The Rev A R Cooper served as Principal of The Bishop’s School, Poona, from 1919-1946:
Discipline was strict and corporal punishment was common. Masters were allowed to use the ruler on boys’ hands but only the Head could use the cane. In his office he had half as dozen canes and the lampshade above was torn, testifying to the height to which he raised the cane!
The writer of the school history claims that ” the awesome experience of being caned was far worse than the actual caning”. Perhaps the ceilings were too low?
Able, I’m in my seventies and remember well being caned at school. I don’t recall that it was that dreadful but I do recall that I generally earned it.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
Masters used to surround caning with a good deal of drama. I suppose this impressed naughty schoolboys over and above the pain of the caning.
There was certainly a good deal of drama around the use of the cane. It was talked about much at my school but not often experienced – which only added to its mystery and the terror it held for us boys. The fact that only the headmaster was allowed to cane and that canings took place in his study, a holy of holies that boys rarely entered, also added to its special place as the pinnacle of the punishment hierarchy at school.
It was indeed an awesome experience to be summoned from class by the school secretary with those dreadful words, “The headmaster would like to see Jackson now.” The long walk to his study following dutifully along behind the secretary like a lamb to the slaughter. I remember watching her hips swinging and her skirt tight across her bottom (I was an adolescent with raging hormones after all) and thnking how unfair it was that those soft, curvy globes would not be stinging like my bottom would be in a few minutes.
The wait outside the headmaster’s study door listening to the unmistakable sounds of another boy being caned inside. Those swishes sounded awful but the loud thwacks that followed each one were worse. I quaked in my shoes and wondered if I would be able to take my punishment like a man. It wouldn’t do to cry or flinch or show any sign of how much it hurt. How much would it hurt? Was it really much worse than a whacking with a gym shoe from a prefect that all us boys regularly experienced?
The door opens. It’s my turn. I enter the inner sanctum. He scolds me for my offence. I stand looking shamefaced and as apologetic as I can.
“I am going to cane you.” The expected words. No escape now. I turn round to face the door, bend over and touch my toes. He lifts up the tail of my school blazer. I hold the position trying hard not to show my fear. He picks up the cane. I feel a gentle tap as he takes aim. I wait as his arm comes back…
Oh yes. It was much worse than a slippering. The pain was so intense and lasted so long afterwards. The reality was even worse than the anticipation. We had been right to fear the cane. And I would do everything I could to avoid a return visit to this awful place for the rest of my school career.
Clive: WOW! Thanks for sharing. If it is any consolation I was right there with you this time round!! Really well done.
Many thanks to all three of you for sharing your reminiscences with us. Really good of you: quite fascinating (and particular thanks to Clive for such a detailed account).