Memories: Tears streamed down the headmaster’s face as he put his cane into the fire
He used to cane hands. And heaven help the last boy in the row. As this inculcator of morality worked his way down the line, he used to warm up. The swish of the cane sang alluringly in his ears. – Journalist R. B. Suthers recalling his schooldays for the Daily Herald (UK), 13 July 1926.
One frosty morning in October I set out proud and
early for the Upper School. I was just in time to witness a curious scene.
In the centre of a little group gathered round the
fire stood the headmaster, cane in hand. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. “I
shall never use it again, boys,” he sobbed, and taking from his pocket a
penknife, he snicked the cane, bent it, and thrust it into the fire.
Was this a sign of repentance? Alas, no. It simply
meant that the headmaster was retiring from business. But what a significant
touch! How revealing! Tears at parting with the principal tool of his craft –
the cane.
Oh, yes, I was well whacked, cuffed, and spanked in my
childhood. It was the custom. Slippers, canes, rulers, sticks, hands, and belts
– how far back can you remember them?
At one school I attended, the master and proprietor, a
Welshman, sat at a high desk from which he could survey the whole school, and
the boys could not see him because their eyes were not in the backs of their
heads.
On this high desk there was a short black ruler. Let
two heads be bent for whispered conversation, and whizz came the black ruler.
Perhaps it was meant to miss. Sometimes it hit. And then the victim understood
that he was receiving instruction in the British characteristic of fair play.
Another headmaster I enjoyed – for a period – reserved
to himself the right to cane. Assistants sent their bad boys out, and they all
lined up at the end of their lessons. Then the administration of justice ladled
out punishment. He used to cane hands. And heaven help the last boy in the row.
It was a case of appetite growing by what it feeds on.
The first boy might get off with one, and, if he had taken the precaution to
rub his hand with “rozzin,” he could retire smiling. But as this inculcator of
morality worked his way down the line, he used to warm up. The swish of the
cane sang alluringly in his ears. The impact with the hands of the culprits
whetted his appetite for more. Sometimes the boys fearfully withdrew their
hands and he missed. This meant another couple. The last boy was lucky if he
got off with six on each hand. I did not think much of “rozzin” as a
preventative.
The other day I read an article in which the writer
advocated a return to the slapping of the Good Old Times. He depreciated the
old custom of spanking in cold blood, which obtained in some schools and in a
few homes, and suggested that the most effective and least harmful form of
corporal punishment was that administered “in a temper.”
A sporting magistrate in the North recently advocated
that all boys should be birched once a week. A short time ago a schoolmaster at
Stamford caused a boy to be chained to his bed because he walked in his sleep.
An alderman at a public meeting has just made the usual boast about the
thrashing of his boyhood having made him the man he was.
A friend of mine had a boy who had committed a
misdemeanour which required correction. The father, armed with a stick,
repaired to the boy’s bedroom. He then explained to the boy that as a sin had
been committed, punishment must be suffered by someone. It was a law of nature.
In the end he offered the stick and his own back to the boy, and requested him
to lay on. To his astonishment and chagrin, his son did so, heartily. He had
expected the boy to say: “No, father, I sinned. I must suffer,” but the
argument went awry.
This experience, I believe, induced my friend to
abstain from corporal punishment thereafter.
Picture credit: The Magnet
Traditionalschooldiscipline@gmail.com
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