The new girls’ dorm

The first weeks of a new school year. A prefect patrols the dorms. In one, a giggling group of new girls attracts his attention for making noise after lights-out. He orders them all from their beds; takes his plimsoll; slippers each in turn. “Collective responsibility: you’ll all learn…”

And then the following night… The head prefect this time. He finds one of the girls out of bed. Knowing of the previous evening’s punishments, he expresses surprise: “It seems you are turning into a habitual rule-breaker…”

“No, please, I was just… I’d forgotten to put my phone on charge… I’m sorry…”

“Put on your dressing gown, and go and wait outside my study. I will deal with you once I have finished inspecting the other dorms…”

He leaves her waiting: ten minutes, maybe more. Trembling. Panicking.

He arrives and shows her in. “So what makes you think you are above the rules?”

“I don’t, sir. Really…”

“You were obviously not punished hard enough last night.”

“No! It hurt so much…”

“I wasn’t seeking an opinion. I was stating the facts. Well, I won’t make the same mistake.” He picks up a heavy cane, flexing it as he instructs her to take off her dressing gown. “I’m going to make sure you learn your lesson tonight. And I’m going to make an example of you, too…”

“Please…I’m not like that…. I… I always try and be good.” (As she had been, at her previous school: an unblemished record that now seemed so-distant).

“I’m not seeing much evidence of that. I’d give you six strokes were it merely a case of having caught you out of bed; as it follows on from yesterday evening’s misconduct, I shall double that.”

She’s in tears, now, even before he instructs her to remove her pyjama bottoms. Even before he looks disdainfully at her, and adds: “Knickers, too.”

She stands, trying to cover herself. He orders her to bend over, legs apart; to clutch her ankles.

He measures the cane across her. “I’m doing you a favour by teaching you to respect the school rules, before your continuing misconduct gets you into more serious trouble. I hope you are grateful to me. Now, count the strokes and thank me after each one…”

He shows no mercy – for her still-bruised backside from the previous evening’s punishment; for the fact she’s not been caned before; for the fact she is in the first year; for her sobs and apologies. Each stroke as hard as can be, leaving perfect weals. Two extra for the ones for which she failed to stay in position; one more for forgetting to count; one more for miscounting.

And then the uncaring announcement that she should stand and dress; that he hopes she has learnt her lesson; that if she isn’t in bed, in silence, within two minutes he will beat her again in the house assembly the following morning….

..and her sore, sad, solitary walk back to the dorm, where the others would whisper questions and reassurance, and she would remain face down on her bed in terrified silence…