Natasha Hanson stared down at the elaborate pattern on the carpet in the headmaster’s study, wishing the ground would swallow her up. Her dark, pony-tailed hair, in stark contrast to the deep blonde bob of her friend Beverley, who stood beside her while the irate Mr Pruitt continued to berate them for their behaviour.

Maybe they had let time drag on a little and it seemed a harmless enough thing, just a trip to the shops at lunchtime, but Beverley had dared her to go into a local pub which was a terrific wheeze, especially when the landlord served them a half of shandy each, before they tripped back out into the street, straight into Mrs Harper, head of the board of governors. The rest was just a blur, and now here Natasha was, her knees shaking just above her white socks as the headmaster lectured away on the evils of drink, the good name of the school, and the shock and disappointment they had caused.

Mr Pruitt turned and strode over to a cupboard. Reaching in, he extracted a crook-handled cane. Both girls’ eyes opened wide in shock. ‘He can’t cane us,’ Natasha thought, but that was not quite on old Mr Pruitt’s mind.

“This is one of the most serious breaches of school rules I have ever encountered from any girls at this school,” he began. “So, given the seriousness of your offences, the penalty must be equally as serious. A year or two ago, I would have had no hesitation in caning the pair of you but, apparently, I must move with the times, so you girls have a choice. You can report back to this office at 4 o’clock where, in the presence of Miss Dunlap, Miss Richards will give each of you eight strokes of this cane.

“Alternatively,” he continued as both girls hung on his words in the hope of rescue. “You will each be suspended from school for no less than two full weeks and may only be allowed to return if the board of governors deem fit to allow you to do so. Why are you grinning, Jones!” exploded Mr Pruitt as Beverley quickly stammered out a, “S-Sorry Sir.”

“This is not a matter to be taken lightly at your stage of schooling, so think about your options. I will be in this office for the next half an hour and expect your response by then. Now get out of my sight.”

“Phew, that was a close one,” said Beverley as they walked down the corridor. “I thought we were going to get our arses whacked for sure.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” asked Natasha, still visibly shaken from the close call.

“It seems a bit of an obvious choice doesn’t it, silly. Let’s have an extra two-week holiday,” she grinned.

“But Bev, we’ll miss school and we might well be expelled. You heard what old Pruitt said. The governors may not let us come back!”

“So, do you really want your bum caned by Miss Richards? Have you seen the size of her? You wouldn’t sit down for a month! Just let me do the talking.”

And, as usual, Beverley did the talking.

For his part, Mr Pruitt had not taken their decision with good humour, lecturing them again on their stupidity before bidding them a bitter-natured farewell.

And, if Mr Pruitt hadn’t taken the response with good humour, Natasha’s mother had quite capably surpassed him in horror and anger at what her daughter had told her when she got home just after four o’clock.

“How could you be so stupid, Natasha!” she cried. “You’ve got a chance to get into a university if you work hard now, and you’re certainly capable of that. You’ve just thrown it all away. I’ve got a good mind to march you straight back to that school!”

Natasha burst into tears.

“Oh no, young lady. Don’t try that with me. It might work on your father but it won’t wash with me and you can be certain that we’ll be sorting this out in the morning.” Mrs Hanson continued her tirade, going from white to red through to a light shade of purple before finally commanding, “Now go to bed before I decide to get one of your dad’s slippers and tan your hide myself!”

Sobbing quietly, Natasha climbed the stairs, noticing that her alarm clock showed it was half past four. ‘It could have been all over by now,’ she thought.

Later, muffled, but still clearly irate, voices could be heard downstairs, indicating that Mr Hanson had got home from work.

Natasha was uncertain at what time she’d fallen asleep; she’d half-expected to see her angry father that evening but now, upon waking, the house was eerily quiet. Uncertain of what reception she’d receive, she crept slowly down the stairs before peering cautiously around doors lest she catch the gaze of her mum or dad, but it was all pointless; nobody was home. Oddly, her dad’s briefcase was in the hall.

Natasha nearly jumped off the floor when the phone jangled suddenly alongside her. She picked it up gingerly.

“Hello?”

“Hiya Tash,” said a cheerful Beverley at the other end of the line. “Fancy a trip to the pub today?”

“How can you joke about this?” wailed Natasha, suddenly very angry at her friend. “Do you know how mad my Mum is?”

“Oh, she’ll get over it,” replied Beverley. “Mine was a bit annoyed, but she’s talking to me again now.”

“My Mum’s gone out,” said Natasha. “And I don’t know where, but I think Dad has gone with her.”

“Oh, he’s probably just bunking off for the day, Tash. Like father, like daughter, as they say,” she laughed.

Natasha slammed the phone down angrily. Her Dad never took time off.

Mr and Mrs Hanson were actually paying a visit to Mr Pruitt who, for his part, was a little aggrieved at being disturbed by the parents of ‘that stubborn girl’, but a familiar voice on the phone earlier had persuaded him to allow them an audience.

“It was quite nice to hear from Grace again,” said Mr Pruitt. “I haven’t seen her in quite a while and I’d never have guessed that you were related, Mrs Hanson.”

Grace, Mrs Hanson’s younger cousin, had been school secretary to Mr Pruitt before leaving to start a family.

“Well, thank you, Mr Pruitt,” replied Mrs Hanson before adding, “I’m afraid that, as you see, we did have an ulterior motive for asking Grace to mediate. I’m afraid that Natasha has been rather stupid.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mrs Hanson,” replied the headmaster, “but she was offered a choice and now must take the consequences of her decision.”

“But Mr Pruitt, being excluded from school at her age could ruin her life and we so desperately want her to do well, like any parent. I’m sure you understand?”

“I do,” sighed Mr Pruitt. “Unfortunately, some more progressive members of the board of governors don’t approve of the methods of us dinosaurs, so there’s nothing I can do in the school.”

“There is something to be done,” Mrs Hanson came back instantly. “What if Natasha were to change her decision and take the caning. I’ll make sure she does so if I have to hold her down.”

“Mrs Hanson, the governors won’t allow that in the school and,” Mr Pruitt began, his patience thinning.

“Who mentioned anything about the school?” Mrs Hanson jumped in before playing her trump card. “My husband works in the law.” Although, as Geoffrey had explained to her, he worked in financial law and was more of an office under-manager than a solicitor, but that didn’t stop his wife. “And there can be no such restrictions in the home, outside of the school.”

“What are you suggesting, Mrs. Hanson?” queried Mr Pruitt.

“Natasha can be caned at home. You could come around and…”

“No, no,” said Mr Pruitt. “Massively frowned upon these days to cane the girls myself. It’s not like the old days. Miss Richards, the sports mistress, deals with discipline for the girls.”

“Very well then,” Mrs Hanson continued, taking command of the situation. “Mrs Richards can bring the cane to our house and give Natasha what she should have had yesterday, and then we can forget this whole sorry affair and Natasha can return to her studies.”

The old headmaster thought for a moment. If he’d been allowed his own way, both girls would have had no choice and would have received a thorough caning yesterday and this situation would, indeed, have all been done and dusted. Mrs Harper certainly wouldn’t approve of this idea in principle, but she certainly couldn’t argue about it if young Hanson changed her mind. He could even argue that expulsion was a likely outcome and one that certainly wouldn’t do the school’s reputation any good.

‘To Hell with it,’ he thought.

“Very well, Mrs Hanson. I’ll agree to this but on one condition,” he said.

“Which is?” replied Mrs Hanson.

“Natasha must write a letter requesting that she be caned instead of excluded. I’ll need this to convince the governors that there was no coercion on my part.”

Mrs Hanson didn’t hesitate. “Oh, she will, Mr Pruitt, and thank you.”

The Hansons stood and shook hands, Mr Hanson with a wry smile on his face, before leaving to share the ‘good’ news with Natasha.

Dear Mr Pruitt,

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to make amends for my recent lapse of discipline and flouting of the school rules and to return to my studies as soon as possible. I cannot apologise deeply enough for the harm I have caused to the school’s reputation and for letting yourself and all of the school down.

I take full responsibility for my actions and understand that there must be consequences. I therefore formally request that I receive a caning from Miss Richards as she sees fit at the earliest possible opportunity.

Yours sincerely,

Natasha Hanson

Mr Pruitt put the letter down and looked up at Mrs Hanson, who had delivered it in person, and Miss Richards whom he had called to his office after Natasha’s mother had arrived.

“Well, Mrs Hanson, it seems that you will have your wish. The governors have tacitly agreed to this and will fully authorise it on receipt of this letter which I will present to them today. I would suggest that, for the sake of expedience, we make arrangements for the punishment to be carried out at the earliest convenience. Miss Richards, when would you be next available to visit the Hanson home?”

“As it happens, headmaster,” replied the athletic Miss Richards. “I have no lessons until 2 o’clock this afternoon. I had put time aside to look at the new team selections but as this seems urgent…” she trailed off.

“It certainly is,” interjected Mrs Hanson. “Natasha has already missed a day and she shouldn’t miss any more.”

“Indeed,” agreed Mr Pruitt. “Best get this out of the way as soon as possible to avoid further disruption.”

“You can come back with me now if you like, Miss Richards,” said Natasha’s Mum. “If that’s acceptable to both of you.”

Miss Richards looked to the headmaster. “I have no issues with this, Miss Richards,” he said, turning to open the wall cupboard and extracting the senior cane. “You’ll want this, of course,” he said, proffering the 3-foot crook handled rattan in the direction of both ladies.

“I’d prefer not to carry it openly through the school, Headmaster,” said Miss Richards. “It’ll cause all sorts of gossip among the pupils. Do we have a discreet container perhaps?”

“Give it to me,” said Mrs Hanson, determinedly seizing the cane. She unfolded her lightweight raincoat from over her arm and refolded it around the cane before looking pointedly at Miss Richards. “Now, are we ready?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” replied Miss Richards, somewhat hesitantly.

“Splendid!” said Mr Pruitt. “I’ll see you back here later, Helen,” and with that ushered them both out of the door.

He sat down heavily in his chair and sighed. “Damned do-gooders” he muttered to himself.

Helen Richards was noticeably quiet in the car as Laura Hanson drove the short distance back through the light mid-morning traffic. The only sound was the monotonous swish of the windscreen wipers, easily winning the battle against a light drizzle.

“I’ll drive you back as soon as this is done,” offered Laura.

“Hmm?” replied Helen, clearly distracted. “Yes, yes, thank you,” she added.

“Are you OK?” asked Laura.

“Well, kind of OK.”

“You’re not feeling ill, are you?” probed Laura, worrying Helen might be sick in her car.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that umm…”

“Yes?”

“Promise you won’t let on to Mr Pruitt?” said Helen, looking directly at Laura, “But I don’t really approve of corporal punishment and I’ve never caned any of the girls before.”

The car came to an abrupt halt as Laura swung into the side of the road.

“Could you say that again please?” she asked, rather in disbelief.

“It’s like this,” Helen explained. “Mr Pruitt asked me to help with disciplining the girls a couple of months ago when Mrs Barlow left. I didn’t really feel like I could say no, so I agreed. To be honest, I was hoping he’d retire soon and we’d have got a replacement with a different attitude. I really hoped I’d never be called upon.”

“So, you’ve no experience at all?” said Laura, somewhat in shock.

“Sorry,” said Helen Richards rather, she felt, inadequately.

“This is a fine situation,” said Laura. “Well, it looks like Natasha might be getting off easy, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Helen. “I’m quite the tennis player but, like I said, I’m not really a supporter of caning.”

“Just remember,” said Laura. “This is for Natasha’s own good. You’ll be doing her a favour!”

“If you say so, Mrs Hanson.”

“Just follow my lead and do your part. Trust me, Natasha’s no stranger to a smacked bottom at home!” and, with that said, she pulled the car back onto the road and, shortly, they arrived at the Hanson’s neat semi-detached house.

Natasha looked through the lounge window when she heard her mother’s car pull up and was surprised to see the sports mistress climb out of the passenger seat. Then panic set in as she realised that there was likely only one reason that Miss Richards was here.

Natasha’s mum was certainly in a no-nonsense mood as she entered the lounge; in truth she was still livid at Natasha’s stupidity. Natasha stared at her wide-eyed as she noticed the cane in her hand.

“Right, young lady, let’s sort this out right now!” Laura said.

“B-b-but Mum, I didn’t think…”

“No, you didn’t think, did you? Think yourself lucky you weren’t suspended or expelled.”

Natasha felt anything but lucky at that precise moment as she contemplated what was about to happen to her. She’d had the cane from Mr. Pruitt for fighting as a third year and those two strokes had convinced her that she didn’t want a repeat performance.

“Right, Miss Pritchard,” said Laura. “How does this normally work at the school?”

Helen shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “I think it’s usually given with the skirt raised and over a desk or chair.”

They looked at Natasha in her jeans and yellow t-shirt.

“Natasha, go to your room and change into your uniform. We might as well do this properly,” said Laura.

“Mum, we’re not in school! Is this really necessary?” protested Natasha.

“Yes,” her mother replied. “Now get upstairs and change right now!”

Miserably, Natasha headed up the stairs, dragging her feet as she went.

With Natasha now conveniently out of earshot, Laura turned to Helen. “Could you act with a little more authority in front of Natasha?” she asked.

“Sorry,” said Helen, again looking rather embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this; the old ‘ogre’ teacher thing,” she admitted. “I think of myself more as a mentor.”

Laura put her hand to her forehead. “OK, don’t you have any experience of punishments at all? Even when you were at school?”

“I had the slipper off a teacher once for talking in class. That was skirt up and over a desk. It stung quite a bit,” she offered.

“But you’re that authority figure now, Miss Richards. You’re the one that’s supposed to use the slipper, not be everyone’s friend. When I was a girl, our games mistress was a most formidable lady. She certainly wasn’t anyone’s friend and, trust me, we all knew that through the way she whacked us,” said an exasperated Laura. “Maybe this isn’t going to work,” she sighed. “I’ll phone the school and inform Mr Pruitt.”

Helen had to admit that Laura had a point but no-one in her peer group of ‘progressive’ teachers had ever put it as bluntly. Her classes, while mostly well behaved, required a considerable element of cajoling to get them to do anything she wanted, and had led to some awkward discussions regarding her control over her classes. Her own sports mistress certainly wouldn’t have put up with such behaviour. She squared up her well-toned shoulders and faced Laura.

“No,” she said. “Don’t phone the school. You’re right, of course, Mrs Hanson. I’ve made a commitment and I’m going to see it through. In fact, I think it’s time I revised my outlook somewhat. You seem to have some more idea though; perhaps you could offer some advice?”

“My experience,” said Laura. “Apart from slippering Natasha and her sister when they deserve it, is solely on the receiving end at school. Trust me, there was none of this modern thinking back then. Step out of line in school and you could expect to find yourself bending over the head teacher’s desk for the cane. I certainly did, more than once.”

“Perhaps we could do this the same way?” suggested Helen. “I don’t suppose you’d have a desk at home? How about a table?”

“Actually,” replied Laura. “My husband uses our extension room as an office. It’s not big but it should do.”

At that point, Natasha reappeared. She had quickly changed into her blue knee-length skirt, white blouse and school tie. She’d put on her blue school knickers which were a little too tight but hoped that they’d offer a little more protection than the high-cut briefs she had been wearing. Her feet were clad in just her white school socks.

“No shoes or blazer, Natasha?” enquired Helen.

“They’re down here, Miss,” replied Natasha, a tremor in her voice.

“I don’t think we’ll need to worry about those perhaps?” said Laura. “Shall we get on with it?”

“What do I have to do, Miss?” asked Natasha. “Shall I bend over the chair?”

“No,” interjected her mother. “We’re going to dad’s office.” And with that she held open the door and gestured for Natasha and Helen to follow.

The office was larger than Helen had expected, and very light; cream walls and light wooden furniture were the order of the day, with a carpet-tiled floor. At one side, against the window overlooking the garden, was Mr Hanson’s desk, replete with family picture and A4 notebook. Otherwise, it was completely clear.

“Your husband is very neat, Mrs Hanson.”

“Yes, he doesn’t like clutter. Actually, he hardly ever uses this room nowadays.”

Cutting off further small talk, Laura placed the cane on one side of the desk and cleared the top completely.

Miss Richards turned to Natasha. “Right Natasha, I think that Mr Pruitt has told you what to expect?”

“Yes Miss,” replied Natasha, her eyes firmly fixed on the cane.

“What did he say you were to get?” she asked, trying to hide the fact that Mr Pruitt hadn’t seen fit to share this titbit of information with her.

“The cane, Miss,” replied Natasha, slightly confused.

“How many?” asked her mother, trying to move things along.

Even under the circumstances, Natasha’s mind began to calculate what she should say. Did the teacher really not know? Should she tell the truth and take eight whacks? Or maybe she could get away with six or even four. Would old Pruitt check the details? Unfortunately, she thought, he’d probably want all the details -.in detail!

“Umm, I think it was eight, Miss,” she admitted dejectedly.

“Very good,” said Helen. “Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”

“Please do,” muttered Laura.

“Right Natasha, I’d like you to bend over the desk please,” said Helen rather weakly.

Uncertainly, Natasha stepped up to the desk and put her hands on the top.

“No, no, like this,” said her mother, pushing Natasha down until she was almost flat and pulling her arms forward. “Put your hands around the other edge. That’s better. Now shuffle your feet back.” She guided her daughter’s hips down until they touched the edge of the desk.

“That’s better,” she said. “Back to you, Miss Richards.”

“I think I’ll just lift up your skirt, Natasha,” she said as she pulled the skirt half way up Natasha’s knickers and stood back. Again, Laura stepped forward.

“Let’s do this properly,” she said, and lifted the hem of Natasha’s skirt right up, fully exposing the girl to the waist. “And these,” she added, putting her fingers into the waistband of Natasha’s blue school knickers.

“Mum, NO!” cried Natasha. “The school’s not allowed to…”

“We’re not in school now, Natasha, as you pointed out just a few minutes ago,” said Laura as she pulled the knickers down to Natasha’s knees. “Please proceed, Miss Richards.”

Helen stood motionless.

“Miss Richards,” said Laura. “Eight strokes and do make sure Natasha feels them. Use that tennis swing!”

Helen tapped the tip of the cane once on the centre of Natasha’s pale bottom, pulled her arm right back and brought it back down with a resounding crack right where she aimed. Natasha screamed and shot bolt upright, hands clutching her bottom and bending her knees. The tears had already started. Helen, ready to deliver the next stroke, froze, unsure what to do.

“Get back down, Natasha!” ordered her mother, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her back over the desk. “You deserve this!”

“No, no,” sobbed Natasha. “I won’t, it hurts!”

“It’s supposed to hurt, Natasha, and you’ve only got yourself to blame,” said Laura, emphasising her statement by firmly dragging her daughter back into position. “Miss Richards?”

Helen took the opportunity to deliver the second stroke. It was close to the first and perfectly parallel. Natasha howled again and kicked her right leg up, but stayed held to the desk, her slight frame no match for her mother’s steely grip.

Helen didn’t hesitate and brought number three in, again perfectly aimed and slightly higher, eliciting another yell from the unlucky recipient.

Number four came in a little off-target. ‘Too high,’ thought Helen, and adjusted her swing for the next stroke. ‘This was easier than tennis,’ she thought. Natasha just sobbed and lifted her free right hand to the back of her head, grabbing her own hair as if to hide from the searing pain of that awful cane.

Helen changed number five to a sideways swipe, like a return underarm, thwacking in below the first four. This elicited a pleasing sobbing yelp from Natasha.

‘Pleasing?’ Helen thought to herself. ‘Why am I pleased? Caning is wrong, all my peers say so.’ But she couldn’t help admitting that she seemed to be getting the message through to the girl.

Number six hit an unmarked area in between the earlier strokes. Between her wracking sobs and howls, Natasha had little left in her to make more noise. Her bare bottom was a mass of fire and pain unlike anything she’d experienced before.

Helen now had a dilemma. Natasha’s slight build meant that there wasn’t a great deal of unmarked space, either striped or reddened. ‘Tough,’ she thought. ‘Natasha has brought this on herself. Where’s my sympathy gone?’ So, number seven was a low shot, right at the base of the girl’s bottom. This one did bring forth another scream as Natasha found, to her cost, that the pain could get worse. Her fingers pulled at her hair, trying to feel something else other than the agony in her behind.

Barely had the scream escaped before Helen tapped the cane in readiness for number eight. There was no attempt to aim particularly, and she let go with all her strength, a smash shot. The stroke exploded with a mighty thwack that reverberated off the walls. It overlapped two others but Natasha’s screaming was spent. All she could manage was a low moan as the pain took hold followed by, “Ugh, ugh, ugh,” as she tried to absorb the pain now exponentially increasing to its crescendo.

Laura let go of her daughter’s shoulders, although she’d only exerted the slightest pressure since halfway through the caning. Natasha lay flat on the desk sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

“You stay where you are, Natasha. You can get up when you’re ready. Miss Richards, shall we go back to the lounge?” Laura said, taking the cane out of Helen’s hand and placing it on the desk next to Natasha.

“Yes, let’s,” agreed Helen Richards eagerly.

Laura shut the office door behind her and ushered Helen to a chair. “Cup of tea?”

“I really should be getting back to the school,” remarked Helen. She seemed rather dazed.

“Plenty of time,” said Laura. “Let’s have a chat.”

Helen sat and listened to Natasha’s muffled sobs coming through the door while Laura busied herself with tea-making. She returned, placing a tray containing two mugs, milk and sugar on the low coffee table between them.

“I thought you said you’d never used a cane before?” Laura remarked to Helen. “You seemed quite adept in there.”

“Honestly,” replied Helen. “I never have. I saw it a couple of times at school but I’ve never even picked a cane up before.”

“Well, it looks to me like you have a natural talent for it. My old school was very strict so I saw and felt it many times but I’ve never seen someone use a cane so effectively. It’s quite a shame that you’re so opposed to corporal punishment. I’m sure Mr Pruitt would be grateful for someone with your talent.”

“You know,” said Helen. “I think I might be reconsidering my feelings on the subject.” She gave a small grin.

That afternoon, Helen Richards first class were their usual boisterous selves, paying scant attention to her directions, so it came as quite a shock to all of them when their pushover sports mistress slippered two of them soundly, making them gasp as they bent over in front of their classmates for four hearty wallops each.

****

Natasha Hanson sat behind her desk and opened up the case file in front of her. Reading details of the assault case brought against a headteacher accused of caning a pupil, sent her mind back to that day almost 10 years previously when her own bottom had felt the awful sting of Miss Richards’ cane. She had some empathy for the unlucky pupil but, then again, corporal punishment in schools wasn’t illegal and was unlikely to be anytime in the near future.

She looked up at her legal degree on the wall and considered what would have happened if she’d been expelled. No university place, no internship at her father’s law firm, no happy relationship, no career. She opened a ledger and started making notes when there was a knock at the door. It was the office cleaner.

“Oh, hello Beverley,” she said. “Can you come back later, please? I’m rather busy right now.”

The End

© Jeremy Farrell 2026