The Justin Wellby resignation elicited by the terrible John Smyth abuse of children, has focussed the publics’ minds on caning and corporal punishment in schools.
As a Headteacher I used to have many parents telling me that ‘in the good old days’ a good caning would have sorted things out. They were utterly wrong – caning rarely, if ever, sorted anything out. The same old crew would be there week after week to get their dose and wore it like a badge of honour. The use of violence merely served to send the message that violence was alright. There were regular fights, displacement aggression and hierarchical bullying. The worst bullies of all were often some of the teaching staff who seemed to thoroughly enjoy beating children. I witnessed some horrific examples.
My own experience of being caned or suffering corporal punishment from teachers only serves to amply illustrate this.
My introduction to corporal punishment started in Primary School. Being a little boisterous (my sister claims that I have ADHD) meant that I was often chastised. This often took the form of being rapped across the knuckles with a wooden ruler. This varied, according to the nature of the crime, from being smacked across the palms with the flat of the ruler to being hit across the knuckles with the edge. The edge would be excruciating. It’s a wonder bones were not broken.
The experience never failed to leave me angry and resentful and did little to curb my nature.
But the real focus of this piece is to report the physical effects of caning. At around twelve-years-old I received ‘six of the best’ from a right sadist of a teacher. I was made to bend over a desk and he used a classic bendy cane, like you see in the Beano and Dandy comics. Except it wasn’t at all funny. He put full force into it six times.
The pain was so intense it made me cry out and brought tears from my eyes.
Following a caning we were excused sitting down for the rest of the day. That was fortunate.
Each stroke broke the skin across my buttocks. I left the classroom with tears streaming down my cheeks and blood running down my legs. The humiliation was immense.
The livid slashes caused a hard, raised ridge to form. It throbbed and was agonising to touch. I couldn’t have sat down if I had wanted.
By the time I had arrived home the ridges had started developing into bruises. First they went deep purple then, over days, went brown and yellow. The skin formed a long line of scab. It was incredibly painful for days.
I can only imagine the horrendous injuries meted out to those poor boys by the sadistic Smyth. It always seemed to me that the perpetrators of these punishments thoroughly enjoyed their work. They took a sadistic, or even sexual, pleasure in inflicting pain.
Those boys that Smyth attacked did not just receive six lashes but dozens. He provided a soundproof chamber with adult sanitary pads to absorb the blood. Horrendous!
For those calling for the return of these barbaric practices in schools I will, in future posts, illustrate with incidents I personally have witnessed.
Caning is rightly seen as child abuse and thankfully confined to the dark days of history. Schools should be places of joyous learning not torture chambers. There are far better ways of dealing with miscreants.
