I Received Corporal Punishment At School
Corporal punishment and caning certainly had a ritual and language all its own with terms I had not heard before like “correction”, “being dealt with”, “cuts of the cane” ( I soon came to realise why as it truly felt to me as if my bottom had been cut open), “rod of correction or justice”, “up for the cuts tomorrow” referring to your name going up on the punishment board, “paying the price” “slate wiped clean”, “stripes” and “bum striping”, “the cruel cleansing cuts of the punishment cane” a phrase used by the headmaster . Indeed it sure did seem cruel but later I did realise that it was indeed cleansing, “a real roasting” referring to the heat generated by a sound caning. In South Africa I found there was a real “cane culture” and a belief that all boys should be subjected to corporal punishment and the cane and that it was good for them, helped them grow up, taught respect and even that it was a test of good character – character building, a chance for a boy to show his true mettle. Better to take a good thrashing than wrestle a lion or steal a car! In ironmonger’s shops there were even bunches of canes hanging up quite openly. I well remember an occasion I went with my father to such a shop to get some keys cut and watched fascinated as an Afrikaner parent was pulling canes out of a bundle. The shop assistant asked him what age his son was, the reply was 14 years, and the assistant told the man that the cane he had selected was too short and thin. He pulled out several more, longer, thicker ones telling the man that these were the ones for a 14 year old! It was all very matter of fact and the Afrikaner went off happy with his purchase! I felt sorry for the boy and his poor bottom!
I well remember one sports day at school I overheard a mother say to her friend, “He got his first caning this week.” As if she was really proud of it!
.I later learnt that caning is very much a co-operative act between boy and master. The boy's duty, in offering up his bottom for the cane, is to keep still and accept the strokes, however painful, inflicted upon him by the caner and absorb the searing pain in order to expiate his sin.
The master’s duty is to ensure that the boy is caned hard and well and suffers sufficiently for his misdemeanour. He also has to try to space the strokes across the boy's bottom as evenly as possible from the cleavage to the under bottom.
At my strict boarding school the caning experience started when a master or prefect found a boy summarily guilty of breaking a school rule, getting too many demerit points or the third detention of that term, being out of bounds etc. To his horror the boy was ordered to report to the prefect's common room at a certain hour or was advised that his name was on the punishment board for the next day for a serious headmaster’s or housemaster’s caning. This usually gave him some time to contemplate his fate. A caning was the most likely punishment but we always hoped beyond hope that we may be given lines or even just a severe lecture. However many times a boy has been caned, each caning is a fresh ordeal which we all dreaded. The cane was the most effective and feared of all the instruments of corporal punishment. It was and still is, searingly painful and most hard to take. Uniquely it takes one narrow band of soft flesh at a time and welts it painfully moving on to another one so that in the end there is no untouched flesh. The entire area of the bottom is left well bruised, welted and sore.
At the appointed time, we nervously arrived at the prefect's common room or other master’s door and entered when called. Usually there were canes already lying on a desk ready for us but if not, it gave us fresh hope of avoiding a caning. We were lectured and eventually the punishment was announced usually with the words: "I intend to beat you, what have you got to say?” A last chance to defend yourself but usually futile as in the prefect’s common room the others prefects would say things like, “We know what you’re like, mount the chairs.” Once in the common room all hope was gone, no prefect ever let a boy off his caning. In the common room there was always a full house of prefects present to observe the proceedings, watching boys bend over and get their shapely bottoms beaten was VERY popular
The ritual now began. The prefect if carrying out the punishment placed 2 chairs back to back, the Winchester position and ordered the boy to remove his jacket. This initial act impressed on us that we really were going to experience the cane and not be let off with a lighter punishment. If canes were not already lying on the desk, the caner went to a cupboard or drawer or as with our headmaster and housemaster, to a pot beside the desk and selected a cane. Whenever I saw the cane which was going to thrash my bottom I sure shuddered, staring at it knowing the power it had to inflict hellish burning pain. The caner always added to our trepidation by flexing the cane in front of us. Next came the humiliating moment when, on some occasions, if the HM was giving the punishment, he may orders us to drop or remove our shorts and expose our thin school pants, the so called “panting”. While we disrobed, the cane was loudly swished, unnerving us and making our legs even more jelly like. By this time we were fair trembling with fear and embarrassment especially if stood before the HM in our little white pants. If there are any witnesses present, they would also be trembling but with excitement and anticipation. The prefects especially loved to see a boy get thrashed well.
The prefect, master or HM, who had the boy totally within his power, now uttered the dreaded words: "BEND OVER." This is the moment we had to overcome all our instincts and submit ourselves to a punishment which we knew was going to hurt unbearably. It was also the moment of no return. Once bent over and in position, no boy ever stood up for any reason until the caning was completed. As we bent over the caning chairs, or HM’s caning stool we well knew that when we next stood up our bottoms would be blazing and throbbing. We were severely tested for good character.
At this point, our bottoms were still covered by our shirt tails. The caner always expected us to pull our shirt out of the way and hoist it high, part of the pre-caning ritual. Our bottoms were then the centre of attention, ready and waiting for the cane. At the same time once I had got used to being caned I felt a strange guilty feeling of excitement.
The caner then took up his position and the cane made its first contact with our bottoms that it would thrash. But this was only a gentle, caressing embrace, as the master or prefect spent some time stroking and tapping our bottom s with the cane as he measured it to decide exactly where to place the strokes.
All bottoms are different but, if bent over at the right angle, usually six strokes could be easily fitted on so that the whole bottom was well caned without any overlapping. The first stroke was often placed across the centre of the bottom as a marker, followed by two strokes above and below. The final, most painful stroke was usually laid by most masters on the crease between bottom and thigh. Hence six strokes was the traditional punishment. In South Africa no master thought it worth picking up a cane to give anything less than 6 cuts. If strokes overlap and it always happened where 9 or 12 cuts were given, they sometimes broke the skin and caused minor bleeding. For the next day or two our pants stuck to our bottoms till the healing started. If a boy deserved the cane, all masters and prefects gave him a standard six strokes, no more and no less, for the majority of offences.
This time spent surveying our bottoms increased our apprehension as we just wanted to get it over with. I am sure it increased the caner’s enjoyment. Eventually the caner announced the number of strokes he was going to give which was usually six of the best and warned us not to move on penalty of further strokes. He would then ask us if we were ready. I always thought "Oh no! This is it! I'm going to be CANED! I won't be able to take it!" but of course had no choice but to reluctantly reply "Yes" and took a tighter grip on the chair or stool which was our only comfort to help us through the painful ordeal. All was now ready for the punishment to begin and there was complete silence except for the sound of our frightened breathing as we enjoyed the last few seconds of a pain-free bottom and tried to prepare ourselves for the first burning cut of the cane
During the caning, the master and boy become completely engrossed in the act, aware of nothing except the hissing cane cracking down on a tight well rounded bottom. The cane, carrying out the function it was made for, comes to life in the master’s hand, rising and flashing down in a blur as it inflicts its excruciating retribution on the reddening bottom. The boy is immersed in unbearable pain which gets worse with each stroke. He is completely alone in his agony as he clings to the chair, or caning stool. He tries desperately to be stoical, to lie still like a corpse and silent but by the third stroke most boy’s resolve and fortitude were gone, their mouths opened involuntarily to emit the unique sounds of punishment, their hips jerked forward, head snapped back and feet kicked up; eliciting the inevitable, “Keep still boy.” Those watching knew the excruciating pain that was being delivered yet had little sympathy as they were enjoying the spectacle.
Towards the end of the caning, a boy may kick his legs backwards even more to try and obtain some relief from the furnace now burning in his bottom before that white hot poker stokes the heat even hotter. He was always rebuked for this but the masters were secretly pleased that their caning was seen to be effective. I always felt desperate to beg the master not to cane me so hard but that was considered wimpish – unthinkable, dishonourable. Whatever the boy's reaction was to the previous stroke, the master gently laid the cane on the hot throbbing bottom and slowly stroked it as he prepared for the next stroke which he then administered with the same full force.
As each stroke cut into the errant bottom, the master knew that a bright red weal would spring up. At the same instant we felt a stripe of unimaginable hot pain burn into our poor soft bottoms. It was and still is the purest pain any schoolboy or adult can suffer and is indescribable. There is nothing it can be compared to. Only those who experience the cane can know how terrible it is and they can forget between canings. It is only at the very moment of caning, as we experienced that incredible level of pain, that the cane's real power to punish was felt.
All those witnessing the caning watched in hushed reverence. They had all experienced the cane themselves but even if they felt any sympathy for the culprit suffering, they knew he must receive a hard caning. Any leniency was interpreted as weakness and the master or prefect would lose credibility among the boys. This caning code ensured that canings were always hard and feared and dreaded by all boys.
To me the caning seemed to last a long time. At last the final stroke was delivered. We would remain slumped over the chair, in real distress, our scorched bottoms burning and throbbing. We dared not get up until told. Most masters kept us in position so that our suffering continued a little longer. . Eventually we would be ordered to stand up. I always grabbed my now blazing bottom. The onlookers regarded us with some respect: we had just undergone a very severe punishment, possibly as severe as any we will ever suffer, and have come through it. After a further lecture on our misdemeanour and a warning of the consequences of future breaches of the rules, we had to thank the master and were then dismissed. I always left, swearing to myself never to break another school rule but it was never long before I was back bent over again for a further experience of the cane and another well marked bottom sometimes with torn skin but always deep lasting bruising and lasting soreness.
At school there were interesting variations in punishment! I once got caned in my sopping wet pants! How? Well I tried to avoid swimming so pretended to the PE master that I could not find my swimmers, it worked twice and I was excused so went to the library to play an illicit game of table tennis with a friend. On the third occasion the master was really cross and told me off. MOST foolishly I told him it was not my flipping fault etc. He saw red and told me to swim in my underpants which I was forced to do. It was embarrassing as the pants went transparent and the local girls gathered and giggled on the river bank! At the end the PE master told us all to go back to the gym, not the changing room. Then he ordered two boys to place a gym horse in the centre of the gym while he went to get his cane from his office. The rest of the boys were told to form a semicircle around the horse.
The master returned cane in hand and I was ordered to bend over the horse, head down one side and bottom up thrust the other, well presented for the cane. There was absolute silence. I felt the usual tap tap, tap, then swoosh and C-R-A-C-K followed, a wave of fierce stinging biting pain went down to my toes and up to my head. It felt as if the water in my pants had turned to scalding steam and taken the skin off my bottom. I got 6 strokes and yelled like a small boy. In the wet pants that caning felt MUCH worse. It was a real struggle to count out the strokes due to the agony and it sounded something like “fffoouur sir” instead of a crisp “four sir” from a strangled dry voice! Later my best friend told me that he could clearly see the welts left by each stroke as the pants were transparent. Also that as the cane impacted spray was driven out of the pants.
My bottom was the subject of much interest for the next week.
I was never cheeky to that PE master again or tried any further pranks like that. I felt truly THRASHED. Strangely I never bore any grudges and can see I well deserved what I got. Is it possible that water can make a caning more painful or is just my imagination.
Another variation was a prefect’s caning. These were given after second prep. We went to the dorm first and removed our pants then made our way to the prefect’s common room. There we were "challenged" as in "Brown you took a shortcut across the headmaster's lawn again, I intend to beat you, what have you got to say?"
It was not worth saying anything unless you could prove you were NOT there!
Even as you attempted to defend yourself the other prefects would shout out something like, "We know what you’re like Brown, mount the Winchester at once." You mounted the back to back chairs feeling the thin unlined shorts next to your skin pull tight. Oh so thin and flimsy!
Apparently the history and tradition of the prefect's caning went like this. They were only allowed to use the short thin junior canes and restricted to only 4 strokes BUT the reality of it was that they stole or acquired or bought the much longer and denser senior canes. It was all too easy to buy canes in SA as they hung in bunches in iron monger's shops for anyone to buy. I well remember an occasion I went with my father to such a shop to get some keys cut and watched fascinated as an Afrikaner parent was pulling canes out of a bundle. The shop assistant asked him what age his son was, the reply was 14 years, and the assistant told the man that the cane he had selected was too short and thin. He pulled out several more longer thicker ones telling the man that these were the ones for a 14 year old! It was all very matter of fact and the Afrikaner went off happy with his purchase! I felt sorry for the boy and his poor bottom!
I digress, as the prefects were only allowed the junior canes they insisted that boys up for a caning by them first remove their pants before reporting, as their thin canes would be ineffective getting though both shorts AND pants. They regarded pants as "padding". It was of course nonsense but nothing was done about it. The reality was they never gave less than 6 real scorchers with their senior canes and with our thin lightweight shorts worn next to the skin, the pain was agony and our bottoms marked for two weeks.
Another variation was called getting a detention “caned off”. This was the only time a boy got to choose whether he was caned or not! At my boarding school one of the worst punishments was copping a Saturday afternoon detention, quite awful, as after lunch, a boy went to the detention room and stayed there till 4pm. The worst part was that on Saturday afternoons, boys had some real freedom to either go to their clubs, like the aero modellers club or the sports field and so on. It was a highly prized time.
One term when I was 14 I copped one of these Saturday afternoon detentions, a real blow as I was playing for my football team against another school. Our school bus left at 1.30 pm so I must either miss playing and let my team down OR choose the dreaded “caning off”.
For this a boy had to go to the deputy head and tell him he was in detention on Saturday afternoon and request it be “caned off”. This was the procedure. The deputy noted your request, wrote your name down as a boy who was to be taken off the detention list and asked you if you were sure you wanted to accept a caning instead? The deputy was a dour man called amusingly Mr.Sampson, a big powerfully built man.
In his study, on the day I got the detention, I asked to be taken off the list and he said, “You know what this means lad, if you accept, its 8 cuts here in my study in your gym shorts on Saturday after lunch, are you sure you want that?”
Through a dry mouth and with pounding heart I said, “Yes sir.” And my fate was sealed. Somewhat kindly he said, “If you change your mind let me know.”
For some weird reason the caning was not then carried out straight away and got over with. A boy had to wait till Saturday for it. Needless to say by the time he did get it, the cane had, in his imagination, been across his soft bottom many times before the reality.
I felt I had to go through with it as I could not bear to let my team down. I was so nervous on Saturday I could not eat lunch. I went off to the gym changing room and removed my shorts and pants putting on the thin snug gym shorts, then off I went to the deputy head’s study. The walk was truly knee wobbling and my body seemed to rebel at every step and I desperately did NOT want this beating. Too late, I had not informed him I was backing out so knocked on his door.
Mr. Sampson was waiting for me alright, on his desk two canes were laid out both straight ones I noticed. There were no preliminaries just, “So you are sure you want to go through with this Brown?”
“Yes sir” I mumbled.
Then “Right, shirt up high, bend over the chair, head right down into the cushion, legs apart.” I can still remember the smell now of this old leather armchair as my face was right down in the seat of it. Even now just smelling a leather chair makes me tremble as I recall the beating I received from this master.
He said, “Right 8 cuts it is, keep quite still. Count out the cuts boy.” I heard a cane taken up; the air cut with it horribly, then felt his hand on my bottom roving all over, most troublingly for what seemed like to me, twenty minutes. I am sure it was not but the hand seemed to explore the curves of my bum cheeks from the waist of my shorts to my thighs. It seemed weirdly erotic, was that all I was to get?
No, I felt the cane come to rest on my tight shorts seat, a pause a couple of taps, and “Brace yourself boy.” I cannot recall hearing the approach of the cane but did hear a terrific T-H-W-A-C-
I well remember one sports day at school I overheard a mother say to her friend, “He got his first caning this week.” As if she was really proud of it!
.I later learnt that caning is very much a co-operative act between boy and master. The boy's duty, in offering up his bottom for the cane, is to keep still and accept the strokes, however painful, inflicted upon him by the caner and absorb the searing pain in order to expiate his sin.
The master’s duty is to ensure that the boy is caned hard and well and suffers sufficiently for his misdemeanour. He also has to try to space the strokes across the boy's bottom as evenly as possible from the cleavage to the under bottom.
At my strict boarding school the caning experience started when a master or prefect found a boy summarily guilty of breaking a school rule, getting too many demerit points or the third detention of that term, being out of bounds etc. To his horror the boy was ordered to report to the prefect's common room at a certain hour or was advised that his name was on the punishment board for the next day for a serious headmaster’s or housemaster’s caning. This usually gave him some time to contemplate his fate. A caning was the most likely punishment but we always hoped beyond hope that we may be given lines or even just a severe lecture. However many times a boy has been caned, each caning is a fresh ordeal which we all dreaded. The cane was the most effective and feared of all the instruments of corporal punishment. It was and still is, searingly painful and most hard to take. Uniquely it takes one narrow band of soft flesh at a time and welts it painfully moving on to another one so that in the end there is no untouched flesh. The entire area of the bottom is left well bruised, welted and sore.
At the appointed time, we nervously arrived at the prefect's common room or other master’s door and entered when called. Usually there were canes already lying on a desk ready for us but if not, it gave us fresh hope of avoiding a caning. We were lectured and eventually the punishment was announced usually with the words: "I intend to beat you, what have you got to say?” A last chance to defend yourself but usually futile as in the prefect’s common room the others prefects would say things like, “We know what you’re like, mount the chairs.” Once in the common room all hope was gone, no prefect ever let a boy off his caning. In the common room there was always a full house of prefects present to observe the proceedings, watching boys bend over and get their shapely bottoms beaten was VERY popular
The ritual now began. The prefect if carrying out the punishment placed 2 chairs back to back, the Winchester position and ordered the boy to remove his jacket. This initial act impressed on us that we really were going to experience the cane and not be let off with a lighter punishment. If canes were not already lying on the desk, the caner went to a cupboard or drawer or as with our headmaster and housemaster, to a pot beside the desk and selected a cane. Whenever I saw the cane which was going to thrash my bottom I sure shuddered, staring at it knowing the power it had to inflict hellish burning pain. The caner always added to our trepidation by flexing the cane in front of us. Next came the humiliating moment when, on some occasions, if the HM was giving the punishment, he may orders us to drop or remove our shorts and expose our thin school pants, the so called “panting”. While we disrobed, the cane was loudly swished, unnerving us and making our legs even more jelly like. By this time we were fair trembling with fear and embarrassment especially if stood before the HM in our little white pants. If there are any witnesses present, they would also be trembling but with excitement and anticipation. The prefects especially loved to see a boy get thrashed well.
The prefect, master or HM, who had the boy totally within his power, now uttered the dreaded words: "BEND OVER." This is the moment we had to overcome all our instincts and submit ourselves to a punishment which we knew was going to hurt unbearably. It was also the moment of no return. Once bent over and in position, no boy ever stood up for any reason until the caning was completed. As we bent over the caning chairs, or HM’s caning stool we well knew that when we next stood up our bottoms would be blazing and throbbing. We were severely tested for good character.
At this point, our bottoms were still covered by our shirt tails. The caner always expected us to pull our shirt out of the way and hoist it high, part of the pre-caning ritual. Our bottoms were then the centre of attention, ready and waiting for the cane. At the same time once I had got used to being caned I felt a strange guilty feeling of excitement.
The caner then took up his position and the cane made its first contact with our bottoms that it would thrash. But this was only a gentle, caressing embrace, as the master or prefect spent some time stroking and tapping our bottom s with the cane as he measured it to decide exactly where to place the strokes.
All bottoms are different but, if bent over at the right angle, usually six strokes could be easily fitted on so that the whole bottom was well caned without any overlapping. The first stroke was often placed across the centre of the bottom as a marker, followed by two strokes above and below. The final, most painful stroke was usually laid by most masters on the crease between bottom and thigh. Hence six strokes was the traditional punishment. In South Africa no master thought it worth picking up a cane to give anything less than 6 cuts. If strokes overlap and it always happened where 9 or 12 cuts were given, they sometimes broke the skin and caused minor bleeding. For the next day or two our pants stuck to our bottoms till the healing started. If a boy deserved the cane, all masters and prefects gave him a standard six strokes, no more and no less, for the majority of offences.
This time spent surveying our bottoms increased our apprehension as we just wanted to get it over with. I am sure it increased the caner’s enjoyment. Eventually the caner announced the number of strokes he was going to give which was usually six of the best and warned us not to move on penalty of further strokes. He would then ask us if we were ready. I always thought "Oh no! This is it! I'm going to be CANED! I won't be able to take it!" but of course had no choice but to reluctantly reply "Yes" and took a tighter grip on the chair or stool which was our only comfort to help us through the painful ordeal. All was now ready for the punishment to begin and there was complete silence except for the sound of our frightened breathing as we enjoyed the last few seconds of a pain-free bottom and tried to prepare ourselves for the first burning cut of the cane
During the caning, the master and boy become completely engrossed in the act, aware of nothing except the hissing cane cracking down on a tight well rounded bottom. The cane, carrying out the function it was made for, comes to life in the master’s hand, rising and flashing down in a blur as it inflicts its excruciating retribution on the reddening bottom. The boy is immersed in unbearable pain which gets worse with each stroke. He is completely alone in his agony as he clings to the chair, or caning stool. He tries desperately to be stoical, to lie still like a corpse and silent but by the third stroke most boy’s resolve and fortitude were gone, their mouths opened involuntarily to emit the unique sounds of punishment, their hips jerked forward, head snapped back and feet kicked up; eliciting the inevitable, “Keep still boy.” Those watching knew the excruciating pain that was being delivered yet had little sympathy as they were enjoying the spectacle.
Towards the end of the caning, a boy may kick his legs backwards even more to try and obtain some relief from the furnace now burning in his bottom before that white hot poker stokes the heat even hotter. He was always rebuked for this but the masters were secretly pleased that their caning was seen to be effective. I always felt desperate to beg the master not to cane me so hard but that was considered wimpish – unthinkable, dishonourable. Whatever the boy's reaction was to the previous stroke, the master gently laid the cane on the hot throbbing bottom and slowly stroked it as he prepared for the next stroke which he then administered with the same full force.
As each stroke cut into the errant bottom, the master knew that a bright red weal would spring up. At the same instant we felt a stripe of unimaginable hot pain burn into our poor soft bottoms. It was and still is the purest pain any schoolboy or adult can suffer and is indescribable. There is nothing it can be compared to. Only those who experience the cane can know how terrible it is and they can forget between canings. It is only at the very moment of caning, as we experienced that incredible level of pain, that the cane's real power to punish was felt.
All those witnessing the caning watched in hushed reverence. They had all experienced the cane themselves but even if they felt any sympathy for the culprit suffering, they knew he must receive a hard caning. Any leniency was interpreted as weakness and the master or prefect would lose credibility among the boys. This caning code ensured that canings were always hard and feared and dreaded by all boys.
To me the caning seemed to last a long time. At last the final stroke was delivered. We would remain slumped over the chair, in real distress, our scorched bottoms burning and throbbing. We dared not get up until told. Most masters kept us in position so that our suffering continued a little longer. . Eventually we would be ordered to stand up. I always grabbed my now blazing bottom. The onlookers regarded us with some respect: we had just undergone a very severe punishment, possibly as severe as any we will ever suffer, and have come through it. After a further lecture on our misdemeanour and a warning of the consequences of future breaches of the rules, we had to thank the master and were then dismissed. I always left, swearing to myself never to break another school rule but it was never long before I was back bent over again for a further experience of the cane and another well marked bottom sometimes with torn skin but always deep lasting bruising and lasting soreness.
At school there were interesting variations in punishment! I once got caned in my sopping wet pants! How? Well I tried to avoid swimming so pretended to the PE master that I could not find my swimmers, it worked twice and I was excused so went to the library to play an illicit game of table tennis with a friend. On the third occasion the master was really cross and told me off. MOST foolishly I told him it was not my flipping fault etc. He saw red and told me to swim in my underpants which I was forced to do. It was embarrassing as the pants went transparent and the local girls gathered and giggled on the river bank! At the end the PE master told us all to go back to the gym, not the changing room. Then he ordered two boys to place a gym horse in the centre of the gym while he went to get his cane from his office. The rest of the boys were told to form a semicircle around the horse.
The master returned cane in hand and I was ordered to bend over the horse, head down one side and bottom up thrust the other, well presented for the cane. There was absolute silence. I felt the usual tap tap, tap, then swoosh and C-R-A-C-K followed, a wave of fierce stinging biting pain went down to my toes and up to my head. It felt as if the water in my pants had turned to scalding steam and taken the skin off my bottom. I got 6 strokes and yelled like a small boy. In the wet pants that caning felt MUCH worse. It was a real struggle to count out the strokes due to the agony and it sounded something like “fffoouur sir” instead of a crisp “four sir” from a strangled dry voice! Later my best friend told me that he could clearly see the welts left by each stroke as the pants were transparent. Also that as the cane impacted spray was driven out of the pants.
My bottom was the subject of much interest for the next week.
I was never cheeky to that PE master again or tried any further pranks like that. I felt truly THRASHED. Strangely I never bore any grudges and can see I well deserved what I got. Is it possible that water can make a caning more painful or is just my imagination.
Another variation was a prefect’s caning. These were given after second prep. We went to the dorm first and removed our pants then made our way to the prefect’s common room. There we were "challenged" as in "Brown you took a shortcut across the headmaster's lawn again, I intend to beat you, what have you got to say?"
It was not worth saying anything unless you could prove you were NOT there!
Even as you attempted to defend yourself the other prefects would shout out something like, "We know what you’re like Brown, mount the Winchester at once." You mounted the back to back chairs feeling the thin unlined shorts next to your skin pull tight. Oh so thin and flimsy!
Apparently the history and tradition of the prefect's caning went like this. They were only allowed to use the short thin junior canes and restricted to only 4 strokes BUT the reality of it was that they stole or acquired or bought the much longer and denser senior canes. It was all too easy to buy canes in SA as they hung in bunches in iron monger's shops for anyone to buy. I well remember an occasion I went with my father to such a shop to get some keys cut and watched fascinated as an Afrikaner parent was pulling canes out of a bundle. The shop assistant asked him what age his son was, the reply was 14 years, and the assistant told the man that the cane he had selected was too short and thin. He pulled out several more longer thicker ones telling the man that these were the ones for a 14 year old! It was all very matter of fact and the Afrikaner went off happy with his purchase! I felt sorry for the boy and his poor bottom!
I digress, as the prefects were only allowed the junior canes they insisted that boys up for a caning by them first remove their pants before reporting, as their thin canes would be ineffective getting though both shorts AND pants. They regarded pants as "padding". It was of course nonsense but nothing was done about it. The reality was they never gave less than 6 real scorchers with their senior canes and with our thin lightweight shorts worn next to the skin, the pain was agony and our bottoms marked for two weeks.
Another variation was called getting a detention “caned off”. This was the only time a boy got to choose whether he was caned or not! At my boarding school one of the worst punishments was copping a Saturday afternoon detention, quite awful, as after lunch, a boy went to the detention room and stayed there till 4pm. The worst part was that on Saturday afternoons, boys had some real freedom to either go to their clubs, like the aero modellers club or the sports field and so on. It was a highly prized time.
One term when I was 14 I copped one of these Saturday afternoon detentions, a real blow as I was playing for my football team against another school. Our school bus left at 1.30 pm so I must either miss playing and let my team down OR choose the dreaded “caning off”.
For this a boy had to go to the deputy head and tell him he was in detention on Saturday afternoon and request it be “caned off”. This was the procedure. The deputy noted your request, wrote your name down as a boy who was to be taken off the detention list and asked you if you were sure you wanted to accept a caning instead? The deputy was a dour man called amusingly Mr.Sampson, a big powerfully built man.
In his study, on the day I got the detention, I asked to be taken off the list and he said, “You know what this means lad, if you accept, its 8 cuts here in my study in your gym shorts on Saturday after lunch, are you sure you want that?”
Through a dry mouth and with pounding heart I said, “Yes sir.” And my fate was sealed. Somewhat kindly he said, “If you change your mind let me know.”
For some weird reason the caning was not then carried out straight away and got over with. A boy had to wait till Saturday for it. Needless to say by the time he did get it, the cane had, in his imagination, been across his soft bottom many times before the reality.
I felt I had to go through with it as I could not bear to let my team down. I was so nervous on Saturday I could not eat lunch. I went off to the gym changing room and removed my shorts and pants putting on the thin snug gym shorts, then off I went to the deputy head’s study. The walk was truly knee wobbling and my body seemed to rebel at every step and I desperately did NOT want this beating. Too late, I had not informed him I was backing out so knocked on his door.
Mr. Sampson was waiting for me alright, on his desk two canes were laid out both straight ones I noticed. There were no preliminaries just, “So you are sure you want to go through with this Brown?”
“Yes sir” I mumbled.
Then “Right, shirt up high, bend over the chair, head right down into the cushion, legs apart.” I can still remember the smell now of this old leather armchair as my face was right down in the seat of it. Even now just smelling a leather chair makes me tremble as I recall the beating I received from this master.
He said, “Right 8 cuts it is, keep quite still. Count out the cuts boy.” I heard a cane taken up; the air cut with it horribly, then felt his hand on my bottom roving all over, most troublingly for what seemed like to me, twenty minutes. I am sure it was not but the hand seemed to explore the curves of my bum cheeks from the waist of my shorts to my thighs. It seemed weirdly erotic, was that all I was to get?
No, I felt the cane come to rest on my tight shorts seat, a pause a couple of taps, and “Brace yourself boy.” I cannot recall hearing the approach of the cane but did hear a terrific T-H-W-A-C-
