Marta J took her seat near the back of the assembly. The whole school buzzed with excitement. It was a red-letter day at the school. Marta fingered the pen and ballot paper in her pocket as she watched the headmaster stride down the aisle and up to the stage.

“Today sees the conclusion of our school-wide debate prior to the referendum. First, Laia and Maria will present final arguments from each side, and then the whole school will cast their ballots. The motion is, ‘Corporal punishment should once again form part of the discipline policy at Sacre Cor High school’. If the motion fails, we will continue with our present sanctions regime. If it passes, the cane will return to a Spanish school for the first time in fifty years, right here in our school! By virtue of a coin toss, Laia will speak first, arguing against the motion. Laia, please.”

There was some applause as the headmaster took his seat and Laia M rose from hers. A tall girl with blonde hair, she carried no notes as she stepped up to the lectern.

“We should not return to the days of corporal punishment. Firstly, it is ineffective. In the days when corporal punishment was the norm, was there no crime? Did people not steal, or lie, or bully others? Of course they did! You mustn’t imagine that restoring corporal punishment will bring an era of peace and harmony.

“Secondly, corporal punishment is humiliating to the student. It is undignified to bend over in company, to put it mildly. And, finally, corporal punishment sends the message that violence is a good way to resolve conflicts and problems, and to exact vengeance. Please, vote no. Thank you.”

“Very good, Laia,” said the headmaster as the applause died down. “Now, Maria, please!”

Maria stood at her place at the lectern.

“My esteemed opponent rather missed the point when it comes to ‘assuming the position’. Bending over is meant to be an act of humbling yourself, of acknowledging that you did wrong and willingly submitting for chastisement. Far from humiliating, it is an essential part of the punishment.

“Furthermore, the cane does not encourage violence. That is absurd. No pupil who would not otherwise have done so is going to thump another just because there is a cane in the headmaster’s office. Finally, I’d like to remind you all that we are talking about corporal punishment, not capital punishment. If you are caned, you’ll be punished with a sore bottom. It’s not the death penalty. And a more orderly school will benefit everyone socially and academically. Please vote yes. Thank you!”

There was applause, and then the headmaster spoke again.

“Today’s speeches were very good, but they were just the end of a year-long consultation process with students, parents, teachers and governors. It is now time to cast your votes. Please tick one of the two boxes, ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. If you wish to abstain, you may do so. Papers with any writing on, will not count. Let’s start with class 1-A.”

One by one, row by row, the entire school filed up to the stage and dropped their votes into the box. Marta took out her ballot, hesitated, then put a cross in the ‘Yes’ column. She knew she risked getting it herself, but she believed it would ultimately lead to a reduction in the bullying that so many girls went through. Marta went up to the stage and deposited her paper into the box.

The students were followed by the teachers and, finally, the headmaster himself cast a vote.

“While the ballots are counted, we will sing some hymns. Mr Dominguez will count the results and then announce them in due course.”

The piano started up and the girls in the hall began to sing, but all their eyes were on Mr Dominguez. He was reading the papers and stacking them into two piles. But, from the hall floor, it was not possible to see which side each paper had voted for, so no-one could see who was winning.

At length, Mr Dominguez got up and whispered in the headmaster’s ear. The headmaster remained inscrutable, not so much as nodding. The singing continued, but no-one’s heart was in it. Even the teachers looked nervous. Marta’s heart was starting to thump.

At last, the song ended. The school immediately broke out into chatter. The headmaster stood and called for silence.

“Having counted the votes, we have a result. The ‘No’s are one hundred and thirty six. The ‘Yes’s are one hundred and forty. By a small margin, the school has voted to restore corporal punishment.”

There were a few seconds of dead silence, then everybody, teachers, students alike started talking at once.

“I wonder who’ll be the first?”

“Do you think it hurts?”

“Do we get a choice or are we told to take it?”

It took some effort for the headmaster to regain the attention of the school.

“The new regimen will begin tomorrow. However, we have three girls scheduled for detention tonight. Laia, Marta and Mireia. If any of you girls wish to claim a small place in history, report to my office at three-thirty and your detention will be ‘caned off’. You will be the historical first recipients of corporal punishment in a generation. That is all. Thank you. Now, to class!”

“What are you going to do?” Marta asked Laia and Mireia.

“Detention. No way am I volunteering to be whipped!” Mireia said seriously.

“Me too,” said Laia, less certainly.

Marta suspected that Laia had been thinking of taking the caning, but wanted to show solidarity with her friend.

“I’m thinking about taking the strokes,” Marta said. “It’ll be over quicker and, if it’s really bad, I’ll know to be good. And, like he said, it’s sort of a place in history.”

“Well, you’re on your own!” laughed Mireia.

At two o’clock, Marta was sure she’d ask to be caned. At two-thirty, she was leaning towards detention. At three, there was no way she would knock on that door. At three twenty-five, she set off for detention in room 4B.

She never discussed it at home, so she never told anyone why she turned left towards the headmaster’s study. If she’d taken one more step, she’d have been on the corridor leading to detention. But, at the last second, Marta made her choice.

Her heart in her mouth, she knocked on the headmaster’s office door.

“Come in.”

Marta entered.

“Marta, are you here because…?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well done. That’s brave of you. I’m recording the punishment in this book, which you have to sign, ok?”

As if in a dream, Marta watched the words form on the page as the headmaster wrote them out.

‘Marta J. Six strokes on the posterior for unsatisfactory effort.’

Suddenly, Marta had a dim memory of her tutor explaining that strokes could be administered to the hand, but only in maximum doses of two strokes.

“Sign here, please,” said the headmaster, smiling and handing her a pen.

Marta signed.

“It’s a moment for the history books!” he said brightly.

Marta smiled, blushing.

“Right, Marta, I’d like you to go over to the rack and choose one of the canes, please.”

There were three, and each was a different weight and thickness. She thought of asking the headmaster what the difference would be, but she was so nervous that there was a lump in her throat, so she kept silent.

Her hands clammy, she chose the middle one, picking it up by the handle. She walked over and handed it to the headmaster. She watched as he rolled up the shirt sleeve on his right arm, then swished the cane through the air.

“Bend over.”

As she leant forward, Marta recalled the words of her peers from the debate. One of them had denounced being asked to bend as demeaning. And the other had argued that it was itself part of the punishment. But, as she felt her muscles tighten at the back, she didn’t feel either humbled or humiliated. She felt nervous. A little afraid, but also a tiny, tiny bit excited. It was kind of an adventure. A new experience in her life. She tried not to think about the pain that was coming. Instead, she thought of future students looking at that book and seeing her name. Marta the pioneer. Marta the adventurer. Preserved for all time.

She heard the headmaster take a few steps and swish the cane through the air again. Then, there was a terrific whistle and gust of air, and Marta felt the cane bite into her bottom. A sharp stinging pain followed, but it was not too bad. It was bearable. But when the headmaster landed the second stroke on near exactly the same spot, the sting was so painful that she gasped.

There was a longer pause between strokes this time. When the whistle came and the ‘crack’ sounded, the cane had struck lower down, on softer flesh, and it hurt much more than the first two. Marta gasped. The headmaster, apparently satisfied with the reaction, landed the fourth stroke on the exact same place.

“Ow!”

“Not having second thoughts, I hope, Marta?” chuckled the headmaster.

“No, Sir,” she mumbled, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying she regretted her choice.

“Two more.”

Marta braced herself and, sure enough, the fifth stroke was delivered with expert precision across the last two. She bit back tears from the pain.

The headmaster adjusted his position, then she heard the ‘swish’ again and the cane landed on a new, untouched region. This time, it was not as painful.

“Stand up.”

She did so.

“You may go.”

Marta dried her eyes and rubbed her sore behind, then stepped into the corridor. Outside, some girls were playing sports and having fun. She went out into the afternoon sun. The pain was already fading. Looking back, she saw Laia and Mireia in detention through the window. They were sitting in silence, busily writing lines. Her watch told her they’d be there for another hour, while she was free to enjoy the sunshine. One of the girls playing volleyball waved at her, inviting her to join them.

An hour of free time gained. A place in the history books, and now some fun in the sun.

Perhaps she had not made a mistake, after all.

The End

© Marcella Cabana 2025