‘Oh stop moaning, you silly bitch.’
Miss Svenson stopped dead in her tracks outside the staff room door. She could hardly believe her ears. The language of the gutter! And used by one of her own teachers! As she marched into the staff room to investigate, shaking with fury, the full gravity of the situation became clear. The man using this offensive term – one which the well-bred Miss Svenson regarded with utter abhorrence – was none other than Michael Dean, the head of the English department. And the object of his abuse was Miss Prendergast, the new geography teacher.
What were they talking about? Miss Svenson didn’t know and didn’t care. NOTHING could excuse such revoltingly sexist language by any man, let alone a man in a position of authority, responsible for teaching children how to behave. It called for exemplary punishment and, my God, she intended to administer it.
‘I want to see both of you in my study after school,’ she said, sweeping out of the room like an avenging fury. She was still so angry when she reached the sanctuary of her study that she took out her senior cane and swished it angrily through the air, like a tennis player preparing for action.
At the appointed hour, Mr Dean and Miss Prendergast presented themselves outside her study, and the no-nonsense Miss Svenson got straight to the point.
‘If you think I am going to tolerate a male teacher speaking to a female teacher in that manner, Michael, you have another think coming. I am going to cane you, severely, and as you are a grown man, you will get a man-sized punishment – twenty-four strokes, pants down.’
‘But, Miss Svenson – ’
‘No arguing! I have made my decision and I intend to stick to it. Miss Prendergast, I am extremely sorry that you have been treated in this way, but at least you will have the satisfaction of seeing the wrongdoer get his just deserts. You will witness the caning, at close quarters. In fact, you can assist me by preparing Michael for his punishment. Will you kindly remove all his clothes except his shirt and underpants?’
‘But, Miss Svenson – ’
‘I said, no arguing! Proceed, please, Miss Prendergast.’
The young geography teacher needed little prompting. She undressed Mr Dean as directed, making sure that the process was as humiliating as possible, then led him to the punishment bench, bent him over, lifted his shirt out of the way, and on the instruction ‘Bare his bottom’ from Miss Svenson, lowered his underpants to the top of his legs.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Miss Svenson, impressed by her proficiency. ‘Now where would you like to view the punishment from? It’s up to you.’
‘I think…’ Miss Prendergast hesitated, then whispered. ‘I’d really like to see his face as you cane him, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Svenson. ‘He will NOT be smiling. I can promise you that.’
And so it was arranged, with the strategically seated Miss Prendergast looking Mr Dean straight in the eyes as the cane lashed down on his backside. But there were to be two more twists in the tale.
‘Please, Miss Svenson,’ said the young geography teacher, after the first twelve strokes had been administered, ‘could I change my position? I would rather like to see the marks of the cane. I have never seen a caning before.’
‘Of course, dear,’ said Miss Svenson, who prided herself on the accuracy, as well as the severity, of her canings. With Miss Prendergast in her new position, she laid on the remaining twelve strokes with cold, calculated fury. Then, on impulse, she turned to the other woman.
‘Do you think Mr Dean has learnt his lesson? Or would you like to reinforce it?’
Miss Prendergast’s response was immediate. ‘I would certainly like to reinforce it. Michael, get over my knee. Miss Svenson, pass me your slipper.’
For the next five minutes, the woman who had been called a bitch belaboured the already sore and striped bottom of the man who had called her a bitch until he was begging for mercy.