Subject: The deputy headmistress
From: James Stephenson
Date: Wed, 2 Oct 1996 20:37:12 +0100

The deputy headmistress

by James Stephenson

I know how it is, of course I do. There are any number of people out there who think they would swap places with me any time. The vast majority of the population see my work as very responsible, demanding, and professional, but a minority - albeit, perhaps, a substantial minority, would give their eye teeth for my job. The year is 1961 and for the last two years I have been deputy headmistress of a mixed grammar school in the heart of England. The pupils range in age from 11 to 18 and there are around 600 children at the school right now, with about the same number of boys and girls.

One of my duties, perhaps the one that appeals most strongly to that minority I spoke of, is to maintain the high standards of discipline on which the school was founded. In particular, I am called on to deal with the most serious breaches of discipline by the girls, while the headmaster deals with errant boys. But those who think this would be enjoyable or easy are sadly mistaken. It is a most demanding and onerous responsibility, as I shall seek to convey by describing some events from last term. For three weeks I diligently kept a diary and from that have compiled what may be seen as a typical week in respect to disciplinary activities. Perhaps, after reading this, those who formerly felt that I had a highly desirable job, will have come to appreciate more properly the true difficulties and challenges that it presents.

Monday

No problems are brought to me today before morning assembly, but that turns out to be the calm before the storm. During assembly I notice two girls in the middle of the hall whispering to each other all the time and giggling. While trying to concentrate on the assembly, I also have try to recall their names. It comes back to me - Lynne Cassells and Tracy Wilcox of form 3B. I try staring in their direction but they fail to take the hint so eventually I have no choice.

"Lynne Cassells and Tracy Wilcox - stand up immediately." There is a hushed calm as two very embarrassed girls stand up in the middle of the hall - even from this distance there is no mistaking the instant blush on the faces of the pair. "I will not tolerate you chattering away during assembly - you will remain standing throughout." It's not a long time for them to stand but they are humiliated in front of their friends and the effect on others who would dread being in the same position is quite effective. At the end of the assembly, before everyone is sent back to their classrooms I walk down the side of the hall and beckon the two girls to come across to me. They have to push their way past a number of other boys and girls, and some of the boys in particular don't make it easy for them. By the time they reach me, their faces are as red as beetroot. They stand with their heads bowed - Tracy Wilcox in particular looks almost close to tears. I decide to keep it simple and short.

"Detention tomorrow night, both of you."

"Yes miss," they mumble in unison and make their way back to the taunts of their classmates.

I have only been back in my office ten minutes when there is a visit from Mrs. O'Grady. At the weekend she took the school under 15 hockey team by coach to play a match about twenty miles away. There had been a number of problems and the behaviour on the return journey had caused her to issue detentions to no less than five girls. However, there had also been an incident during the match involving a nasty foul on one of the opposition by two girls. When the teacher from the other school had warned them both that she wouldn't stand such behaviour, one of them had referred to her as an 'old bag'. The other had commented "I think you mean 'Hag'". Mrs O'Grady judged, correctly, that this was something I should deal with. I arrange with my secretary for the two girls to be sent for at ten thirty - morning break.

They arrive on time but don't look very concerned at being sent for. I give them a very lengthy lecture about the damage they have done to the image of the school. They are both to write a letter of apology of not less than 300 words to the teacher concerned. In addition I inform them that they will not travel to away matches for the rest of the season. Annette Nicholson scowls at this point but Beverley Simpson just looks bored. They're not doing themselves any favours. I had wondered, for a moment, whether a detention might suffice, but apparently they need teaching more of a lesson.

"In addition," I announce "you will each receive the strap on your hands. Anything that either of you want to say?"

Although they should both have known that it was a distinct possibility for such an offence, both girls look a little shocked. I've checked beforehand and neither have been strapped before and they must be a little apprehensive. They keep silence. I open the desk drawer and remove the heavy leather tawse that I keep there. Their eyes grow large as they see, for the first time, the thick dark leather with its two punishing tongues. I pretend not to notice their reaction, and keep everything as businesslike as possible.

"Right Miss Nicholson, come here and hold out whichever hand you want to get it on." To her credit she doesn't hesitate and holds out her left hand, palm uppermost, at about the correct height. I adjust the level slightly, then pick up the tawse, and with minimum ceremony bring it down hard on the small hand four times. "Right, you can change places now. You, Miss Nicholson, will stand with your hands straight down at your side." I had noticed that she was trying to hug the smarting hand under her other arm and was not about to allow her such indulgence.

Beverley Simpson takes her place at the side of my desk. She seems shocked by what she's just witnessed and doesn't hold her hand out straight enough. I put it in the right place but I can see she's shaking and uncertain. I bring the tawse down once and she snatches her hand back. Still, it connected well enough, but I require more self- discipline than that.

"Move your hand again and you'll get extra." I warn.

With great difficulty she put her hand back in position and I can see that she has a tremendous struggle to keep it there for the remaining three blistering strokes. Then she is told to stand next to her friend. I carefully put the tawse away and then get out the school punishment register. This is a part of the drama of such events that I always find beneficial. The girls are desperate to leave and being made to stand there and watch as their infraction and punishment are recorded for posterity will be a salutary lesson.

Finally I look up - their expressions have changed somewhat since entering the room. Beverley's lip is trembling and as I watch I see that she has a tear on her cheek. With a final admonition, a reminder about writing the apology, and a warning about more serious consequences if they misbehave again, I dismiss the two. I look at my watch and smile - perfect timing. The break is just finishing so they will have to return immediately to the classroom and they won't be able to hide their distress from their classmates.

The rest of the morning passes quietly enabling me to complete some paperwork.

Straight after lunch the next problem arises. Juliette Clark arrives at my office with one of her first form girls in tow. The girl, Michelle Hurst is requested to wait in the outer office while Mrs Clark apprises me of the problem.

It seems to be a storm in teacup, but this is not unusual in my experience of this particular member of staff. Apparently she just doesn't like the girl's attitude, and in particular wants to complain that she is ten to fifteen minutes late back to class every afternoon. I ask whether she's talked to the girl to find out why, and where she's been. Juliette insists that the girl can offer no excuse and that she's just deliberately dawdling. I ask her what action she's taken so far and it appears that she's tried verbal reprimands, making her stand at the front of class for the rest of the first period, and giving the girl lines. All of which, obviously, have had no effect.

If I was in the classroom, I'd probably warn her that the next time she was late would be an automatic detention. The problem is that Juliette has now hauled her along to see me, and I'm expected to back up my staff. I send Juliette back to her class, and bring the girl in.

I try to see if there is any reason for her lateness and fail. I ask if she is unhappy at the school - she isn't (well, she shrugs indifferently). As the one-sided conversation goes on, I'm starting to get more and more irritated with my time being wasted on this, but I'm also getting more irritated with the girl. I'm also coming 'round to Juliette Clark's view that this girl is in need of a short sharp shock. Maybe being sent to the deputy headmistress at the age of eleven is enough of a shock in itself for some girls, but I doubted that this would be the case with Michelle.

In the end, I have to bring things to a conclusion and not waste any more time. Michelle is made to stand on a hard topped chair facing the wall. I then take a wooden ruler from my desk. She is wearing a school uniform dark blue skirt almost down to her knees, and white ankle socks (as required in the first two years) which is perfect for what I have in mind.

I give her three stinging smacks with the ruler on the back of each leg leaving tell-tale red marks that she won't be able to hide from her classmates or her teacher (or, most probably, her parents). I can tell from the marks and the force I used that they must have really stung her, and most eleven year old girls would have cried. She just looks more sullen than ever as she steps down from the chair and waits while I write up the record of her punishment.

As I watch her leave the room, her marked legs very apparent, I reflect that it has probably done little to modify her behaviour, and that I'll probably be seeing more of her in the future.

Tuesday

Tuesday morning starts more quietly, fortunately, but then at 10 o'clock, I have one of my regular weekly chores. Tuesday evening is the one chosen for us to impose detentions. Since school rules promise at least 24 hours notice of a detention, it follows that I can receive a list in the morning of everyone in for detention that day.

Detentions are segregated for the sexes, largely because it has been felt that some of the boys either did things to show off when girls were there, or got some sort of kick out of watching the girls. As a result, I am able to get a separate list of the girls in detention. It has not been a good week with no less than sixteen girls being kept in, twelve of them for an hour, one for an hour and a half, and the remaining three for the maximum two hours. By the time I get the list of detainees, their offences and punishments, it has already been annotated for me. In particular three names have been highlighted.

It is a clear school rule, explained to everyone when they start, that three detentions in one term are liable to mean being sent to see me or the headmaster. It is also very well known that those girls who are sent to me under such circumstances are very unlikely to escape without being caned. On this occasion no less than three of the girls are on their third detention of term - a dreadful record. My task here is to decide which girls I want to see - and therefore, effectively, which deserve to be caned. The first name needs no deliberation - Jane Basey of form 2B, I remember clearly without needing to check the record, was strapped last term under similar circumstances. She'll be back in here again tomorrow.

The other two I know less well. Christine Cottrell is a fifth form girl. Detentions are usually very rare at that level, but she has been caught smoking once (and was probably lucky to just get a detention since it seemed she may have also sold cigarettes to a younger boy) and this is the second time she has been accused of bullying. She only joined the school around a year ago when her family moved into the area, which explains why I don't know much about her, and also perhaps goes some way to explaining how a girl has reached the fifth form of this school with such a poor attitude. As I read the notes I surmise that the person giving her the detention this time must have realised that this would be her third detention, because such a pattern of behaviour clearly requires her to attend my office for what will be a session that she will remember for some time.

The final "third timer" is a third year girl - Kelly Roberts. This is a more difficult case. The first detention was apparently just for not paying attention in class - it's always hard to tell from such brief descriptions but that sounds a little trivial for a detention. The second was for being out of bounds twice in the same week - fair enough. The most recent was for passing notes in class - again, without more detail it's hard to judge, but the nagging worry is that someone has it in for this girl. I spend quite some time on this girl, checking her file, before reaching a decision.

Nothing else of a disciplinary nature happens all day so at five past four I make my way to the detention room. One of the senior prefects is supervising tonight and has just finished taking a register that he passes to me. Some of the less regular troublemakers look apprehensive when I walk in, but it's not difficult to see that the three I'm particularly here to deal with look more apprehensive than the others.

"Christine Cottrell, Kelly Roberts and Jane Basey - stand up please." The three get to their feet with some reluctance, and stand with eyes downcast. "You three are a disgrace to the school - I'm sure that you're well aware that for each of you, this your third detention of the term and you all know what that means." I pause a moment to let the tension build and to give them an opportunity to realise how dire a predicament they are now facing. "Jane Basey." Her eyes flicker up at me "You in particular have let yourself and the school down very badly. Only last term you got yourself into this same situation for similar reasons, and I had hoped that the strapping that you received from me on that occasion would have some effect. You certainly seemed by your reaction to have found it a rather distasteful experience. However, the evidence is now quite clear that you have learned nothing from that. I shall therefore see you in my office again tomorrow at ten o'clock sharp and I promise that the caning you'll be receiving then will be one that you will remember for a very long time." She doesn't look up but her body language seems to imply that she is pretty badly shaken.

I notice out of the corner of my eye that Kelly Roberts looks equally distressed at my mention of strapping and caning. She must know that it is always a likelihood for a third detention, but hearing the reality pronounced for one of her colleagues has shaken her badly.

"Christine Cottrell. We expect girls of your age to set an example, and not the sort of appalling example that you persist in setting. I will see you tomorrow in my office at ten thirty. You may, in the meantime, reflect on the fact that you will also be receiving a severe caning for your gross misconduct and that I shall also be writing to your parents."

I turn my attention to the final one of the trio - Kelly Roberts. By now she appears so agitated that she might wet herself and I would bet money on her being in tears in a moment.

"Miss Roberts - you have let yourself down by your constant poor behaviour and misconduct. Three detentions in one term is a most serious matter." I was right, the tears have started. "If I hear one more bad report about you this term - whether or not it results in a detention, you'll be in my office for a caning before you know it. In the meantime I'll be writing to your parents about your conduct. Now sit down all three of you and think on what I've said."

They sit quickly and quietly, each lost in their own thoughts no doubt. I would love to know what is going through the mind of Kelly Roberts right now. Shaken by how close she has come to being caned for the first time in her life? Scared by how easily she could still end up being caned? Or, perhaps, still afraid of her parents reaction to my letter. She strikes me as the kind of girl for whom a letter to her parents might be every bit as bad as a caning, but it has the advantage of giving an opportunity for her to discuss things with her parents and if they feel an injustice is being done, they can raise the matter with no real harm. Whatever, she, along with Christine Cottrell and Jane Basey now have two hours of sitting in total silence to ponder their fate.

The technique of telling pupils at the start of their detention what additional punishment they are to receive in these circumstances is, we believe, highly effective. It gives them an extremely unpleasant set of thoughts to occupy their time, and also serves as a warning to others present.

Wednesday

I don't lose any sleep over what is to take place this morning although I suspect that Christine Cottrell and Jane Basey may well have done so. However, it would be misleading to suggest that I am able to really get on with any work this morning until the matter is dealt with. I am pleased as ten o'clock finally crawls around that I can soon get things sorted and out of the way. Much as they will have hated the waiting, I suspect the girls will be less keen for the time of their fate to draw near.

Jane Basey arrives in the outer office five minutes early and I keep her waiting for another ten minutes beyond the allotted time. She is finding it hard to look calm and untroubled now. I already have the cane lying on the desk to confront her as she enters my office and she visibly pales at the sight.

I clearly remember that last time she was in here - three detentions in the Spring term and all for pretty serious offences, and her previous record hadn't been very good either. I had lectured her at some length and she had appeared somewhat indifferent until I told her what the punishment was to be. She had looked horrified when I had taken the tawse out, but not half as horrified as when she learned that I regarded her behaviour as too serious to strap on the hand and required her to bend over for six across the seat of her bottom. I had laid them on hard - there is no real point in doing otherwise - and she had made quite a fuss and had been really crying when she finally left.

I think she recognises now that the cane is also meant for her bottom and is destined to hurt even more. It's unfortunate such thoughts did not occur to her in time to modify her behaviour. Not that I'm sure it will do much good, but I go through the ritual lecture anyway - if nothing else, it serves to heighten the suspense rather more painfully. I stress to her that this might well be her last chance. If her behaviour doesn't start to show marked signs of improvement then we will have to seriously consider her continued position at the school. I think she knows that I mean it this time.

Finally there is no point in delaying further and I explain to her that she is to be caned across the bottom and that this will be very much more painful than a strapping. She is to receive four strokes and will remain in the required position until given permission to stand up. With one last glance at the cane, she moves the chair to the middle of the room as instructed, and turns it so that the high leather covered back is towards her. Then without hesitation she lays herself over the back and grasps the chair legs on the far side. She is a tall girl for her age, and also leans over much more than most girls do without prompting so that she is actually on tip-toe. It's as if she wants to get her head as low as possible so that she can't see what's going to happen to her but of course the position makes an absolutely perfect target of her bottom.

Her skirt is normally mid-thigh length but it has already ridden up sufficiently for me to be able to glimpse a pair of blue knickers. I suspect she doesn't usually wear such conventional undergarments but has gone for the maximum protection this time. She must have known that a further strapping, at least, was likely and would have known from her previous experience that her skirt isn't going to help her. To be honest, the thickest pair of knickers available wouldn't help her much against the slender and whippy cane that I use.

The posture may have suggested that she is very much in control and untroubled but the whiteness of her knuckles where she is gripping the chair legs are a giveaway. Unfortunately I can't see her face because her long dark hair is now cascading down to the floor and obscuring the view.

Standing directly behind her I take hold of the hem of her skirt and lift it out of the way and fold it carefully on to her back making sure that it shouldn't fall down. Now I have a proper view of her knickers I can see that they may be plain and functional, but they're still quite brief and thinning with age.

Picking up the cane I resist the urge to swish it through the air a few times. Memories of the problems I had with this girl when I had to strap her before lead me to worry that she might do a runner! I choose my position carefully and line up the cane across the very middle of her bottom, touching it lightly across her knickers - the muscles in her thighs and buttocks tighten at the touch.

Before I ever get to this stage I have always made a mental decision about how much force to use, and this is one of the very rare occasions when I have second thoughts. Knowing her reaction to the strap, I had decided that a medium strength delivery of four strokes would probably be about all she could take. There is a moment of doubt now as I wonder whether the histrionics last time were all a con trick. After all, if it had affected her as much as that, why had she got herself into this situation again so soon?

I decide to stick to the original plan and without further hesitation give her the first swish across the peak of her bottom. There's an immediate screech of pain from somewhere near the floor. Apart from her left foot briefly leaving the floor, she keeps herself under control and I can see she's still gripping the chair like her life depends on it.

I wait for the pain to sink in - after all with only four strokes I don't want it to be over too quickly. I can hear her sniffing but she seems to be keeping reasonably still. The second stroke lands so close to the first that it probably crosses it and she yelps again. This one must have really built on her agony and yet she's taking it much better than the strapping last term, even 'though she is now unmistakably crying. I decide that it's only fair to Jane to make the final two slightly harder - after all, her future at the school could depend on this caning having a reforming effect on her behaviour.

I wait for her to settle perfectly and then take very careful aim at the very lower edge of her knickers, covering that softer area that she has to sit on all day long with hard wooden seats. The more vulnerable target coupled with a shade more force bring about a much more vigorous reaction from Jane.

"Yeeeaggghhh!" Her hands let go of the chair and fly up, her knees buckle and for a second she almost clutches her hands to her buttocks before realising what she's doing and what the consequences of such insubordination would be.

"Oh no.... Please miss, no more, miss..." she whimpers. However, at the same time she manages to grasp the chair again and tries to steady herself. There is no doubt that she is hurting now because, as well as the initial reaction that could have been mere play-acting, she can't settle now. She's squirming over the back of the chair and keeps hopping on to one foot and then the other as she tries to do something to assuage the pain. She is not going to win any sympathy like that, and I'm quite willing to wait until she is still.

It must be a full minute before she manages to regain any of her self- control. Even at that stage her bottom is still clenching and unclenching and she is really blubbering. I carefully place the cane across the bottom of her knickers again to line up the final stroke. The touch of the cane causes her to tense up and whimper even more, especially since she must realise that I intend the final stroke to also be on that most vulnerable part of her bottom cheeks.

I aim to deliver the final stroke to the identical place and with a fair amount of force. There's a fine swish as the cane sweeps down and then a crack as it impacts on the wretched girl's rump. Whether she was not quite still or whether my aim was fractionally out I'll never know, but the impact was about half an inch lower and part of the stroke landed on bare skin immediately producing a vivid crimson welt and another screech of pain.

"Keep in place." I remind her just as she starts to move. I stand and watch for a few seconds longer as she writhes in pain and is obviously desperate to be allowed to get up. I don't intentionally cane girls on the bare except under the most unusual circumstances and it is therefore an unusual opportunity to see the canes welt developing on the pale skin of this attractive teenager.

"You may stand in front of my desk but you will stand still and keep your hands by your sides."

How she resists the urge to rub her bottom as she stands I don't know, but she does try to do as she's been told. She looks a mess. Her face is streaked with tears and some of her hair is plastered to her cheeks. She uses the back of her hand to wipe away some of the tears but she is still crying, her lips are trembling and she can't manage to stand still. Her bottom must absolutely be on fire.

"Keep still Miss. Basey." I tell her a little unkindly.

I now get out the official punishment book and slowly and carefully make the legally required record of her name, form, offence and punishment. It must seem like a lifetime of waiting as far as she is concerned, especially as I replace the top on the pen, blot the entry and shut the book.

"A final reminder Miss. Basey - don't ever let me have to deal with you like this again, or you really will regret it. Next time you think of misbehaving and earning yourself a detention, you'd better remind yourself what it might lead to. If you want to be back here for six of the best with a lot more weight, then you know how to achieve that. I suggest you remember just how you're feeling now. Right, you'd better go and clean yourself up."

She practically runs out of the office, hands clutched to her seat, and with a fresh burst of tears. Obviously she will head for the toilets to wash her face and try to straighten herself out, but it's just the start of morning break so she won't get the luxury of any privacy. Furthermore, when she comes to sit down in her next class, she'll discover just how much those last two strokes are going to hurt her.

The fact that Jane's caning took a little longer than I had expected also has the spin-off that, as she rushes from my office in tears, she passes Christine Cottrell who is waiting to come in next.

Hopefully Miss. Cottrell will be disconcerted even further by this sight, but I decide to keep her waiting a while longer. Fifteen minutes later I call her in. My initial reaction is that neither the sight of the distressed Jane Basey nor the extended wait have done much to discomfit her.

When I open my door, she's sprawled on a chair and is actually chewing.

"Stand up!" I bark.

Not used to be talked to in that tone of voice, she does jump to her feet, but then slouches a bit and sticks her hands in her blazer pockets.

"Miss Cottrell, since you have not been sent to me before on a disciplinary matter, perhaps you have forgotten what is expected of you. Allow me remind you that any fifth form or sixth form girl sent here for disciplinary reasons automatically loses all fifth-form privileges for six weeks. I suggest you go away and comply with that before you return. Any questions?"

She shrugs.

"Good. Be back here in five minutes and make sure you have complied totally. If not, you will regret it."

Still showing no sign of concern, and indeed looking a bit peeved at this further inconvenience, she slouches off. Five minutes pass and I'm just wondering how late she's going to be when she reappears - less than a minute late so not worth making an issue of it.

"In there, now." I point to my office.

So far as I can tell, she has done as requested. Fifth form privileges are concerned with being allowed out at lunchtimes and so on, but also about a more flexible approach to the school dress code. Fifth formers are allowed to wear a little jewellery, discrete cosmetics and stockings instead of socks. She has removed her earrings and bracelet, washed her make-up off, and taken off her stockings although of course she doesn't have any socks at the moment. I take the opportunity to remind her that she will dress like this for six weeks from today, and I expect her to wear white knee or ankle socks throughout that time. I glimpse a scowl but decide not to press the point - I'm more concerned by her posture and body language that speak of total indifference.

I take out her file and spend a few moments glancing through it, while also keeping an eye on her. She just looks bored. Something tells me that this just isn't going to work. All the usual tricks of the trade that get through to badly behaved girls go straight past this one. With a sigh, I decide to just get it over with - the only chance is that she has a lower pain threshold than she imagines. I have to remind myself that this is, at the end of the day, the first time she's been sent to me, and that I shouldn't perhaps be quite as hard as I'm tempted to be.

"Were you ever given corporal punishment at your last school?"

Again, the familiar shrug.

"Couple of times. They used the strap."

"Yes, well we often use the strap as well, but in your case this catalogue of behaviour leaves me no choice but to give you the cane. Is there anything you want to say?"

She just shakes her head at first and then says "Can we get it over with?"

"Right, go to the middle of the room." I fetch the cane from the cupboard and for a moment I wonder if I detect the first glimmer of trepidation on her face. I press the moment home by adding a little drama by removing my jacket. Then, as I walk across to where she is waiting she tries to regain the initiative by holding out her left hand, palm uppermost. I almost grin.

"I'm sorry Miss Cottrell, that may be the way your last school did things but for a serious matter such as this, and in particular when I'm using the cane, I always cane girls across their bottoms. So, if you'd be so good as to touch your toes..."

This development really does throw her noticeably but she recovers quickly and tries to look indifferent. With the briefest of hesitations and perhaps the first tinge of a blush on her cheeks, she bends over perfectly, legs absolutely straight, and fingers stretching to touch the toes of her shoes.

I decide to move things along quickly - perhaps a precognition of what is to come. Obviously the first course of action is to flip her skirt up and on to her back - it's rather shorter than the skirts most girls are wearing right now, symptomatic of her rebelliousness no doubt. Although I rarely cane a girl's bottom without turning her skirt back in any case, it would be completely impossible in this situation where the lower hem comes exactly in line with the imminent cane strokes.

I don't think she was expecting this development for two reasons - firstly, there is a definite 'twitch' as she realises what I've done, and second, I'm sure that if she'd know she was likely to be caned across her knickers, she'd have taken the trouble to wear a more substantial pair.

For her first experience of the cane, even for such a terrible catalogue of offences, I am satisfied that four strokes will be sufficient, but at the same time, I'm determined to do something about her arrogant and indifferent attitude, so I'm going to put a deal more weight behind these than the ones I gave Jane Basey a few minutes ago.

As usual I line up the cane for the first stroke by touching it lightly across the centre of her panties. This is always more to do with disconcerting the girl than out of necessity, but few react as much as Christine Cottrell does - she immediately lets her knees bend and starts squirming around.

"Keep still Miss Cottrell, or I'll get Miss Hawthorne to come in and hold you down." The threat of bringing the formidable head of PE into the situation causes her to make a supreme effort to keep still, but she's not as still as I would like. I decide to risk it and go ahead and bring the cane down with a loud swish and a flick of the wrist to really crack it hard across the target. She screeches with pain, her hands fly back to clutch her bottom and she hops around.

"GET BACK IN PLACE THIS INSTANT." I can hear her sobbing, but she struggles to do as I tell her.

"If there is any repetition of that disgraceful behaviour, I will fetch Miss Hawthorne in, she'll hold you across the desk and you'll get six more strokes." The sobbing increases but she's trying to keep still. I have to turn the skirt back again. If she thinks that little performance will get her any leniency, then she's badly misjudged the situation. Her previous attitude has made me very determined.

The second stroke is just as hard and very close to the first one. She screams, but seems better prepared for what to expect this time and doesn't move nearly so much. She quickly gets herself still enough for the next one.

Recalling that the reason Christine is here is because of her bullying younger pupils, it seems like this is about to be paytime. As I've already mentioned, she is wearing a very skimpy pair of knickers with material that will have done nothing really to protect her so far, but there's worse to come. I decide that the other two strokes should be lower down where she'll remember them for longer and right now it's a bare target.

Had there been any witnesses present they would have been in no doubt that I wasn't being lenient with the final two strokes. In each case, there is a loud whoosh as the cane scythes through the air followed by a sickening crack as it whips across the top of her bare legs. She screams and grabs at the afflicted place with both hands after the final stroke. All pretence at dignity and decorum has vanished as she hops around the room, hands clutching desperately at her backside, so that her skirt can't fall back over her knickers, and I catch a glimpse of the purple welts across the very upper part of her thighs from that last vicious blow of the cane. She'll certainly remember this encounter for a while.

For the umpteenth time I wonder whether, in cases of bullying especially, it might be desirable to have the victim present to witness the humiliation and breaking of their tormentors, but few canings elicit quite such drastic emotions as this has done.

After a minute I am sitting down behind my desk and decided that the performance has gone on quite long enough.

"Miss Cottrell, pull yourself together. Come and stand in front of my desk with your hands straight at your sides."

Evidence of the efficacy of the caning is that there is no hesitation or rebellion now and she does precisely as she's told. I give her another short lecture about how I will be monitoring her behaviour very closely and if I ever hear of her bullying another pupil again, she'll be back here for another dose of the cane. Tears are streaming down her face and she looks an absolute mess with makeup smeared on her face. I notice a hand creeping around to the back of her legs again and immediately order her to put her hands on her head which she does.

"Please miss?" she says in a quavery voice.

"Yes?"

"Can I leave miss, I need to go to the toilet."

I think she's probably telling the truth, but I have to balance the options between risking her wetting herself, and enforcing the ritual of the occasion.

"Nearly finished - you can just wait a bit longer while I enter the details of your offence and punishment in the official punishment register." I write slowly and deliberately, half an eye on the obviously tormented girl standing in front of me. It's difficult to judge how much of her consternation is down to the fact that her backside feels like it's on fire and how much is down to a fear that she might be about to wet herself, but it's all a part of the process of making her think twice before doing something that could land her in this situation again. Finally I put the pen down, her crime and sentence etched for all time in the archives of the school.

"Right Miss Cottrell, you may return to your class, and remember what will happen if you ever get sent back here again." She practically runs from the room.

A stressful day, and at the end of the afternoon it becomes worse. About a quarter to five and the staff are all gradually packing up and leaving, when my secretary tells me that she has an irate parent on the 'phone - a Mrs Morehouse, who has a daughter, Rachel, in the fifth year.

She isn't willing to discuss her problem over the 'phone and we make an appointment for me to see her at 9:30 tomorrow.

Thursday

By the time I get back from assembly Mrs Morehouse is waiting - we've met before but I don't really know her very well. Still, she settles herself in a chair in my office and declines a coffee. So, I invite her to tell me what her concern is.

It turns out that Rachel had gone home last night "very distressed" (in her mother's words) because a girl in her class had been caned. I hadn't though to make a connection between Mrs Morehouse wanting to see me and the incident with Christine Cottrell, but I knew that she and Rachel were in the same class, although I had no idea that they were friends.

Mrs Morehouse informs me that Christine Cottrell had returned to the class clearly quite distraught and it was obvious to everyone that she'd been crying. She tried to fend off questions from the others at lunchtime but some of the boys in particular had taunted her, tried to smack her bottom, and had even tried to pull up her skirt. Later in the afternoon the girls had netball and the others has seen the marks on Christine's legs and bottom and the full story had come out.

Mrs Morehouse said that her own daughter was very upset by this and she wanted to know what I had to say about it. I managed to suppress a grin on hearing that Miss Cottrell had apparently been teased by her classmates - a touch of her own medicine. It sounded as if some of the boys had gone a bit far, but perhaps it would all be to the good in this instance for Miss Cottrell to get a taste of her own medicine. I also control myself not to simply ask Mrs Morehouse what it had to do with her.

"Mrs Morehouse, you must be aware that it has always been school policy to apply firm but fair discipline, and it is made clear to every parent when they send their sons and daughters to us that, on occasions, that may mean us resorting to corporal punishment."

Mrs Morehouse, it transpires, has a rather unrealistic view on the behaviour of young girls, and simply cannot believe they would ever do anything to warrant such a harsh punishment as the application of a cane to their bottoms. Boys yes, but girls, never! I assure her that such punishments are not very common, and that she need have no fear of her daughter being caned unless she were to commit a most serious offence. That does little to placate her; she wants to know what Christine Cottrell had done and is annoyed that I won't tell her on the grounds that this is a matter between myself, Miss Cottrell and, if they want to know, Miss Cottrell's parents.

She then demands that I agree here and now that I will never subject her Rachel to a caning or any other physical punishment. I point out that it is not possible to treat one girl differently from any other, and assure her again that I would be most surprised if Rachel were ever to do anything to justify such action. I have to bite my tongue when she's telling me how Rachel is a little angel, because I've checked her file first thing this morning and I see that she was in detention only two weeks ago for playing cards for money at lunchtime.

In the end we agree that, if I were ever in a situation where I felt it necessary to cane Rachel, I would inform her mother first, but I point out that if she refused to allow such a punishment to go ahead, there would be no alternative but for them to withdraw Rachel from the school. A very unsatisfactory meeting all round.

The rest of the day is rather better - I actually manage to get quite a bit of work done without interruptions.

Friday

First thing I get a bit of a shock when I arrive at my office at a quarter to nine and find Christine Cottrell waiting to see me. To say she's undergone something of a personality change since she last arrived at my office would be an understatement. She starts by saying that she wanted to come and apologise for her behaviour and say that she's going to mend her ways. I thank her for her courtesy but also warn her of the consequences if she doesn't.

"Don't worry, I don't want to have to come back here again, ever." she says and hands me a note as she leaves. It turns out to be a letter from her father. It seems that her parents have found out about her being caned on Wednesday and far from being angry, they also want to apologise for the trouble she has caused at the school, to thank me for dealing effectively with it and assure me of their continued support should she misbehave again. There's also a slightly ambiguous comment at the end which suggests that they will also be keeping their daughter in closer check in the future, so perhaps her change in demeanour is not solely as a result of her recent thrashing from me.

The positive start to the day is tarnished at morning break when I am just heading back to my room and as I round a corner I hear one of a group of three girls exclaim:

"Piss off you fucking cunt, you're not getting it...!"

The three freeze in horror as they see me, and the one who had uttered the torrent of expletives goes bright red. This calls for a fast decision. It could be a straightforward detention, but I recognise the girl as Juliette Bowes of form 2B and I know that she is regarded generally as a very well behaved young girl so this seems very out of character, and was perhaps triggered by something from one of the others that I had missed.

Perhaps I should investigate, ask them all to explain what's going on. However, I'm late for a meeting, and they'll all be late for their class if I drag this out.

"Come here Juliette."

Her face is crimson as she walks over. By this stage I've made up my mind - language like that is wholly unacceptable, but she knows that already and this isn't worth dragging out. On the other hand, it's too serious to ignore.

"Bend over and touch your toes." I see the look of horror on her face - she's probably one of the large percentage of pupils who confidently expect to get through their entire career at the school without ever coming close to being given any form of corporal punishment, but she knows she's for it now. However, she is too obedient to consider arguing.

She does as she's told and I quickly flip back her short skirt to reveal pristine white knickers. She must feel hugely embarrassed at being treated like in this in a public place, with the other two girls watching, and the ever-present risk of some boys coming past at any moment. My hand smacks hard and solidly on her left buttock and then equally hard on her right.

"Okay, stand up and get back to class." From the tingling in my hand, I'm sure that she'll have quite a smarting bottom, but as much as anything it's the shock and the shame that will work here. She and her friends scamper off to their class before I change my mind and deal more severely with them. I don't suppose she'll have her mind much on the next lesson as she sits with her tingling bottom perched on the hard wooden seat and thinks about what has just happened to her.

And that's it for anther week. You see now, perhaps, that it's a series of tough decisions and I don't think many people would really like to have to take the decisions I have to every single day.