The next hour was spent wandering aimlessly around the neighbourhood, dreading the thought of going home and facing the inevitable consequences. Every possible outcome ran through my mind, none of them pleasant. Yet, in another moment of questionable judgement, I found myself returning to my friend’s house. Somehow I convinced myself that honesty might lessen the trouble I was in.
When I arrived, I told my friend’s father that my parents had supposedly asked me to find out how much it would cost to repair the broken window. It never occurred to me to consider where the money would come from or how I would explain any of this to my family if he accepted the offer. Looking back, it was a rather desperate attempt to deal with the situation.
Fortunately, luck seemed to be on my side. Realising that the damage had been accidental rather than deliberate, he appeared to appreciate my willingness to come forward. He told me that he would leave the matter there and that, should anything further need to be done, my parents would deal with it. That was the end of the conversation.
Even so, the relief was only temporary. The entire weekend was spent on edge, constantly worrying that my parents would somehow discover what had happened. Every time the telephone rang or someone mentioned my name, I expected the truth to come out.
On Monday morning, all of the girls who had been together that Saturday afternoon were summoned to the Headmistress’s office. We were informed that a complaint had been made about a group of pupils gathering outside several houses, making excessive noise, and generally fooling around. To this day I have no idea how the Head knew exactly which girls had been involved, nor who had lodged the complaint. However, there was no mention whatsoever of the broken window.
We received a stern lecture about our behaviour, were warned about causing disturbances in the neighbourhood, and then dismissed. I left feeling enormously relieved, convinced that the matter of the window had somehow escaped notice.
That relief lasted only two days.
Later that week I was called back to the Headmistress’s office on my own. The atmosphere was very different this time. Her questions were direct and serious. She began by asking whether I had been one of the girls involved in the group she had spoken to earlier in the week. When I replied that I had, she followed with a second question: did I know that a window had been broken during the incident?
Believing that the matter had already been resolved and seeing little point in denying it, I simply answered yes.
She then demanded to know why I had not mentioned this when the group had first been questioned. Thinking little of it, I gave what was intended as an innocent but unfortunately flippant reply: “You didn’t ask.”
The words had barely left my mouth before I realised my mistake.
The Headmistress reacted instantly. Whether she already knew that I had been responsible for the broken window or whether my answer struck her as insolent, I cannot say. What I do remember clearly is her anger. She lifted my skirt and repeatedly slapped the backs of my thighs and legs with considerable force. The punishment was both painful and shocking, reducing me to tears within moments. By the time it was over, my legs were covered in raised handprints which later developed into bruises.
Whatever the reason for her reaction, she left me in no doubt that she expected complete respect and honesty from her pupils. I also left with the firm impression that it would be wise to avoid finding myself in her office ever again.
Of all the punishments I received during my school years, that particular incident remains one of the most painful. The repeated slaps to my legs hurt intensely and left visible marks for some time afterwards. Yet, when I compare it with later punishments at senior school, I would still have to say that the cane was worse.
My first experiences of corporal punishment at school came much earlier, during my years at infant school. The headmistress there was a tall, imposing woman with a commanding presence. On several occasions she punished me by smacking the tops of my legs. She would pull up the leg of my shorts and deliver the punishment directly to the bare thigh. At the time I considered this severe enough.
However, during my final year at the school, when I was seven years old, I discovered that there were even harsher punishments available.
One break time I had been in the toilet when the bell rang. Rather than hurrying back inside, I wandered slowly across the playground, casually kicking my football against a wall as I went. Suddenly I heard the headmistress call my name across the playground.
The tone of her voice made it immediately clear that I was in trouble.
She ordered me to report to her office. When I arrived, she was waiting at the door. Expecting the usual smacked legs, I followed her inside. She confiscated the football and began giving me a severe telling-off. Although the lecture probably lasted only a minute or two, it felt much longer.
Then, to my surprise, she moved a chair into the middle of the room and sat down.
She instructed me to bend across her lap.
Completely taken aback, I obeyed. Once I was in position, she slipped her hand inside the waistband of my shorts and pulled both my shorts and underpants down. She then delivered a thorough spanking which quickly had me crying and shouting. The punishment felt far more humiliating and painful than the leg smacks I had previously received.
When she had finished, she pulled my clothing back into place and instructed me to stand in front of her desk while she made an entry in the punishment book. Before dismissing me, she warned that any future visit for similar behaviour would result in a punishment with the belt. To reinforce the point, she showed me the belt she kept in her office.
I took the warning seriously. For the remainder of my time at that school, I made every effort to avoid further trouble.
At the time I believed that spanking was the worst punishment imaginable. As I progressed through my school years, however, I discovered that other forms of discipline could be considerably more painful.
Interestingly, I never received the cane during primary school, just as I never received the slipper during secondary school. In many ways, each school seemed to have its own preferred methods of discipline. Primary school was associated with the slipper, occasional smacks to the legs, and the occasional cuff around the head. Secondary school, by contrast, was dominated by the ever-present threat of the cane.
Although I only actually received the cane once, the anticipation and fear surrounding it were often worse than the reality. The slipper generally left a lingering sensation similar to a hard smacking, while the cane produced a sharp, concentrated pain and left a vivid, burning stripe across the hand that remained sore long afterwards.
Looking back, each punishment left its own distinct memory. Some were painful, some humiliating, and some simply frightening because of the anticipation. Together they formed part of a school environment that was very different from what most pupils experience today.
