Pity the poor schoolgirl I had thrashed in my imagination the other day. She’d been caught by one of the masters in a local pub, during school hours, and brought back to face her housemaster.
He’d jotted down a list of offences: “You’re not wearing your tie or blazer: we have strict rules about uniforms. You were out of bounds: you know that girls aren’t allowed into licensed premises. You were, apparently, drinking alcohol. And, of course, you were playing truant during the school day. We’ll deal with the truancy first: remove your knickers, bend over and touch your toes, and lift your skirt.”
Six strokes of the cane followed: not the first time she’d been punished in this way, but perhaps the hardest. The housemaster told her to stand. “Now… ‘out of bounds’. That’s something which, according the school rules, falls to the head prefect to deal with.” He scribbled a note, and folded it into an envelope. “Go and find him, and give him this.”
She walked through the school, along empty corridors as the other girls studied their lessons, and knocked nervously on the door of the prefects’ room. She was shown in; the note was read aloud; six strokes of the tawse soon followed as she bent over the arm of a chair. The head prefect told her to stand. “Now… ‘drinking alcohol’. That’s a matter for your housemaster: go and find him.”
And so she’d retrace her steps, to receive six more stripes of the cane from her housemaster, before being sent back once more to the head prefect for her punishment – this time for the uniform infractions – to be completed…