Metsab
08-08-2015, 01:04 AM
My school was an all-male Grammer School situated in a suburb of London, along the River Thames. Most boys went there up to the age of 18, before going to university, but they entered the school in one of five classes of 30 - 32 boys at the age of 11.
The school had a Preparatory Dept which consisted of a single class of 30 9-year-old boys, who at age 10 moved into a higher class and then at 11 years old were fed directly into the Main School. Because we were younger than the Main School boys, we started at the same time every morning, but left one lesson earlier in the afternoon.
This Prep Department was situated in a lovely 18th. Century manor House on the River Thames, on part of the school grounds, although separated from the Main School of Victorian buildings and classrooms by two playgrounds, the school cafeteria and a major road, which had a private tunnel under it linking the two parts of the school.
I entered the Prep School at age 9, and we had a classroom overlooking the river in which we took most of our lessons, however for Art, Music and sports we went across to the main school to use the specialty rooms and gymnasium.
Boys in the Prep. Dept. had to wear school cap, tie and socks, school blazer with the badge, white shirt and grey flannel shorts - thick material in the winter, and lighter in the summer. We were not allowed to wear long trousers at all (although in the second year, we had a boy who was almost 5 ft. 5" tall, and he was allowed to wear long trousers because of his height. In the Winter we wore a grey v-neck long-sleeve cardigan with the school colours around the sleeve and v-neck, in the Spring and Autumn, we wore a short-sleeve version.
We had three teachers (a middle-aged husband and wife, and a young master) who taught most of the general subjects, however for Music, Art, Science and Physical Training (PT) we had teachers from the Main School.
Our Prep School teachers would keep the boys in line with over-the-knee hand spankings, occasional raps on the knuckles with a 1 ft. wooden ruler or occasionally a couple of strokes slipper on the bum while the boy bent over in his blazer and tie and shorts in front of the class. We occasionally heard of boys being caned in private in the Prep. teachers' study by the younger master, but it was very rare, and when I was in the first year we only heard of it happening to a 10-year-old from the older class.
And then............
I knew from the start that I was not good at "Science". I was not really very good at Maths, either, but managed to scrape by, however in the science class I could not even do that. The class was taught by one of the chemistry teachers from the Main School, Mr. Hare.
Mr. Hare will reappear a great deal in the upcoming stories because he was an old-boy of the school, now a Form Master for a class of 13 year-olds, he lived in a house in the school with some of the boarding boys. He was a strong believer in corporal punishment and had quite a reputation of plenty of practice at it. Because he was single and lived with boys, we always thought that he was gay and enjoyed beating boys' bums. He later became my Form Teacher, but even before that he became very acquainted with my arse - and this was the first time.
I remember that it was in the late Spring (I do not remember whether it was the second term - Easter, or the third -Summer). but given the weather I think it was in Late April or May, because I was wearing the lighter summer-weight shorts. and not wearing a cardigan, both of which affected what was coming.
We had been given a Science test during the class on a Monday, and handed in our exercise books with our answers to Mr. Burrows. Our next Science class was on the following Thursday, and he handed back the exercise books - usually by sitting on the teachers' desk and throwing them at us - sometimes the books hit us and could hurt quite a bit. Anyway, when I opened the exercise book to the correct page, I saw that recieved a very low mark in the test - I was not surprised. Mr. Burrows then announced that any boy who had got less than a certain percentage - strange, I do not remember what, given how the story is impressed on my mind, and arse - and would have to take the tests home and have them signed by a parent before the next class on the following Monday
This was horrific. Not that I was afraid of what my parents would do to me (They never hit either me or my brother), but they were paying more money than they could afford to send me to the school - paying for the transportation, dressing in the school uniform etc., and I did not want them to be disappointed in me. I was 10 years old by then, and feeling very guilty.
So to save them from that disppointment, I forged my father's signature. It was hard, but I traced a copy of his signature from something, and then pressed an imprint of the tracing onto the exercise book next to the test in the exercise book. After I had done that I then inked in the signature in the book.
On Monday, I handed in the exercise book, with the failed test and the forged signature.
And waited.
Nervously.
After I had done it, I was not sure that I had done it well enough and I was scared. I had seen Mr. Burrows whack one of my classmates with a slipper and made him cry, and I did not want that. I dreaded the coming Thursday with its next Science class (I really remember the feeling of dread).
I did not have to wait until Thursday.
During the last class in the afternoon (I do not remember which subject we were learning) on the Wednesday. Mr Hare entered the class room and spoke quietly to my Form Mistress at her desk. He was carrying one of the Science exercise books which he shewed to the teacher. I could not see whose book it was, but I just knew that it was mine. One of the bows sitting a row in front and a row over, turned to me and mouthed the words "it's yours", and I knew that the gig was up. I heard the teacher say that she had "seen the signature, but could not remember it" an at that, Mr. Hare called me outside into the corridor with him.
I vividly recall standing by the window in the hallway of the house, in front of a beautifully carved curved staircase with the windows overlooking the garden and the river, and not enjoying anything about it With just my heart in my stomach and (I also vividly recall) a warm feeling in my bum - I was so scared of what was going to happen.
Mr. Hare shewed me the book, the test and the signature and asked me if it was my father's.
I said that it was.
He asked me if I was sure.
I said I was.
He asked me who had signed it,.
I said that it was my father.
He asked me if that was true, and I said yes.
He then turned the page over and ran his fingers over the imprint on the back of the page and said that he didn't believe me.
I said that it was true.
There was a pause, and he told me to wait there for a moment, and he went back into the classroom. I was 10 years old and almost wetting myself, I was so scared. He came back out of the classroom and told me to come with him, that he had arranged it with my teacher, and that I could come back and pick up my things after school.
I followed him out and across the playgrounds and through the tunnel to the Main School building I had no idea what was going on, what was going to happen or where I was going.
Wednesday was Sports Afternoon in the Main School, and most of the boys were at the school playing field in another London suburb a bus-ride away, so the classrooms were empty. Mr. Burrows led me to his classroom halfway along the building - a classroom that a few years later I would call my own. He opened the door to let me in, and closed it after us.
I had never been in the room before. At the front of his classroom there was a laboratory worktable about 10 feet (3m) long, with a sink and other chemistry paraphenalia, it was solid with drawers in the back, and a gap between it and the blackboard. In the far corner was the teacher's desk and in the corner by the door was a cupboard. There were 5 rows of 8 schooldesks (in pairs, as in the picture that I sent last week), on risers, going up lecture-theatre style. to the back of the room.
Now, picture this, Mr. Hare was well over 6 feet tall and in his mid-to-late 30's. and had a little moustache (a bit like Adolf Hitler). I was 10 years old and just under 5 ft. tall.
He told me to stand at the end of the worktable, by the door, and he sat on a school desk in front of me. He told me that he didn't believe me and that I had traced the signature from something else becuse he could feel the signature through the paper harder than if someone had just pressed on the paper to sign.
He then told me that he was going to cane me, not because failed the test, or because I had forged the signature, but because I had lied about it. And what did I think?
I was simply too scared to think or say anything, so I just mumbled "yes sir" or somesuch.
He then walked around me to the cupboard, and took out a cane. It was not a rattan cane with a handle, but a straight piece of bamboo about 3 ft. long that was actually bent slightly in the middle. I know it well because I later saw it a number of times. It meant that when it hit you the strokes were not straight, but angled down to catch you on the back of the thigh, which hurts more if it caught the bare skin if you were in shorts.
He told me to bend over and touch my toes, with my shoulders up against edge of the side of the worktable, and my head tucked in. That way I could see where he was standing, and his legs, and the stick when he lowered it.
I felt him lift my blazer clear of my bum, and he ran his hand over the tight part of my shorts (not that I had any time or wraning to pad up) and said that there would be 4 strokes.
This was the first time that I was caned, and I remember twondering whether I should scrunch my eyes up tightly or watch what he was doing upside down. As it turned out the four strokes came quite quickly and surpsisingly, because I did not feel him line up his stroke by placing it on my bum.
I think that he just wanted to scare me - I found out on later occasions that he really knew how to hurt.
These strokes hurt, but not a lot, and it was over quicker than I expected. I do remember yelling out, but I do not remember crying. After the third stroke, I felt my blazer slipping, and he flicked it back with the stick before delivering the last cut across my arse.
He then walked away from me to put rthe cane back in the cupboard, and told me that I could stand up. This I did, rubbing my bum as I did.
He turned to me and told me never to tell lies again, and certainly never to forge signatures, and that I could go. As I moved to the door he told me not to forget "this" and he threw the exercise book to me, which I actually caught - and told me to bring it back to class the following day, signed properly, or expect more of the cane.
I remember walking back down rthe corridor and out of the school rubbing my bum, but feeling more frightened and bruised than in pain - I frankly believe in retrospect that I rather enjoyed the actual caning and thinking that if that was all it was then school was going to be easy, and fun (how litttle I knew).
My real problem was getting my father's real signature that night.
I walked back to the Prep. Dept. and fortunately all of the boys had left for the day, so I collected my homework books from my desk and went the cloakroom to change my shoes (we wore plimsolls inside, not shoes) and pick up my stuff. Unfortunately, as I left the classroom to into the cloakroom I passed my Form Teacher.
She asked me if I was alright. I said yes, but she then asked me "How many" even though she had not seen me rubbing my bum, and so I know that she knew what was going to happen. I told her 4, and she asked me if it hurt, and told me not to let it happen again and to get along.
I went to the bus-stop and caught the bus home, and could actually sit down without too much discomfort.
By the time I got home I was not really even feeling the stripes, and by the time I went to look in the bathroom mirror there was not much to see. Sitting at dinner was certainly not a problem and I was rather proud of myself. So much so that I simply decided to tempt fate and forge my father's signature a second time, but this time without the impression on the paper.
When I went to school the next day, several of my classmates asked me what had happened, but unlike most caning tales, I did not tell them - in some ways I was too embarassed to admit that I had been caned and certainly not cocky enough to show off the stripes (perhaps if there had been any to shew I might have done so, but knowing me, I doubt it).
At the Science class that afternoon, Mr. Hare did not say anything, but just looked at me and asked if I had something for him. Although suddenly nervous, I handed him the exercise book and he flipped through it and saw the second signature and threw it back it me. He then handed out the other exercise books that he had taken, and the class continued.
I was very lucky.
The school had a Preparatory Dept which consisted of a single class of 30 9-year-old boys, who at age 10 moved into a higher class and then at 11 years old were fed directly into the Main School. Because we were younger than the Main School boys, we started at the same time every morning, but left one lesson earlier in the afternoon.
This Prep Department was situated in a lovely 18th. Century manor House on the River Thames, on part of the school grounds, although separated from the Main School of Victorian buildings and classrooms by two playgrounds, the school cafeteria and a major road, which had a private tunnel under it linking the two parts of the school.
I entered the Prep School at age 9, and we had a classroom overlooking the river in which we took most of our lessons, however for Art, Music and sports we went across to the main school to use the specialty rooms and gymnasium.
Boys in the Prep. Dept. had to wear school cap, tie and socks, school blazer with the badge, white shirt and grey flannel shorts - thick material in the winter, and lighter in the summer. We were not allowed to wear long trousers at all (although in the second year, we had a boy who was almost 5 ft. 5" tall, and he was allowed to wear long trousers because of his height. In the Winter we wore a grey v-neck long-sleeve cardigan with the school colours around the sleeve and v-neck, in the Spring and Autumn, we wore a short-sleeve version.
We had three teachers (a middle-aged husband and wife, and a young master) who taught most of the general subjects, however for Music, Art, Science and Physical Training (PT) we had teachers from the Main School.
Our Prep School teachers would keep the boys in line with over-the-knee hand spankings, occasional raps on the knuckles with a 1 ft. wooden ruler or occasionally a couple of strokes slipper on the bum while the boy bent over in his blazer and tie and shorts in front of the class. We occasionally heard of boys being caned in private in the Prep. teachers' study by the younger master, but it was very rare, and when I was in the first year we only heard of it happening to a 10-year-old from the older class.
And then............
I knew from the start that I was not good at "Science". I was not really very good at Maths, either, but managed to scrape by, however in the science class I could not even do that. The class was taught by one of the chemistry teachers from the Main School, Mr. Hare.
Mr. Hare will reappear a great deal in the upcoming stories because he was an old-boy of the school, now a Form Master for a class of 13 year-olds, he lived in a house in the school with some of the boarding boys. He was a strong believer in corporal punishment and had quite a reputation of plenty of practice at it. Because he was single and lived with boys, we always thought that he was gay and enjoyed beating boys' bums. He later became my Form Teacher, but even before that he became very acquainted with my arse - and this was the first time.
I remember that it was in the late Spring (I do not remember whether it was the second term - Easter, or the third -Summer). but given the weather I think it was in Late April or May, because I was wearing the lighter summer-weight shorts. and not wearing a cardigan, both of which affected what was coming.
We had been given a Science test during the class on a Monday, and handed in our exercise books with our answers to Mr. Burrows. Our next Science class was on the following Thursday, and he handed back the exercise books - usually by sitting on the teachers' desk and throwing them at us - sometimes the books hit us and could hurt quite a bit. Anyway, when I opened the exercise book to the correct page, I saw that recieved a very low mark in the test - I was not surprised. Mr. Burrows then announced that any boy who had got less than a certain percentage - strange, I do not remember what, given how the story is impressed on my mind, and arse - and would have to take the tests home and have them signed by a parent before the next class on the following Monday
This was horrific. Not that I was afraid of what my parents would do to me (They never hit either me or my brother), but they were paying more money than they could afford to send me to the school - paying for the transportation, dressing in the school uniform etc., and I did not want them to be disappointed in me. I was 10 years old by then, and feeling very guilty.
So to save them from that disppointment, I forged my father's signature. It was hard, but I traced a copy of his signature from something, and then pressed an imprint of the tracing onto the exercise book next to the test in the exercise book. After I had done that I then inked in the signature in the book.
On Monday, I handed in the exercise book, with the failed test and the forged signature.
And waited.
Nervously.
After I had done it, I was not sure that I had done it well enough and I was scared. I had seen Mr. Burrows whack one of my classmates with a slipper and made him cry, and I did not want that. I dreaded the coming Thursday with its next Science class (I really remember the feeling of dread).
I did not have to wait until Thursday.
During the last class in the afternoon (I do not remember which subject we were learning) on the Wednesday. Mr Hare entered the class room and spoke quietly to my Form Mistress at her desk. He was carrying one of the Science exercise books which he shewed to the teacher. I could not see whose book it was, but I just knew that it was mine. One of the bows sitting a row in front and a row over, turned to me and mouthed the words "it's yours", and I knew that the gig was up. I heard the teacher say that she had "seen the signature, but could not remember it" an at that, Mr. Hare called me outside into the corridor with him.
I vividly recall standing by the window in the hallway of the house, in front of a beautifully carved curved staircase with the windows overlooking the garden and the river, and not enjoying anything about it With just my heart in my stomach and (I also vividly recall) a warm feeling in my bum - I was so scared of what was going to happen.
Mr. Hare shewed me the book, the test and the signature and asked me if it was my father's.
I said that it was.
He asked me if I was sure.
I said I was.
He asked me who had signed it,.
I said that it was my father.
He asked me if that was true, and I said yes.
He then turned the page over and ran his fingers over the imprint on the back of the page and said that he didn't believe me.
I said that it was true.
There was a pause, and he told me to wait there for a moment, and he went back into the classroom. I was 10 years old and almost wetting myself, I was so scared. He came back out of the classroom and told me to come with him, that he had arranged it with my teacher, and that I could come back and pick up my things after school.
I followed him out and across the playgrounds and through the tunnel to the Main School building I had no idea what was going on, what was going to happen or where I was going.
Wednesday was Sports Afternoon in the Main School, and most of the boys were at the school playing field in another London suburb a bus-ride away, so the classrooms were empty. Mr. Burrows led me to his classroom halfway along the building - a classroom that a few years later I would call my own. He opened the door to let me in, and closed it after us.
I had never been in the room before. At the front of his classroom there was a laboratory worktable about 10 feet (3m) long, with a sink and other chemistry paraphenalia, it was solid with drawers in the back, and a gap between it and the blackboard. In the far corner was the teacher's desk and in the corner by the door was a cupboard. There were 5 rows of 8 schooldesks (in pairs, as in the picture that I sent last week), on risers, going up lecture-theatre style. to the back of the room.
Now, picture this, Mr. Hare was well over 6 feet tall and in his mid-to-late 30's. and had a little moustache (a bit like Adolf Hitler). I was 10 years old and just under 5 ft. tall.
He told me to stand at the end of the worktable, by the door, and he sat on a school desk in front of me. He told me that he didn't believe me and that I had traced the signature from something else becuse he could feel the signature through the paper harder than if someone had just pressed on the paper to sign.
He then told me that he was going to cane me, not because failed the test, or because I had forged the signature, but because I had lied about it. And what did I think?
I was simply too scared to think or say anything, so I just mumbled "yes sir" or somesuch.
He then walked around me to the cupboard, and took out a cane. It was not a rattan cane with a handle, but a straight piece of bamboo about 3 ft. long that was actually bent slightly in the middle. I know it well because I later saw it a number of times. It meant that when it hit you the strokes were not straight, but angled down to catch you on the back of the thigh, which hurts more if it caught the bare skin if you were in shorts.
He told me to bend over and touch my toes, with my shoulders up against edge of the side of the worktable, and my head tucked in. That way I could see where he was standing, and his legs, and the stick when he lowered it.
I felt him lift my blazer clear of my bum, and he ran his hand over the tight part of my shorts (not that I had any time or wraning to pad up) and said that there would be 4 strokes.
This was the first time that I was caned, and I remember twondering whether I should scrunch my eyes up tightly or watch what he was doing upside down. As it turned out the four strokes came quite quickly and surpsisingly, because I did not feel him line up his stroke by placing it on my bum.
I think that he just wanted to scare me - I found out on later occasions that he really knew how to hurt.
These strokes hurt, but not a lot, and it was over quicker than I expected. I do remember yelling out, but I do not remember crying. After the third stroke, I felt my blazer slipping, and he flicked it back with the stick before delivering the last cut across my arse.
He then walked away from me to put rthe cane back in the cupboard, and told me that I could stand up. This I did, rubbing my bum as I did.
He turned to me and told me never to tell lies again, and certainly never to forge signatures, and that I could go. As I moved to the door he told me not to forget "this" and he threw the exercise book to me, which I actually caught - and told me to bring it back to class the following day, signed properly, or expect more of the cane.
I remember walking back down rthe corridor and out of the school rubbing my bum, but feeling more frightened and bruised than in pain - I frankly believe in retrospect that I rather enjoyed the actual caning and thinking that if that was all it was then school was going to be easy, and fun (how litttle I knew).
My real problem was getting my father's real signature that night.
I walked back to the Prep. Dept. and fortunately all of the boys had left for the day, so I collected my homework books from my desk and went the cloakroom to change my shoes (we wore plimsolls inside, not shoes) and pick up my stuff. Unfortunately, as I left the classroom to into the cloakroom I passed my Form Teacher.
She asked me if I was alright. I said yes, but she then asked me "How many" even though she had not seen me rubbing my bum, and so I know that she knew what was going to happen. I told her 4, and she asked me if it hurt, and told me not to let it happen again and to get along.
I went to the bus-stop and caught the bus home, and could actually sit down without too much discomfort.
By the time I got home I was not really even feeling the stripes, and by the time I went to look in the bathroom mirror there was not much to see. Sitting at dinner was certainly not a problem and I was rather proud of myself. So much so that I simply decided to tempt fate and forge my father's signature a second time, but this time without the impression on the paper.
When I went to school the next day, several of my classmates asked me what had happened, but unlike most caning tales, I did not tell them - in some ways I was too embarassed to admit that I had been caned and certainly not cocky enough to show off the stripes (perhaps if there had been any to shew I might have done so, but knowing me, I doubt it).
At the Science class that afternoon, Mr. Hare did not say anything, but just looked at me and asked if I had something for him. Although suddenly nervous, I handed him the exercise book and he flipped through it and saw the second signature and threw it back it me. He then handed out the other exercise books that he had taken, and the class continued.
I was very lucky.