Back in the late 1960s, Pitman Street was like many others, lots of rules and strict discipline. At my junior school, I had never been in trouble and so I started at my new school with no fears, although I was nervous of what I would find. My first day was certainly a wake-up call. We had to do everything immediately and without talking, and the teachers weren’t like at junior school; they all seemed cold and unfriendly. One elderly woman teacher walked into the room, went straight to a cupboard, and took out a cane. After threatening dire consequences if we misbehaved, she laid it on the desk for the whole lesson as a reminder.
It didn’t take long to find out that the one teacher to avoid at all cost, was Mrs Johnstone, the PE Mistress. She was a forty something, very fit woman, who loved playing tennis, which gave her a very strong right arm for delivering corporal punishment to a girl’s rear end. I was lucky. I was a tall girl who was very good at PE and so got on well with her, much to the disgust of the troublesome element in my class. To them, I was teacher’s pet and a goody goody. She liked me even more when the games mistress made me captain of the school netball team for my year.
When it came to punishment in the PE lesson, it was painful to watch. We were all told to congregate at one end of the gym and the miscreant taken to the other end and told to bend over, touching her toes, with her rear end facing us, so we got a good view. When Mrs Johnstone said ‘touch your toes’ she meant it, nothing less was acceptable. When she delivered the slipper, she would take a four step run up. The noise when the slipper connected echoed round the gym. Everyone who got it said how much it hurt. What you got, depended on what you had done. Nothing less than three whacks, and up to six, although it was rumoured that she gave one girl in another class, ten. Fortunately, I was never on the receiving end.
The cane was the other instrument used by Mrs Johnstone. She had the job of punishing the latecomers. If you were late for school in the morning, you went to the gym at lunchtime. If there was more than one person waiting, you all waited in a line in the gym and like in class, she called you forward and you got one stroke of the cane for each time you were late; so over a term you could build up a good caning. The slate was wiped clean at the end of each term. I hated hearing girls getting caned. You could walk past the gym and hear the thwack of the cane and the scream of pain of the recipient. I have seen many girls come staggering out afterwards, clutching their bottoms and crying their eyes out. Sadly, I was the recipient of Mrs Johnstone’s cane on one occasion. I was seconds late arriving at the school and the duty prefect took great delight in putting my name down. I was in the fifth form at the time, and for some reason, prefects loved to catch out the fifth formers. The worst thing about it was that you had to change into PE kit first, so everybody knew where you were going. I lined up with two others; I was second. I watched the first girl get two; it terrified me being so close. Then I went forward, my legs were like jelly and my stomach was churning.
“I’m sorry to have to do this to you,” whispered Mrs Johnstone, and then in a louder voice.
“Bend over, touch your toes.
I had no trouble touching my toes. We still wore the old-fashioned knickers, with elastic in the legs. I could feel this tightening as I bent over. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs Johnstone get into position. I tensed myself, and then the swish and a loud thwack across my tight knickers. Many others had described the pain as like getting a red-hot wire across your bottom, and they were right. To say it stung was an understatement and to my shame I cried out.
“You may go Margaret,” was the next thing I heard.
I stood up and walked to the door, rubbing my bottom.
“You okay?” asked my friend Geraldine, as I came out.
“Yes, just about.”
We went off to the changing room together, and Geraldine produced a mirror so that I could see the state of my bottom. I shuddered. There was an ugly, angry looking wheal, right across the middle of my bottom. Of course, I had seen many other girl’s bottoms after a caning, it was a kind of badge of honour to show off your stripes, but when it’s your own its somehow different.
The only other time I fell foul of the school authorities was over the length of skirts. Being the late sixties, and the era of the mini-skirt, we wanted to be the height of fashion; the school had other ideas. The only concession they made was to allow skirts to be one inch above the knee. That was far too low for us, so we would roll over the waistband of our skirt. We would do this around the school when nobody was looking, and on the way to and from school. If you were caught, it was a visit to the deputy head. There always seemed to be a queue outside her office. I went on several occasions and felt her cane across my hand. The procedure was to join the queue and when she called, ‘next’ you went in. She would be standing ready with the cane, punishment book on the desk. It would be ‘hold out your hand’, and thwack. You would just turn and leave and the next person would wait while she filled in the punishment book. Of course it hurt, but just one whack was no real deterrent.
I must tell you about one more incident. There was one girl in our class whom nobody liked, and one day she shopped three girls who were having a crafty smoke. They were immediately taken to the deputy head, and got six of the best on their knickers. The three girls decided to exact their revenge. They found the girl’s bag and put contraceptives in it. Then they left it in a place where somebody would find it. Of course, when it was handed in at lost property the teacher checked it and reported it to the deputy head. The girl was then called in to account for it, couldn’t, and of course received one heck of a caning. That’s schoolgirls for you.
It didn’t take long to find out that the one teacher to avoid at all cost, was Mrs Johnstone, the PE Mistress. She was a forty something, very fit woman, who loved playing tennis, which gave her a very strong right arm for delivering corporal punishment to a girl’s rear end. I was lucky. I was a tall girl who was very good at PE and so got on well with her, much to the disgust of the troublesome element in my class. To them, I was teacher’s pet and a goody goody. She liked me even more when the games mistress made me captain of the school netball team for my year.
When it came to punishment in the PE lesson, it was painful to watch. We were all told to congregate at one end of the gym and the miscreant taken to the other end and told to bend over, touching her toes, with her rear end facing us, so we got a good view. When Mrs Johnstone said ‘touch your toes’ she meant it, nothing less was acceptable. When she delivered the slipper, she would take a four step run up. The noise when the slipper connected echoed round the gym. Everyone who got it said how much it hurt. What you got, depended on what you had done. Nothing less than three whacks, and up to six, although it was rumoured that she gave one girl in another class, ten. Fortunately, I was never on the receiving end.
The cane was the other instrument used by Mrs Johnstone. She had the job of punishing the latecomers. If you were late for school in the morning, you went to the gym at lunchtime. If there was more than one person waiting, you all waited in a line in the gym and like in class, she called you forward and you got one stroke of the cane for each time you were late; so over a term you could build up a good caning. The slate was wiped clean at the end of each term. I hated hearing girls getting caned. You could walk past the gym and hear the thwack of the cane and the scream of pain of the recipient. I have seen many girls come staggering out afterwards, clutching their bottoms and crying their eyes out. Sadly, I was the recipient of Mrs Johnstone’s cane on one occasion. I was seconds late arriving at the school and the duty prefect took great delight in putting my name down. I was in the fifth form at the time, and for some reason, prefects loved to catch out the fifth formers. The worst thing about it was that you had to change into PE kit first, so everybody knew where you were going. I lined up with two others; I was second. I watched the first girl get two; it terrified me being so close. Then I went forward, my legs were like jelly and my stomach was churning.
“I’m sorry to have to do this to you,” whispered Mrs Johnstone, and then in a louder voice.
“Bend over, touch your toes.
I had no trouble touching my toes. We still wore the old-fashioned knickers, with elastic in the legs. I could feel this tightening as I bent over. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs Johnstone get into position. I tensed myself, and then the swish and a loud thwack across my tight knickers. Many others had described the pain as like getting a red-hot wire across your bottom, and they were right. To say it stung was an understatement and to my shame I cried out.
“You may go Margaret,” was the next thing I heard.
I stood up and walked to the door, rubbing my bottom.
“You okay?” asked my friend Geraldine, as I came out.
“Yes, just about.”
We went off to the changing room together, and Geraldine produced a mirror so that I could see the state of my bottom. I shuddered. There was an ugly, angry looking wheal, right across the middle of my bottom. Of course, I had seen many other girl’s bottoms after a caning, it was a kind of badge of honour to show off your stripes, but when it’s your own its somehow different.
The only other time I fell foul of the school authorities was over the length of skirts. Being the late sixties, and the era of the mini-skirt, we wanted to be the height of fashion; the school had other ideas. The only concession they made was to allow skirts to be one inch above the knee. That was far too low for us, so we would roll over the waistband of our skirt. We would do this around the school when nobody was looking, and on the way to and from school. If you were caught, it was a visit to the deputy head. There always seemed to be a queue outside her office. I went on several occasions and felt her cane across my hand. The procedure was to join the queue and when she called, ‘next’ you went in. She would be standing ready with the cane, punishment book on the desk. It would be ‘hold out your hand’, and thwack. You would just turn and leave and the next person would wait while she filled in the punishment book. Of course it hurt, but just one whack was no real deterrent.
I must tell you about one more incident. There was one girl in our class whom nobody liked, and one day she shopped three girls who were having a crafty smoke. They were immediately taken to the deputy head, and got six of the best on their knickers. The three girls decided to exact their revenge. They found the girl’s bag and put contraceptives in it. Then they left it in a place where somebody would find it. Of course, when it was handed in at lost property the teacher checked it and reported it to the deputy head. The girl was then called in to account for it, couldn’t, and of course received one heck of a caning. That’s schoolgirls for you.
Statistics: Posted by lisamum10 — Thu Sep 22, 2016 2:16 pm