Her blood ran cold, her heart froze and she suddenly felt a swell of panic roll over her, just before blushing a hot tomato red at the shock of hearing her name so publicly announced.

“Samantha Holloway will see me straight after assembly.”

Those two words ‘Samantha Holloway’ seemed to echo in the hall of the austere Victorian red-brick building, and indeed inside her own head as she tried to process the implications.

She knew some of those in the all-girls, old-fashioned English grammar school would be staring at her, and many more would be harbouring a smug grin at her discomfort.

It was common for those who had offended in the week to have their names called after the final prayer at the end of business on a Friday morning assembly and marking a summons to a very uncomfortable audience with the headmistress, Miss Abigail Mallory, known publicly to the girls as Ma’am. Today it was just the one name, which was somewhat unusual because the many rules were strictly enforced by the prim, proper and no-nonsense headmistress who had an eagle-like stare and a withering presence. There were usually two or three quailing miscreants dreading the end of Friday assembly.

The middle-aged spinster gathered her bundle of notes and hymn book from the lectern on the raised dais and turned for the shallow flight of steps.

“School will stand!” came the barked command from an equally severe deputy who guarded the entrance to the hall throughout the assembly, making sure that any late-comers could not sneak into a seat at the end of the row without picking up a demerit for tardiness.

The girls all jumped up smartly to comply with the required sign of respect, including one Samantha Holloway whose legs wobbled shakily in fear. She felt physically sick. The scraping of dozens of chairs accompanied the clip-clopping of Miss Mallory’s footsteps on the polished parquet flooring as she marched off back to her lair at the end of the corridor.

Samantha’s friends were desperate for the back story. What had she done? Was it a collection of demerits, or some specific act of wanton naughtiness? They were surprised too. Samantha Holloway was one of the brightest in the school and not known for promoting any mischief. But they would have to wait. The assembled teachers glared down the lines of girls all identically dressed in navy blue blazers, charcoal skirts worn to the knee, grey woollen tights and school tie of maroon and grey stripes. Anyone caught whispering would immediately be handed what the girls called a black mark; a demerit. If you accrued three demerits it would mean a detention with a horrible essay to write, and six or more demerits in a term, in other words two detentions, would result in a visit to Miss Mallory, or ‘Meany Mallory’ as they referred to her.

Most demerits were for lateness, untidiness or remarks deemed to be cheeky. This discipline was rigorously enforced and, as a result, achievement levels were high and bullying was almost unknown. It was this strict environment which appealed to parents who wanted the best for their offspring. It was less appealing for the girls who really did have to watch their step.

Samantha felt a couple of surreptitious touches on the small of her back from her sympathetic friends as they filed along the rows of chairs and which gave her a degree of comfort. They didn’t dare speak but they reached out to their companion to aid her in her moment of frightened isolation. As they headed en-mass to their home classroom, Samantha forked left and alone along the long corridor to the headmistress’s study feeling her face screwing up. She fought to regain control and worked hard to suppress tears. She was going to have to be brave.

The secretary, who worked in an open workspace next to the headmistress’s study (known as Meany’s Grotto to the girls), did a double take as she saw Samantha. She wasn’t one of the Friday morning regulars, but could tell instantly by her demeanour that her name had been called.

“I’ve come to see Miss Mallory. She, er, asked, to see me, Miss,” Samantha stumbled through this one simple sentence.

“Ah I see. I’ll let her know, but she will likely be a few minutes. I know she’s in with Mrs Davenport. Please take a seat. Name please.”

“Samantha Holloway, Miss.”

The secretary motioned with a practised familiarity and Samantha took one of the four seats positioned in a line in the short corridor just outside the study. Hearing the name ‘Davenport’ sent a new wave of shock coursing through her.

The secretary pressed an intercom button which lit up; a really ancient device that looked like it had been in service for decades.

“Sorry to disturb you, Miss Mallory. I have Samantha Holloway.”

“Very well,” crackled the curt response. “I’ll buzz you when I’m ready for her.”

Samantha knew that behind that heavy oak door they were discussing her case. She’d been a bit late with an essay which she had worked hard to craft into something she was proud to hand in. When Mrs Davenport gave her a demerit to enter into her report book, which contained but a few sparse entries for her entire time at the school, it triggered a detention. She’d managed to accrue two for being tardy this term and she was both upset and angry that she’d finally been told to stay behind, and just weeks before she was due to leave for university. Samantha wanted to exit the school with an unblemished record and now it was ruined.

Samantha felt an unaccustomed rage build in her. She stamped her foot and argued her case, accusing the teacher of being unfair and unkind. Mrs Davenport wasn’t known for having a quiet and tolerant disposition and gave her a further two demerits for her insolence. Samantha stormed off in a fit of temper, heading for the lavatories for a cry.

She heard nothing more from Mrs Davenport and, although shocked by the Friday morning announcement, she wasn’t entirely surprised either.

Suddenly the door of the study swung open and Mrs Davenport came through with a face like thunder and without acknowledging Samantha’s presence. The door was on a heavy spring and it quickly clicked shut again.

Moments later the intercom wheezed into life. “Send her in will you.”

Samantha looked across to the secretary. “Knock and enter,” she said, pointing at the door.

Samantha did as she was told, rapping on the door of doom and then when she heard the click of an automatic unlock she pushed it open.

“Samantha Holloway. I am most disappointed by your behaviour.” There was no pleasantry or preamble.

“Your report book please,” she added reaching out a hand. Every girl was required to carry it at all times.

The headmistress flicked through the small black pocket book, noticing a paucity of demerits dating back to her enrolment, but with a flurry of activity over the last two weeks.

“Hmmm. Consistently excellent grades on your yearly reports and no detentions to date. However, I won’t allow such impertinence in my school in spite of your previous good behaviour.”

Samantha felt a renewed fury. She didn’t dispute her angry outburst, but her genial and obedient conduct was counting for nothing.

“Don’t you look at me like that girl!” boomed Miss Mallory in response to the angry air of defiance written on Samantha’s face. “Whatever you think of the antecedents I will not tolerate impertinence. You are clearly in urgent need of a dose of discipline to return you to your previous path. Take off your blazer and hang it on the hook.”

The girl was disturbed by the headmistress’s scathing admonishment and apparent temper, the fierce spinster’s flaring eyes boring through her. She immediately did as she was told.

Miss Mallory had gone to the cupboard and Samantha heard an alarming rattle before the headmistress brought a cane into view. It was a horrifying, whippy-looking thing which appeared to be alive in her hands. She’d never seen the dreaded weapon before and a mere glimpse of it filled her with terror.

“The cane Ma’am?” Her trembling voice was full of pleading, even though from the moment she’d heard her name called she knew that this was a probable outcome. No-one escaped from the Meany’s Grotto unscathed.

“Of course the cane,” snapped Miss Mallory. “Whatever did you expect? You deserve to be punished and punished you shall be. Three strokes.

“Have you had it before, girl?”

“No Ma’am,” she wailed, upset that her headmistress didn’t recognise she’d been a good girl throughout her school journey.

The headmistress pulled a simple armless chair in front of her desk with the back facing Samantha. She pointed at it with the cane, and then flexed the rattan stick in a menacing fashion.

“Here. Bend over the back and put your hands flat on the seat. Take deep breaths and make sure you don’t bite your tongue. Keep still so I don’t catch your legs.”

She was going to get it on the bottom!

Although shocking, it was hardly a revelation. Samantha knew that was precisely what happened but now it was actually happening to her. She simply couldn’t believe the chain of events which had led her to this moment and now she was going to feel that dreadful cane on her poor bottom. How awfully rude that it should be on one’s backside!

“Hurry up girl! No hesitation!”

Once again, the trembling girl was being rushed by strident command and she falteringly reached over the chair, resting her hips on the rail.

Almost immediately she felt the cane being tapped on her bottom. Oh my! Even that had a sting and she flinched as it rapped her backside.

Then a whip sound as the cane whistled in the air and the slap of the impact on her skirt. She felt the stroke burn across her bum, a momentary pause, and then a second wave of pain as the weal rose up in her knickers. She gasped. It took her breath away.

She was still processing the pain when a second stroke lashed into her bottom. This time she screeched, both the whoosh of the cane and the squeal reaching the ears of the secretary who always left the intercom open for a few minutes on a Friday morning. It was the sweet music which always heralded the arrival of the forthcoming weekend. She secretly enjoyed the headmistress’s scolding performances, especially those aimed at the snooty and haughtiest of young madams, and indeed the sound of them having their pampered backsides scorched by her cane.

Samantha was weaving and grinding on the rail of the chair, clawing at the seat cover and fighting for breath. The headmistress ordered, “Still!” and then waited for obedience.

“Aaaaaagh!! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

The final blinding hot stroke seared Samantha’s behind, bringing a satisfied smirk from the secretary as she finished filing her nails. ‘She’ll feel those stripes on her pretty bottom for a few days,’ she mused.

However, she did have a heart and offered the blubbing Samantha a box of tissues and some words of solace when she finally emerged from the closing lecture.

“All done. Forgiven and forgotten. The headmistress has cancelled your detention and cleared your demerits. The throbbing will diminish and you’ll be right as rain in a couple of days. I should know; I had it when I was your age,” she added, giving her own womanly rump a comic rub and pulling an ‘oooh’ face as she returned a lever arch file to the shelf above her desk.

Some weeks later, Samantha’s face once again flushed with extreme embarrassment as Miss Mallory pulled her aside at the garden party to celebrate the end of the school year and to give out final prizes. Samantha won several.

“Look, it’s most regrettable that you were on the receiving end of the stick right at the end of school,” she said. “But I’m certain it did you some good. Life isn’t always fair, Samantha, but you have to learn to show strength in adversity, ride the punches and not have a petulant loss of temper when things aren’t going your way. For what it’s worth, you were a model student and I’m absolutely delighted that you have won a place at Harvard. I wish you the best of everything in adult life. No hard feelings eh?”

“No Ma’am. None.” Samantha wasn’t actually sure about that but this was a different side to Meany Mallory, and she listened.

“And one other thing. In strictest confidence, I was most aggrieved at Mrs Davenport’s conduct in your matter. She could and should have been more understanding when dealing with a well-behaved and conscientious girl. There was no need for the demerit which would have triggered a detention. On that occasion she should have overlooked it and been more encouraging about your work. I told her. In no uncertain terms, mind you. She was not best pleased at being told off.”

Now that did make Samantha feel a whole heap better.

The End

© Davis Marks 2025