’ll need to get alongside the arm so that I have the best position from which to apply the cane. Please go ahead and get into position in your own time.”

I moved over to the sofa and stood close to it facing the wall. I then bent forward until the weight of my hips was on the back of the sofa and my elbows were resting on the leather cushion below. I held my legs together and my feet were still on the floor. I could really smell the leather as my nose was almost touching the cushion and I could feel my gym skirt riding up the back of my legs, probably exposing the lowest part of my bottom. I knew that the ordeal proper was about to begin.

I had forgotten about the purpose of removing my knickers though.

“Lucy, do you want me to raise the back of your skirt or do you want to do it yourself?”

“Sorry, Miss. I’ll do it.” I said. I reached back and gripped the lower hem and peeled the rear of my skirt up so that the fabric was then lying flat up my back. This was me now feeling totally vulnerable. I hoped that nobody would come into the room unannounced and I could also now feel the draught of the fan on the desk on my bare skin when it was pointing in my direction. I felt totally exposed and defenceless. I lay there for a few moments waiting for the next development.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Miss Jones removing her jacket and rolling up the sleeves of her white blouse. She had quite an athletic build and I concluded that what was about to happen would be warm work for her on a hot summer’s day and that she would need freedom of movement with her arm. I then heard a tiny scratching noise and concluded that Miss Jones was picking up the cane from her desk.

“OK, Lucy, here we go.” She said. “I am going to give you six strokes of the cane as we have discussed and agreed. You must remain in this position throughout your punishment and you must not reach round with your hands unless I give you permission. At the end of your punishment I will tell you when you can stand up and I will then require you to sign the Punishment Book. Please widen your stance slightly so that your feet are about two or three inches apart.”

I moved my feet slightly and actually this did feel like a more natural and stable position to be in.

“Are you ready, Lucy?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Your bottom is quite small, Lucy. I will try to land the six strokes so that no two overlap as this would undoubtedly make the experience more painful for you. However I cannot guarantee that I’ll manage this but I’ll do my best. Do you have any further questions?”

“No Miss.”

“Then I will start,” said Miss Jones.

I could feel the cane gently tapping in the middle of my bottom. When it lost contact I braced myself for the first cane stroke. I could hear a whistle of air and then it landed. There was a sharp crack and my bottom exploded in pain. I told myself beforehand that I would not cry and I would not shout out, however bad the pain was. However it was a massive job to contain my emotions and I had another five to come! I could see Miss Jones coming round to inspect the effect of the first cane stroke and then she took up her position again.

However, I suddenly had this thought about some girls possibly being in the school yard and hearing my caning taking place through the open windows.

“Excuse me, Miss, but would it be possible to close the windows?” I asked without explaining why.

I think Miss Jones could see the reason and without saying anything she moved over to the windows and brought them down closed with a bit of a crash. Strangely I also remember that she turned the fan off for some reason. The room was now totally silent and I don’t suppose it made much difference but it felt like I didn’t even have the noise from the fan to drown out the sound of the caning.

Tap, tap again on my bottom and then the second cane stroke landed, higher up this time on the less fleshy part of my bottom, but still intensely painful. Nothing was being said by anyone at this stage and I was wondering what the atmosphere must have been like in the room next door containing Mrs Smith and Miss Beattie. Were they listening in or would the door be well enough sound-proofed to spare me that humiliation?

Actually the third one wasn’t too bad; low down this time almost onto the top of my legs. I lay there for a few moments thinking that I’d had one high stroke and one low one and presumably Miss Jones would try to fit the other ones in between. However the forth stroke did not come soon after and I heard Miss Jones’ voice break the tension.

“That’s half way through now, Lucy. You are doing really well. Do you want to get up for a few moments to rub your bottom and ease the pain?”

“Thanks Miss.”

It’s funny how a small kindness at the right time can make all the difference. That’s exactly what I wanted to do, so I got up off the sofa and stood erect again. Naturally my skirt fell down to cover my bottom and I had to put my hands up inside to massage the affected area. This definitely helped and I was able to regain a bit of strength to endure the second half of the punishment. I could feel little ridges where the cane had bitten into my skin but the rubbing was certainly beneficial.

“OK, I’m ready to get it over with,” I said. “If that is alright with you.”

“No problem, Lucy. Please go back over the sofa and adopt the same position with feet slightly apart and your skirt raised.”

This I did and it wasn’t long before the fourth cane stroke landed close to the middle of my bottom again. This felt like the hardest one yet and it seemed like there was a massive crack that could be heard several rooms away. It was absolutely at my limit for not crying out and I could feel the tears running down my cheeks. By this stage I was breathing very heavily and I think Miss Jones sensed my distress as she left quite a gap until I could feel the cane once again tapping on my bottom.

Just then there was another unexpected turn of events. There was a gentle knock on the door that connected the head’s study to the adjacent staff room. My head turned in panic thinking that someone might enter the room without being called in and see me in this highly embarrassing position.

“Wait there,” said Miss Jones in a quiet whisper.

She went over to the door to the staff room. I hadn’t taken much notice of it before but I could now see that there was a sizable gap of at least an inch on the underside and I couldn’t help thinking that the entire staff room was probably tuned into the sound of the cane landing on my bottom.

“Who is it?” Said Miss Jones.

“It’s John Aitchison. Are you free for a quick word?”

“I’m tied up at the moment, John. Nip round and wait in the secretaries’ office and I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.”

“Sorry about that,” she said as she came back across seemingly oblivious to my thoughts on who might be listening and who might see me in a distressed state. “We’ve done four, so only two to go, Lucy. You are doing well. The next one will be lower and not as hard as the last one but the sixth stroke will be the hardest of them all. As I said before this is the way it has to be as I can’t show you any favouritism.”

I’m not sure that knowing what was coming in that level of detail was a help. As predicted, the fifth stroke was extremely painful but not the worst so far. Then I only had one to go but I knew that this was not going to be pleasant. It would also be quite noisy and I had visions of Mr Aitchison now sitting waiting with the secretaries to see Miss Jones. There was no way that he would not know precisely what was going on. I could feel the tapping on my bottom again.

“Last one, Lucy,” said Miss Jones.

This time there was a massive crack as the cane landed on my bottom. I couldn’t help it. I let out an almighty scream. It would be heard in the staff room, the secretaries’ office, down the corridor and almost certainly through the closed windows and into the courtyard below. I was now sobbing uncontrollably and made no effort to move.

“I’m really, really sorry,” said Miss Jones. “But the punishment had to be done correctly and in full for my own protection.”

I could here her voice trembling. She moved round to have a better look at my bottom and then she spoke again. “You can get up now and replace your knickers. While you do that and regain your composure, I will fill out the punishment book that I will then need to get you to sign.”

“Thank you, Miss,” was all I could manage.

I lifted myself off the back of the sofa. I gave my poor bottom another rub and I could feel all the cane marks sitting up in ridges. After a few moments I walked stiffly across to Miss Jones’ desk and retrieved my knickers. I pulled them up carefully to ensure the elasticated waist band did not scrape up my sore behind. Miss Jones was sat behind her desk and by that time she had completed the entry in the Punishment Book. She swivelled round and pushed it across the desk towards me.

The book was clearly quite old. It was leather bound and was like an old fashioned ledger in that it was wider than it was tall. There were some pristine unused pages at the back but there must have been at least fifty pages at the front that were well thumbed. The current page was almost full with maybe around twenty entries and there was only one spare line on the page below mine which presumably would now never be used due to the change in the law. All entries that I could see were in the previous head’s handwriting except for mine and the one above it. Clearly I couldn’t read the other entries in too much detail although I did notice Kate’s name featuring once but no sign of an entry for Emma, which was a bit surprising.

The first two columns were for date and time. Next it was the pupil’s name and then a column for the nature of the offence. This column’s entries were very varied as you would expect and Miss Jones had simply written ‘inappropriate behaviour’ in my box. This, I thought, was another small kindness shown by her to me. Next there was the teacher’s name who had delivered the punishment and then the column after that was simply headed ‘implement’. Every entry said ‘gym shoe’ except mine which said ‘cane’. The number of strokes was next. This was quite varied with two being the lowest number and six being the highest. Before the column for the pupil’s signature was a column entitled ‘comments’. Often this was left blank but occasionally there would be something like ‘child crying’ or ‘needed restraining’. Miss Jones had not written anything in this column for the one slippering that she had administered during her two years but in mine she had written ‘Six cane marks visible. Some bruising’.

I couldn’t verify that this was accurate as there was no mirror in Miss Jones’ study but I was past caring by this stage. I signed the book, closed it and handed it back to Miss Jones.

“That was tough for both of us but well done and let that be a lesson to you to never lower your guard and always try to make good judgments in life. Your eyes are still a little red but you seem to be recovering well. Please return the Punishment Book and cane to Mrs Smith on your way out and, if I don’t get the chance to say it again before you leave, thank you for your help this year. I’m satisfied this was a momentary aberration and we have closed the matter today. Your name is in the Punishment Book but this episode will not appear on your school record and you can count on me for a good reference anytime you need it.”

She held out her hand. We shook, I thanked her and we said our good byes.

However I still had to face handing back the cane and the book to Mrs Smith, presumably in front of Miss Beattie and Mr Aitchison. This was every bit as embarrassing as I had anticipated and I know that I flushed bright red when the expected audience were in attendance. I didn’t linger and fled straight back to my room. The first thing I did was remove my knickers and skirt and inspect the damage in the mirror. Miss Jones was correct. Six very clear cane marks. She certainly knew what she was doing as that punishment was on the limit of what was bearable and the cane marks were evenly spread as she had said she would try to do.

I went home straight after I had changed back into my normal gear.

The following day school broke up at lunchtime after a brief final assembly, given that the main prize giving ceremony had been held in the previous week. I saw Mr Aitchison once on the Thursday but he very decently did not catch my eye and I was saved that added embarrassment. As you can imagine, my boyfriend was keen to inspect my bottom that weekend but I flatly refused to allow him access for a couple weeks and by then the cane marks had faded to a bit of faint dark bruising.

I sometimes wonder what actually happened to that Punishment Book and how, inevitably, if anyone picked it up to read, how they would be drawn to my entry being the last one. Also, whenever I see (or even smell!) a brown leather Chesterfield sofa I can’t help avoid visualising me bent over the back of it with no underwear in place and my skirt fully raised. Strangely, though, I am left thinking that corporal punishment in schools is maybe no bad thing. Had it not been available to me at that time I can’t think of any other sanction available to the school that would have had the same impact on me. I would probably have been expelled and I know that would have upset me for far longer than a sore bottom did. For others, too, over the years it was perhaps a swift way to conclude an issue and allow everyone to move on.

LM

This is picture of my then girlfriend, now wife, Margaret.

Once, we were playing truant at her house when we were both about to turn sixteen. Unfortunately we were discovered and I received 6 of the belt at school the next day from Mr M. Margaret also got 6 from Mrs J.

With my mum being the headmaster’s secretary, she found out and bent me over the edge of my bed that night for another leathering across my bare backside. I was also grounded for two months.

Margaret took a leathering from her dad but at least she had her skirt on. This happened in the mid seventies in a small town in south west Scotland.

GB

Margaret was playing up in home economics to her teacher, Miss B After a while Miss B thought enough was enough so she bent Margaret over her knee causing her short skirt to ride up, and spanked her with a wooden spoon. Margaret had red marks on the top of her thighs and on her bottom where the wooden spoon was making a painful contact. It was an all girls class. Margaret said her bottom and the top of her thighs were sore afterwards, she was also very embarrassed. To add to this punishment the rest of the class laughed.

GB

One time we played truant, Mr M gave me 6 strokes of what we called double handers (both hands side by side so one stroke hit both hands) in front of Margaret.

I took 3 before dropping my hands in agony. The other 3 were awful. I was crying and Margaret was shocked.

She reported to Mrs J after lunch in her classroom. Margaret was belted in the corridor, 3 on each hand, hands crossed. She changed hands after each stroke. The noise echoed down the corridor.

Margaret was crying when she came back to class and everyone knew where she had been. She sat with her hands between her thighs for a while; they were shaking. Both our hands were bruised although that was nothing  to what my bottom was that night. Mum leathered me. I was 4 months short of my 16th birthday. The next day I could hardly sit.

Margaret got leathered by her dad. Bent over, her short skirt rode up leaving Margaret taking the belt across her panties and tights. She had 2 belt weals across the back of her thighs, and she really flinched when I touched them.

We went off the school premises at lunch time and sat very uncomfortably in a local park while Margaret re-did her lipstick and had a cigarette, then we walked hand in hand back to school.

This is an old photo of Margaret taken at the time.

GB

I was in the third grade when I first met ping pong paddle discipline. I next received a spanking with that kind of implement four years later. After another two years the ping pong bat style of paddle was replaced by thick wide oak paddles long enough to strike both cheeks.

One day, early one morning, I entered art class to discover a ring of students spanking a girl in PE kit. It was probably an initiation into some club or other. When the girl saw me observing, she ran out in to the hall. Nothing was said by anyone as the rest of the class filed in and the club went out. It was open season on student bodies and all clubs had their own rules for entry.

I think back often to that day, watching her turn with each new smack on her thinly covered bottom to face away from another club member. Often I wonder if she got some satisfaction from it as no doubt did some of the members, especially the middle-aged male teacher.

We had a dress code that required short hair and shaved for boys, dresses and skirts for girls. We mostly complied except for a few sideburns until my sophomore year when a few girls decided to wear tasteful dress pants and shorts that looked like skirts. This led on to the girls wearing jeans like most boys wore.

That’s when the trouble started. The girls were sent home but did not leave. Instead most of the student body went out to protest on the lawn. A TV crew arrived to interview the student body representative, a boy with a short crew cut, but they failed to understand the problem.

The rules were change at the next school board meeting and peace returned.

If you were unlucky enough to be sent to the office you had little choice but to bend over for the paddle.

Most girls in my then country high school were spared the paddle when sent to the office; not ‘lady-like’ it is my guess on the reason. This did not extend to their parents girl and sometimes their boyfriends. More than a few times I imagined what happened in private.

RH

A brief report we received tells us a female student received 3 strokes of the paddle for skipping a Friday night class.

My name is S and I attended school in Glasgow in the 1960s and 1970s. As such it was a fairly common situation to find yourself on the end of the belt for the slightest of misdemeanours.

I have several recollections dating back to almost my first days at school but in this memory I would like to cover some events that happened while attending a residential school. I would be lying if I could remember the exact reason or purpose of the three weeks spent in this school on the Ayrshire coast but I suspect it had something to do with sounding out young catholic boys who might be rich pickings for the priesthood.

It certainly was not a punishment in its own right as most of my year, and subsequently other years, went on this adventure.

I remember it being in springtime but it was very cold. I believe it was 1970 as one of the clearest memories was pre-decimal currency so this would put the group at around 9 to 10 years old. There was one pre-requisite for attending, I later found out, and that was all attendees must not wet beds. I suppose a fairly straight forward and common sense rule.

Anyway scene set, we departed by coach for the journey which by today’s standards was fairly short, about 90 minutes’ drive. We arrived at the school to be greeted by some teachers whom of course we had never encountered before and by comparison to our relatively friendly bunch appeared quite strict.

On disembarking the bus we were marched to a common room area which could easily accommodate the 40 boys in attendance. We were told the following; we would be split into 6 groups of between 6 and 8 and assigned to dormitories, each dormitory had to appoint a captain and each morning both a prize and a punishment would be handed out to the best and worst dormitory respectively. There was no mention of what these would be but the decision was made by the one teacher who would stay in the school the previous night. I don’t remember a discussion on the criteria; just that this would happen every day for three weeks.

Once settled we set about the tasks set, generally no different to those we carried out on a daily basis at school. Nothing unusual, clearly we had been streamed as per our normal school with two classes split into four tables, smart down to daft being the best way to describe the split. All meals and some after school activities complete we were instructed that all were to be in bed and lights out by 8pm. Again all seemed fairly normal to me.

Normality lasted until around 7am the following morning when it seemed all hell was let loose. Each dormitory was awakened by the overnight live-in teacher and told to get to the appropriate shower area and ready themselves for breakfast. Quite quickly it became apparent that this was one of the ways to determine which dormitory won and which one lost.

On return to our dormitory, number 1, a large silver star was hanging on the door handle which indicated that we had been voted the best on night one. Good, I think; what’s in this for us.

Unfortunately for the adjoining dorm, number 2, a large red circle was attached to their door handle and further a black cross was positioned on the bedside table of Colin, one of the members of the dormitory. At this stage we could only guess that the red circle meant dormitory 2 had been voted the worst of the night.

Breakfast was served at 8am in the common dining room and three members of staff were in attendance. First, an older lady dressed in a typical grey checked jacket and skirt and two younger members of staff both in white blouses and black knee length skirts with heels. These were Miss Baines and Mrs Townsend. Both were short in stature, one with a short blonde bob, the other, Miss Baines, with long flowing jet black hair.

It became apparent that Miss Baines had decided the previous night’s ‘competition’ and began to speak. In a very abrupt coarse Scottish accent she announced that all 8 members of Dormitory 1 would receive a green star on a wall chart positioned in the common room and would be allowed three pence worth of sweets etc of their choice from the tuck shop at morning break. Excellent news.

However there was the matter of dormitory 2 and the red circle. Miss Baines declared the six members of dormitory 2 were to assemble outside the staff room after breakfast and each would receive 2 strokes of the belt. On top of this Colin, who had been awarded a black cross, would receive a further two strokes because counter to that one basic rule he had wet the bed.

This came as a bit of a shock to all as it was clear that over three weeks it would be very unlikely that any of us would escape this punishment.

Breakfast over, dormitory 2 were marched to the staff room and as promised each were given two strokes of the belt by Miss Baines. Poor Colin was last and got the extra two strokes promised. At break many of us were interested in the strappings. How hard was it, what type of belt? Even at a young age we were all aware there were differences.

My best friend David was one of those belted and told me that it was probably no different to what we had become accustomed to at regular school. I suppose this came as some kind of comfort as two of the belt was relatively common and not too painful.

The days went by as normal, most of us keeping out of trouble and if anything I would say the use of the belt was less than we were used to other than the morning ritual of each losing dorm member being strapped. Colin’s 4 strokes seemed to cure him of his bed wetting and it seemed to ensure others were not going to get caught in this trap.

On the morning of day 5, as we returned from the shower, both I and Gary noticed the red circle was on our door handle. I guess we had expected it eventually. It didn’t seem the previous night had been any different to any of the others so the award of worst dorm appeared almost random. Anyway, we all accepted that we were due a meeting with the strap. After breakfast we all made our way to the staff room where Mrs Townsend was waiting at the door. She told us to line up against the wall and disappeared through the staff room door clearly to get the object of our pain. I recall being fourth in line with Gary immediately before me and another close friend, Brian, next in line. The only other name I recall was that of the dorm captain, Jim, who opted to go to the end of the line.

The door re-opened and Miss Townsend appeared holding a brown two-tailed strap which to my small eyes looked somewhat different to those used at our school. The straps used in our school were black and almost always had three tails. They were also thinner than the belt being brandished by Miss Townsend. Miss Townsend was dressed very differently on this day, possibly because she had spent the previous night in the school. She was wearing a dark woollen jumper and black trousers. As she approached the first victim she rolled up her right sleeve while telling him to raise both hands one supported by the other. We all knew the routine, swap hands immediately and don’t pull away as this would lead to further retribution. The belt cracked down across first the right and then left palm with some ferocity. It was clear from the reaction that Miss Townsend was either very skilled in the execution of this punishment or that the belt was heavier and more stingy than we were used to. Victim 2 was dealt with in the same way and then she approached Gary. Gary presented his hands and took both strokes without flinching. My turn to find out what harm Miss Townsend could wield.

I raised my hands right supported by left and almost instantly she lashed the strap down. It struck the full length of my out stretched palm and I winced in pain. Immediately and without thinking I presented my left hand and this too was expertly leathered. As she moved along the line I recognised the pain from the two strokes was hugely greater than I had ever experienced and both my hands were red and very sore.

Miss Townsend completed her task and told us all to get to class immediately. My hands were aching. I had never been struck so hard or felt such pain after a belting, and thankfully it was only two.

I concluded many years later as my interest in corporal punishment grew that she must have been using a Lochgelly belt instead of a Glasgow strap and that it must have been much heavier than we were used to.

I will end the first chapter of the residential school experience on that first taste of the strap. I have several other recollections of the place, the teachers and the punishments, especially my belting for a dinner time transgression and a reaction to my shock at receiving a hand spanking by Miss Baines.

SO

I remember my years at primary school in Devon in the 70s and listening to fellow pupils talking about the cane. Both boys and girls were subject to it and on more than one occasion I witnessed a teacher thrash both girls and boys on the bottom in front of the class with a slipper, ruler and a cane. This was done over trousers and skirts but bending over touching toes. There would usually be 4 or 5 strokes at most with the cane or ruler, and possibly double that with a slipper.

The sense of fascination and excitement as the whole class fell silent was amazing. I loved the meaty thwack when the slipper landed or the muffled gun shot sound the cane produced on a jutting bottom. Mostly I remember all pupils taking their punishment fairly stoically, with only the occasionally yelp or grunt, girls especially.

After witnessing all this, I was desperate to try for myself. Being fairly wilful and naughty, it wasn’t long before my bottom was given attention. Over the next few years, I received a bare bottom spanking over a female teacher’s knee after a swimming lesson (this was done in private), several slipperings in front of the class and two final canings before moving up to the local comprehensive.

I was quite amazed at how well I took my punishment. I think it was the sheer embarrassment that prevented one from kicking and screaming. The caning was a different matter. Not many of my friends had been caned by the Headmistress, but one older girl I knew had proudly claimed to have had her bum caned several times. I think I remember her saying 4 times, each caning being six of the best. She also spoke of seeing her red striped bottom in the mirror. I felt tremendous affection for her and probably had my first crush. I remember her as being blonde, very pretty and extremely confident, which was probably perceived as being precocious by her elders.

I think I well deserved my first caning, awarded for urinating out of the boys toilets window above the urinals into the play ground outside. All the older boys did it as soon as they started getting taller. The playground monitor came marching into the toilets after witnessing my successful attempt, and after administering a sharp slap to my bottom she proceeded to march me to the Headmistress’s office.

Whilst waiting outside, my fate was being sealed behind the closed dark Victorian door. I knew I would be caned.

The eventual ritual was surprising to me then. The monitor opened the door after what I remember seemed like ages. She must have been quite a young woman at the time, maybe in her teens. It must have been summer because she had bare legs in a short skirt. I do remember her looking sympathetic with quite a warm smile. I also remember being frightened yet excited and trying to prevent myself from crying.

The ritual was having to stand in front of the Headmistress’s desk whilst being told off. I don’t recall what was said, just being very ashamed and scared. Next I was told I would be caned and would receive six strokes. Then I was told to ask the secretary for the cane.

The Headmistress’s secretary had a desk to the right of the door as you entered the long office. I did as I was told. The secretary stood up and went to a cupboard to her left and opened the door. Inside, I saw several canes, all crook handled, hanging from a rail next to some coats and jackets. I was presented with this very long yellow cane. I couldn’t believe I was actually holding or seeing the thing I had heard and talked about for so long. I remember saying thank you to her. She was an older woman with a large chest that we often joked about as boys. She smiled as I was given the cane.

Next, I had to present the cane to the Headmistress, a tall red-headed lady. She always wore very tight skirts with her long hair up in a bun. She was well respected and commanded affection for her morning assembly speeches. I knew she was a fan of the cane because she would often mention using it as a threat for various offences committed around the school during her speeches. Next I was told to bend over the desk. Fighting back tears, I did so. I remember her being very fussy about my position, telling me to bend further over and to get my bottom higher. I did as I was told.

She put her hands down my trousers to check for padding. The thought had crossed my mind but I had no time or place to do this. I remember her finger nails on my bottom. The main thing I was aware off as I looked over my shoulder was of the three women looking at my bottom. The Headmistress swished the cane and then told the secretary to give her another! Eventually, after practice swinging that one, it proved satisfactory.

Wanting to get it over with I was almost relieved when she stood to my side and tapped the cane across my trousers. As I looked back, I remember her arm going back and back and seeing the cane appear over her head before it swished down onto my bottom. I yelped involuntarily but managed to hold position as my older girl friend had claimed to do. I think I heard the playground monitor gasp or laugh or make some kind of noise.

The next five strokes were given rapidly and although I lifted my head and body after every stroke I kept my bottom still. The pain was excruciating. After my thrashing I was crying, although not loudly. The cane was given back to the Secretary and I was told to leave.

The monitor said: “well done,” as I walked past her rubbing my bum. I did feel very, very proud. At last I’d been caned, and commended at the same time!

It was also amazing to check my bum and see the incredibly well placed red welts in the cloak room mirrors. How many pupils of both sexes had done that over the years?

MW

I would like to recount discipline at the rural school I attended in the early to mid 1960s.

Our school was a small two classroom school with 55 pupils in varying ages. We had two schoolmistresses, Miss Harrop and the older Mrs Banning. We also had a Headmaster, Mr Ascombe. The pupils came from outlying farms and a smaller number of us came from the town. My aunt owned a clothes shop catering for women’s and girls’ clothes.

Our much liked old headmaster had suddenly retired and we went a few months without one. Discipline had to be quick because it was not possible to keep the school back as the bus to school and back came once a day, especially for those who lived on the farms. We didn’t have a uniform and our new headmaster had introduced a dress code. Mr Ascombe was the new Headmaster and there had been a culture change as his predecessor had become distant. I had been sent to Mr Yardley earlier in the year and while I thought he would cane me (admittedly I was not a stranger to the cane), he scolded me and sent me back to class.

Mr Ascombe had been with us for a month or so when I was sent to him for getting caught out of my seat while Miss Harrop was out of the classroom and attempting to throw a small bit of chalk at a friend.

”Report to Headmaster immediately.”  She snapped.

As I passed her, she gave me two smacks on my upper thighs and took me to see Mr Ascombe.

I waited outside his small office, hands on my head and nose to the wall. I could hear Miss Harrop and Mr Ascombe talking and a minute or so later she came out. I waited nearly ten minutes before I was ordered into the office.

I stood nervously in front of his desk and saw a crook handled cane on his desk. Mr Yardley had had a straight cane. Mr Ascombe was tall with thick greying hair, brown eyes and wore horn rimmed glasses. I got a stern scolding and was asked if I had an excuse for my behaviour.

I also got scolded for not saying: “Yes, Sir,” and: “No Sir.”

While I was being scolded, he fingered his cane.

“Very well, Peter, I am going to cane you,” he announced.

I had my hands behind my back and rubbed them together to warm them up. Then I held out my right hand while wondering how many I was going to get.

“Did I ask you to hold out your hand?”

“Ummm, no Sir.”

“The best place to cane a misbehaved schoolboy is on his bottom. Bend over and touch your toes.”

I was shocked and hesitated. A friend’s older brother was boarding at a grammar school and the cane was on the buttocks there, but it had been the hands under Mr Yardley. I wore mid-thigh length shorts, suspenders (braces), knee socks and brown ankle boots. I was told to bend over again before being told that I would be making a repeat visit the next afternoon during lunch for insolence and disobedience. That is, for not bending over straight away and saying: “Yes Sir.”

Mr Ascombe flexed his cane a couple of times and walked behind me to stand on my right and announced that my punishment was six strokes of the cane. I felt the cane press against my buttocks and three light taps and it press against my buttocks again. My heart was pounding and I heard the dreaded swish and crack. I didn’t feel any pain, then a hot stinging sensation formed where the cane had struck. The sound had been much louder than a caning on the hand.

The second stroke landed and I yelped. There was a five second pause and the third stroke landed. I yelped loudly, my classmates likely hearing my cry of pain.

Five seconds, then Swish Thwack! I jumped up and managed a few quick rubs before having to bend over again. My bottom was on fire by the time the sixth stroke landed and I yelped, jumping up.

I was told to bend over again.

“That’s six,” I thought to myself. Was I getting another stroke or two?

Mr Ascombe put his cane back on his desk and gave me permission to stand up. I wanted to soothe the stinging but didn’t. Mr Ascombe knew that he had broken the brazen schoolboy for his misbehaviour. He took out a grey ledger and he wrote all details of my punishment and reminded me that I had another visit after lunch the next day.

Everyone noticed my wince as I sat down back in class and there were surprised looks. My friends told me they could hear the faint swish but louder cracks of the cane in the classroom. It would have been louder in Mrs Banning’s classroom.

My Aunt found out that I had been caned; in small towns, word travels.  My Aunt sent me to my bedroom after supper. Before bed she came into my bedroom and ordered me across her knee with a ‘You know the rules.’ Then she pulled my pyjama bottoms down and spanked me with an old rubber soled slipper.

Next day, Mr Ascombe had me bending over in the school hat room at lunch and there was an audience of three who saw me get three strokes.

PD

I went to a boys grammar school in the 1960s, and corporal punishment, while not an everyday occurrence, was regular. You could receive a plimsoll or ruler across the bottom or be spanked with the hand, and our gym master used to have you bend over in just shorts and would flick your bottom with his finger tips. All these punishments were carried out in front of the class. You could also receive lines and detentions.

If you were sent to the Headmaster then you would be caned, and with it being in private everybody was very apprehensive about receiving it.

Also, every month if your overall work standard was classed by your masters as being unsatisfactory you would be placed on report for the following month and for the first 3 years I was at the school this merited an automatic 3 strokes of the cane. It was changed to 3 stokes of the cane if you were given a poor performance in a lesson and 6 strokes if you were given an unsatisfactory performance over the month.

During my first 5 years, I received several detentions and felt the slipper on about 9 occasions. I had escaped a certain caning on 2 occasions by the skin of my teeth.

On one occasion, 8 of us were walking home at night smoking and we were caught by the prefects who took everybody’s name but mine and another boy as we were about 10 yards behind the rest and put our cigarettes out before they saw us. The following morning, the other 6 were called out of class and all received 3 strokes and had to copy out a leaflet on the dangers of smoking.

The second occasion was when it was my turn to sneak out of school at morning break to the local pie shop and for some unknown reason I returned via a different entry than usual and all those who used the normal break in the fence were caught and were all caned.

When we moved into the 6th form, the use of the cane became less frequent but it was still possible to receive it. It was at this time that I received my worst punishment to date.

We were in the shower after Gym when the gym master came in.

“You boys still in the shower, out here now! 6th form or not, I will not tolerate this noise.”

5 of us came out and were made to touch our toes as he came behind us and flicked each bottom cheek twice. I was at the end and he didn’t seem to connect properly with me and I hardly felt it. As we were told to stand the others started to rub their bottoms. I just stood there and turned to go and get dressed.

“H*****, back here! Did you not feel that then?”

“Yes, Sir.” I replied.

“Well, it couldn’t have been hard enough if you have not rubbed it, so bend over again.”

He took off his gym shoe and gave me 6 real stingers on the bare bottom.

As I was hopping around afterwards he said: “You certainly felt them, didn’t you?”

As we got dressed, all the rest were saying: “About time you got that. You have always managed to escape the cane but you never escaped that.”

At the end of the month I was put on report for the very first time and I had to go and stand at the front of the hall in assembly. I was sent to wait to receive my report card and was told it would commence the first day back after Christmas.

On the Monday of my last week on report, as I had been to get my card signed at the end of the day, I was rushing to catch up with everybody and, as usual, having a crafty fag when I turned the corner to see the gym master taking everybody’s name for smoking. I put mine out and was not seen.

As I just walked past everybody, I heard: “H*****, come here. Are you smoking?”

“No Sir, I have just been to have my report card signed by the Headmaster.”

“Carry on then.”

I went around the corner and waited. As they came, Ken and John were saying that it will be their first experience of the cane and commented that I had avoided it again.

The following day, they were all told to report to the Headmaster and caned. They were also given the leaflet to copy out.

That afternoon, our last lesson was a double period at the local swimming pool, so I didn’t have to get my report card signed till break the following day. As we were getting changed, there were 9 boys with 3 stripes on their bottoms and they all looked very sore. And there were comments to me that they hoped my bottom received stripes before too long. I just laughed it off.

I went to get my report card signed the following break and as I was about to leave, the gym Master came up and told me to wait as he went in to the headmaster.

After a few minutes I was called in and was told that some of the boys had said that I was smoking as well on Monday. The gym Master said he had suspected so, but they could not prove it. Then he left. Out of the blue the headmaster told me to empty my pockets and I pulled out a book of matches and a 5 packet of Nelson cigarettes.

The headmaster confiscated them and told me to remove my blazer and to bend over the arm of the chair against the wall. As I did this, he went to the cupboard behind his desk and removed a cane about 4’0” long and as thick as my finger. This was the first time I had ever seen a cane.

He walked to the side of me and placed the cane across my bottom.

“3 Strokes, H*****, and don’t move.”

The cane left my bottom before I heard ‘swoosh, Thwack’ as it landed. I thought it wasn’t too bad, but then the real pain ignited in my bottom like a red hot poker. As the next stroke landed, I uttered a shriek before the last one landed and before I knew it I was told to stand and put my blazer back on.

As I did so, I turned to see him writing in a book and I was asked to sign the last entry on the page which said:

H*****.  6th form science.  Caned  3 strokes on bottom. Smoking.

I was then handed a leaflet and told to return tomorrow before assembly with it copied out. As soon as I was outside, my hands went to my bottom and I could feel the welts rising.

I met up with the rest of the gang near the tennis courts and they asked where I had been. I told them I had to wait to get my report card signed but never told them that I had been caned.

By the time gym came round the following week, the marks were not really visible unless you really studied my bottom.

Just before the following Easter, I was placed on report for the second time. The last lesson before breaking up was Maths and I had forgotten to do my homework 2 days previously. Nothing was said but at the end of the lesson, as I picked up my report card, I noticed that I had been given an unsatisfactory for my homework.

As I headed off to get my card signed, I said I was catching the bus home and would see them all later. Nobody realised that I was going to be caned.

As I was the first there, I handed my card over and tried to make an excuse, but was told I had all the time to inform my Maths Master the previous day, had not done so, and would now face the consequences. I had to stand there as all the others had their cards signed. Luckily they were all from the junior school.

As I was told to enter the headmaster’s study, I noticed that the chair was actually in the middle of the room and the cane was already on his desk.

“Remove your blazer, bend over the arm of the chair and do not move or you will get extras. You are to receive 6 of the very best.”

I heard the rattle as he lifted the cane off the desk and a swoosh as he practised his swing. Then it rested on my bottom before moving, then the thwack came as it landed. Before the pain started, another 2 followed in rapid succession, before 2 more low down on my bottom. By this time I admit that tears were running down my face before I heard him take 2 or 3 steps back before running forward and delivering the final stroke with such force that I yelped in pain. As I was told to stand, my hands went straight to my bottom but I was told immediately to remove them and I had to sign the punishment book:

H*****. 6th form science. caned 6 strokes. failing to do homework while on report.

As I made my way to the bus stop, I was in agony with every step and hoped nobody would see me. As I went upstairs, I saw my girlfriend, Gill, and she moved to an empty seat and I sat next to her.

I could not get comfortable and she said: “Brian, what is the matter? You don’t seem yourself, and you are every quiet. Is it something I have done or said?”

I assured her it wasn’t, then added: “I will tell you if you don’t tell anybody else.”

“Of course I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

“Thanks. I have just been caned; 6 of the best. I am hoping nobody will find out. I want to get home and changed before mum gets home.”

“That won’t matter. It will be on your school report when it comes in the post tomorrow. If you remember, my brother James was caned last year.”

As we arrived at our stop, we got off and she said: “If you want me to rub it better for you, let me know!”

The following morning over breakfast, my report had arrived and sure enough mum questioned me about being caned twice and the detentions I had served. But to this day, none of my school friends ever discovered that I had been caned twice at school as I was ashamed to admit the fact to them. I married my girlfriend and she said that she never told anybody either.

GH

I attended a small private prep school just out side London. I won’t mention the name as it still exists in the same large house and nearby sports field with pavilions.

My first memory of corporal punishment there was in my first or second year when a female teacher took me into a small changing room, sat on a stool and pulled me over her lap to spank me. I don’t remember what for, or any other detail except laying over her lap and having my bottom smacked.

As I moved up in the school, I knew that the headmaster and deputy head slippered boys but I didn’t experience that for a few years. However, teachers would punish boys a lot, and often in the classroom. We would be called to the front of the class where we bent over their desk with our bottom facing the boys in the class, and they would lift up our shorts as high up our leg as they could and slap as much bare skin as they could uncover. The more loose your shorts, the higher up they could expose, so your lower buttock and upper thigh could be smacked very painfully. They would then do the same on the other side.

I remember getting quite a few of these classroom spankings and hating the loud smacking of my buttock being the centre of attention, then having to face the class as I went back to my desk.

I remember in gym being taken into a shed where the equipment was kept, by a teacher with 3 other boys. We had all been fighting. One by one we were called to bend over and put our hands on a box of cricket equipment while he pulled our shorts right up to expose our buttock and smacked it very hard. I remember counting nearly 20 smacks on one side and then knew I would be getting the same when he pulled my shorts up and uncovered the other side. We watched each other have our buttock completely exposed and turned from white to red.

Then came my first slippering. Everybody knew the slipper was given on the bare bottom. It was a harsh school but it got results so their methods were accepted. I had to report to the deputy head’s office in break time at 11am. I had a strange feeling of dread and excitement which I am guessing was the first glimmer of a soon to emerge fascination with corporal punishment.

There was no answer when I knocked on the door, but after a few minutes wait he arrived in a bit of a rush as he was clearly busy that day. He asked me why I had been sent for the slipper and I said I didn’t know. A common but lame thing to say as we always knew why we were being punished but didn’t want to admit it to ourselves. He told me to “Take down your trousers and underpants” in a very matter of fact way. While I undid my trousers and began to take them down he opened a cupboard and took out a large black plimsoll.

“Take your pants right down,” he said to hurry me up. “And bend over the arm of that chair,” pointing to an armchair in his office.

I bent over and felt him lift my shirt tail out of the way. Then a pause which probably felt longer than it was. Then whack! My bottom felt like it had never felt before. Beyond stinging, it seemed to tense then fill with fire. Whack! the second came too early and hurt even more. I don’t know whether it was humiliation or shock or just feeling sorry for myself, but I burst into tears. That was it, just two whacks. My initiation. He told me to get dressed and join the rest of my class in the playground.

I was slippered many times in the years at that school, but that is a story for another time.

AN

I am describing my memory of a school spanking a girl called Samantha and I (Steven) got when we were both at school. We were both 14 at the time and went to Hummersknott Comprehensive School in 1984. The spankings happened after we both played for the school chess team.

There were seven in each team and the winners of each game got a point. We played local schools and clubs, the winners getting trophies and prizes. Our teacher, Mrs Williams, was also a maths teacher in her late 50s and fairly easy going, especially after school lesson finished.

On the day in question, we were playing a local school, and Samantha and I were playing on tables opposite each other. We heard cheers break out and, when we looked, everyone else in the team had won, and that meant we had won the league. As a consequence, Samantha and I didn’t try as hard to win and we both ended up losing. Mrs Williams never said anything but when we got back to school and everyone else rushed off home, she asked us to stay.

Normally if we had lost she just said for us to try harder. We were both shocked when she angrily told us she had watched us and was not pleased  as we had shown disrespect to our school team-mates. We both felt about 5 by time she had finished. Then came the bombshell that she was going to spank us and that we would be getting the plimsoll.

I was told I was to be first. Mrs Williams simply sat down at her desk and told me to bend over her knee. I did as I was told and felt the plimsoll on the seat of my trousers. Next moment, whack, the spanking began. I was shocked at how hard she spanked. It seemed like an hour but in reality was only about 5 or 6 minutes, but each whack had me feeling it and I was soon crying.

At that point Samantha looked at my face and I could tell she was frightened.

Mrs Williams told me to get up and told Samantha to take my place. I got up, tears in my eyes, half sobbing. Samantha bent over her knee and the same spanking happened to her. Unfortunately, at one point she called out that Mrs Williams was a bitch. She soon regretted it as I could tell the spanking became harder. When at last her spanking had finished she was crying with tears streaming down her face.

We were both dismissed with a stern warning about our behaviour. On the way home and by then semi-composed, Samantha suddenly burst back into tears. I asked what was wrong.  At first she wouldn’t say anything but then she blurted out that when she got home she had already earned a spanking from her mam, and that when her mam saw her bottom she would get twice the dose.

I asked how her mam would see her bottom, to which she replied that ALL spankings she got at home were bare bottom and administered with a wooden clothes brush. Because her mum would see the previous spanking she would get extra. She then burst back into tears. I left her at hers and walked home.

The next day I saw her and asked if she was alright. She nodded, but didn’t say anything. We walked home that night and when we got to her house her youngest brother came up and said their mum was waiting. He  ran off inside and, as I was about to leave, Samantha gave a quick look round, pecked me on the cheek, lifted her skirt, dropped her woollen tights and knickers, showing me her very dark blotchy bum. We never spoke about it afterwards.

Steven

Before I reached puberty, I was convinced I had such a thing as a ‘spankable’ bottom. Even for those times, I seemed to get spanked more often and more severely than my contemporaries. I wasn’t a plump boy, but my bottom was rounded and ‘shapely’ like a girl’s. I was always being mistaken for a girl because, to my boyish shame, I was also in possession of thick golden curls which my mother refused to allow me to cut.

One of my first memories is of my first day at my new school, aged five, being carried into class and spanked for ‘making a fuss’. In fact, my family had just moved into the area and I had been unsure of the location of my new classroom. I wasn’t trying to ‘stay with Mum’, I was lost. Once the spanking had succeeded in causing me to make a proper fuss, I was cuddled and soothed with the epithet ‘good girl’, which characterised the sweet and sour, hot and cold relationship I enjoyed with most of my primary school teachers.

It was usually me who would be kept in at playtimes or after class and I honestly never knew beforehand if it was for praise or punishment, to help teacher with her preparations or to be dragged summarily over her knee. Like any kid, I joined a gang who invariably got into mischief. My glowing locks and ample rump made me any punitive adult’s first choice for target practice. Boys would run (or ‘scarper’) in every direction to escape and the teacher would chase me. If more than one of us were secured for spanking, it would be me who had his bottom bared. I knew boys who never had their shorts and pants pulled down, but I was bared before punishment so much in primary school it was almost a waste of time and energy my wearing shorts at all!  Some wag once told me, my best mate P most likely, that I should wear a skirt. Whether that would have helped or hindered me I wasn’t quite sure.

When we were about eight, we’d been summoned by the form mistress of a younger boy we’d bullied and we dutifully lined up to be given the slipper. My friend P went first and got four whacks on the seat of his shorts, then a girl in our gang had her skirt lifted for two whacks on the seat of her navy blue knickers, which you didn’t see happen often but signified how angry the teacher must have been. Another lad got four on his shorts and then it was my turn. None of my friends were surprised when my shorts and pants were tugged down and I was walloped for longer than they had been.

It was the same at the swimming baths when, having broken some minor safety rules, my friends and I were pursued hotly by a teenaged life guard, who inevitably caught me, bared my bottom and proceeded to noisily spank me poolside, much to the amusement of a group of teenage girls whom he  undoubtedly intended to impress.

On one of the last memorable occasions at primary school, a mixed group of us were caught in various states of undress, playing ‘strip poker’ in the Wendy House. I was completely clothed apart from my missing shorts, which in fact displayed no more of my legs or pants than the girls exhibited in the short tunic dresses they wore in those days. Yet the sight so outraged the teacher who found us, that he proceeded to expose far more of my flesh than I would ever have done in the game, in order to beat me with his belt.

Although that was my first taste of the belt, I had an uncle who favoured it in his dealings with me. When my parents informed my little sisters and I of the monthly visit to my Auntie Jane and Uncle Bill’s council house, an hour and a half’s drive away, I would always lamely protest or feign illness. Although I loved Auntie Jane, who supplied the best buttered tea cakes in the country, and my older cousins Sally and Polly who liked to make a fuss of me.

I lived in mortal fear of Uncle Bill’s belt. Most visits culminated in his taking me to the bottom of his garden for a leathering, on one pretext or another. My plaintive howls of pain and cries of contrition could be heard across the estate and a small approving group of neighbours would gather to watch, the women fondly admonishing me for my childish indiscretions, clucking like contended hens and the men puffing cigarettes or pipes, the peasant patriarchy. The sight of a twelve or thirteen year old being soundly thrashed was not only common then, but provided legitimate entertainment for those who cared to observe. In hindsight, it strikes me as a ‘bloodthirsty’ spectator sport, but dog fighting was worse and capital punishment had only recently been abolished.  What may have added interest for Uncle Bill’s neighbours was my ambiguous sexual identity. At first glance it may have appeared to be one of his daughters Bill was thrashing.

CJ

A bit of background. I was a very shy and respectful boy. Like most boys bought up in the 1950s and 1960s, I behaved and was treated as a child well in to my teens. My Father was a good man, an accountant by trade who had spent much of his early life in the army. This accounted for his high standards and his attitude to nudity (mine) in front of other men and boys; he never saw it as an issue although I wasn’t spanked in front of women past puberty.

My Mother left my Father when I was about three and so it was very much a male household. Finally I should say that I inherited from my Grandfather and Father a good sized penis. Athough I never understood this at the time I think this is what accounted for glances from women when I was a boy, and laughter and exchanged looks from other boys when I was naked in my teens.

To illustrate the attitude to spanking, or smacking as we called in the 1950s and 1960s, I can think of an occasion that burnt in my memory. My Father had been invited to lunch by a man from his office and I, of course, went along. I would have been about 14, certainly no younger. In the room were the man and his wife, their sons, who were about 20, and a woman who I think was the girlfriend of one of the sons.

Shortly after we arrived, the man’s wife said: “You are very quiet, Graham.”

Before I could say anything, my Father said: “Because he has been causing trouble and had his bottom smacked.”

I went bright red. Everyone laughed and looked at me.

The man said: “Oh dear, had the seat of your trousers dusted, did you?”

My Father then said: “No, he had his trousers and pants taken down, didn’t you?”

I felt very ashamed and whispered: “Yes.”

There was laughter, and then my Father said: “That’s the only way you understand, isn’t it?”

I whispered: “Yes,” again.

Everyone laughed again as if my shame and embarrassment was amusing. The man smiled and ruffled my hair and said: “You better keep standing up, in that case. Come with your Daddy and see my garden.”

From a grown up perspective, there was no reason not to know a child had been naughty and had been smacked. But from my perspective I was deeply ashamed that everyone now knew what had happened, particularly that as a teenager I had been bare below the waist to receive my spanking. The lowering of my trousers and pants during a punishment like a child caused me very deep embarrassment all though my teens.

The following occurred when I was 11 or 12. I had gone with my Father to a church holiday hostel for a week in the summer. He liked these establishments as he didn’t have to cook and I could play with other boys and girls that came from church going families. We had gone to the beach straight after breakfast with two other families with much younger children, aged between 4 and 7 or 8 I would think. When we got there the youngest children went in the water naked and the older boys and girls, including me, changed into trunks and swim suits.

When we were in the water I was acting big and grown up and in the process hit a girl and she ran to her parents crying. My Father summoned me to the beach and the other boys and girls followed. The mother of the girl was also looking. Without a pause my Father pulled down my trunks and spanked my bottom hard. I was jumping up and down displaying my private parts to everyone who cared to look. It wasn’t a short spanking and my bottom was very red and I was close to tears.

My Father then bent down, unhooked my trunks and said: “You won’t be needing these,” and walked off up the beach.

All the boys and girls were looking at me, the boys were saying things and I ran in to the water to cover myself. Even though it was summer the water was cold and after about 10 minutes I had to get out run up the beach to my Father and ask him for my trunks back. He said he was very angry with me and if I behaved like a child I would be treated like one. I should go and play with a boy called Simon who was making sandcastles. I ran over to him and he seemed happy I had joined him and unphased by my nakedness. He was much younger than me but treated me like he was older telling me what to do.

The beach was certainly not at all busy but there were parents walking by and they weren’t at all interested in a naked boy playing on the beach, but the boys and girls all looked with interest and I was very aware they were looking between my legs at my penis and at my very red bottom, and they would know I had been spanked. People have said why didn’t I cover myself but it didn’t occur to me to do so. I had been spanked bare on many occasions and I understood part of the shame was that grown ups and other boys and girls would look at my private parts and spanked bottom and that was part of being smacked. After all, I did exactly the same when I saw others spanked and no one every told me or anyone else not to do it.

In the end I was called up the beach by my Father who put my shorts on and we went off for a ride in the car. I think we had only been there an hour but it seemed like an eternity and it’s an hour of my life I have lived and relived many, many times. This would have been in about 1965.

GF

Margaret was still not too old to feel the sting of leather on her hands or bottom. This is a cautionary tale of being brought down a peg or two.

Margaret had gone for a cigarette in the girls toilet at break time. She was checking her make up in the mirror when two first year girls she knew came in and asked her for a cigarette. She gave them one each and started on her lipstick.

After about 30 seconds, Mrs Jessiman came in doing one of her regular checks for smokers. She caught the 2 of them with the cigarettes lighted. She told them to put them out and asked them if they knew school rules.  They both said they did.

Mrs Jessiman put her bag down and pulled her thick brown leather strap out. Margaret said the toilets were full of girls of all ages pretending to being doing one thing or another, but really they were hanging about to see the belting that was coming.

“Hands up,” Mrs Jessiman said to the first girl, Sharon. She got 2 on each hand. Margaret said she howled at every stroke  and they weren’t hard ones.

Mrs Jessiman turned to the next girl, Louise.  “Up!” She said. She got the same but took them better, only crying softly after the last one.

Margaret had a good view of the belting in the mirror. She was putting her make up bag in her bag when Mrs Jessiman demanded the girl with the cigarettes hand the rest over.

Sharon at once pointed at Margaret and said: “Margaret Montieth gave us them.”

Margaret said she was scared out of her wits. Mrs Jessiman came right up to her face.

“Is this true, Margaret?” She shouted.

Margaret was so taken aback she said: “Yes, Miss.”

“How dare you!” The teacher shouted. “Giving first year girls cigarettes!”

Margaret said she was sorry.

“You will be, girl,” shouted Mrs Jessiman. “Give me the rest of them, now!”

Margaret handed the packet over out of her bag. She said all the rest of the girls were busying themselves at the mirror. They knew what was coming, and so did Margaret. She was slipping her rings off her fingers and leaving them at the side of the sink. Mrs Jessiman took her strap out of her bag again.

“Think yourself lucky the headmaster isn’t dealing with you for this, girl!” She shouted at Margaret. “You won’t forget this in a hurry. Both hands side by side, girl!”

Margaret held her hands out. She then got six of the very best. Margaret told me she pulled her hands away after every stroke. The toilet was silent. All you could hear was leather hitting her hands and her cries.

Later, when she told me what had happened, she said she hated Mrs Jessiman. Her hands were pure red-purple in the fat bits beside her thumbs. She was slowly opening and closing her hands because they were numb.

One of the girls had put her rings in her bag.

The school sent Margaret’s parents a letter, and her mum leathered her again for her smoking and for giving younger girls cigarettes. She showed me the marks on the backs of her thighs and her bottom. They were like grazes.  She could hardly sit.

A few weeks later, Margaret gave Sharon a battering for grassing her up. Unfortunately Sharon’s mum and dad went to see Margaret’s. Margaret ended up getting yet another leathering from her dad. Her Backside was red sore.

He then took Margaret to Sharon’s house and she had to apologise to her. He told her he had leathered Margaret. Margaret was mortified.

GB

My first school memories of CP were at Primary school, where the cane and slipper were in use for children between 8 and 11, as under 8 was deemed too young.

Such occurrences were rare, although I did witness several boys being slippered in front of class, and the headmaster caned a boy once but he seemed to have high blood pressure and a ruddy complexion, and died, I recall, in my last year from a heart attack.

However one hot summer term day in my last year, a group of children were putting up the end of term display for parents evening at lunchtime. The teacher then said he wanted to try out a new slipper, and asked for volunteers. Being keen to please we all volunteered, and bent over for one stroke of the slipper over trousers or skirts.

I then moved on to grammar school. Unfortunately there was a lot of debate about grammar schools back then, and I got transferred to a boys’ secondary modern school instead, under the quota system.

The school I attended had a notorious caning record; the 7th highest in the entire country for use of the cane. I didn’t have a waiver so I spent most of my time trying to avoid it. I did so successfully for about 5 years, but then when I least expected it I found myself in the headmaster’s study touching my toes with a cane across my backside. However that occurred purely by chance and it wasn’t what it seemed.

I was summoned to see the headmaster on a number of occasions, fearing the worst, and walked up the stairs and to his secretary’s office and was told to wait. I was then ushered in to meet the headmaster.

I was bullied twice, so he got to know of me as the bully boys were taken away and thrashed by the deputy head.

He was in a good mood mostly, fortunately, as I had done better than expected in a French test and an English exam, and won a writing competition with other schools and picked up 3 credits, which was a big deal then. He also congratulated me on very good performances in sports and other subjects as one of the most improved students that year.

I couldn’t help noticing 3 canes on his desk, though, on one occasion, with wrapping that had just arrived in the post. I was just about to leave when he said:

“Oh, just one more thing. I had these delivered this morning and need to try them out. Do you mind if I give you a test stroke with each of these across your backside, and you can let me know how they feel?”

I said: “Yes sir, of course.”

So he told me to touch my toes, and tapped my backside with the senior cane, then gave me a stroke which I said was very tingly. He picked up the medium cane and gave me a further stroke, which I said was a bit tingly. This didn’t seem too bad after all. Then he picked up a junior cane and it was very flexible indeed. He lined it up across my backside, and gave me a very firm swish with it.

“Aaargh!” I said. “That really stings.”

He apologised and said it was harder than intended. He said he will keep that one for the bully boys, and thanked me again.

So I left and went down to lunch and sat on a wooden bench, but my backside was stinging like mad all through lunch. After lunch was finished I went to the toilets, dropped my trousers and pants, and saw 3 stripes across my backside, one of them bright red, and they lasted all day.

During secondary school, don’t ask how I dodged the cane so many times by talking through assembly, but I didn’t dodge the slipper though.

On one occasion, a maths class had to cover their textbooks for the next week. Of course only one or two did, so the teacher slippered the entire class.

Forgetting games kit was a frequent cause for a slippering and doing games or PE in underpants, which was embarrassing.

On one occasion in the third year, I was in a Spanish class with a supply teacher who spoke very poor English, and the class rapidly got bored and restless. After the class, I chatted with another student saying he was a bad teacher, but the head of year overheard. He was a Yorkshireman and very keen on CP.

So half way through lunch I was summoned to his classroom and lectured that you don’t slag off teachers. I was then bent over a desk and given a thrashing with the slipper as he was visibly annoyed with me. I returned to the dinner table, but again couldn’t sit down for about half an hour, as my backside was on fire.

Soon after I was late for church with my family and ran past and completely ignored him in the street, for which I got another lecture and one stroke of the slipper that time.

Perhaps the best story was provided by my aunt, who was then a girl at the nearby county school. I was passing her school one day when I bumped into her.

She said: “Have you heard the big news?”

I said: “What news?”

Well, five girls last week left school early on Friday and basically got drunk and went on a rampage through the town, causing damage to shops, stealing, and smoking. They were arrested, and the school was contacted as the police wanted to press charges. The headmistress agreed to discipline the girls, if the police would drop the charges. However there was still the cost of damage to be made good by the school and parents. To add to the shame, it was all over the local papers the following week.

The headmistress was fuming, and at the assembly on the following Monday read the riot act to the whole school, and said that sort of behaviour was completely unacceptable.

She read out 5 names and said: “In my office, NOW!”

The five girls were given an ‘in your face’ lecture on unladylike behaviour and bringing the school into disrepute; and then all five were stripped below the waist, lined up and bent over her desk in a row, and given a bare bottom hiding with the cane.

I met up with old school friends recently, and we swapped notes about school discipline.

Tim mentioned he was in a maths class when he was caught talking out of turn. He had to come up the front and bend over whilst the ex-RAF teacher drew a chalk circle on his backside and then slippered him.

Two of our wives went to convent schools and the boys asked if they were really as bad as they made out. Amanda said she got told to go outside and say three Hail Marys for misbehaving, but doesn’t recall being physically punished.

Karen said she was never really in trouble, but some girls did get the strap from the nuns for smoking and they were fearsome.

The End

Spelzo

In early 1957, at my secondary school in Middlesex, I was 15 years of age and in the metal work class when I heard someone shout: “Stop, stop.”

I immediately pressed the red ‘stop’ button on the wall by the machine I was working on and the room went quickly silent. The teacher came out of his office and asked who stopped the machines. I said that I had heard someone say stop twice, so I pressed the red button. The teacher assumed I was playing games so he told me to come to the front of the room and he went into his office and brought out a cane. The teacher told me to bend over and he gave me 3 or 4 strokes of the cane and then told me to get back to work.

In the distance could be heard someone moaning as if in pain and the teacher went over to where the noise came from and saw a boy with some of his clothing in the machine he was working on and his arm was trapped also. The teacher sent one of the other boys in the class to the headmaster to send for an ambulance and within a very short time, the headmaster and an ambulance arrived and the boy was extracted from the machine and taken to hospital. He was in quite a bad way.

The teacher went with the headmaster to his office and sometime later I was called to that office where the teacher and the headmaster both apologised to me for the caning and the headmaster said he would have to write to the education office and also my parents explaining the mistake and apologising to both. My Mother was very cross and visited the school the next day to make sure the headmaster was aware of her concern. The metalwork teacher also apologised to me again for his mistake. He congratulated me on my quick thinking and action and that was the end of that episode.

In September of that year, having stayed on for a 5th year to take GCE ‘O’ level exams which was very new for this type of school, I became School Vice Captain. My duties included taking the payslips at the end of the month to the teaching staff and I collected them from the school secretary.

It was late in this year that I was doing my rounds towards the end of the school day when I came to the deputy headmistress’s class room. This room was security glass everywhere with just a small panel by the door to see if anyone was in the room prior to entering. This deputy headmistress was not a very nice person. She had no time for the boys and did everything in her power to ensure that girls in the school were kept separate from the boys. She was just over medium build, not too tall and with a face you would not argue with. Facial hair and lack of any make up made her look very stern.

I always kept her payslip to the last as she would not allow me to enter her room until all the girls had gone. I came up to the glass panel only to see a girl I classified as my girlfriend bent over with her pants down and the cane in the hand of the deputy headmistress. I very quickly tip-toed back and went round the corner and waited until I could hear the cries of the girl no more and the door being opened and closed, which I regarded as the girl having left.

I waited for a few minutes and then went to the door and knocked and waited for a ‘come in’. When I heard it I went in and handed the payslip to the deputy headmistress but she said nothing, did not smile, and I immediately left the room.

I went towards the direction where my girlfriend would have gone and found her crying and leaning against the wall. It was home time so I went with her to her house and I knew her parents worked for a government installation and never came home until after 7pm so we would be alone until then. The girlfriend’s name was Sarah.

Gradually she sorted herself out and washed her face and came down and we had a drink and she asked me if I wanted to see the marks on her bottom and I said: “Yes,” and once she had lifted her skirt and dropped her pants, the marks were very vivid. Sarah adjusted her clothes back and soon after I went home which was just around the corner from her house. Looking back, I never connected at that time CP and sex and I am sure that I had no major feelings from seeing her bottom.

Sarah went with her parents to Belgium where the posting would last for a number of years so gradually I met up with another girl who lived further up the same road as I did and she was named Tricia. She loved to wear her school blouse with the top few buttons undone and sideways view of her showed very well developed breasts. Fifth year pupils were allowed to ride on bikes to and from school once they had passed the cycling proficiency test and both Tricia and myself had done so.

One afternoon on the way from school to home, Tricia stopped to give someone a lift on her back pannier mechanism but was seen by a teacher and reported to the fearsome deputy headmistress. Before going home the next day, Tricia had to report to the deputy headmistress and was told off for illegal use of a bicycle and she was given 3 strokes of the cane and lost the privilege of cycling to school for the rest of the term. The dangers of what she was doing were outlined to her and all of this was told to me when she came out of the room and came to me where I was waiting for her. I hugged her and soon she stopped crying and we went home to her house and again her parents were out until later.

She made a drink of tea and then we went up to her bedroom where I saw her bottom which was by now very black and blue with 3 ridges very prominent. We actually did some petting and, for the first time, I felt urges from what was going on, although I did not recognise what they were at that stage.

Once I left Tricia, I went home and that was my first opening into the world of CP which developed a few years later into a lifetime of enjoyment including a wife who loved to be dealt with not only by me but in magazine shoots, films and parties. CP stayed with us all our lives and still does.

Andrew