The disciplinary regulations mentioned in this installment are real. During the 1970s some education authorities issued a supplement to them because what had seemed reasonable in the 1930s for dealing with boys was starting to look inadvisable in the 1970s and 80s when girls and parents started demanding equality. It was odd that they did not just change the reglations, but as corporal punishment was abolished in 1986 anyway, perhaps they did not get around to it. The revised handbook included a lot of psycho-babble about girls cherishing their bodies more than boys and ‘advised’ heads to find alternatives to the cane for girls. It also ‘advised’ but did not mandate that canings for girls should not be on the bare and always in front of witnesses. Angela’s story, which began here, is loosely based on real events at an undetermined time prior to 1986.

Marijuana, pot or as I now prefer to call it, the evil weed, it seemed such a good idea at the time.

It was a slow Friday afternoon, all my essays were in and it been made clear to us that everyone was expected at afternoon registration, whether we had classes or not.

I was looking idly out of the window when I saw Jackson pull up on his motorcycle behind the science block. Jackson had been in my year but had left school when I entered the sixth form. I had seen him around town a couple of times but never at the school. Jackson had been one of the more interesting pupils at school. He had been a rebel since the first year, when he had chosen to dissect a dead cat instead of a rat in biology.

I slipped out of the sixth form library where most of the sixth was hard at it not studying in study period and sauntered over to where I had seen Jackson disappear into the boiler room.

Jackson was sitting on a pile of boxes with a fifth form girl on his lap and another sitting at his feet. They were all smoking and from the smell, I knew it was not just ordinary tailors.

“Caught you.” I said jumping out at them.

“Hello babe how you been?” Jackson said nonchalantly the picture of urban cool. The girls simpered.

“Fine. What are you doing here?” I quite fancied Jackson and these two were no competition.

“Just sharing out the red with my cuz and my best girl here.” He smiled stroking the hair of the girl on his lap. “Try some.”

I hesitated. I didn’t really want to but I didn’t want to appear uncool in front of the two younger girls. So I took the joint.

“No girl you gotta inhale.” He ordered.

The girls giggled so I did as I was told. That was how it started. The girls got gigglier and they didn’t notice that I was not always taking a drag when we passed the toke. Then Jackson said he had to go and I followed him up the steps hoping he would ask me out. He didn’t.

Someone must have heard his motorbike ride away because a few minutes later the caretaker appeared at the top of the steps.

“What are you girls doing in here?” He growled.

“I heard a noise and I found them smoking.” I said quickly.

I felt ashamed but the girls were too far gone and just started giggling.

“Hey what are you smoking, hey you fetch a teacher.” The caretaker said turning to me.

I shot off. Smoking was bad news, but weed was an automatic expulsion. But I felt ashamed all the same, perhaps they would go easy on them because they were young.

Even then I could not find it in myself to report to any teacher so I did the only thing I could think of and went to David Ashley. I think I hoped he would see through me at once and realise what had happened. Of course he didn’t.

“The caretaker has found two girls smoking in the boiler room.” I said sheepishly.

He was puzzled as to why I was telling him but as a senior teacher, senior assistant head of school as well as head of year in fact, he must have felt he had no choice.

There was an awful stink, I played dumb and nobody thought to examine my story too closely. The girls did not split on me or mention that Jackson was the one who had given them the dope.

If they had just got detention, or even the cane, I would have breathed easily. Alright, I had escaped but they were more guilty than I and getting into trouble myself was not going to help them. Then I heard that they had been suspended and faced possible permanent exclusion. I felt sick.

We had a lecture on the evils of drugs in school assembly and we were told that anyone involved in drugs faced being expelled from the school. I had never felt so bad about anything in my life.

I tried to find Jackson after school to get him to own up. Part of me hoped that he would leave me out of it, but at least if he confessed it was out of my hands. I think part of me wanted to be caught.

When I failed to find him I went to see the girls to persuade them to split on Jackson.

“Oh leave off, its no big deal, we left you out of it didn’t we?” was all I got out of the only one who would even talk to me.

In the end, I held out for three days before I went to see David Ashley.

I didn’t know what to say and at first and he was confused. Then I think he began asking himself the questions that should have been asked from the start.

“Angela how did you come to be in the boiler room that day?”

I grimaced and look around for inspiration. Then I said:

“I saw Jackson go in there and I went to find out what he was up to.” My eyes were fixed on my shoes and I was already close to tears.

“Stephen Jackson, what has he got do with this?”

“Not Stephen, David Jackson, you know Jackson.” I corrected him.

“Jackson, the boy that left this school what more than two years ago? This is all becoming clear to me. That boy is a genius, but in all the wrong areas.” He was staring at me hard. “It is always boys with you isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” I swallowed. “Sorry sir.”

There was no way I could colour or be evasive once Mr Ashley was on the right track and I was soon blurting out the whole truth.

Mr Ashley sat back deflated on his desk and breathed a huge sigh while holding the bridge of his nose.

“Angela, Angela, Angela, now we are in a mess. You know that the Head will have to expel you.” He looked genuinely upset. “Go home. I’ll talk to your form teacher, I’ll talk to the Head. I expect the police will have to be called. Meanwhile you had better tell your parents.”

“Look this has nothing to do with mum and dad and I don’t see why you have to call the police.” I was panicking now.

“Angela! For gods sake grow up.” He yelled. “A young man has been coming on to school property to distribute drugs to our students. Of course the Head will call the police, of course you have to tell your parents, you may well end up in court. Now go home come and see me first thing tomorrow. I will see what I can do.”

As I left sobbing my heart out his face softened.

“Angela you did the right thing, four days too late but it could have been worse.”

I told mum when I got home and she hit the roof. She slapped me hard across the face, something she had never done before, then sent me to my room until dad came home, we were both crying. Dad, usually the angry one, was great. He gave a great big hug and said that it would be OK. I cried again.

Dad called Mr Ashley, but when I tried to listen dad sent me to my room and I tried to listen from the top of the stairs. I couldn’t hear anything. Dad and Mr Ashley spoke on the phone for a long time and by the end dad was actually laughing.

The next day David Ashley took me to see the Head. My tutor and the Deputy Head were already there. The Head gave me the bollocking of my life. Then he said that he had been to see Jackson and his parents. He had decided not to take any further external action and the police would not be called. He said it would not be good for the school and that Jackson was more creative than evil. Jackson had promised to give up on dope, certainly on school grounds, I was told. Then he adopted a more positive tone.

“I understand that the two girls involved have both had bloody good hidings from their parents so as they were led astray I will satisfy myself that justice has been served after a week’s suspension.”

He paused and he and his deputy whispered together for a moment. I had the feeling that David Ashley already knew what was being said. Then the Deputy Head and my tutor left the room.

“That leaves only you.” The Head sighed. “What are we going to do about you? After consultation with your head of year, who informs me that he has spoken to your father, it has been decided to leave you in Mr Ashley’s hands.”

I sighed with open relief, although Mr Ashley glared at my reaction.

“Angela please no more drugs my old heart wouldn’t stand it.” The Head held his hands together in mock prayer and smiled over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses. “Alright off to class with you.”

David Ashley stopped me in the hall his tone was sombre.

“My office, 11.30. Do not be late.” He pointed at me with a jab for emphasis. “I know you have class, but you can leave early, I have already spoken to your teacher.”

My buttocks clenched and I swallowed. Still I felt I had had a lucky escape, largely due, I suspected to Mr Ashley’s intervention. If he was going to spank me, well I had it coming.

From 11 onwards my attention in English began to wander as I watched the clock. So much so that the teacher dismissed me at a quarter past.

I knocked on Mr Ashley’s door at 11.28. He didn’t answer so I sat down. Two minutes later he opened the door and invited me in.

“Angela I don’t know what to say to you. Not only did you smoke a joint on school premises but you nearly let two younger girls get themselves into some pretty serious trouble.” He did not look at me as he spoke; instead he stared out of the window as if considering something.

“Please sir I am sorry.” I tried to explain but he cut me off.

“Six of the best does not really cover it, but my hands are tied. The regulations are clear, I can only punish you once for one offence and I can only cane you once at any punishment session. I could spank you and then cane you as I did before, but I want to you to understand that this is far worse than anything you ever done.” He turned to face me. “I did consider inviting your Tutor here and caning you on the bare.”

He paused to let that sink in. My heart was racing and I could feel my legs trembling. I wanted to protest, but as sick as I felt I was determined to accept his judgement in the matter.

“You perhaps don’t believe it could happen. I assure it is allowed under the regulations, I checked. But it would be highly irregular and the guidebook all but advises against it.” He shrugged. “You see my problem. Our arrangement is at the very limits of the regulations. If I am ever called to account, and given your recklessness that seems ever more likely, then I must be able to account for actions.”

I felt some small relief, I gathered that I was to escape a bare bottom caning. Then it occurred to me that he was suggesting a punishment other than corporal punishment. Strangely, this disturbed me even more.

“You will be delighted to learn therefore I have a solution to our dilemma.” He said it as if he had just thought of it. “The regulations allow one caning before noon and one after as long as they are for two separate offences. I think it is assumed that this would be done after a three or four stroke caning, but does not explicitly provide for this. I intend to give you six for smoking pot and another six for your lack of responsibility and telling lies.”

I said nothing but swallowed hard.

“Have you anything to say? I assume that you accept?”

“Yes sir.”

He went to the cupboard and got the cane and told me to assume the position.

I bent over the desk and raised my skirt as I had before. This time however he seized my knickers and pulled them up hard nearly baring both cheeks of my bottom. I blushed furiously but held my peace. He could always change his mind and take them down. Since my obsession with all things spanking had taken hold I too had read the regulations. I had signed them after all. He was quite right about there being a provision for a caning on the bare. I had also noted that the part about having a witness was technically advisory and not compulsory. An oversight no doubt, but within the letter of the law, I was at Mr Ashley’s mercy.

The cane cut hard and I yelled. It had never been so bad. While I was deciding whether to cry or not the second scored a cut just below the last. I yelled again.

Then he waited. I was breathing hard. The pain as ever continued to build taking me close to what I could bear. Then he took his third stroke. I choked back a sob. He paused just for a moment more then laid on another right where I used to be able to sit. I growled hoarse breaths through my teeth.

“Only a minute to go before noon.” He said and walked to the window. “Such a nice day.”

“Please don’t be mean.” I sniffed tears dripping from my nose.

“I am so disappointed in you.” He sighed. “Do you think I should go easy on you?”

“No sir. Sorry sir.”

He ran at me and I turned away and braced myself. The fifth stroke cut deep and the breath was forced from my lungs.

“Gaaah!” I think I said at last. The pain was intense and did not know when to stop.

He waited, timing it to the clock I think, then the last stroke fell and I all but screamed.

I was sobbing hard.

He let me cry for a while then he helped me up.

“Halfway there.” He said almost kindly. “Now go and stand in the corner.”

I took short painful steps towards the corner acutely aware that my skirt was still rucked up and my knickers were twisted up my crack. But my will was gone for the moment I was going to do exactly what I was told.

“I’ll join you in not having lunch. It is the least I can do. I don’t suppose you want lunch anyway?” He said.

“No sir.” I sobbed.

“OK then we will recommence at one. You can think about your behaviour until then.”

It was the longest hour of my life. Yet I did not feel the slightest urge to rebel. After a while, when the pain subsided enough to let me, I wondered if anyone would come in and see me there, I wondered what would happen if it were a pupil. It would be all round the school that I had been caned. I blushed at the idea. I was so humiliated already.

Just after one, he had me bend back over the desk.

“Bottom up a little more.” He instructed.

I blushed and obeyed.

The first stroke of my second set was pure hell. I yelled and then cried from that point. It crossed old ground and hurt more than twice as much as before. This time he let me wait and wait. That one stroke seemed to sing deep into my bones.

At last he let go with the second stroke. This one was high. He had never hit me there before. It was different. I actually bit my tongue and it bled. I said nothing even though he would have stopped at once. I don’t know why.

The third returned to more well-travelled territory between the crowns of my bottom and my thighs. I announced it loudly and felt the pain continue on its own course.

The fourth was lower still. It had nowhere to go but across old welts. I screamed and could not contain my sobs.

“Are you alright?” He asked. “This is quite strict isn’t it?”

I nodded unable to speak.

He waited a long time after that. Not kind I thought, but I didn’t deserve kind.

He laid on the last two quickly and I jumped up and danced around the room.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger.” I sobbed. “Sorry sir.”

“Traditionally that should be an extra stroke.” He observed. “A double caning is worse than twice as bad isn’t it?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I wept.

“Now Angela have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes sir. I really have. I am so sorry.”

“Do you feel better now?” He asked kindly.

“Yes sir.” I smiled. And I really did.

“Now one small matter. When you first you knew you were in trouble you came to me. Why didn’t you trust me and follow through?” he asked.

“I was scared and ashamed.” I blushed.

“Girls who funk punishment deserve to be soundly caned on their bottoms, one thousand lines by Monday or its another six of the best.” He handed me a sheet with that written on the top.

“Oh please sir.” I wailed.

“Look me in the eye and say you don’t deserve it.”

I blushed and looked at my shoes.

“Its that or double detention.”

“But couldn’t I write something else? It is so embarrassing.”

“OK, Naughty girls who funk punishment deserve to be very soundly caned on their bottoms.” He amended.

“Yes sir, thank you sir.” I groaned.

To be continued.