More About Boy(35)

Five minutes later, walking on my toes and trembling terribly, I passed through the green baize door and entered the sacred precincts where the Headmaster lived. I knocked on his study door.

‘Enter!’

I turned the knob and went into this large square room with bookshelves and easy chairs and the gigantic desk topped in red leather straddling the far corner. The Headmaster was sitting behind the desk holding my Stripe in his fingers. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’ he asked me, and the white shark’s teeth flashed dangerously between his lips.

‘I didn’t lie, sir,’ I said. ‘I promise I didn’t. And I wasn’t trying to cheat.’

‘Captain Hardcastle says you were doing both,’ the Headmaster said. ‘Are you calling Captain Hardcastle a liar?’

‘No, sir. Oh no, sir.’



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The cane wasn’t the only instrument of torture in schools. Other options were the slipper, the strap (a wide, heavy strip of leather) and the birch (a bundle of leafless twigs). The tawse was a truly wicked device – a strip of leather with one end sliced into many smaller strips. They are all now banned.



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The slipper worked best if there was no foot in it at the time of thwacking.



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‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

‘I had broken my nib, sir, and I was asking Dobson if he could lend me another.’

‘That is not what Captain Hardcastle says. He says you were asking for help with your essay.’

‘Oh no, sir, I wasn’t. I was a long way away from Captain Hardcastle and I was only whispering. I don’t think he could have heard what I said, sir.’

‘So you are calling him a liar.’

‘Oh no, sir! No, sir! I would never do that!’

It was impossible for me to win against the Headmaster. What I would like to have said was, ‘Yes, sir, if you really want to know, sir, I am calling Captain Hardcastle a liar because that’s what he is!’, but it was out of the question. I did, however, have one trump card left to play, or I thought I did.

‘You could ask Dobson, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Ask Dobson?’ he cried. ‘Why should I ask Dobson?’

‘He would tell you what I said, sir.’

‘Captain Hardcastle is an officer and a gentleman,’ the Headmaster said. ‘He has told me what happened. I hardly think I want to go round asking some silly little boy if Captain Hardcastle is speaking the truth.’

I kept silent.

‘For talking in Prep,’ the Headmaster went on, ‘for trying to cheat and for lying, I am going to give you six strokes of the cane.’



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‘Six of the best’ was one of the worst punishments ever. After such a serious caning, the recipient would have great difficulty sitting down.



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He rose from his desk and crossed over to the corner-cupboard on the opposite side of the study. He reached up and took from the top of it three very thin yellow canes, each with the bent-over handle at one end. For a few seconds, he held them in his hands, examining them with some care, then he selected one and replaced the other two on top of the cupboard.





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A cane was usually made of bamboo or rattan. It was very bendy, to ensure maximum sting.



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‘Bend over.’

I was frightened of that cane. There is no small boy in the world who wouldn’t be. It wasn’t simply an instrument for beating you. It was a weapon for wounding. It lacerated the skin. It caused severe black and scarlet bruising that took three weeks to disappear, and all the time during those three weeks, you could feel your heart beating along the wounds.

I tried once more, my voice slightly hysterical now. ‘I didn’t do it, sir! I swear I’m telling the truth!’

‘Be quiet and bend over! Over there! And touch your toes!’

Very slowly, I bent over. Then I shut my eyes and braced myself for the first stroke.

Crack! It was like a rifle shot! With a very hard stroke of the cane on one’s buttocks, the time-lag before you feel any pain is about four seconds. Thus, the experienced caner will always pause between strokes to allow the agony to reach its peak.

So for a few seconds after the first crack I felt virtually nothing. Then suddenly came the frightful searing agonizing unbearable burning across the buttocks, and as it reached its highest and most excruciating point, the second crack came down. I clutched hold of my ankles as tight as I could and I bit into my lower lip. I was determined not to make a sound, for that would only give the executioner greater satisfaction.

Crack! … Five seconds pause.

Crack! … Another pause.

Crack! … And another pause.