by Arthur James
Edward Rosen was taking a year off before going on to University. He would have liked to have gone to Cambridge like his father and both his elder sisters, but it was unlikely that any Cambridge college would be interested in a young man with such a modest record of educational achievement. This was despite having had the most expensive education money could buy; his family were very comfortably off. The trouble was, most of the time, daydreaming was preferable to getting on with work so he had perhaps drifted through school without applying himself as he should have done. Occasionally, something would capture his imagination and he would concentrate and produce a piece of work that would surprise those that taught him. Writing was what he liked to do best, so he was happy that his father's oldest friend, who was the editor of the local newspaper, had offered him a few months employment.
Mainly he answered the telephone, but every now and then they would send him out to cover some local event, usually when neither of the two full time reporters could be bothered to go themselves. One spring day when nothing much seemed to be happening, he was asked to do an interview with the Headmistress of Hazelbury school. It was meant to be a human interest story that would fill up a page at a time when real news seemed to be thin on the ground. Hazelbury was a boys' preparatory school just outside the main town itself. He had often seen the boys in their neat grey uniforms, walking through the streets on their way to the church. It bought back memories of the time he had attended a similar preparatory school himself.
The Headmistress, Miss MacBride, was much younger than he expected. She had a noticeable Scottish accent, although he couldn't have said exactly what part of Scotland she came from. She was wearing a formal black gown and a smart white blouse. Her dark brown hair was cut fairly short and pinned at back. At first he asked her fairly general questions about the school: how many pupils and from what sort of backgrounds; how many playing fields; was Latin and Greek still taught; how long before the new swimming pool was finished? They were sat in her study, surrounded by old books and fading black and white photographs. She was seated behind a large oak desk whilst he was perched on a chair that was far too small. It made him feel he was looking up at her although he was actually several inches taller than she was.
"Are you very strict with the boys?" he asked.
"Boys respect discipline, Mr Rosen. In any case, discipline is what their parents expect from this school. Usually, they are not the sort of people that are in favour of any of the more modern methods of educating young people. They pay a great deal of money to send their boys here, so naturally we try our best to make sure they are not disappointed," she replied.
"Do you ever use the cane?" he enquired. This was a subject that was near to his heart. Miss MacBride looked for a brief moment as if the subject might be close to her heart too.
"Sometimes, whenever I think it is necessary, I do."
Something about the tone of her reply made him think that a caning was by no means a rare event at Hazelbury.
Unwilling to change the subject, he added somewhat lamely, "Spare the rod and spoil the child I suppose!"
"Indeed," she said. "Boys have to be taught to behave properly: to dress neatly, to have good manners, and always to be a credit to the school."
He nodded. "So you can recognise a Hazelbury boy by his smart appearance and good manners."
"I hope so, and if not a good hard caning will ensure a boy doesn't make the same mistakes twice."
"Do you cane them fairly hard then, Miss MacBride?" he asked. She knew then, at that precise moment, that his interest in the disciplinary practices of the school went beyond that of a journalist's professional curiosity.
She smiled, looking at him with her dark, mischievous eyes. "If you don't mind me turning the tables on you for a moment, Mr Rosen, let me ask you a question. Were you ever caned at school?"
She was still smiling, obviously greatly enjoying his discomfort as he pondered the question. He was going pink with embarrassment and his cheeks were burning like they were too close to a blazing fire. Eventually, after a short pause, he said, "Yes I was, on several occasions, Miss MacBride." She nodded her head, as if that was the only answer she had expected.
"Did you ever receive a gentle caning?" she asked, her face suddenly serious.
"No," he replied, grinning sheepishly. "I can't say I did."
"No, well that, Mr Rosen, is my point, a caning must be something a boy will not quickly forget, otherwise there is no point to it."
He nodded his head. He wanted to ask her more questions about how she disciplined her young charges, but he felt he had already gone too far. It was unusual for him to feel tongue-tied, but that is how he felt. Desperately, he searched for something to say whilst she sat behind her large oak desk, comfortable and entirely at ease, her poise never deserting her even for an instant. He felt even if a bomb had gone off behind her she would have carried on staring at him with that half amused, slightly contemptuous expression on her face. Suddenly, as if proving the validity of this thought, there was a loud knock on the door. He jumped, sitting quickly bolt upright in his chair, but she didn't move as much as a muscle. Glancing at her watch, she said, "Oh, that will be Patterson! If you would kindly excuse me for a few minutes, I have a small matter to attend to!"
"A disciplinary matter?" he asked, surprised at his own boldness, and she laughed. When she laughed she looked like a pretty young girl rather than a woman in her mid-thirties.
"Yes, I think it may well turn out to be a painful interview for Master Patterson. Perhaps you wouldn't mind waiting outside for a few minutes."
She led him to the door and, touching his arm gently, said in an amused way, "I hope waiting outside the Headmistress's study doesn't bring back too many painful memories for you, Mr Rosen?"
"No, in any case, Miss MacBride, it was always outside the Headmaster's study not the Headmistress's." As he heard the sound of his own voice he could clearly detect its false note of jollity.
When he opened the door a pretty blonde haired boy of about twelve was waiting nervously. It was like an exchange of prisoners, as he went out into the corridor the boy went reluctantly into the study. He stood outside the heavy oak door in semi-darkness, and suppressed a strong urge to look through the keyhole. It was ironic, he would have given a whole week's wages to have changed places with that boy and received a sound caning in his place; judging by the look on the boy's face he would have been more than willing to swap. Edward Rosen, you are a strange person with most peculiar desires, he thought. He had a sneaking suspicion that unintentionally he might have revealed a little too much of his inner self to Miss MacBride. To say he had been bowled over by her was something of an understatement.
He could hear at first muffled sounds of conversation. Then, when the conversation stopped, a short period of silence, a swishing noise followed instantly by a thwacking sound. Six swishes then six thwacks, although on reflection the last thwack sounded more like a thwock, as if an extra bit of effort had been applied. No sound was made by the boy until the last stroke landed when he heard a rather shrill cry of agony. A full minute later the boy emerged, both chastened and chastised, red in face but not tearful. He couldn't help but be impressed by his sang froid and he was impressed too with Miss MacBride, she was not only a breathtakingly beautiful woman but she had a sort a natural authority about her that had captivated him. It wasn't just the fact she obviously liked to be in charge and do things her way - he had a mother and two elder sisters like that - but it was her vitality and decisiveness, as if she had never had a moment's doubt about anything in her entire life.
She called him back a few moments after the boy had made his painful way back to his classroom. The cane was still on her desk, and she was busily engaged in filling in the punishment book.
"I hope you will not mention that rather painful incident in your article, Mr Rosen. I would hate your readers to get the wrong impression of Hazlebury." She smiled at him, showing her small white teeth. It was not a smile he would have dreamed of arguing with. He quickly assured her the incident would not be mentioned in his article, and for a few moments he bathed in the warmth of her approval. He couldn't take his eyes off that cane. It was thin and looked as if it had been well used.
"I can see you are fascinated by that cane, Mr Rosen. Perhaps I had better put it back in its cupboard, unless of course you would like a demonstration of its effectiveness!"
She was smiling wickedly. Had she really just said that, surely his ears were playing tricks on him? Again he felt his pale skin turning pink.
"If I may ask you a personal question, Mr Rosen. How old are you? I must admit, when your newspaper made this appointment and said a journalist was coming to see me I expected an older man!"
"I am eighteen!" he replied.
"Really, if anything you look younger. Sorry, I shouldn't have teased you. It's just I have a wicked nature you see. Of course wickedness is absolutely an asset in a Headmistress. If I was a dear sweet old cuddly thing, no one would do as they were told and we should have complete anarchy."
She reached over for the cane, with the intention of putting it in the cupboard, but as she did so she caught the expression he had on his face. She smiled, obviously she understood completely. It was hardly the first case she had come across. Last term a boy had falsely confessed to something she knew he couldn't possibly have done... Firstly she had caned him soundly for the offence he had falsely admitted to, then a few days later when he was just beginning to be able to sit down without discomfort she had caned him again, this time twice as hard, for telling lies. As far as she knew it had cured him completely and certainly there had been no false confessions so far this term.
"The boys are usually caned whilst bending over the very chair you are sitting on, Mr Rosen!" She was smiling, almost as if she was flirting with him. Without knowing quite why, he stood up. Miss MacBride stood up also and walking over to the door, turned the key in the lock.
"I don't think we will be disturbed but it's just a precaution. You know I have never caned someone as old as you before. Perhaps you would be good enough to take your jacket off and bend over the chair."
He couldn't quite believe this was happening. As he bent over the chair he could see her tapping the cane across the palm of her hand as if testing its resilience.
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