My mixed grammar school in Yorkshire, back in the 1980s, was quite strict but rarely used corporal punishment, especially for us girls. I was a quiet and shy girl, quite good at academic subjects, not so good at PE, gym and games, despite being quite slim and reasonably fit.
Up until I was fifteen, the only punishment I received was in the second form aged thirteen. The teacher had left the room for a few minutes and some of the others, especially the boys, got out of their seats and started talking to their friends, getting louder and louder the longer we were left alone.
When the teacher returned, he was quite angry and gave the whole class a one-hour detention. Detentions were normally served on Thursday evenings, but on this occasion he kept us in on the following day after school, which happened to be a Wednesday, and supervised it himself.
When I was in the fourth form, though, I got up late one day and left home without my Geography homework. That got me a one-hour detention.
On Thursday, after school, I went to the classroom where detentions were always held and found myself in a line of eight other pupils; six boys and two girls, all from forms lower than mine. We had to wait outside the classroom until the teacher who would supervise the detention turned up. All the others were from a different age group to me, all but one being younger.
On this occasion, the teacher was Mr P who had taken my class the year before for Mathematics. I didn’t particularly like him; he always seemed a bit stern and rather cold. He had a list of names and as he called out each of our names he ticked us off his list and told us to go in and sit down. I was second to last on the list and when I went in I found the boys sitting over on the far side of the room while us three girls sat in the front desks of the remaining four rows.
We were told to sit quietly. The detention rules forbade us to read or do homework; we just had to sit there staring at the wide wall-mounted blackboard. We could not speak to anyone and had to raise our hand if we wanted to speak to Mr P. It was horrible; just so boring. I did wonder what would happen if anyone did break the rules, and presumed it would mean being in detention the next week too.
However, when Mr P caught two boys passing notes, he called them out to the front and produced a large plimsoll from his briefcase. Each boy then had to bend over in turn. Mr P lifted the tail of their blazers out of the way and gave them three whacks of the slipper each. The boys appeared not to be too concerned, although one did rub his bottom when he went back to his seat. I think it frightened me more than them!
About three quarters of the way through, the girl next to me was really fed up and muttered under her breath about the detention being tedious or something like that. Without thinking, I replied with a single word; yes.
Unfortunately, Mr P heard her and looked towards us three girls. He asked who had spoken and the girl put her hand up. She was told to go to the front and Mr P took his plimsoll out of his briefcase again. I was stunned that he was going to slipper a girl, but that was what he did; three whacks across the seat of her skirt, just like the boys. She returned to her place with a tear in the corner of her eye.
When the hour was up and we were allowed to leave, the girl who got the slipper caught up with me and told me I should have owned up because I spoke. It was just one word!
Forty-four years later, I still wonder whether I should have got the slipper too! Did detention teach me a lesson? Well, I never forgot my homework again, so I suppose it worked.
Virginia T