I Used to Get the Cane At School
Caned as a class..1960
When I was at prep school in the 1960’S the cane was very much is use. The teachers had, what we called a stick, but now days would be called a cane. It was kept on top of the blackboard and was very much a question or not if you would get it, but how many times you would be told “out the front….bend over.” You would bend over and your grey shorts were stretched tightly across your bottom and the teacher would then give you two or sometimes three (never any other amount) sharp whacks with the stick across your shorts. It hurt, but was not that bad, and while not wanting it, knew that at one time or the other you would get it. None of us were really afraid of getting it, knowing while it stung it was not that bad and would get worse at home. The thing we all feared, and was not used that much was getting the cane from the headmaster.
Many tales surrounded getting the cane from the headmaster as it was nearly always done in private in his study. Certain things were well known. Firstly he never gave less than three strokes on the bottom and had a thick, long cane that he used much harder than anything you got from your teacher or at home. Everybody feared getting it, and boys were often seen several days later in the showers with still swollen red lines across their bottoms where they had been caned. I saw several marked bottoms before I experienced his cane on my bottom. I never saw him use it, but seeing the marked bottoms use to send a shudder down my spine and prayed I would never get it. Tales of caning in the study did abound. Stories about times he had caned a boys bottom so hard that the cane broke or split were well known. Teachers always did it on your grey shorts but rumour had it that the head made you take your shorts off and did it on your pants and at times he made you take these off as well and caned you on the bare bottom. All these stories, and seeing the marks on boys bottoms filled me, and all boys at the school with fear of getting the cane from the headmaster.
I had been at the school over two years and was eleven before I felt the heads cane on my bottom for the first time. I must have got the stick about 5 or 6 times by then from teachers.
One day some boys had been running downstairs and an accident occurred resulting in a boy having a broken arm and another a broken leg. The headmaster warned the whole school that if he caught any boy running in school, be it in the corridor or on the stairs he would cane them on the spot. Needless to say this rule was obeyed, or at least for a week.
My class was let out slightly late for lunch and hurried along the passage and down the stairs. I, like the rest, froze as we saw the headmaster standing at the foot of the stairs. I started to prey that somehow, he had not seen us and would say nothing. He stopped all fourteen of us and made us stand against the banisters on the stairs. He started to lecture us about running and what he had said in assembly. I was not paying very much attention to what he was saying and my legs were shaking a little and was glad of the banisters for support. I was close to tears and felt sick as I wondered if he was going to cane us. I tried to get comfort by reasoning that he could not cane all fourteen of us. One boy tried to tell the head that we were not running only walking quickly, which was in fact true. The head had none of it, saying we were not walking properly, which was true and any more excuses would make it worse for us. He told us to wait against the banisters and headed to his office.
Like all the boys i dreaded he was going to fetch his cane. The very thought of getting the cane made me close to crying and I very slightly wet my pants. I was the 12th boy back, and realised that if he did cane us I was going to have to see eleven others getting it….that made me more fearful. Richard, the boy in front of me was treating it as a joke. He said the head was going to fetch the cane to scare us but would not use it. I just hoped he was right.
The head returned with the cane, and my heart missed a beat as I saw it. My chest was heaving as I tried to fight back the tears. The cane looked far worse than the stick used by teachers or by the cane I got at home. A kind of airy silence fell as the head said he always carried out what he said and did not tolerate disobedience. I knew, as did the others, he was intending caning us. Three thoughts went through my mind. Firstly would it hurt as much as those that had got it in the past said it did and indicated by the marks it left on the bottom. Secondly. How many whacks was he going to give. Lastly and the thought really scared me what if we had to take our shorts off and have it on our pants. Then the thought…..what if….no….no…he would not….what if it was on the bare bottom. I tried to put that thought out of my mind but it kept returning. I could almost picture myself bending over getting the cane on my bare bottom. I felt sick and my tummy felt tight as I waited with fearful dread as to what was going to happen. May be Richard was right…he was just going to scare us….but deep down I “knew” I was going to be caned. It seemed like hours waiting and just wished he would get on with it if he was going to cane us. The agony of waiting was dreadful. I knew if he did cane us the pain would be worse for me as I would at least hear, if not see, eleven others getting it before it was my turn. The teachers cane did not hurt much, but at home dads cane on my bare bottom hurt, and the head had a much thicker cane and was reputed to really whack it hard on your bottom. I feared tyat this was going to hurt far more than any other caning or whacking I had on my bottom in the past.
The head was going on and on about he would be obeyed then my ears opened as I heard him say
“may be this (waving his cane) will make you do as you are told. Three each”
Their was a gasp and then complete silence as we all realised we were going to get three of those infamous strokes. The sight of him waving it around and telling us we were going to get thee each made my eyes water as I imagined it whacking my bottom. The whole atmosphere had changed and that of just a l concern to one of fear, as we knew our fate and just had to wait the cane on the bottom.
The head pointed his cane at the first boy , who was at the foot of the stairs.
“you are first Groombridge. Into the centre of the passage and face the dining room”
We all moved down one step and I had to hold the banister as my legs felt like jelly as Paul moved into the centre of the passage and faced the dinning room. All of us on the stairs had a clear view of Paul and knew when he bent over we would not only hear but see the cane going on his bottom. I realised why Paul had to stand in that position…it was so the head had plenty of room to give the cane a good swing and he was known for this, as well as letting us see what we had coming. Then a lecture again telling us all what to do.
“feet slightly apart and legs straight. Place your hands on your legs just below your knees and your head tucked down. Keep your backside still and do not stand up or put your hands in the way until you have had three. After the third stroke you may go and have lunch.” I thought to myself that the last thing I would want after being caned was anything to eat. I made up my mind I would not watch as the cane went across the persons bottom. I knew I would still hear the whack but would not at least see the bottom whacked.
Paul was a tough lad and hoped he would take it well and give me more confidence. Paul bent over and took up the required position with his bottom sticking out making his shorts almost skin tight and the shape of his bottom clearly seen. I breathed a sigh of relief to myself, as did the others, that we were not going to have to take our shorts off for it, or worse still, like rumours said were going to be caned on our bare bottoms. This did make me feel a bit better but knew even over shorts and pants it was really going to hurt. Then, the words that I will never forget, and made my lips tremble
“Shorts and pants down below your knees Groombridge and then bend over.” I think we had all hoped it was on shorts and pants but those four words “shorts and pant down” cut deep into us all. I, and none of use had any doubts now that we were going to get three of the cane across the bare bottom. Just the thought that it was going to be on my bare bottom made the wait worse. Paul, pulled his shorts and pants down and took up his position. I was like Paul, fairly short, and noticed that both his shirt and vest covered his bottom when bending over, so in actual fact it would not be bare. That gave me some comfort , but not to the taller boys whose shirt and vest would ride up when bending over and present the head with bare bottom to cane. I took relief in the fact that it would still be very painful but easier to take than those that had it right on the bare bottom. I did not want to be seen to take it badly in the eyes of the rest of the class. I reasoned that my shirt and vest would cushion the whacks and would not make such firm contact with my bottom.
My hope of having some protection over my bottom was short lived. When Paul was in position, I had to fight to hold back the tears as his shirt and vest were pulled up under his arm pits. We all had a rear view of Paul bending over naked from his arm pits to below his knees, with his bottom sticking right out and with the head in a good position to give the cane a good swing. Worse still, I now had a clear picture in my mind that very soon I would be in that position and with my bare bottom on show to the last two boys as the head caned me. It was not the thought that they would see me that scared me, but the thought that soon, it would not be Pauls bottom waiting to be caned, but mine. Worse still was knowing I could not do anything about and it was inevitable that I was going to have three strokes. I wished I could be any place other than waiting in this line of boys, waiting to what I knew was going to be a painful caning.
I wanted to look away and not see Pauls bottom being caned, but somehow a curiosity made me look at Pauls bottom while the head took aim. I saw him take the cane back ready to give the first whack. He raised it much more than dad and any other person I had seen using the cane. Tears were running down my face a little. I wanted to see how hard it was done but on the other hand knew it would scare me more if I saw Pauls bottom caned. I saw the cane raised read to strike, and wanted to at least close my eyes, but I think it was fear but could not avoid looking. I saw the swing and heard the massive thwack as the cane landed on Pauls bottom pushing him slightly forward and forcing his head up. A second later he was crying. I stood supported by the banisters almost mesmerised by what I had just seen. I had seen dad cane my brother and had watched with almost pleasure as I saw others getting it from their dads. I had never seen or heard the cane land on a boys bottom so hard. It made me shake still more hearing Paul cry as it landed. If he was like that how was I going to take it on my bottom. Then, my jaw fell almost open as the cane was raised from Pauls bottom, and I could already see a very vivid mauvish/red swollen line right across both of Pauls very white cheeks where the cane had just landed. Almost by instinct I put my hands on my bottom, almost feeling the sting that Paul was feeling. A few boys were going the same. I wondered how I was going to keep bending over and take three like that on my bottom. I was not as tough as Paul nor some of the others. As Paul fought the pain and kept his bottom in place for the next one, I just knew I could not do that. Paul took the other two and crying loudly stood up and grasped his caned bottom. No time for rubbing, the head told him to pull up his shorts and pants and go to lunch. Paul partly pulled them up and shuffled away. I could tell he was in great pain.
“Watts you are next. Shorts and pants down and bend over”
As he moved onto the passage we all moved down one step. For me this added to the punishment, as it was one step closer in getting the cane. One step nearer to getting it. It seemed like I was going to be sick as I took that step closer. David went over, and again I wanted to look away but became transfixed on his little bare bottom as he took, with great difficulty, three strokes as hard on his little bottom as Paul had on his larger one. GOSH…the cane went with aloud thwack on his bare bottom. The head did not ho;d back at all.
The atmosphere on the stairs was one of fear and dread as everybody knew they were going to get the same. The silence of those waiting was now broken by sniffing and snivels as nearly all of us fought back the tears as we waited our turn. Of course I had seen boys bare bottoms caned before, but I had never seen them caned so hard, nor had to watch (other than my brother at home) getting it while waiting my turn. It had been almost fun seeing others getting it while not waiting to it myself, but this filled me with terror as I saw the bottom hit, getting nearer to it being my turn. Every time a boy moved into the passage I had to move down a step with my legs feeling weaker all the time. Each stair seemed steeper as I moved nearer, knowing it was one step nearer being told to “bend over.” Worse still I got a closer view of the boys bottom as it was caned and the resulting marks on it….knowing all the time it was soon going to be my turn. Each time I moved down one step I became more and more afraid. It did not matter how much I tried I could not get out of my mind, that the boy bending over would soon be me, and the terrible thought that it would be my bottom being caned.By the time only three steps remained tears were running down my face and my lips were trembling and my chest heaving. The same question kept going through my mind. Would I be able to keep bending over and take the three on my bottom?. My tummy felt as if it was in a knot and felt my willy getting stiff with fear as it got closer to my turn.
At last it was Richards turn, meaning I was next. I grasped my bottom as I saw the first of his three strokes whack him hard, and he really cried out. He was the one I had hoped would take it well, but he had a job to keep his bottom still and jumped up after the second stroke. The head just said
“bend over Davis. It will be an extra one for that”
That terrified me as I was sure I could not keep bending over for three .
Then the dreaded words “Alexander you are next”
With my legs like jelly and crying I moved into the centre of the passage. My hands were shaking so much that I had a job to undo the clasp on my shorts. With one deep breath I grabbed the top of my shorts and pants and pulled them down to below my knees. My vest and shirt, as I had expected covered my bottom but knew they would be pulled up. Then the words that still make me shudder today
“bend over”
I took a deep breath, crying a little, bent forward and placed my hands on my legs just below the knees. As soon as I was in position the head pulled my vest and shirt up and my bottom was exposed ready to be caned.It felt like nothing I had experienced before as I bent over with my bottom sticking right out waiting for the heads cane to hit it. It must have only been less than a minute but it felt like an hour bending over with my bottom protruding ready to be caned. I could feel myself swaying as I bent over and tried to think of anything other than what was about to happen. It was pointless, as all I could think about was the sight and sound of the other eleven boys getting caned and now i was bending over to get the same. The wait seemed endless. I felt very isolated and venerable as I bent over and a feeling of helplessness as I had to keep my bottom still at all costs and have it caned hard three times or risk getting extra.
I looked back under my arm and saw the cane being raised. I knew this was it. Before when getting it at home I went over a chair and gripped it tightly to try to distract from the pain caused by the cane on my bottom. Here I had no such support and bit my lip to the point that it almost bled to take my mind off the pain I was about to get on my bottom. I would rather have been bending over at home and getting 12 of dads cane (he only ever gave me six) than bending over here to have three of the heads cane. As I looked back and saw the cane raised I could not get out of my mind the picture of bottom after bottom I had seen caned and how much it must of hurt them and the dreadful looking marks it left on their bottoms.. Then, with slightly blurred vision due to my tears I saw the cane move towards my bottom. It seemed like the whoosh of the cane lasted for ages. It came to a sudden end to be replaced with a loud thwack and I felt my bottom being pushed inwards and my feet moved forward slightly due to the impact. At first I just felt a little tingle on my bottom and though it was not that bad, but then the pain really cut in. I wanted to jump up and rub my bottom, but knew I had to keep bending and take another two across it. I bit into my lip and pinched my legs to try to take my mind off the burning/seething pain I felt right across my bottom. It felt as if my bottom had been cut right open where the cane had landed and the rest of it felt as if it was on fire.
Then, just as the pain felt it could not get ant worse, another loud thwack and my bottom being pushed in and my body knocked forward increased the pain to a knew threshold. It felt as if my bottom had been knocked right up into my stomach and I felt as if I was about to be sick and wet myself. I was taken by surprise as the third stroke whacked across my bottom. Some how I had kept bending over and taken the three but each stroke felt like six of dads cane. I stood up very slowly as the pain increased on my bottom. As i stood up I kept hold of my shorts and pants so they partly were pulled up at the same time. My vest and shirt fell down to cover my bottom but even this thin material hurt where it touched me where the cane had landed. I pulled my shorts and pants up partly, but not so they touched my bottom and slowly shuffled away. Each shuffle made my buttocks move, and each moved caused a sharp pain.
I did not eat any lunch, and at the start of the afternoon session, some 9o minutes after being caned I had just managed to pull my shorts and pants right up. My bottom felt as if it was on fire. I had to sit on my side all afternoon as it was too painful to sit properly. Most of the class did the same. On my walk home I put my hands down the inside of my pants to stop them rubbing the cane marks.
The next day my bottom was still sore and burning from where it had been caned. We had PE that day and we all saw each others marks in the showers afterwards. As a rule boys that had been caned by the head were a centre of attention when the marks were seen. Not this time. The reason being that our bottoms were all sore from being caned. All of us had three lines right across our bottoms. I did notice just how accurate the head had been with his caning. We all had got it on the very middle of our bottoms with no stray strokes and it had landed right across both cheeks hitting as much of our bottoms each time as possible. It took over two weeks for the marks to go.
I was caned by different deputies and heads who were constantly coming and going from the school. What made this caning stick so much in my mind was it was administered by the head without any feeling or emotion. He was ex army and it was like he was giving out orders on a parade ground. It was like he was hitting some inanimate object that had no feeling…..our bottoms. The orders were snapped out.
“Shorts and pants down”……”bend over”……”you are nex
When I was at prep school in the 1960’S the cane was very much is use. The teachers had, what we called a stick, but now days would be called a cane. It was kept on top of the blackboard and was very much a question or not if you would get it, but how many times you would be told “out the front….bend over.” You would bend over and your grey shorts were stretched tightly across your bottom and the teacher would then give you two or sometimes three (never any other amount) sharp whacks with the stick across your shorts. It hurt, but was not that bad, and while not wanting it, knew that at one time or the other you would get it. None of us were really afraid of getting it, knowing while it stung it was not that bad and would get worse at home. The thing we all feared, and was not used that much was getting the cane from the headmaster.
Many tales surrounded getting the cane from the headmaster as it was nearly always done in private in his study. Certain things were well known. Firstly he never gave less than three strokes on the bottom and had a thick, long cane that he used much harder than anything you got from your teacher or at home. Everybody feared getting it, and boys were often seen several days later in the showers with still swollen red lines across their bottoms where they had been caned. I saw several marked bottoms before I experienced his cane on my bottom. I never saw him use it, but seeing the marked bottoms use to send a shudder down my spine and prayed I would never get it. Tales of caning in the study did abound. Stories about times he had caned a boys bottom so hard that the cane broke or split were well known. Teachers always did it on your grey shorts but rumour had it that the head made you take your shorts off and did it on your pants and at times he made you take these off as well and caned you on the bare bottom. All these stories, and seeing the marks on boys bottoms filled me, and all boys at the school with fear of getting the cane from the headmaster.
I had been at the school over two years and was eleven before I felt the heads cane on my bottom for the first time. I must have got the stick about 5 or 6 times by then from teachers.
One day some boys had been running downstairs and an accident occurred resulting in a boy having a broken arm and another a broken leg. The headmaster warned the whole school that if he caught any boy running in school, be it in the corridor or on the stairs he would cane them on the spot. Needless to say this rule was obeyed, or at least for a week.
My class was let out slightly late for lunch and hurried along the passage and down the stairs. I, like the rest, froze as we saw the headmaster standing at the foot of the stairs. I started to prey that somehow, he had not seen us and would say nothing. He stopped all fourteen of us and made us stand against the banisters on the stairs. He started to lecture us about running and what he had said in assembly. I was not paying very much attention to what he was saying and my legs were shaking a little and was glad of the banisters for support. I was close to tears and felt sick as I wondered if he was going to cane us. I tried to get comfort by reasoning that he could not cane all fourteen of us. One boy tried to tell the head that we were not running only walking quickly, which was in fact true. The head had none of it, saying we were not walking properly, which was true and any more excuses would make it worse for us. He told us to wait against the banisters and headed to his office.
Like all the boys i dreaded he was going to fetch his cane. The very thought of getting the cane made me close to crying and I very slightly wet my pants. I was the 12th boy back, and realised that if he did cane us I was going to have to see eleven others getting it….that made me more fearful. Richard, the boy in front of me was treating it as a joke. He said the head was going to fetch the cane to scare us but would not use it. I just hoped he was right.
The head returned with the cane, and my heart missed a beat as I saw it. My chest was heaving as I tried to fight back the tears. The cane looked far worse than the stick used by teachers or by the cane I got at home. A kind of airy silence fell as the head said he always carried out what he said and did not tolerate disobedience. I knew, as did the others, he was intending caning us. Three thoughts went through my mind. Firstly would it hurt as much as those that had got it in the past said it did and indicated by the marks it left on the bottom. Secondly. How many whacks was he going to give. Lastly and the thought really scared me what if we had to take our shorts off and have it on our pants. Then the thought…..what if….no….no…he would not….what if it was on the bare bottom. I tried to put that thought out of my mind but it kept returning. I could almost picture myself bending over getting the cane on my bare bottom. I felt sick and my tummy felt tight as I waited with fearful dread as to what was going to happen. May be Richard was right…he was just going to scare us….but deep down I “knew” I was going to be caned. It seemed like hours waiting and just wished he would get on with it if he was going to cane us. The agony of waiting was dreadful. I knew if he did cane us the pain would be worse for me as I would at least hear, if not see, eleven others getting it before it was my turn. The teachers cane did not hurt much, but at home dads cane on my bare bottom hurt, and the head had a much thicker cane and was reputed to really whack it hard on your bottom. I feared tyat this was going to hurt far more than any other caning or whacking I had on my bottom in the past.
The head was going on and on about he would be obeyed then my ears opened as I heard him say
“may be this (waving his cane) will make you do as you are told. Three each”
Their was a gasp and then complete silence as we all realised we were going to get three of those infamous strokes. The sight of him waving it around and telling us we were going to get thee each made my eyes water as I imagined it whacking my bottom. The whole atmosphere had changed and that of just a l concern to one of fear, as we knew our fate and just had to wait the cane on the bottom.
The head pointed his cane at the first boy , who was at the foot of the stairs.
“you are first Groombridge. Into the centre of the passage and face the dining room”
We all moved down one step and I had to hold the banister as my legs felt like jelly as Paul moved into the centre of the passage and faced the dinning room. All of us on the stairs had a clear view of Paul and knew when he bent over we would not only hear but see the cane going on his bottom. I realised why Paul had to stand in that position…it was so the head had plenty of room to give the cane a good swing and he was known for this, as well as letting us see what we had coming. Then a lecture again telling us all what to do.
“feet slightly apart and legs straight. Place your hands on your legs just below your knees and your head tucked down. Keep your backside still and do not stand up or put your hands in the way until you have had three. After the third stroke you may go and have lunch.” I thought to myself that the last thing I would want after being caned was anything to eat. I made up my mind I would not watch as the cane went across the persons bottom. I knew I would still hear the whack but would not at least see the bottom whacked.
Paul was a tough lad and hoped he would take it well and give me more confidence. Paul bent over and took up the required position with his bottom sticking out making his shorts almost skin tight and the shape of his bottom clearly seen. I breathed a sigh of relief to myself, as did the others, that we were not going to have to take our shorts off for it, or worse still, like rumours said were going to be caned on our bare bottoms. This did make me feel a bit better but knew even over shorts and pants it was really going to hurt. Then, the words that I will never forget, and made my lips tremble
“Shorts and pants down below your knees Groombridge and then bend over.” I think we had all hoped it was on shorts and pants but those four words “shorts and pant down” cut deep into us all. I, and none of use had any doubts now that we were going to get three of the cane across the bare bottom. Just the thought that it was going to be on my bare bottom made the wait worse. Paul, pulled his shorts and pants down and took up his position. I was like Paul, fairly short, and noticed that both his shirt and vest covered his bottom when bending over, so in actual fact it would not be bare. That gave me some comfort , but not to the taller boys whose shirt and vest would ride up when bending over and present the head with bare bottom to cane. I took relief in the fact that it would still be very painful but easier to take than those that had it right on the bare bottom. I did not want to be seen to take it badly in the eyes of the rest of the class. I reasoned that my shirt and vest would cushion the whacks and would not make such firm contact with my bottom.
My hope of having some protection over my bottom was short lived. When Paul was in position, I had to fight to hold back the tears as his shirt and vest were pulled up under his arm pits. We all had a rear view of Paul bending over naked from his arm pits to below his knees, with his bottom sticking right out and with the head in a good position to give the cane a good swing. Worse still, I now had a clear picture in my mind that very soon I would be in that position and with my bare bottom on show to the last two boys as the head caned me. It was not the thought that they would see me that scared me, but the thought that soon, it would not be Pauls bottom waiting to be caned, but mine. Worse still was knowing I could not do anything about and it was inevitable that I was going to have three strokes. I wished I could be any place other than waiting in this line of boys, waiting to what I knew was going to be a painful caning.
I wanted to look away and not see Pauls bottom being caned, but somehow a curiosity made me look at Pauls bottom while the head took aim. I saw him take the cane back ready to give the first whack. He raised it much more than dad and any other person I had seen using the cane. Tears were running down my face a little. I wanted to see how hard it was done but on the other hand knew it would scare me more if I saw Pauls bottom caned. I saw the cane raised read to strike, and wanted to at least close my eyes, but I think it was fear but could not avoid looking. I saw the swing and heard the massive thwack as the cane landed on Pauls bottom pushing him slightly forward and forcing his head up. A second later he was crying. I stood supported by the banisters almost mesmerised by what I had just seen. I had seen dad cane my brother and had watched with almost pleasure as I saw others getting it from their dads. I had never seen or heard the cane land on a boys bottom so hard. It made me shake still more hearing Paul cry as it landed. If he was like that how was I going to take it on my bottom. Then, my jaw fell almost open as the cane was raised from Pauls bottom, and I could already see a very vivid mauvish/red swollen line right across both of Pauls very white cheeks where the cane had just landed. Almost by instinct I put my hands on my bottom, almost feeling the sting that Paul was feeling. A few boys were going the same. I wondered how I was going to keep bending over and take three like that on my bottom. I was not as tough as Paul nor some of the others. As Paul fought the pain and kept his bottom in place for the next one, I just knew I could not do that. Paul took the other two and crying loudly stood up and grasped his caned bottom. No time for rubbing, the head told him to pull up his shorts and pants and go to lunch. Paul partly pulled them up and shuffled away. I could tell he was in great pain.
“Watts you are next. Shorts and pants down and bend over”
As he moved onto the passage we all moved down one step. For me this added to the punishment, as it was one step closer in getting the cane. One step nearer to getting it. It seemed like I was going to be sick as I took that step closer. David went over, and again I wanted to look away but became transfixed on his little bare bottom as he took, with great difficulty, three strokes as hard on his little bottom as Paul had on his larger one. GOSH…the cane went with aloud thwack on his bare bottom. The head did not ho;d back at all.
The atmosphere on the stairs was one of fear and dread as everybody knew they were going to get the same. The silence of those waiting was now broken by sniffing and snivels as nearly all of us fought back the tears as we waited our turn. Of course I had seen boys bare bottoms caned before, but I had never seen them caned so hard, nor had to watch (other than my brother at home) getting it while waiting my turn. It had been almost fun seeing others getting it while not waiting to it myself, but this filled me with terror as I saw the bottom hit, getting nearer to it being my turn. Every time a boy moved into the passage I had to move down a step with my legs feeling weaker all the time. Each stair seemed steeper as I moved nearer, knowing it was one step nearer being told to “bend over.” Worse still I got a closer view of the boys bottom as it was caned and the resulting marks on it….knowing all the time it was soon going to be my turn. Each time I moved down one step I became more and more afraid. It did not matter how much I tried I could not get out of my mind, that the boy bending over would soon be me, and the terrible thought that it would be my bottom being caned.By the time only three steps remained tears were running down my face and my lips were trembling and my chest heaving. The same question kept going through my mind. Would I be able to keep bending over and take the three on my bottom?. My tummy felt as if it was in a knot and felt my willy getting stiff with fear as it got closer to my turn.
At last it was Richards turn, meaning I was next. I grasped my bottom as I saw the first of his three strokes whack him hard, and he really cried out. He was the one I had hoped would take it well, but he had a job to keep his bottom still and jumped up after the second stroke. The head just said
“bend over Davis. It will be an extra one for that”
That terrified me as I was sure I could not keep bending over for three .
Then the dreaded words “Alexander you are next”
With my legs like jelly and crying I moved into the centre of the passage. My hands were shaking so much that I had a job to undo the clasp on my shorts. With one deep breath I grabbed the top of my shorts and pants and pulled them down to below my knees. My vest and shirt, as I had expected covered my bottom but knew they would be pulled up. Then the words that still make me shudder today
“bend over”
I took a deep breath, crying a little, bent forward and placed my hands on my legs just below the knees. As soon as I was in position the head pulled my vest and shirt up and my bottom was exposed ready to be caned.It felt like nothing I had experienced before as I bent over with my bottom sticking right out waiting for the heads cane to hit it. It must have only been less than a minute but it felt like an hour bending over with my bottom protruding ready to be caned. I could feel myself swaying as I bent over and tried to think of anything other than what was about to happen. It was pointless, as all I could think about was the sight and sound of the other eleven boys getting caned and now i was bending over to get the same. The wait seemed endless. I felt very isolated and venerable as I bent over and a feeling of helplessness as I had to keep my bottom still at all costs and have it caned hard three times or risk getting extra.
I looked back under my arm and saw the cane being raised. I knew this was it. Before when getting it at home I went over a chair and gripped it tightly to try to distract from the pain caused by the cane on my bottom. Here I had no such support and bit my lip to the point that it almost bled to take my mind off the pain I was about to get on my bottom. I would rather have been bending over at home and getting 12 of dads cane (he only ever gave me six) than bending over here to have three of the heads cane. As I looked back and saw the cane raised I could not get out of my mind the picture of bottom after bottom I had seen caned and how much it must of hurt them and the dreadful looking marks it left on their bottoms.. Then, with slightly blurred vision due to my tears I saw the cane move towards my bottom. It seemed like the whoosh of the cane lasted for ages. It came to a sudden end to be replaced with a loud thwack and I felt my bottom being pushed inwards and my feet moved forward slightly due to the impact. At first I just felt a little tingle on my bottom and though it was not that bad, but then the pain really cut in. I wanted to jump up and rub my bottom, but knew I had to keep bending and take another two across it. I bit into my lip and pinched my legs to try to take my mind off the burning/seething pain I felt right across my bottom. It felt as if my bottom had been cut right open where the cane had landed and the rest of it felt as if it was on fire.
Then, just as the pain felt it could not get ant worse, another loud thwack and my bottom being pushed in and my body knocked forward increased the pain to a knew threshold. It felt as if my bottom had been knocked right up into my stomach and I felt as if I was about to be sick and wet myself. I was taken by surprise as the third stroke whacked across my bottom. Some how I had kept bending over and taken the three but each stroke felt like six of dads cane. I stood up very slowly as the pain increased on my bottom. As i stood up I kept hold of my shorts and pants so they partly were pulled up at the same time. My vest and shirt fell down to cover my bottom but even this thin material hurt where it touched me where the cane had landed. I pulled my shorts and pants up partly, but not so they touched my bottom and slowly shuffled away. Each shuffle made my buttocks move, and each moved caused a sharp pain.
I did not eat any lunch, and at the start of the afternoon session, some 9o minutes after being caned I had just managed to pull my shorts and pants right up. My bottom felt as if it was on fire. I had to sit on my side all afternoon as it was too painful to sit properly. Most of the class did the same. On my walk home I put my hands down the inside of my pants to stop them rubbing the cane marks.
The next day my bottom was still sore and burning from where it had been caned. We had PE that day and we all saw each others marks in the showers afterwards. As a rule boys that had been caned by the head were a centre of attention when the marks were seen. Not this time. The reason being that our bottoms were all sore from being caned. All of us had three lines right across our bottoms. I did notice just how accurate the head had been with his caning. We all had got it on the very middle of our bottoms with no stray strokes and it had landed right across both cheeks hitting as much of our bottoms each time as possible. It took over two weeks for the marks to go.
I was caned by different deputies and heads who were constantly coming and going from the school. What made this caning stick so much in my mind was it was administered by the head without any feeling or emotion. He was ex army and it was like he was giving out orders on a parade ground. It was like he was hitting some inanimate object that had no feeling…..our bottoms. The orders were snapped out.
“Shorts and pants down”……”bend over”……”you are nex
