School Shorts (2)

 Original Fiction – for adult eyes only

Short stories, written in exactly 100 words.

All illustrations generated by Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)

First, St. Alban’s had put all the boys back into grey short trousers (even the eighteen-year-olds) and then it had reintroduced the cane. What a shock the boys got, especially the seniors who thought they were too old to be treated like children. It amused the headmaster to see the confusion written on the faces of sixth-formers Connolly and Alderson as he flexed the whippy, ratan, crook-handled cane between his hands and swiped it through the air. He watched the pair try to work out how they were supposed to bend over and present their backsides for their first-ever six-of-the-best.

In my earlier days as headmaster, I would have absolutely no doubt in my mind whatsoever that the cane carried the highest deterrent value of all. Put plain and simply a caning hurt, and hurt immensely. In short, it was feared. Now, I am not so sure. Shaw stands before me showing total disrespect with his hands on his hips and an insolent scowl on his face. He thinks since he is a senior and eighteen-years-old that the rules don’t apply to him. Well, my lad, well see about that: ‘Get those trousers and underpants down. Bend over that armchair!’

In an English grammar school in the 1960s, the cane used by the schoolmaster was typically a slender rod made of a durable, flexible material such as rattan or, less commonly, a thin, flexible strip of bamboo. These canes were specifically designed to be used for discipline and were known for their ability to deliver a sharp, stinging sensation without causing serious harm or injury. They were usually three to four feet in length, with a thickness of about a quarter to half an inch. Here, Mr. Goldenston-Crumpet demonstrates the cane in action to the delight of his sixth-form class.

The canings took place in the headmaster’s study. Every morning at assembly the names of boys that were for it were read out and later there would be a very nervous line of scoundrels outside his door. There we waited with dry mouths and churning stomachs. If you put your ear to the door you heard the swish, thwack followed by the gasp of the lad getting Six. Then the door would open and he would shuffle out, hands clasped to his backside, while trying to hide his moist eyes. ‘You’re next,’ he would groan and then you’d go in.

Look at this lot, how sweet and innocent they all look. Butter wouldn’t melt etc. In fact, this is a detention class from St Austen’s, Sydney, Australia around about 1970. Each one of these lads was caught out of bounds drinking beer at a local watering hole. Senior boys they may be (eighteen many of them) but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to write an essay on ‘the dangers of drink’. Oh, and when they’ve finished that they’ll be filing one by one to the front of the class for a traditional six-of-the-best with an ashplant. Shorts down, naturally.

For serious offences I was sent to Dr. Templeton-Felton for ‘six of the best.’ The procedure was to enter his study and stand behind a large wooden chair. On instruction, I would remove my jacket and drop my trousers and pants before bending over, grasping the seat. I got to know the woodworm holes in that chair intimately. The worst part was waiting for the swish of the cane. I don't believe the headmaster’s heart was in it, certainly his arm wasn’t. The punishment was carried out in private with nobody else present. Imagine the scandal if that happened today!

 

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