At School

My first school was a pre preparatory school in London as my grandmother (I was brought up by my maternal grandparents) had decided that the only good school in our area was a convent school and that was full of Catholics which would never do. So the only possible alternative was a fee paying school a few miles away. My first year was uneventful as we had a dear sweet old lady who played the piano and sung constantly. The next year was different as we were taught by a much younger pretty teacher. She was hot on juvenile crime of any sort. If you misbehaved, just talking when you shouldn’t be or something innocent like that, she would march you to a nearby room, a store cupboard I think it was, for the slipper. Spiteful woman she was too. Not sure if she slippered the girls or maybe they were all better behaved than us boys. Funny things memories I cant even remember her name but I do remember being slippered by her at regular intervals throughout that year. I don’t claim to understand the process by which memory merges into fantasy. I do know by the age of nine or ten I was deeply interested in slippering and thought about those jolly times in the store cupboard a great deal. 

Later on at various different schools I was caned, smacked on the back of the legs, slippered with a plimsoll, hit on the hand with a ruler by both male and female teachers most of whose names I can recall. I can clearly remember a long line of boys and girls, of which I was one, and a rather demented looking spinster going down the line and whacking each bare calf as hard as she possibly could. Our crime, we carried on running after the playground whistle had gone. Ah happy days.