Sending the schoolgirl home

They do say that Japanese schoolgirl uniforms are incredibly cute. I honestly can’t say I’ve noticed over the past few weeks. (Cough, splutter, Pinocchio-style nose-growing…)

One such young lady came and sat next to us on the train crossing Tokyo last Friday, as we headed across to a temple. White shirt; fawn-coloured sweater and blue blazer; tartan skirt; white socks up almost to her knees; black shoes.

But, we wondered, why was she alone on the subway in the middle of the school day?

“She’s just been sent home for the day,” I speculated. “Suspended.” Before reflecting: “Caned then suspended.”

Only, I realised, she had chosen to sit down: perhaps the caning would still await her at home.

She left at the next station to await her fate; I was rather lost in dreams of scenes, picturing one of those occasions when I find myself with a hotel room (aka Headmaster’s study) at my disposal in central London. A schoolgirl is sent to see me in the middle of the day; I listen, lecture, then have her bend over my desk. Six, maybe eight cane strokes follow – hard, on the bare.

Afterwards, I have her sit as I take out my fountain pen and a sheet of notepaper, to write to her ever-so-strict guardian explaining the circumstances which led to her caning and suspension. I   fold the letter neatly into an envelope; address it, and instruct her to hand it over just as soon as she gets home. And then I dismiss her, sending her to travel across London on the tube in her uniform, knowing that her guardian will be awaiting her return…