Story : NOTE FROM SCHOOL Part 1. Thrashed by Dad
I was twelve years of age and at grammar school. It was not my finest year and I had been in trouble a lot both at home and at school. During the term I had been slippered for all sorts of misdemeanors, usually cheek and not handing homework in on time. I had also been caned for rudeness to a girl prefect and now found myself facing the cane again for nicking off with two other boys. We had been seen in town by a member of staff and reported.
As the school suspected that this could be a pattern of truancy, they sent us home with notes explaining the situation and asking for a signed acknowledgement by the next day. The note also stated that unless there was extenuating circumstances, I was to be caned by my housemaster along with the other boys the next day after assembly.
When I reached home, I found two of my mothers’ friends were there and they were all drinking tea and chattering away. There were also a few children in the room all of whom I knew and of course my sister Jane.
I said a quick hello to my Mum who saw me clutching the note. I should have had the sense to put in my bag and hand it over later. She read the note aloud expecting it to be a matter about uniform or some other trivial thing but as she read her face slowly changed.
The room went quiet as she looked at me with her stern mum look. The one she used prior to spanking me. She asked me to explain why I had nicked off and lied to them as to my whereabouts the day before. I had arrived home late. As I mumbled what appeared to be nothing, she said those famous words all children hated ‘wait until your father gets home.’ I knew this would certainly mean a trip across my father’s knee with my trousers and pants down but I really hoped that he would not thrash me within earshot of the present company which, in a smallish house, would be difficult.
I looked around the room at the faces of the mums who exchanged knowing glances as to what I had coming.
I sat down and started chatting with the other kids. Sally Belshaw who was 10 and in the last year of juniors got straight to the point and asked me what it was like to get the cane. I tried to trivialize it and act the big man, shrugging it off but she delved deeper with questions like how many strokes had I got and how long did the marks last. I looked across at her mum who was eavesdropping on our conversation and was interested in my reply. I could only own up and said that I had received four strokes for rudeness to a prefect and it was very painful with the marks lasting close on a weeks.
Seeing my embarrassment, her mother came to my aid with a comment along the lines of ‘how would we all like to hear about how I had to spank Sally this morning.’ Sally turned red and quickly changed the subject and as they started talking about holidays in Bournemouth the front door slammed closed heralding the arrival of father.
As I continued to sit there and make small talk my mum got up and went into the hall to inform on me.
My dad entered the room and said his polite hellos to the ladies, both of whom he knew, and then armed with the note looked across the room at me.
He simply said ‘Looks like you’ve got two appointments lad. One tomorrow morning with Mr Granger and one with me. Right let’s get it over with, upstairs now’
I was mortified. I thought he would have waited until everyone had left before thrashing me in the usual way down here but he was intent on doing it right now up in my bedroom, that was so close that everyone down here would hear him spanking me. I went red as a beetroot, stood up and stepped carefully through the other kids as they sat on the floor. I felt all eyes were watching me as I walked towards the door. All of the children around here were spanked or given some form of corporal punishment but this was the height of embarrassment. Dad opened the cupboard under the stairs and took the strap off its hook.
I heard my mother half apologetically turn to the other women and say ‘He’s got to learn’
My father placed a hand on my shoulder guiding me towards the stairs like a condemned man. ‘Up you go’ he said as I started up the stars a few steps ahead of him.
I went into my room and he followed me in leaving the door half open. He sat down on the upright chair and lectured me about lies and becoming more responsible as I got older.
I asked him why I was being thrashed now when I was going to get the cane at school tomorrow morning anyway. He explained that the school is punishing me for truancy but he is punishing me for lying to him and my mother.
I asked him to beat me after the lady’s downstairs had left but my pleadings fell on deaf ears
It the time-honoured way he called me to him and took my trousers down. Then followed my Y front pants; down to my grey school socks around my ankles.
I bent over my dad’s knee and stared down at the carpet as he adjusted my position. He always paused just before starting the spanking and as I lay there across his knee waiting. The chatter from downstairs that I was hoping would muffle the sound of this hiding had subsided to a mummer.
‘Crack’, dad put the strap squarely across both cheeks and I yelled out. He gripped me firmly onto his lap and continued.
Crack, crack, crack Dad was in his stride and thrashing me very hard. I started crying. Dad was an expert with the strap and knew how to lay it on. It was summer and most windows were open. All of our neighbors could listen to the show. ‘Crack, crack’ as the strap hit both cheeks and I started to wriggle around but he pinned me firmly and laid the strap on what seemed even harder as my legs kicked around and I was crying loudly by now.
A hiding from dad was always worse than from mum both for me and my sister but for this I was getting a corker of a thrashing. My bum was red hot and was stinging like blazes as he laid it on. I lost count of how many he gave me as I was crying so much when he stopped and told me to stand up. He told me to pull up my pants and trousers and be downstairs in ten minutes.
I was astounded. Not only had the assembled group listened to me getting a hiding I now had to present myself for more humiliation. Through my tear-stained face I asked him why I had to come down but was greeted with a stare and ‘Do you want another hiding lad?
I closed the door and looked at my backside which was bright red and well-marked by the strap. It was throbbing like hell.
After a while I slowly descended the stairs to see my mother’s friends and their children heading towards the door. I escaped past them into the kitchen where my sister Jane gloated and said something along the lines of how the whole world could hear what had taken place. She then asked me to show her my bum but I was in no mood for a demonstration.
My mother and father came in and no words were spoken. I was handed the school note duly signed by both of them.
I slept on my side most of the night and as I awoke the first thing to enter my head was how sore by bum was followed by thoughts of impending doom of the cane in a few hours.
As the school suspected that this could be a pattern of truancy, they sent us home with notes explaining the situation and asking for a signed acknowledgement by the next day. The note also stated that unless there was extenuating circumstances, I was to be caned by my housemaster along with the other boys the next day after assembly.
When I reached home, I found two of my mothers’ friends were there and they were all drinking tea and chattering away. There were also a few children in the room all of whom I knew and of course my sister Jane.
I said a quick hello to my Mum who saw me clutching the note. I should have had the sense to put in my bag and hand it over later. She read the note aloud expecting it to be a matter about uniform or some other trivial thing but as she read her face slowly changed.
The room went quiet as she looked at me with her stern mum look. The one she used prior to spanking me. She asked me to explain why I had nicked off and lied to them as to my whereabouts the day before. I had arrived home late. As I mumbled what appeared to be nothing, she said those famous words all children hated ‘wait until your father gets home.’ I knew this would certainly mean a trip across my father’s knee with my trousers and pants down but I really hoped that he would not thrash me within earshot of the present company which, in a smallish house, would be difficult.
I looked around the room at the faces of the mums who exchanged knowing glances as to what I had coming.
I sat down and started chatting with the other kids. Sally Belshaw who was 10 and in the last year of juniors got straight to the point and asked me what it was like to get the cane. I tried to trivialize it and act the big man, shrugging it off but she delved deeper with questions like how many strokes had I got and how long did the marks last. I looked across at her mum who was eavesdropping on our conversation and was interested in my reply. I could only own up and said that I had received four strokes for rudeness to a prefect and it was very painful with the marks lasting close on a weeks.
Seeing my embarrassment, her mother came to my aid with a comment along the lines of ‘how would we all like to hear about how I had to spank Sally this morning.’ Sally turned red and quickly changed the subject and as they started talking about holidays in Bournemouth the front door slammed closed heralding the arrival of father.
As I continued to sit there and make small talk my mum got up and went into the hall to inform on me.
My dad entered the room and said his polite hellos to the ladies, both of whom he knew, and then armed with the note looked across the room at me.
He simply said ‘Looks like you’ve got two appointments lad. One tomorrow morning with Mr Granger and one with me. Right let’s get it over with, upstairs now’
I was mortified. I thought he would have waited until everyone had left before thrashing me in the usual way down here but he was intent on doing it right now up in my bedroom, that was so close that everyone down here would hear him spanking me. I went red as a beetroot, stood up and stepped carefully through the other kids as they sat on the floor. I felt all eyes were watching me as I walked towards the door. All of the children around here were spanked or given some form of corporal punishment but this was the height of embarrassment. Dad opened the cupboard under the stairs and took the strap off its hook.
I heard my mother half apologetically turn to the other women and say ‘He’s got to learn’
My father placed a hand on my shoulder guiding me towards the stairs like a condemned man. ‘Up you go’ he said as I started up the stars a few steps ahead of him.
I went into my room and he followed me in leaving the door half open. He sat down on the upright chair and lectured me about lies and becoming more responsible as I got older.
I asked him why I was being thrashed now when I was going to get the cane at school tomorrow morning anyway. He explained that the school is punishing me for truancy but he is punishing me for lying to him and my mother.
I asked him to beat me after the lady’s downstairs had left but my pleadings fell on deaf ears
It the time-honoured way he called me to him and took my trousers down. Then followed my Y front pants; down to my grey school socks around my ankles.
I bent over my dad’s knee and stared down at the carpet as he adjusted my position. He always paused just before starting the spanking and as I lay there across his knee waiting. The chatter from downstairs that I was hoping would muffle the sound of this hiding had subsided to a mummer.
‘Crack’, dad put the strap squarely across both cheeks and I yelled out. He gripped me firmly onto his lap and continued.
Crack, crack, crack Dad was in his stride and thrashing me very hard. I started crying. Dad was an expert with the strap and knew how to lay it on. It was summer and most windows were open. All of our neighbors could listen to the show. ‘Crack, crack’ as the strap hit both cheeks and I started to wriggle around but he pinned me firmly and laid the strap on what seemed even harder as my legs kicked around and I was crying loudly by now.
A hiding from dad was always worse than from mum both for me and my sister but for this I was getting a corker of a thrashing. My bum was red hot and was stinging like blazes as he laid it on. I lost count of how many he gave me as I was crying so much when he stopped and told me to stand up. He told me to pull up my pants and trousers and be downstairs in ten minutes.
I was astounded. Not only had the assembled group listened to me getting a hiding I now had to present myself for more humiliation. Through my tear-stained face I asked him why I had to come down but was greeted with a stare and ‘Do you want another hiding lad?
I closed the door and looked at my backside which was bright red and well-marked by the strap. It was throbbing like hell.
After a while I slowly descended the stairs to see my mother’s friends and their children heading towards the door. I escaped past them into the kitchen where my sister Jane gloated and said something along the lines of how the whole world could hear what had taken place. She then asked me to show her my bum but I was in no mood for a demonstration.
My mother and father came in and no words were spoken. I was handed the school note duly signed by both of them.
I slept on my side most of the night and as I awoke the first thing to enter my head was how sore by bum was followed by thoughts of impending doom of the cane in a few hours.
70-79, M
