## Not the Punishment But the Cause (M/mmmmmmmmmmm)

The following account refers to events that occurred a bit over halfway through my third form year at a prestigious Australian boarding school. I was 12 years old at the time, having been allowed to enter this school two years earlier than was normal and was the youngest boy in my form. My early days at the school hadn't been all that the school might have hoped for - I wasn't particularly well behaved and this had brought me into conflict with those who were responsible for my moral development. But by this stage, they had begun to win the battle for my character - they were beginning to make a very real impression on me. My days of misbehaviour weren't yet in the past, but at least I think I was no longer the type who was viewed with special concern. A certain level of misbehaviour was expected of boys, particularly of third form boys and while it was something to be punished, I don't think it was really seen as incredibly problematic in those days.

I was in the top stream for all, or nearly all my subjects - my school streamed us by ability in most subjects and I was easily one of the most academically talented of the boys in the school. And there was a general perception, I believe, that the top stream of boys were the best behaved - and frankly, I think at third form, we somewhat resented that. It was bad enough that we talked too wise - far worse to look too good on top of that. So we railed against the image a bit in our classes.

At least most of us did. There were exceptions - and one of these exceptions was a boy named Eric Benedict. We called him Saint Benedict and he was what we termed a 'refugee' or 'reffo' in our school slang.

Our school was primarily a boarding school - we had a small proportion of day boys, but most of us boarded at the school full time and came from all over the country - and indeed a significant minority of boys came from overseas. And to be a day boy made you something of a second class citizen within the school. The school made very serious efforts to try and integrate day boys so they were less different than they might have been - they had their own House and were strongly encouraged (it was very close to a requirement) to stay at the school each evening to eat dinner with the boarders and to engage in our evening activities. In fact the school officially termed these boys 'day boarders' in an attempt to reflect the fact that they weren't all that different from the rest of us. Personally I wasn't all that affected by the bias against day boys - but I mention it because it is relevant here, and some boys really did have a very real prejudice against them.

That prejudice came from a variety of sources - most boys at the school were from fairly privileged backgrounds - the fees made that virtually inevitable, and while being a day boarder wasn't exactly cheap, it was much cheaper than boarding at the school full time and so day boarders were on average, nowhere near as wealthy as other boys in the school. In fact, there were a number of boys from wealthy families who lived easily close enough to the school that they could have attended on a day boarder basis but whose parents had chosen to send them as full time boarders because of these distinctions. Some boys in the school were quite bigoted, to be honest - and regarded day boys as not really being of the same caliber as other boys in the school - they weren't quite the right sort to be at our school. I stress that most of us didn't hold these attitudes - even most boys who were biased against day boys were biased because they were day boys, and that was the way things were, and for no deeper reason. But there was prejudice there, at various levels.

And 'refugees' or 'reffos' were a particular group of day boys who were subject to even more discrimination than most. In the small town (not much more than a village really) closest to the school was a state high school - and it's my impression (based on discussions I have had with Old Boys from my school who were refugees) that at the time this story takes place, that that school had some serious problems with things like bullying and low academic standards. And a number of parents, very concerned about their sons education at that school had, over a period of a few years made contact with our school and negotiated places for their sons at our school at quite reduced fees. Our Headmaster was concerned with building ties with the local community as I understand it, and also believed that bringing these boys into our school might help dilute some of the most snobbish attitudes that some boys had, by letting them have more contact with boys from a somewhat different background. And I think it probably worked in some ways - but there were still bigots and they termed these boys as refugees. It wasn't a huge number of boys - perhaps around a dozen - and most of us didn't give them that hard a time but some boys certainly did.

Eric Benedict had come to our school at the start of our third form year from the high school, so he'd been with us six months or so at the time of this account. He was placed in the top stream in a number of subjects presumably based on his marks at his old school, and he held his own in the middle of the top stream - but that is really all he did. He was fairly intelligent, but didn't seem to be anything special in that regard - but he worked exceptionally hard. He was also very well behaved, hence his canonisation as Saint Benedict, quite early on. The fact that he lived very near a monastery on the outskirts of town just added to that image. And that image annoyed some boys. Boys don't tend to like saints, I think they get viewed with a bit of suspicion and some boys bullied Benedict a bit in the months after he arrived at the school - and he made it worse for himself by dobbing them in. We had a very developed code of behaviour among ourselves and one of the most solid rules we had was that you didn't dob on other boys. There was some allowance made for serious bullying, but what had happened to Benedict at the time he reported the teasing he'd experienced didn't even come close to reaching that standard, and it had harmed his chances of being accepted by other boys. At least for a time.

I have to say that I wasn't one of those who teased Benedict. One of my friends, Greg Fountain, was a reffo as well - one of the first, Fountain had come to the school a year before Benedict and he had gone out of his way to try and help Benedict fit in and he'd introduced the two of us. I quite liked Benedict to be honest - I was trying very hard to be a better boy myself at this time, having resolved to turn over a new leaf in terms of my behaviour and while I wasn't always successful, I think that this made me less inclined to view good behaviour as a bad thing than many of my classmates. And after Eric had made his major mistake of reporting the boys who were teasing him, out of ignorance of our codes, I was the one who sat down with him and explained how the codes worked in detail. I don't think Eric thought they made as much sense as I did at the time - but he did want to fit in, he didn't want to make things harder for himself and so he took the basic codes on board. You didn't dob. You stood up for your mates. I also tried to act as an intermediary between him and some of the other boys - the ones he'd told on - with limited success. They'd all been caned, and the worst of them, a fellow from my own House named Alan Pike, had been flogged over that piece of bullying and he saw that as an overly severe punishment for what he had done - and in some ways he was right, but I think what had actually happened was that the Head Master had known very well that Pike was a bully and had never before had a proper chance to deal with that. And Pike really was a bully - I shared a dorm with him for three years and he made my life miserable at times, and I wasn't the only one.

It was a very cold day I remember towards the end of winter, it was raining heavily outside, and our first class of the day was history. Our history master was a man named Mr Whelan who tended to be one of our more liberal masters in terms of discipline and classroom behaviour. He was capable of strictness when it was required and he expected us to do what he told us, but he tolerated a little bit of talking in class as long as work was getting done - things like that. And it was a cold day and the heating wasn't working (not an unusual situation in the old building) and Mr Whelan was late for our class. So we were moving around and stamping our feet and trying to keep warm and making a fair amount of noise - though not too much. The office of the feared Deputy Headmaster, Mr Keanes, our school's strictest and most severe disciplinarian was quite close to this classroom and we really didn't want to attract his attention. But Mr Whelan was late - and not just a few minutes late. And the class started to get noisier. Some of us began to consider whether or not we should go and find the Headmaster or Deputy Headmaster and report Mr Whelan's absence while other were enjoying the break in our normal routine.

The door at the back of the room swung open and Mr Keanes came sweeping into the room with a folder under his arm. I was a bit surprised at this - yes, we'd been a little noisy but I didn't think it was enough to have attracted his attention yet. I was even more surprised that he was only carrying a folder and not a cane. Boys were all over the place - which was fine when you were waiting for Mr Whelan - you had thirty seconds or so to find your place when he came into the room before he started getting annoyed - but Mr Keanes was another matter entirely and boys scrambled for their seats in consternation. He waited for them to get to their seats with a fixed expression on his face, and once they were in place, he spoke:

"Good morning, boys."

"Good morning, Sir."

"Disgraceful. But I will let it pass this one time. In future, I will expect you to be in your seats when I arrive. I will be taking Mr Whelan's classes for at least the next fortnight, possibly for the next month or so, as Mr Whelan has had a car accident."

"Is he all right, Sir?" Mr Whelan was a fairly popular master, but that didn't stop Mr Keanes glowering at the boy who had called out without raising his hand. The boy coloured and did so.

"Yes, Coleman?"

"Is Mr Whelan all right, Sir?"

"Well, obviously if he is missing two weeks of school, he isn't - but to answer the question you should be asking, Mr Whelan will be all right - they think he has fractured his leg among other injuries, but there's nothing that won't heal. Now - the roll first."

He moved to the Master's desk and sat down and opened the folder he had brought with him. He looked in it, and he looked around the room.

"Is this where you normally sit in Mr Whelan's classes?"

We answered in the affirmative.

"Well, the way Mr Whelan sets out his classroom is his concern. In classes I am teaching, we sit in rank order. Sort yourselves out."

Mr Whelan, more or less, had let us choose our own seating arrangements - I think he had moved a few boys who talked too much to the person next to them (this classroom had doubles - two boys to a desk) but generally he'd let us decide where we sat for ourselves. Mr Keanes however was old fashioned - he insisted his classes sat in rank order - the boys at the bottom of the class (with the lowest marks) sat closest to the masters desk, the boys with the highest marks were furthest from the masters desk. I was first in the class at this point (I had been virtually all year) and found myself in one of the back corners. In the other corner (meaning he must have been ranked sixth) nearest the classroom door (this classroom had its entrance at the back of the room) was Saint Eric.

When we were at our right desks, Mr Keanes began our class.

"Pointer - your prep from last night. Read out your answer to question one."

Pointer looked down at his exercise book and began to read. "1823. General Brisbane. Legislative Council..."

"Stop there. Did you do your prep, Pointer?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Don't you write your answers in full sentences?"

A voice called out. "Mr Whelan lets us use pointform, Sir."

"STAND UP, Coleman."

The boy who called out came to his feet.

"Does Mr Whelan also let you call out in his class... well, answer me."

"No, Sir."

"No, I didn't think Mr Whelan would let you do that. You know boys, I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and not bring a cane to class - I don't need to do that with senior boys and you've been around a while now. But obviously I overestimated your readiness. Coleman, go to my office and get a cane."

Coleman looked quite miserable as he walked out of the room. Mr Keanes turned his attention back to Pointer.

"If Mr Whelan allows pointform, then pointform is fine. However, in your quest for brevity, you must still be accurate and be respectful. Major General Sir Thomas Brisbane, if you please."

"Yes, Sir."

"Next question... Pike."

The class continued with a couple more questions being asked and then...

"Where is my cane, Coleman?"

I looked across the room to where the miserable looking boy was standing in the doorway.

"Your office is locked, Sir."

"Ah yes... wait at the front of the room, Coleman. I'll get it myself."

He stalked out - and after a moment's silence, people started talking.

"Two weeks, maybe a month of this?"

"We've just got to do what he says."

"Easy for you to say."

"The man is a monster. Maybe we could complain to the Head?"

"Complain about Keanes? You have to be kidding. I think the Headmaster is probably as scared of him as we are."

It went on like this as we blew off steam. I was watching Coleman who was standing at the front of the room, not participating in any of the discussion, just standing there seemingly on the verge of tears. Mr Keanes was renowned for his ability with the cane and the idea of being caned by him in front of the class - well, I would have been nearly crying as well. I wasn't really paying attention to the class.

"Good Lord!" I suddenly heard Mr Keanes voice exploding from the doorway. He had returned to our class to find uncontrolled chattering and boys out of their seats. And he had a cane in his hand this time and boys again scrambled to their seats rapidly as he stalked to the front of the room. This shouldn't have happened - we hadn't bothered when we had been expecting Mr Whelan because he was tolerant of a little disturbance, but with a master like Keanes, by all our traditions and codes, the boy closest to the door should have been keeping cave as soon as he left the room. That boy was Eric Benedict - and it suddenly occurred to me that he might not have known he was supposed to do that. In most of our classrooms, the door was at the front of the room and most of the masters you needed to keep cave for were traditionalists - so the boy closest to the door was normally one of the bottom students in the class - and Saint Benedict was never near the bottom in any class I'd seen him in. Whatever the cause for his lapse, it had happened now and Mr Keanes looked most displeased.

"Your behaviour is absolutely disgusting. Are you third formers or first formers? You know better than that." He looked across at where Coleman was quaking near his desk and seemed to me to decide to put him out of his misery. "Take off your blazer, face the window, and bend over and touch your toes, boy."

Coleman very slowly did as he was told and Mr Keanes came up and stood just behind him and to his side. From my place at the back of the class, I couldn't see Coleman - he was now lower than the heads of the boys at desks in front of him but I could Mr Keanes and I watched as he swung that cane, with the whole force of his body behind it. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Get back to your seat."

Coleman's face was red and tears were streaming down his face as he hobbled to his seat, clutching his bottom.

"Now for the rest of you. Should I cane you all?"

Dead silence, except for crying coming from where Coleman had gingerly sat down at his desk.

"No calling out, now, I see. Does nobody have an opinion?"

Still dead silence.

"So this is the way to keep you quiet. I'll remember that in future - and you'd better remember it as well. I won't cane you all, this time. But be back here at lunchtime and we'll practice how a class should be run during lunch."

A couple of hands went up.

"That's better. Monroe?"

"It's hot dinner today, Sir." Monroe's voice was measured without a hint of complaint, but he was voicing a very real concern for us. Because of the weather, a hot meal was going to be served at lunchtime and missing that would have been a major penalty. Mr Keanes could make us miss it, but Monroe was obviously hoping for some leniency.

And he got it.

"Well, you'd better eat it quickly. You can have twenty minutes, but then you will be here." Other hands went down except for Benedict's over near the door.

"Yes, Benedict?"

"Sir, my mother is expecting me home for lunch..."

"Oh no, I'm not having that. You'll eat in the dining hall. You haven't got time to get home and get lunch and get back in time for a lunchtime detention."

"But, Sir..."

"That's final, Benedict. You're lucky I am letting you eat at all. Don't spoil that for everyone."

Benedict went silent.

"Now, next question..."

At morning break, I headed up to the library. The library was quite popular today - it had a decent heating system and it really was a very cold day. I grabbed a book and sat down at a table to read. Benedict sat down near me. He was looking quite upset and I looked on with concern as he was approached by Alan Pike and one of his cronies. I had the authority to order them out of the library (I was a library monitor) and I was prepared to do it if they started picking on Benedict - but I didn't want to act without cause. So I listened to what they had to say to Benedict.

"Don't you know how to keep cave, Saint?"

"What, Pike? I'm not sure what you mean."

"You were closest to the door - you should have been looking out for Keanes coming back and warned us. Or didn't you know?" This came from Ernest Gibbons, a boy who saw himself as something of an authority on all aspects of how the school functioned as he had the distinction of coming from a family that had been attending the school since its foundation - his family was very involved in the running of the school.

"No... I didn't, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, but nobody told me."

"Oh great - so once again a reffo lets us down." Pike said it - but his tone was quite neutral which surprised me. He didn't seem that upset or angry. "At least you know when to shut up, though - you could have made it worse."

"It's bad enough for me," said Benedict. "My mother expects me home for lunch. My grandmother is coming down for the day - and she won't be there when I get home tonight."

"Well, we're not going." Pike again. "Tell him what you told me, Gibbons."

"My father is on the School Council, you know, Benedict. Anyway, he told me that Masters aren't allowed to punish whole classes anymore. Not after what happened with Baxter."

Baxter was a boy in a form below us who had alleged that Mr Keanes had caned him excessively about a month or so earlier. The allegation had been taken seriously and investigated very closely. Mr Keanes had been cleared - Baxter had made up the allegation largely to avoid being caned along with his entire class and he withdrew it when he discovered that Mr Keanes was facing dismssal and possible prosecution - but there had been rumours that the School Council had been examining all the rules concerning punishment. From what Gibbons was saying, the rumours were true.

Pike spoke: "So after we've had lunch, we're just going to not go to the detention. And if they try to make us, the Monkeyman here," he gestured to Gibbons "will tell his father that Mr Keanes is breaking the rules on punishment."

"So you're not going?"

"No, we're going to arrange it during the lunch. But if you need to shoot off early so you can see your gran - well just shoot off as soon as the lunch bell goes."

Benedict was somewhat skeptical. "This isn't a put on, is it?"

"No. Look - Rysher's your mate. Rysher - are you up for this?"

I looked at Gibbons. "You're serious about what School Council said - your father told you? And we're going to work this out at lunch."

"He did, yes. And yes, we'll work it out at lunch."

"I'm in, then." Personally, I thought it was a fairly daft plan and wouldn't have gone along with it for my own choice. But I would stand up with my classmates if they did it. And knowing the attitudes in my class I thought the majority would go with the plan under the circumstances described. I knew there would be some price to pay but if they couldn't cane us, most would take the risk.

Benedict nodded. "All right, then. Great."

Recess ended and we went off to our next two classes which passed without incident relevant to this account. When lunchtime arrived, we headed off to the refectory to get our hot dinner, and I expected to see Pike and Gibbons moving around to our classmates arranging our defiance of school authority. I saw them come in together and decided to offer my help in speaking to everyone. And I was shocked at what Pike told me.

"Are you joking, Rysher? Of course, we're not going to miss the lunchtime lesson. Mr Keanes is a maniac - he'd skin us all alive."

"But you said that he'd been told he couldn't punish whole classes?"

"Oh come on, Rysher," said Gibbons. "Do you really believe that the School Council would make a rule like that? Benedict doesn't know any better but I would have thought you'd known how the school really works."

I felt ill. "You used me to get him, you bastards."

"Steady on." Pike looked at me contemptuously. "I really thought you were one of us, Rysher - your father went here after all. I thought you knew we were joking with Benedict - and you were just helping us out. It's not our fault, you were so gullible."

I abandoned all though of a hot meal and bolted from the refectory, out into the rain. Maybe if I got to the gates fast enough, I could catch Benedict before he left the school. Because if he was the only boy who didn't turn up for a detention class given by Mr Keanes then I knew that he would truly suffer for it.

I stood in the rain by the gates for twenty minutes, but I must have missed Benedict. I waited as long as I safely could - and then a little longer. The rain was easing when I finally approached the main building, but as I hadn't taken time to get my slick, when I came into the class - late, I was cold and hungry and dripping wet. Mr Keanes called me to the front of the room.

"Rysher, you're late. Do you have an excuse?"

I looked at Pike and at Gibbons, both sitting at their desks. Pike appeared nonchalant, while Gibbons looked rather nervous.

"No excuse, Sir."

"Take off your blazer... now face the window. And now bend over and touch your toes."

I felt Mr Keanes walk up behind me and next to me, and lay his cane across the seat of my damp grey school shorts. Then there was pain. The first stroke had me in tears and I had to force myself to stay down. The second stroke was too much for me, though, and I stood up, with my hands flying around to my bottom.

"Back DOWN." His tone was sharp and I rapidly obeyed. "That cut doesn't count, so you have two more to come." I felt outraged. I'd got straight back down. If he'd told me he wasn't going to count the stroke I'd have taken my time. I bent as far as I could, the tips of my fingers on the ground rather than on my shoes in the hope of giving myself more time to catch myself if I stood back up instinctively. But when the third stroke came, I was pushed forward, so my fingers were bent back and I came springing up in pain, my hands flying under my armpits - it felt like it had broken my fingers.

"BACK DOWN! I won't tell... Rysher, show me your hands." I was sobbing with my arms wrapped around me, my hands tucked in under my arm pits, and I didn't obey. He dropped the cane on the table, and pulled out my right hand and looked at my fingers.

"Bend your fingers, Nathan. Good boy. Other hand." He looked at my hands carefully moving my fingers backwards and forwards for about 30 seconds while the rest of the class looked on in some interest. "Fingers on the floor, Nathan? You're told to touch your toes, not the floor, you silly boy. Nothing broken, though. Go and sit down."

I walked to my desk at the back of the room, past my classmates and sat down. I placed my fingers on the cold metal bolts of the desk in the hope that they would reduce the pain - they did, a little, when you were caned on the hands, as happened sometimes, though not that often at my school.

Mr Keanes sat down at his desk. "So, as Rysher was late, we only have one absence. Benedict. Well, I'll deal with him later." He looked out the window. "It's finally stopped raining and you lot are stuck in here, because you didn't know how to keep quiet." He paused and then continued. "I'm going to let you go out and play, boys - but when we have our next lesson on Friday, there had better not be any repeat of the disgraceful behaviour I witnessed this morning. Off you go."

Most of the class shot off rapidly. I walked out quite slowly still looking at my fingers, trying to work out if there was any part of my anatomy that wasn't hurting. I headed to the toilets to wash my face and try and cool my hands, and when I entered, I saw Gibbons standing by the sinks washing his hands.

Ernie Gibbons was one of Pike's sidekicks, his cronies, but unlike Pike who was a bully, through and through, Gibbons, in my view, wasn't really that bad a fellow. I often think he chose to latch on to Pike out of self defence. Gibbons bore an unfortunate resemblance to a chimpanzee in terms of his facial features and this coupled with his name (I use a pseudonym for him, here, as I do for all the people in my accounts - but his real name was nearly as evocative of a primate as this pseudonym is) made him a natural target for bullies from the moment he entered the school. Whatever his reasons, while he backed Pike and I think that was wrong of him, I had more faith in his good nature and I thought what he and Pike had done to Benedict with my unwitting assistance was pretty low.

"That was really cruel, Ernie, what you and Pike have done to the Saint. He's going to get thrashed now, you know he is. You set him up and that really wasn't nice."

"Yeah, Nathan, I know. But what can I do about it now?"

"You could tell Mr Keanes what you did."

Gibbons looked at me as if I was mad. "You're joking, Rysher? Look, I feel bad about it, but I'm not getting myself flogged for Benedict or anyone else. I saw Pike's flogging and I couldn't take that Rysher - and my Dad would kill me twice if he found out."

"You tell him, Monkeyman." Pike emerged from one of the cubicles, "You must be off your nut, Nathan. You've just been caned by Keanes and you would suggest somebody else put himself in his power. Besides a good caning might do Saint Eric a bit of good."

I actually agreed with him on that last point - as far as I knew, Eric Benedict had never been caned and that was a problem for some boys as well. Getting a caning was likely to make other people a little less frosty towards him and help him shake off a bit of his image. But whatever the truth of that, Pike was still clearly in the wrong.

"If you had any guts, Pike - you'd go to Mr Keanes and tell him what you did."

"Frankly, Rysher, I don't care that much for your opinion. And that isn't going to happen. Gibbons and I won't be turning ourselves in - and you can't dob on us. So I guess, poor Benedict will have to take what's coming to him, while we'll get off scot free."

He walked out the door and I let him. Gibbons followed. And I washed my face and hands.

What could I do? Could I dob Pike and Gibbons in... our codes forbade dobbing but we had been told that it was all right to dob in really bad cases of bullying. Was this bad enough? I honestly wasn't sure - but besides no matter what they told us about dobbing in bullies, it still was very frowned upon by other boys - it was reluctantly accepted that if it got really bad, somebody had to tell, but nobody wanted to be that person. Really, the only solution that had any hope of getting Benedict any leniency (and that was all I thought could be achieved - whatever his reasons, he had deliberately not turned up for the detention class and he was inevitably going to be punished for that) was for Pike or Gibbons to turn themselves in. But Pike would never do it - and I was fairly sure he wouldn't let Gibbons do so either even if that boy could overcome his fear.

I'd finished washing my hands and I looked down at my fingers and saw bruising along the tips. My bottom was still hurting as well, quite badly, but I was used to dealing with that. I could take it. I had before and I would again. And so I made a decision.

I left the toilets and walked across to the main building and then to Mr Keanes study. His door was open and I knocked on it. He looked up from his desk.

"Come in, Rysher."

I walked in and took up position in front of his desk.

"Sir... I've come to tell you something and I won't give you any other names, so please don't ask me to."

"What have you done?"

"Sir... Eric Benedict was set up. Some of us told him a cock and bull story about how you weren't allowed to cane whole classes anymore, and so if we didn't turn up to detention you couldn't do anything to us, and so none of us were going to go. It was a lie, Sir. There was no real intention of not turning up on most people's part. But Benedict believed it. And he went home because of it. He was going to see his Grandmother, Sir - it was the only chance he would have before she went home."

Mr Keanes looked at me, and shook his head. "You were involved?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you won't say who else was?"

"No, Sir."

"This is getting to be a habit, Rysher. But I suppose I would rather know under your conditions than not know at all. We will discuss this in Friday's class. In the meantime, I forbid you to tell anyone about this conversation."

"Believe me, Sir, I won't be telling anyone."

"Of course not. How are your hands?"

"They'll be OK, Sir."

"You may go."

I walked out the door. I was not looking forward to our class on Friday morning.

And, nor after lunch was over and he returned to school was Eric Benedict. I had another class with him at the end of the day and immediately after class finished, I sought him out.

"I didn't know, Benedict - I really didn't."

"It's all right, Rysher," he said, although he didn't sound like it was all right. "Gibbons told me what happened. I know that you didn't try to set me up - though I wish they hadn't taken you in as well."

"You could report them. Go to Mr Keanes, or Mr Wimmer?"

"No - I don't see any point in getting Gibbons in trouble, and as for Pike. I've had him flogged once and that didn't stop him. Besides, I knew I was breaking a rule - and I'll take my punishment for that. I'm not afraid to be caned, Nathan - well, I am but I can take it."

"It hurts a lot."

"I know it does. I know everybody thinks I haven't been caned before - well, I have been. It's just that unlike most people I don't think it's something to be proud of. So I've kept it quiet. I know it hurts. I don't want to be caned but I guess I deserve it, so that's the way it goes."

Friday came around, inevitably, and once again History was our first class of the day. We were all at our desks, sitting quietly as Mr Keanes entered the room, a cane tucked under his arm. He sat down and took the roll as everybody sat waiting in anticipation of what we knew was coming.

"Benedict - come to the front of the room."

Benedict stood up and walked up to the front of the room, where he stood in front of the blackboard. Mr Keanes picked up the cane from his desk, and flexed it.

"Benedict - you knew you were supposed to be here at lunch on Wednesday, did you not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you deliberately chose not to attend?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you have anything to say in your defence."

"No, Sir."

"Then take off your blazer and face the window."

Benedict stripped off his jacket and placed it on the desk. His face was quite calm, his demeanour quite impressive.

"Bend over... Gibbons, you have something to say?"

Ernest Gibbons had raised his hand.

"Sir," His voice was shaky. "Sir, we told Benedict that he shouldn't come to the detention - that none of us were going to go. We let him think he could get away with it."

"I see. Who is we?"

Gibbons looked down at his desk. Benedict was bent over at the front of the room, and out of sight.

"We'll discuss this in a moment. Whatever else happened, Benedict chose to attend my detention and he deserves some punishment for that."

Mr Keanes took up position and again I watched his entire upper body rotate as he slammed the cane down. He really did put his whole body into a caning and that made him one of the most feared caners around. There was a swishing sound, and then a very solid crack and a strangled yelp from Benedict was heard. The cane was drawn back again and again Mr Keanes rotated back and then forward slamming the cane into Benedict's bottom, and again a strangled cry. Mr Keanes paused and looked over at Gibbons.

"I was going to give Benedict six until I found out he'd been victimised - so my question to you Gibbons, is how many strokes will you take for him. He's had two of his six - will you take the other four? Or perhaps you'd rather only take three? Or two? Or one?"

Gibbons answered, quickly and loudly in a high pitched, almost hysterical voice.

"I'll take four, Sir. I'll take what's left."

"Benedict - you can return to your desk. Gibbons, come here."

Both boys were shaking as they passed each other in the rows between desks. I could see Benedict's face, his eyes were bright and his lips were set, and he didn't seem to be crying. Gibbons, however, was crying as he arrived at the front of the room and took his blazer off without waiting to be told, and seemed to be about to bend over without being told to as well. But Mr Keanes placed his cane in front of him to stop him bending.

"Who is we, Gibbons?"

Ernie Gibbons shook his head, without speaking. Mr Keanes looked at the class.

"Well?"

I stood up in my back corner of the room.

"Rysher, come up here. Who else?"

Nobody else moved. As I arrived at the front of the room, I turned and looked at Pike who was biting his lip and looking very nervous indeed. Mr Keanes looked at me.

"Who else was involved, Rysher?"

I shook my head.

"Take off your blazer, and Gibbons, you bend over and touch your toes." Mr Keanes turned to the class as we obeyed him. "I don't for a moment believe that Gibbons and Rysher were the only two involved in this. There is at least one coward in this room. A cowardly little sneak of a bully. I don't know who he is or who they are, and I won't guess. But I'm sure all of you know who he is or who they are. Protect him if you choose to, but whoever you are, remember that the only reason you're not being caned right now is because those you bully are better than you."

He pointed at me with the cane and signaled with it that I should move to the far end of the blackboard, and then he turned his attention back to Gibbons who was bent over near the teachers desk. He laid the cane across the seat of Gibbons short trousers, then drew it back and slammed it down hard. Gibbons whole body shuddered, and his knees bent, but he stayed in position. And Mr Keanes lined the cane up again and brought it back and slammed it down again, very hard indeed. And then he spoke.

"Stand up, Gibbons."

Only two? Gibbons had been meant to get four. And Mr Keanes was not known for being softhearted when he caned. What was going on?

"Back to your desk, Gibbons, you come here, Rysher, and bend over and touch your toes."

The other day he'd aborted his caning of me because I'd hurt my fingers. Had he perhaps just hurt Gibbons in a way he didn't mean to? If so, would he hold back on me? Or perhaps because I'd come forward, he'd decided Gibbons and I could both share Benedict's four remaining strokes... these were the thoughts running through my mind and I stepped up to the correct location and bent over to almost touch my toes - I curled my fingers into my hands for protection.

The first stroke was enough to make me cry - my bottom was still a little tender from my caning of two days earlier but this was very painful and I knew he'd landed the stroke exactly over one of my earlier marks. I stayed in position though as a second stroke came down, and this time it landed clean. It still hurt a lot, but it could have been far worse.

"Take your blazer back to your desk, Rysher. Everyone else take their blazers off and leave them on your desk and line up at the door."

We did as we were told. Benedict, being the closest to the door wound up right at the front of the queue, while I, having the advantage of being on my feet and already having my blazer off managed to get into a position fourth in line. Mr Keanes squeezed past Benedict out the door, cane in hand and gestured to Benedict to lead us in a line after him.

We didn't go far. Mr Keanes simply lined us up in the corridor outside our classroom. This was a fairly long corridor with a number of classrooms along it.

Mr Keanes stood on the other side of the reasonably wide corridor, roughly halfway along our line facing us with his cane in his hand.

"I understand that there are rumours being spread in this school that staff members, and myself in particular, are no longer permitted to cane entire classes. I think it is important that the school is dissuaded from this erroneous view. Unfortunately you are the class that has most annoyed me this week - and as I let you off a detention on Wednesday, it is your class that I still owe a punishment to." He pointed at the front of the line where Eric Benedict was standing. "Come here, Benedict."

The Saint walked forward to take up position next to Mr Keanes. "Master Benedict - I've just caned you for absenting yourself without permission from the punishment that I had given your class. A punishment I didn't complete on that occasion - and which I am about to hand out now. As this will result in you being punished for avoiding the punishment I am about to administer, I'm not entirely sure if I should cane you or not. And so I will leave the decision to you."

The Saint looked along the line of boys and then turned to Mr Keanes. "Sir, this is my class. This is a class punishment."

"Then bend over and touch your toes."

Mr Keanes, once again took up his customary position and lined his cane up across a boys backside. And he drew it back and he slammed it down - and the noise echoed around the corridor full of classrooms. And he drew it back for a second stroke, and then he let Benedict stand up. And now, the boy was crying.

"Back in line. Next."

The next in line was a chap named Tee who was, like Benedict, generally very well behaved and who hardly ever got the cane. And he had his eyes closed as he walked forward and almost walked into Mr Keanes, which gave us all a moment of brief amusement. He bent down and took his two strokes, yelping like a puppy at each stroke, and his yelps echoed around the corridor as well. When he came back to the line, his eyes were wide open - he was of Asian extraction and people used to tease him about his eyes at times, well they were very round after that cane hit him.

The third boy was named Crafton - Crafton used to get caned quite a bit. Very bright, but very lazy, he was always failing to complete his prep. He was almost nonchalant as he stepped up into position - and that might have explained why Mr Keanes seemed to put more strength into the two strokes he gave Crafton than he had to the first two boys. Crafton was broken by the second and he was crying as I walked past him to take my medicine. I bent over and as the first stroke hit I was somehow glad that I was still crying from my first two strokes, because that would have started me again. And the second was even harder. I was sobbing, well and truly sobbing as I returned to the line and I didn't pay all that much attention to the rest of the proceedings.

When we were done, we returned to our classroom and to our desks, and Mr Keanes returned to his and he sat down behind it, and looked at us.

"I won't try and teach you now - but on Monday, boys, we start again, afresh. I'll leave my cane in my office if you all promise to try and be good. I can always get it if I need it, but let's at least start with the assumption it won't be needed. Can we agree on that?"

There was dead silence.

"You can speak."

A chorus of yeses in rather subdued tones.

"Good boys. You can go out in a minute and wash your faces and hands and have a little free time until next class, but before you go, let me say one more thing. I'm sure that there are other boys in this class who were involved in the conspiracy against Benedict and who haven't owned up yet. And as I have said, those boys are cowards. Now, I'm not going to try and find out who you are, boys, and I'm not going to guess... but I am going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. If you were involved and you haven't owned up, come and see me before the end of the day. I will be in my office during lunch and afterwards. I'm not going to make you any offers - if you turn yourself in, it will be very painful for you, the time for leniency has been and gone. But you'll earn something - my respect and more importantly, perhaps a little self respect. Off you go, boys."

We went.

That evening in the House, the Matron decided that she was going to supervise the third form boys showering - she did this periodically as we went through the school, doing it less and less as we got older, I think the idea was to impress on us the fact that we were in her care and had no right to any privacy from her. Matron saw the marks from our canings reasonably often, but only rarely commented on them. But as we stepped into the showers, I heard her speak to Alan Pike.

"Alan - what have you been up to?"

We all turned and looked - Alan Pike's bottom was marked severely - it was obvious to all of us who knew anything that he had almost certainly been flogged, in addition to the two strokes he'd taken in our classroom caning. And incidents that got boys flogged were ones we normally heard about. And certainly Matron should have known - boys who earned a flogging were routinely sent to their House Matron for care and attention.

"I am waiting for an answer, Alan?"

"Mr Keanes flogged me Matron."

"What for?"

"Bullying."

"Oh, Alan." Matron was annoyed. She'd had problems with Alan bullying in our dormitory - bullying me a lot of the time - and it made her very angry. But I was surprised to hear myself speaking up for Pike:

"It's all right, Matron - he owned up to it, or he wouldn't have got caught."

Matron looked at Pike. "Is that so, Alan?"

"Yes, Matron."

"Well, that is something at least." She smiled. "It's quite a lot, actually. Come and see me after your shower - I'll need to have a better look at that bottom."

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