School punishment

How times have changed.

At my very minor, long forgotten, boarding school in the early ‘60s, someone ‘exploded’ an experiment in the Chem- Labs. We all knew who did it. But, as was the schoolboy code, no-one would rat on him - we all got 6-of-the-best (he got his ‘just desserts’ from classmates later, for not owning up).

I well remember a master who taught French and Rugby – and was a superb shot with a board duster. I got wellied several – innumerable- times for talking or day-dreaming, and it stung. Everyone smirked until it was their turn! And I passed French, too.

One regular punishment was to spend a long painful evening crouched ‘picking bents’ – pulling up the strong grass stalks missed by the mower on the cricket pitch.

Ah, yes: Youthful fighting was settled in the formal boxing ring in front of classmates.

Should I now claim compensation for corporate physical abuse? Or were these just lessons; fair training for life in general?

Does anyone else remember their schooldays as very different from today?

Happy days.
Best regards, Dick


Note – this is not a comment on sexual abuse. That is unacceptable anywhere; in schools, churches, clubs, the home, the internet etc.

Hi Dick (and Rosie)

Yes I remember schooldays too.

I didn't go to a boarding school, I went to the local 'Tech'. Discipline was no less fierce though! Ties had to be on in and around school, likewise caps, on outside, off in class and woe betide you if you were caught otherwise.

Punishment ranged from the 'slipper' (a size 10 plimsol) to lapping the playing field, possibly 5 to 10 times, (close on a mile) after school.

And they say it did us no harm, physically no, mentally maybe! I took 6 GCEs and 3 RSAs, (failed English lang and Relig. studies).

But I still look back on my schooldays as happy times, and wonder....

Mike D

In 1958 when I was 11, I went to a Tech in NI. All of the male staff had served in WW2 and some had been wounded and lost various parts of their anatomy. The Janitor had been blown up in a tank and lost an arm and leg and used a hook. The Metalwork master had lost an eye and the PT teacher had had a left side stroke. At such a young age we didn't understand their disabilities but they were very good teachers and discipline was hard. Board dusters were used as missiles, the clip around the ear was stinging and the Heads cane was very painful. Once was enough
Did it affect me? No! but it taught me how to bring up 3 boys!!!!
I do think our current generation has lost its way with no respect for anyone or anything and it's all lost when they start school.

I was 'lucky', I suppose, that Dad was badly wounded at Monte Casino and spent the rest of the war in prison hospitals and prison camps. So, various charitable organisations mostly funded me at school - but I still reckon I was sent away while my parents worked through a divorce. Whatever, I had an absolute ball away from normality. Made some good friends and got into horrific scrapes. Usually after awful Ballroom and Scottish dancing classes with the local girls' boarding school. I seemed to get my fair share of the cane.

Most of the teachers, too, had served in WW2 and some were decidedly twitchy... odd and with short fuzes.

I left home at 16 ("Get your hair cut, or get out"), got a grant to go to art school, but was an artistic failure - so joined the Army at 19... Perhaps schooling rubbed off - 'cos I'm still twitchy and odd, with a short fuze (Gumpy, or what!).

Ah, the hook. One of my ex-army mates in the Balkans had lost half an arm and had the old strap-on hook. He refused a prosthetic hand, but did have a "Dress Hook" studded with fake diamonds. Scared the heavies, but women loved it...

Hi there,

Six of us (five "boys" one "girl") all approaching our 70th birthdays have just written our thoughts about the Grammar School we attended. Whether the school ever publishes them is very much in doubt!

The common themes were the brutality of the teachers alongside common threads of favouritism, nepotism and bullying from the Headmaster down through the Staff and even the Prefects.

Careers advice was non-existent (unless you wished to be a schoolteacher) and although there were one or two teachers who managed to fire up our desire to learn we were generally agreed that the school did a miserable job.

So, what was the result?

Despite such a shaky start (only one of us went on to University and he left the school early) we managed one Group Captain, one Inspector of Taxes, one Chief Inspector of Police, one Bakery Owner, one Professor of Electrical Engineering and one HS&E Manager.

Apart from the "girl" every one of us received heavy doses of the cane and in many cases it was administered with such enthusiasm that the resulting weals seeped blood. (This through a pair of underpants and a pair of flannel trousers!)

"Did it do us any harm?" is not the question! "Did it do us any good?" we very much doubt it!

Best regards,

Ian

Wow – impressive achievements. Do you reckon your school experiences had any effect whatsoever? Perhaps it made you all more determined to do things better, or less willing to accept things that were wrong?

Maybe a formal disciplined upbringing has different effects with different folks. Experiencing good or bad discipline means you know instinctively what is ‘right’ and hanker after it. Maybe no discipline means you have no map, or no outline? I hate the term “moral compass” but it sort of fits.

Or were we lucky our parents knew right from wrong, after the war, and instilled it in us? Maybe why we all protested so much in the 1960s about things that seemed wrong?

I think my schooling made me accept systems with defined rules, made me want a routine, and gave me a ‘personal discipline’ – although I don’t really know what that means. I do know that I was happy in a formal, organised setting, although most of my life was spend without one! Maybe I imposed it on myself.

Given how “structured” our schools were after the war, it is surprising how many made it through life. Right and wrong were easier to identify?

Best regards, Dick

I do worry (But not a lot) about what society will be like in 10 yrs time when all these little selfcentred horrible litte oirks have matured (Well) to adulthood. I think I'll move back to the Outer Hebrides and become a recluse

Hi again,

Having said what I did re. my schooling, 99.9% of all the credit to how I 'turned -out' must really go to my late parents, bless them. I realise at times I was a difficult child and thought I 'knew better'. But without their guidance I honestly dont think I would have got very far in life!

"Big up" for all the Mums and Dads!

Mike D

(Sorry Admin if I have wandered off topic)

My Secondary school in South London in the early 60's was staffed by sadistic disciplinarians. We had a music teacher, Wheezy Warren who got us (a class of 40 14-15 year old boys, voices breaking!!) to sing 'Where the bee sucks, there suck I' don't remember the title, He told us to" hold that note" as someone was out of tune (surprise surprise ) Holding that note he went round listening to every boy in turn, by the time he'd done 15 we were all out of tune and we all got 6 strokes of his split cane on the palm of our hands. He was also the religious instruction teacher, say no more

1b449 wrote:.............

"Big up" for all the Mums and Dads!

............

I agree!! (and not off topic at all).

Passing the 11+ was a huge event in our house as only seven people from our village made it to Grammar School in eight years; my sister and I were two of them and without the support of my parents I dread to think where I would have finished up!

I never regarded the "discipline" meted out at school with anything other than disdain. It started well before Grammar School when the Headmaster of my Primary School decided to "ruler" myself and two compatriots for being late one morning.

(The "ruler" was an 18 inch long ebony straight-edge with wood along one edge and a brass strip along the other edge designed for technical drawing. As a general rule the wooden edge was used for punishments but on occasion the Headmaster would use the edge with the brass strip if he thought the "crime" warranted it!)

Wilf and I had been messing about climbing trees in a place called The Spinney. The third lad came from a very troubled family and himself was the proverbial "sandwich short of a picnic".

When it came to "Hold out your hands." Wilf protested on the basis "That's unfair sir. Elliot is daft and his Mam and Dad probably didn't even get him up in time."

The Headmaster replied by saying "Well someone is going to get his twelve." to which Wilf replied "That's OK sir. I'll take six and Ian will take six." (The last bit is probably why I remember the situation so well!!!!!!)

I have to say that this arbiter of what was "right and wrong" gave Wilf six on each hand, then gave me six on each hand and let Elliot go into school without punishment. He then followed up with three on each hand for Wilf and three on each hand for me and I despised him almost as much as the Headmaster I met at Grammar School.

To this day I marvel at the fact that a small snot-nosed kid at ten years of age not only knew better what was right and wrong but stood up for someone who was so obviously disadvantaged. Wilf went on to be a coal-miner like his Dad and my Dad and he is still not a man to mess with!

Best regards,

Ian

Hi there,

Slightly away from the "punishment" thread I wondered how many of us hold long and bitter memories of "injustices" perpetrated by their teachers?

My own favourite happened when I was only 10 years old and it still burns today!

In my adult life my ability to use logic has held me in good stead but the first time it put in an appearance was during a school football match.

I was in goal, picked up the ball and accidentally ran out of the penalty area. Mr. Ellis blew his whistle shouted "FOUL!" and promptly awarded a penalty to the opposition.

I protested on the basis that it couldn't be a penalty because I had stepped out of the penalty box. I got a huge clout round the head for my trouble with the words "Don't be a bad loser Ian!" ringing in my ears!

I repeated my complaint a number of times as I walked back to the goal and by the time the opposition took the penalty (which I failed to save and we lost the match) I was suffering from mild concussion due to the clouts from Mr. Ellis!

I have to confess that I still seeth with anger at the memory! Am I alone?

Best regards,

Ian

Hi,

I know there were lots of rank unfairnesses in school, but I recall so few. While reading the memories of spiteful school punishments doled out in a wide range of institutions, I started to try to recall the other teachers: The ones who enthused me about their subjects, or at least made memorable the dull and dreary facts they had to impart.

The trouble was, some of the unfair nasty ones also got me through exams.

‘The Beak’; a tall, thin un-coordinated man who taught Maths. He was an enthusiastic wielder of the cane who left deep stripes from the small of the back down to the top of the legs – a rotten shot. I scraped maths O-level.

‘Snidy’; a small smug, grinning little ---- with a thin moustache, who hit exactly the same stripe each swipe; incredibly painful. He got me through chemistry O-level.

Mr Johnson; a chunky brutish lout who chased us up and down the sports pitch with a plimsoll and doled out runs, press-ups and regular excessively hard thumps. He normally wore a red tie, but donned a yellow tie when in a filthy mood. Despite him, I got through French.

On the other side:

‘Les’, a quiet, pleasant, intellectual gentleman who taught English and Latin. He started my interest in other countries and ways of life. I failed Latin and passed English, though.

‘Nunc Dimitis’; an incredibly old, stooped and frail teacher of geography (the old version- where, what, how and why). His annual description to the first forms of a young v. old river still sticks in my mind – him ploughing down a gangway pushing desks out of the way, then tottering slowly round them. I squeaked a pass.

Mr Pickersgill; A young’ish, trendy, floppy pullovered, art and art history teacher. Probably why I went to Art School? But I don’t remember his classes, except he sometimes played his guitar.

There must have been others, but they’ve faded away…. Why?

I enjoy quiz programmes and occasionally the odd answer pops up – where the heck did that bit of knowledge come from? When did I learn that?

Maybe we got through despite them? Maybe we learned, if not much else, always to question everything?

Best regards,
Dick

Dick,

We definitely went to different grades of school.

To illustrate my point I refer you to "Phlegmer" Grice! I cannot for the life of me remember what he taught but I do remember that he hawked, coughed and spat his way around my Primary School to earn his nickname!

I also have to point out that, as we all lived in a coal mining village where pneumoconiosis and silicosis amongst the older men was extremely common, the practice of hawking and spitting had to be to Olympic standards before anyone even noticed, never mind gave you a nickname about it!!

I really am enjoying this Thread!! It's bringing back many memories, even if they aren't all favourable ones.

Best regards,

Ian

Dutto wrote:

I have to confess that I still seeth with anger at the memory! Am I alone?

Ian

I have memories of being punished at school more times than I care to mention, truth is though "I was innocent" on each and every occasion I received the cane and made this well known by protesting to my best ability before taking my punishment (not that it ever made a blind bit of difference) what concerns me looking back is the lack of evidence that was required by the headmaster before he took some kind of sadistic pleasure in dishing out these lashes, made worse by the fact you were instructed to remove your trousers and underpants and bend over his chair bare cheeked!

I would like to bump into this sickminded head so I could remind him of the injustice I suffered at his hands either for being presumed guilty with no evidence whatsoever or for the benefit of his predatory self-gratification, luckily for his sake he is now dead otherwise I would be making accusations especially in light of recent media events. Don't even know if these ritual punishments would have been documented in some form or if they would even exist today if they did?

Judge & Jury? Executioner? Pervert? you decide.... I'm glad there is no place today for this kind of behaviour.

CC

Hi Ian,

My mum came from Consett, and she (a Geordy) used to call good spits "Dockyard Oysters". She left the scene, so how do I remember that?

Another random (off-piste - sorry) memory intrudes - "Sarajevo Roses" - the deep splats left when a mortar lands on concrete. They are now 'celebrated' by painting them deep red.

My dad sold used cars, and then became bookmaker. Typical South Londoner. He would sometimes suddenly appear, to my intense embarrassment, at Rugby matches in a sheepskin jacket and shout loudly from the touchline. The problem; no-one else ever had a parent near enough, it was all schoolkids apart from him. Teachers were too nice to tell him to go away, but they intimated to me that it 'was not really cricket'! Maybe he was lonely, but I hated it.

So, maybe it was only good in retrospect.

Best regards,
Dick

P.S. I ran away from School just after I got there (aged 8'ish), carrying my half-pint of milk - on the long road towards home. School rang dad, who drove the other way. He picked me up and took me straight back to school. All I can remember was I hated them all and was punished as an example to the others, don't know how, now. But it was traumatising, still.

Rosie.and.Dick wrote:
.............. I ran away from School just after I got there ....................

Day One > Class One > Hour One ............

Lad next to me put his hand up and said "Please Miss." and Miss Chappel said "Alright David. Off you go."

The kid got up and left.

I stuck my hand up and said "Please Miss?" and Miss Chappel said "Do you know where it is Ian?"

"Funny question." I though so "Yes Miss." "Off you go then." said Miss Chappel and I went home! ........

...... I actually only made it thirty yards out of the gate as my Mum had a vague uneasy feeling that something similar to this would happen and was waiting just up the road.

As a result I got two good hidings. The first one with hands of steel in the middle of the road under where a hoiked up leg on my shorts gave access and the second one with a ruler on my hands back in class.

Ah, happy days.

Best regards,

Ian

CruizingComet wrote:............

I would like to bump into this sickminded head so I could remind him of the injustice I suffered at his hands either for being presumed guilty with no evidence whatsoever or for the benefit of his predatory self-gratification, luckily for his sake he is now dead otherwise I would be making accusations especially in light of recent media events. .............


CC

CC

Mine has also died. I haven't bothered to go and on his grave but I am sorely tempted! I do believe that he got his rocks off on having power over small boys.

On the "parents" front:

1) Even in a swimming competition, with my head under water and in the echoing environment of a swimming pool, I could still hear my Mum screaming my name! It spurred me on if only to end the embarrassment that much sooner!

2) I did get some satisfaction when I found out in my thirties that on the one occasion my Dad saw some of the bleeding cuts across my backside (Mum had demanded to see why I was wincing when I sat down to tea) and wandered down to the school. Apparently he explained to the Headmaster what would happen if he ever cut me again; and as my old man was a hard as nails coal miner I have no doubt whatsoever how the conversation went.

Best regards,

Ian

Hi again!

Ian (Dutto) mentions swimming in his latest post.

I can remember our school swimming lessons, in an outdoor pool, in spring term, so, naturally freezing!
We changed in cubicles, if you were quick (or lucky) otherwise poolside, to your embarrasment. (20 cubicles and 52 lads)
The water was icy and if you attempted to get out, you were pushed back in by Mr Priest, who despite his eclesiastical name was far from gentle, being an ex Welsh rugby prop.
Lesson over we were rushed to dry and change back into school uniform, most of us went back to school soaking wet!

My first day at school, I too decided I'd had enough and went home at lunchtime, to be dragged back by mum. The only worrying point being that apparently no one missed me!

One other thing I remember about infant school, I could never understand why so many kids wet themselves in class, the staff must have kept an unlimited supply of knickers, pants and shorts for the occasion.

Happy (?) days!

Mike D

All the contributions above make me realise just how very different my schooldays were:

I really hated holidays;

a. No local friends in the Smoke (friends were all at school), long lonely cycle rides didn’t help.

b. I spoke with a ‘plummy’ voice (not my fault. It rubs off, from the age of 8).

c. My dad was a ‘rich’ ---- bookmaker (not true, old-fashioned small independent bookies lived on their wits – why they have all gone now, forced out by the big boys).

d. All my hobbies were at school; sports, model room, CCF etc. If I went to the Rec, I got in a fight. I tried a youth club, but was shunned – South London was hard…

e. The only job I was allowed was Board-Boy – chalking up the fast changing odds from the Extel commentary (and watching housewives spending all the housekeeping).

f. Dad never stopped working; at night there were bets on the dogs to watch, in case a big potential winner needed ‘laying off’. Apart from the occasional lady-friend, no-one else was at home (a flat above the shop).


I couldn’t wait to go back at the end of the holidays.


Yes, I got caned, and gated, and extra prep, and, and,. But so did everyone else. We stuck together through hell and high water. We all suffered the problems and drawbacks, but on balance we had good fun. Sort of worked hard and played hard. Every day was chock full with lessons, sports, prep, hobbies, pass-times and bed. No radio, or TV. Sports on Wednesdays and Saturdays, Sundays free, after chapel, apart from regular tasks like taking blind kids on out tandems (on the back). Even time in the “Bin” with a broken arm, rugby, was okay. The Sister was pretty and loads of books.

True, the teachers, who lived in, often were vindictive or just angry – but we lived with it, that was life….. And we helped each other to get through it.

In Loco Parentis? My school was definitely “In Place of Parents”.

Until this thread, I hadn’t really thought about it, it was just how life was.

I think I was lucky, but who is to say, now?

Best regards, Dick

Dick,

Here's the irony of life!

Having grown up with Billy Bunter "Fat Owl of the Remove" at Greyfriars in my comics I decided that boarding school would be a great life on the basis that I was definitely more of a Bob Cherry character than a Billy Bunter; and on this basis I made a pact with the kid next door that we would ask our parents to send us to a private school near Matlock if we failed the 11-plus!

It just never dawned on us that it might cost any money or that our fathers (both coal miners) just might not be able to afford the expense but luckily we both passed and finished up at Grammar School so we never had to ask!

However, when my eldest son passed his 11-plus and started at the same Grammar School as I had attended and with the same Headmaster still in charge I started to wonder if I could do better for my own children. At the end of my son's first term it gave me great pleasure to go into the school and announce that my lad would not be returning after the Christmas break and that he would be attending Stamford School (along with his younger sister) from the following January.

It was a great feeling explaining the Headmaster's question "How can YOU afford that?" I explained my progress since leaving school, doubled my salary at the time (which was already twice what a Headmaster would ever earn) and then explained how I was going overseas on promotion and how the company would fund their education back in the UK.

So here's the irony! My kids still hate me for what they see as me "dumping them" in a boarding school so that I could further my career and go and enjoy myself overseas! (I remember one job where for nearly two years I "enjoyed myself" working a rota of "three months away and six days at home" working on a men-only camp in the middle of a desert with shade temperatures regularly exceeding forty degrees centigrade!)

They also tell me that they hated the school, the teachers, the environment and almost anything else you care to name about the experience. However, the good news is that neither of them are alcoholics, drug-addicts or in jail so maybe between the school, their Mum and myself we did something right.

Best regards,

Ian

I have been following this thread with interest. Always wondered what confession was like so here goes.

My father was killed in WW2 and my mother lived with her parents. At the age of 3yrs I was sent off to a religious boarding school in Sussex and spent the next 7 years there. Yes there was corporal punishment which I received on a regular bases and do not believe it has done me any harm. We used to spend hours at night in the dorm talking after lights out and the slipper was the favourite tool of torture. My bed was always at the entrance so I was always the first to receive the right hand from the little Irish weasel who enjoyed his nightly duties.

Matron was fun too, and decide one day to pour boiling oil into my ear to get rid of the wax buildup. My mother had three jobs to keep me at school but always managed to visit every 4 weeks and take me out for a treat and lunch. By the time I was 10 years she was having difficulty paying for school and by that time I was nagging her to get me out which she did.

After a year at primary school in London and a pass in the 11+, Grammar school beckoned and then the real fun began. I had already realised the hypocrisy of religion and was rebelling against everything. Teen age years and teachers only caused more problems and I left school aged 16.

Did going to boarding school do me any harm...I think not except for the fact that I was born left handed and this was classed as a disability and I was forced to do everything as a right handed person and probably has caused my handwriting to be almost eligible. I have travelled the world extensively been in management in my jobs and self employed with my own businesses since the 70's. I admit I am a "loner" and not a "team player" but know right from wrong, will help someone in need and care about the needs of others with compassion.

Not sure if I feel better so off to get a large malt

Hi Stephen,

Yep, I agree with all that, and much rings bells. I hadn't realised that the thread was confessional - perhaps a little confrontational - but it has prompted plenty of memories and re-appraisals, certainly on my part.

Reading others' comments made me ponder. On balance, I don't think most punishments did me any harm, and boarding school certainly helped me. Maybe it was just a good alternative to a stressed home, which wouldn't work if homelife was better than schoollife?

Best regards,
Dick

Hi there,

I'm getting a bit leery about the number of times I am reading the "It didn't do me any harm." sentence!

Surely there are only a limited number of reasons for visiting violence on a child and as far as I am aware NONE of them should be delivered with the intent of "doing harm"!

The memorable "tannings" I received as a child (in increasing order of importance) were for being cheeky, for swearing, for attempting to skip school, for bullying, for stealing, for lying and for putting myself in danger. (The latter doesn't seem to have worked because I sit here with scars scattered around my body that needed 135 stitches to repair!)

My question with regard to the corporal punishment I received at school has always been "Did it do me any good?" and I honestly believe that it failed miserably to get me to change my ways.

On the other hand, Father Doncaster my local priest with a frown and a look of disappointment could get me making promises of change and almost begging for a clout round the head with a rounders bat. (A punishment which he did once inflict when his patience with me finally ran out!)

Best regards,

Ian

Dutto wrote:Hi there,



My question with regard to the corporal punishment I received at school has always been "Did it do me any good?" and I honestly believe that it failed miserably to get me to change my ways.


Best regards,

Ian

Did it do me any good....No but on the other hand it did no lasting harm although at the time it was not enjoyable.

As Dick said holidays were not much fun as no local friends and left alone a lot at these times, but the boarding school system does try to produce a rounded character with other practical and educational skills.

Guess it works for some then no system is perfect.

Hi folks,

Perhaps society’s expectations always change by generations? Edwardian kids seldom saw their parents at all. Then there was a general acceptance of the belt and the strap as a way to instil (personal?) discipline. Strict codes were then enforced by the cane and ruler. A cuff round the ear from authority was okay for a bit…

These days any form of corporal punishment is outlawed. Basic disciplines like school uniforms, even requiring pupils to be tidily dressed (shirts tucked in) and ‘reasonably’ behaved, are frowned upon. Expectations and acceptance of “structure” and “boundaries” have been changing through the last couple of generations.

Has this been an improvement? Maybe not. Yes, our generation saw problems with mods and rockers, with football violence and so forth, but these were isolated incidences. On the other side we had student demonstrations against all wars, nuclear proliferation and poverty, but these were against big world injustices. Now young peoples’ demonstrations seem more against personal matters which might affect them. Maybe economic optimism , or lack of it, is at the root?

Seems to me that the reduction of ‘formal discipline’, and an expectation of growing ‘personal discipline’ has not worked. But I’m a Grumpy. “Punishment didn’t do me any harm” may be questionable, but maybe a lack of it seems to have failed to produce self-regulating citizens…

I agree that the discipline doled out when we were kids should always have been towards an end – not gratuitous violence. In my case, mostly, it wasn’t gratuitous, but then I didn’t know why it was there at all..

Rosie is an ex-teacher, and has been for 15 years. She had successfully taught in England, Germany, the Middle East and Africa, in public, private, independent and state schools, both day and boarding, at middle and secondary level.

She finally threw in the towel after being threatened (only in England) by some ‘undisciplined’ youngsters, and by some parents, for requiring correct dress and attention to the subject being taught. Shouting, running around, non-attendance etc., were to be tolerated – and she couldn’t tolerate it.

Some discipline and organisation are needed to teach. Maybe they are also needed to learn?

This really is fascinating thread.

Best regards,
Dick