I read with interest Charlotte’s account of being caned in primary school. I too got the cane at a similar age (nine years old in my case) and the punishment left me with similar, long-lasting feelings.
I attended a private Catholic junior school in East Anglia during the 1970s, and my own bit of trouble began (perhaps predictably for a girl) with me persistently talking in class. I have to say our class teacher was very patient with me, but after a couple of verbal reprimands in my seat, she finally called me out to the front of the entire class, and gave me a very sound telling-off which ended with the imposition of 200 lines, “I must not talk in class unless asked”, to be handed in the following morning.
I was an only child and so, as you might expect, it was pretty difficult for me to get much privacy. When I got home from school, I was usually sent upstairs to do my homework, so I decided I had better do my lines first. I absolutely did not dare to tell my mum about the punishment, as I knew that a spanking on my bare bottom would be the result.
So I tried to do my imposition furtively, as it were. However, to curse my luck, Mum kept coming upstairs for one thing or another and I was forced to quickly hide my lines under another piece of homework until she had gone back down. All this meant that I was quickly running out of time, and I knew that if I didn’t get my homework done, I would be in much worse trouble, probably a detention at best. Thus conflicted, the result was that I made a pretty shoddy stab at my homework, and I only managed 100 lines before Mum called me down for my tea.
Mum asked whether I’d finished my homework and I nodded. Looking back, I should have said I had something more to finish and I could have got the punishment done without her knowing. But again, luck was not on my side, as two of my favourite TV shows were on that night and Mum was looking forward to watching with me and Dad, who had arrived back just in time for the evening meal.
Mum sent me for a quick bath and to get into my nightie, and again I hoped for the opportunity to complete the lines, but again she was up and down those stairs for something or other and actually came into the bathroom while I was in the tub. In the end, I gave in to my usual last resort – blind optimism – and told myself that Mrs Glenn wouldn’t remember how many lines I was due to hand in, or would let me off the rest.
My teacher lost no time in asking for my assignment – straight after registration, as I recall. I came forward as instructed to hand in my lines. There was a short silence while she examined my work, then said: “And where are the rest, Melanie?” I made some stupid reply to the effect that I hadn’t had time to do them all because of my homework. Of course, Mrs Glenn having set the homework, she knew that was a load of rubbish!
She suddenly looked a lot more serious, took a scrap of notepaper from her desk and wrote for a few moments, then popped the note in a sealed envelope. “You’d better go and see Mrs Williams (the headmistress). Give her this note, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul!”
I walked out of the classroom with very wobbly legs and walked as slowly as I dared towards the head’s office. There was no sign of her secretary, so very reluctantly I knocked on Mrs Williams’ own inner door, praying no-one would be in. My stomach dropped another three inches as I heard a stern-sounding voice bidding me to ‘enter’.
The next few minutes seemed like a blur, as I handed over the note from Mrs Glenn, listened to the inevitable lecture about taking discipline seriously etc etc. Then, to my utter dismay, Mrs Williams went to a long cupboard, like a wardrobe, on one side of her desk and extracted the cane.
Now, I have to say that the cane was used pretty sparingly in our school (in view of the era, anyway) and it was very rare indeed to hear of a girl receiving it. The realisation that I was about to become a member of that exclusive club made my already wobbly legs turn to absolute jelly and I’m not sure to this day how I managed to remain upright.
It was like a bad dream as Mrs Williams went to another corner of the room and drew out a high stool. She placed it in front of me and instructed me to bend over. I was so frightened by now I almost collapsed on to it, and the next thing I knew was the headmistress lifting my skirt. I learned later that boys always got the cane on the seat of their trousers but girls always had it over their pants, which scarcely seemed fair to me.
“I’m going to give you three strokes of the cane, Melanie, and I never want to see you in here for this again – understand?” I managed a vague, gargling affirmative, and the next thing I knew a streak of heat blazed across my bottom. It was much worse than any spanking I ever got off Mum – the cane was a much more scientific method of disciplining youngsters!
I began to cry and let out loud yelps amid the constant tears as the cane was applied to my buttocks twice more. By the time I was bidden to stand, my little world was a blur of tears. I stood there, shaking and desperately wanting to rub my sore bottom but not daring to do so, as Mrs Williams entered my details in the punishment book. Then she opened a drawer and reached inside for something else.
“Punishment slip, Melanie,” she explained. “I need this signed by your parents and handed in to Mrs Glenn first thing in the morning, OK?” I managed to nod, hiccuping sobs all the way. “And no funny business this time,” Mrs Williams warned, “or I’ll be seeing you here again tomorrow and next time it’ll be on the bare bottom.” I’m not sure whether this was just a threat to scare me – probably it was – but the thought of Mrs Williams seeing my bum (notwithstanding that she had already seen pretty much everything anyway) filled me with horror.
“Right – back to class, and I hope that’s been a lesson for you.” Then her expression softened a bit. “If I were you, I’d go to the toilet and wash your face, then straight back to your lessons, please.”
I hurried out, needing no further bidding, and went to the girls’ bogs. I had a wee and wiped myself, then, as there was no-one else around, I flipped up my skirt, took down my pants and had a look at my bum in the mirror. It bore three neat parallel lines, two of them distinctly darker at one end where the end of the cane had nipped the bare flesh not covered by my pants.
Sitting was agony, and from my still tear-stained face I’m sure the whole class, boys and girls alike, guessed what I had been for. I confided in one or two close friends at break time, and they asked me in some detail about the punishment. Talking about it felt embarrassing but sort of naughtily nice, for some reason.
Anyway, I finally headed home that day feeling like I was carrying a bomb in my satchel, in the form of that punishment slip. I decided to get it over with as soon as I got home – I didn’t want to get spanked in front of my dad, or worse still possibly by him. It didn’t take long for the bomb to go off. I was thoroughly questioned, soundly scolded and finally sent to my room with the promise of a smacked bottom.
When Mum finally came up to spank me, she was carrying one of Dad’s slippers. “If you’re old enough for the cane, you’re old enough to have this now,” Mum said, smacking the chosen implement against her hand threateningly.
She sat down on my bed and I was summarily put across her knee. I felt my skirt being lifted for the second time that day, then Mum said: “Right – let’s have a look at this bottom of yours.” I felt my pants being pulled down to my knees and Mum said: “Not a bad job – but I think we can do better than that, Melanie.”
Without a further word she hit me squarely across my bottom’s cleavage with the slipper. It wasn’t as bad as the cane had been, but it imparted a deep pain in my backside and was certainly far worse than the usual smackings with just her hand. I was given a thorough thrashing with that slipper – and even today, I can only admit that I deserved every whack, and would have done just the same had it been my daughter lying there across my knee.
Needless to say, I was an absolute wreck by the time the slippering was through. Then Mum stripped me of the rest of my clothes (something she hadn’t done since I was very young) and led her sobbing daughter naked into the bathroom. She quickly ran a bath and washed me as if I was about five years old again. Retrospectively, I’m still not sure which was worse, that or the spanking.
After a few minutes she helped me out of the tub, dried me off (the towel feeling like sandpaper when she got to my bum), then put me into my nightie. Then I had to do my homework (I was sure to make a thorough job of it this time), write the missing 100 lines (which hadn’t been asked for, but still…) and I was ordered to go straight to bed as soon as both tasks were finished. No tea for me that night.
Looking back at the whole sorry affair, I can’t say I didn’t get everything that was coming to me those two fateful days. I know your website doesn’t endorse corporal punishment for today’s children but I’m afraid I have to disagree with you. That whacking from Mrs Williams – and the slippering from Mum which followed – taught me a very important lesson in honesty, one which I’m sure many kids these days could benefit from.
As I’ve already said, I was something of a rarity among rarities among the children at that school – those that had had their bottoms whacked. But the impact of the cane was much wider than that. It was an effective deterrent for the thousands of boys and girls who – unlike me – never got into serious trouble at school.
Contributor: Melanie