I was in trouble again today. Dad grabbed my by the ear after breakfast and bundled me into his study.
"I gather you've benn very cheeky to your mother!"
"Yes", I mumble. I know it's best not to argue. If I protest and dispute it there will be an investigation, Mother will be called and most likely I will end up getting the strap off her, which is worse.
"Right, well at least you have the honesty to admit it"
A reprieve! Let off for honesty! What a good day after all.
The sun is streaming through the study window on this fine Saturday morning. The study looks the same as usual. My father is a headmaster at a boys' grammar school and the study looks exactly as you would expect the headmaster at a boys' grammar school's study to look. In fact, it's more or less the same as his one at school. I like Father's study, it has lots of books in a glass fronted bookcase, a desk with a leather top, a swivel chair with wooden arms and a leather seat studded round the edge with brass tacks. I like spinning round in that chair when the coast is clear. That's a dangerous thing to to as the study is out of bounds and going in there unbidden is a punishable offence. But I love this room. The smell was just like his study at school. I love the danger of the room.
In the room there was also The Chair.
"Over the chair" Father said calmly. Disaster! No reprieve after all.
Over the arm of the leather chair I obediently bend myself, looking sideways to see which of the two canes Father selects from the brass shell case, which also holds a walking stick, an umbrella and a shooting stick.
It's the one with a crook handle, just like the ones you see every week in the Beano and Dandy. There is a straight handled one, but he's never used that on me. Maybe it's a juior cane, as I'm only nine.
Two swift practice shots though the air make me bury my face in the leather side of the chair.
A couple of taps on my tautened shorts has me gulping in anticipation. I try to visualise Dennis the Menace or Roger the Dodger in my pose to add some humour to the situation.
THWWIPP ... CRRAAAACK
Yikes - I always forgot quite how much the first cane stroke hurts. Yow wwow wwow!
Then the pause. Seems forever, then when you've relaxed a bit
THWWIPP ... CRRAAAACK. Not as bad, but still sore.
Pause. Relax
THWWIPP ... CRRAAAACK. Ouch.
Pause
THWWIPP ... CRRAAAACK. A stinger, but not as bad as the first.
"Get up. And you can expect the same every time you cheek your mother."
I go out rubbing my bottom. It's very sore, but not unbearable. It feels hot through my shorts.
Later, father behaves as if nothing has happened. We go up the town. I'm reminded of my caning as my bum slides across the red leather seats of the Rover. Father goes to the bank and gets some money out. Then we go to the sweet shop and he buys a Mars Bar, o box of New Berry Fruits and some Callard & Bowser toffee in a tall paper pack. He chats to some parents of boys in his school as we stroll around the small town. He is quite open about their sons - some are told that their boy is doing well. Others have a different story.
"I'm afraid Richard is going through a disobedient patch at the moment" one couple are told. "I had to cane him this week, and that's the second time this term"
"I'm sure that's the best thing to do Sir" says the father
"Yes, well make sure the discipline regime is kept up at home. We can't do it all at school you know"
"No Sir."
Poor old Richard. That probably means he'll get his arse tanned tonight.
