by Paul Jackson
He had caned just one girl during his thirty year headmastership.
James Conrad sipped a Singleton malt whisky from a Marquis Lacey tumbler, swirling its comforting warmth around his mouth. Thoughts of the caning were uppermost in his mind. The wind that howled around his Bourton-on-the Water cottage in the Cotswolds on a perishing December night added a tinge of excitement. His blue eyes twinkled and he gave a throaty chuckle.
It had been twelve years since his retirement after a lifetime in the teaching profession, a teaching career spent in one state school. He had left Exeter University with firsts in the sciences and mathematics. Offers abounded from a glut of private schools, but with a strong social conscience he dedicated his life to an ailing, run down state school to the west of London. It had been his dream to turn Broughton-Risley Comprehensive into a high achieving school. And this he had done.
It was his belief that a school could not flourish and maintain discipline without corporal punishment. It was the only effective buffer between suspension and recommending that the board of governors support his decision to use the ultimate sanction of expulsion.
He knew that once the decision to abolish corporal punishment in state schools had been made it would be time to take early retirement. He couldn't tolerate the endless queues of pupils sent to his office with no effective tool to discipline them. Many pupils welcomed a suspension while the parents of others complained that he was jeopardising their offspring's education.
He stood up from his brown leather easy chair. With his breathing laboured, he looked into the near empty whisky tumbler. His health was failing, and he knew it had been caused by the warm liquid gold that he drank nightly. He shuffled to the far wall of his lounge. It was decorated with the memories of Broughton-Risley Comprehensive; from awards and trophies to images of the gleaming science and music blocks that he had fought the local authority for. There was a collection of photographs of both staff and pupils, beaming widely at their outstanding academic achievements.
But it was one photograph that took his eye. He looked at it fervently. It was a large image of the entire school, taken in May 1987. The teaching staff were seated at the front. He was seated in the middle with his year and departmental heads. Behind them were all the pupils, from the lower years at the front to the sixth form at the back.
His eyes sharpened. For there she was. The girl he had caned; caned so soundly. She stood in the middle, tall and erect; a beauty, of that there was little doubt. She was simply captivating with her blonde hair tumbling about her. He reached out with an unsteady hand to touch her face with a spindly finger. Oh, those memories.
He slowly walked away and went to his drinks cabinet. Among an array of various expensive whiskies, sherries and ports, was a presentation box of Marquis Lacey tumblers. One of the set was missing. It was the one he currently sipped from. Tucked behind the presentation box was a card in a lilac envelope. Its perfume had long gone, but its memory hadn't. He opened it. It was a retirement card. He caressed it affectionately, before looking inside. The message read:
Dear Mr Conrad,
I shall miss you so much. Your warmth and dedicated inspiration shall always be with me. And I shall think of you often during my time at Exeter.
Enjoy your retirement, sir.
With love,
Michelle.
P.S: Thank you for caning me. It was deserved.
This from the girl he had caned: eighteen-year-old Michelle Walker.
The whisky tumblers had been a retirement gift from her mother. Taking another sip, he trundled, short of breath, over to a closet. He opened it and from the back of the door from where it hung, he retrieved a school cane with a crook handle. Three foot of supple rattan. It was the cane he had used at the school, the very cane that had been used on Michelle Walker.
He looked at it, tenderly, before swishing it through the air. Oh, how it had stung Michelle. He could hear her painful cries.
He sat back down in his easy chair, placing both Michelle's card and the cane by his side on a nest of tables. There was one final, calming sip of the Singleton malt, before he closed his eyes and played out the scene of when he had caned Michelle Walker, two months before corporal punishment was abolished.
Mrs Bryony Woods, the headmaster's PA for more years than she cared to remember, sorted through the priorities that were heaped upon her desk. Her working relationship with James Conrad was a good one. They shared much in common, but if there was one thing that upset her it was Mr Conrad's over reliance upon caning, which had gained him a reputation and many a parental complaint. She disliked caning and for her, the impending ban couldn't come soon enough. Through the years she had seen so many boys leave his office in floods of tears.
She knew Mr Conrad to be a kind man and an outstanding headmaster, but his penchant for caning was legendary. He was not empowered to cane the girls, much to his infuriation. He had often pressed the local authority to be allowed to cane them, but his reasoning was never accepted. Bryony was thankful for that. She couldn't have sat at her desk listening to the headmaster caning girls with that horrid implement he used. It was extremely rare for any girl to be caned, but when it did happen, it was the responsibility of Mrs Bourne, the deputy headmistress. She was sanctioned to give a maximum of three moderate strokes across the outstretched palm with a light cane.
Presently, three fourth form boys stood outside Mr Conrad's office, attired in the school's uniform of black and grey. They awaited their summons.
Just then, Michelle Walker, from the upper sixth, entered the PA's office. The physical charms of the chic blonde were not lost on the three boys, who, albeit briefly, forgot about their meeting with Mr Conrad. One even dared to wink at her and nudge one of the other lads. To Michelle they were three silly boys who were in trouble with the headmaster.
"Hello, Mrs Woods," she said, eloquently. "I understand the headmaster wishes to see me?"
The three boys looked at each other with wide grins. The cockiest of the three, a pimply specimen with lank hair, dared to speak.
"Oi, gorgeous! Are ya gonna get the cane?! You'll get it on the arse! Love to watch!"
"I think you best keep quiet, Roger," Mrs Woods said. She turned her attention to Michelle, smiling warmly.
"Yes, indeed, he does wish to see you! Well done, you!" enthused the PA.
"Oh, thank you!" Michelle beamed.
Posh tart! thought the boys, crestfallen that the sixth form beauty was not in trouble. Another had noticed Michelle's badge.
Poxy prefect!
Michelle had won a place at Exeter University to study agriculture before her 'A' levels had been taken. Her predictions were superb, and top grades in the 'A' levels required, such as core subjects, mathematics and English, plus the sciences and business management, were assured.
Quite suddenly, the conversation between Mrs Woods and Michelle was abruptly broken.
"Send those three nincompoops in!" the headmaster's irritable voice boomed over the intercom on Mrs Wood's desk.
Mrs Woods told the boys to go into the office. Two of them cockily sauntered through the door, one, that being Roger, impetuously so, even blowing Michelle a cheeky kiss. The other, the smallest of the three, looked worried.
Three of his regulars, thought Mrs Woods.
"Over you go, lad!" came the muffled voice.
"Oh, dear me, a caning," said Michelle.
"Yes," said Mrs Woods. "He's in a bad mood today, but I'm sure he'll be extremely pleased, as he always is, to see you, Michelle. Are you excited about Exeter?"
"Oh, yes! Positively delighted!" She smiled, titling her head, loving the thought, it seemed, that the headmaster would be pleased to see her. What was of extra stimulus to her was that she knew the headmaster had a keen interest in agriculture and that he had also studied at Exeter.
WHACK! came the sound from the preserve of the headmaster's office.
Michelle's blue eyes opened wide.
Mrs Woods knew the headmaster had soft spots for many of the girls, but knew only too well how much he adored Michelle.
How fantastic this is for the reputation of our school, she knew he would later say.
Another stroke of the cane followed. He rarely gave less than four, sometimes as many as eight. The tough lads, and tough lads were aplenty at Broughton-Risley Comprehensive, maintained an initial silence, but even they would be howling and blubbering before the end.
"And are you confident you will pass all your 'A' level exams, Michelle?"
WHACK!
"Keep still, lad! I've seen worms wriggle less!"
"Oh, yes. I'm utterly confident of top grades across the board!"
"Excellent! And how are your horses?"
CRACK!
"Uhhh!"
"Well, err, yes, they are fine. Sugar is growing lots! She's such a beautiful filly! And my gelding is oh, so gorgeous!"
Whack!
"Ahhhh! Not so hard, sir!"
"Take it like a man!" thundered the headmaster.
Michelle's mother owned racehorses and the stables were on the grounds where the family cottage was in Oakley Green, two miles from the centre of Windsor. Michelle's mother would take her on the twelve mile journey to Broughton-Risley Comprehensive in West Drayton. As Michelle and Mrs Woods continued their conversation, the caning of the three boys came to an end.
The boys sheepishly emerged from the headmaster's office, fighting back their tears, hurrying by Mrs Woods, head down, and out into the corridor. But it was cocky Roger who couldn't resist the last word. He paused to look up at Michelle, tears steaked across his face. Winking and blowing kisses before he went in, he gestured angrily.
"Oi! Who you looking at, you stuck up bitch?!"
"Roger!" warned Mrs Woods. "Be on your way if you know what's good for you!"
Suddenly, Mr Conrad, dressed in shirt sleeves, with one rolled up, burst out of his office, beaming widely with pride.
"Michelle! How wonderful!" he exclaimed as he bounded towards her, elatedly. "Come and join me in my office.
"Oh, thank you, sir."
"Mrs Woods, isn't this grand?"
"Absolutely, Mr Conrad."
"How fantastic this is for the reputation of our school."
It was all Mrs Woods could do to conceal a smile as she watched the headmaster escort Michelle into his office.
Inside, Mr Conrad showered Michelle with praise for everything from her academic success to her ability as a prefect. Enamoured by the attention, Michelle politely thanked him, but her peripheral vision was drawn to the top of his desk. She gave an involuntary shudder. For resting upon it was the school cane. She'd never seen one before. It looked awful. Tremulously, she drew her eyes away.
Sweeping back his pepper-coloured hair, he studied the eighteen-year-old who stood decorously before him with her hands clasped together. Her thick, golden-blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders and along down her back towards her slim waist. Her school uniform of tight grey sweater with the school badge and short, black cotton skirt, hugged her shapely figure. The clearest of blue eyes watched as Mr Conrad pulled two leather easy chairs near to a glass coffee table.
"Come take a seat over here, Michelle. To think you are to study at the same university as I."
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