Angela Jones B.A. Dip. Ed. looked over her steel rimmed spec­ta­cles at her class­room full of pupils and saw that once again Hen­ry Bak­er was try­ing to dis­tract one of the girls from her lessons by pulling sil­ly faces. Hen­ry, stay behind after class, I want to have a lit­tle chat with you, Miss Jones said in a loud enough voice to stop any more non­sense for the rest of that lesson.

She had been con­cerned about young Hen­ry for some time; he had, in the past been a help­ful and pleas­ant young man who was gen­er­al­ly pop­u­lar with both the pupils and the rest of the staff †but for the last few months he had been show­ing signs of going off the rails; late for lessons, star­ing out of the win­dows, †and even answer­ing back to teach­ers on occa­sion. †Miss Jones had spo­ken to him, tried rea­son­ing, explained that in the long term he might get into more trou­ble than he expect­ed and, if this behav­iour con­tin­ued, or even became worse, the school would have to seri­ous­ly con­sid­er hav­ing him removed. His par­ents, who were respectable, upstand­ing peo­ple, would be dev­as­tat­ed. While Hen­ry was being told this he appeared con­trite and apolo­getic but a day or two lat­er it would start all over again. She was fond of the boy and did not want to see him get­ting any deep­er into trou­ble than he already was. What was she to do for the best.„

Miss Jones made some enquiries among oth­er mem­bers of the staff and ascer­tained that his behav­iour was the same in the oth­er class­es as well. One of the teach­ers also said that she had seen Hen­ry hang­ing around the streets with some old­er boys who were known to be ëbad sort­sí and often egged on the younger boys to do bad deeds such as pet­ty shoplift­ing and dam­ag­ing plants in the park, activ­i­ties which could draw the atten­tion of the police and even the juve­nile courts. Miss Jones decid­ed that some­thing need­ed to be done.

Some­times, to her amuse­ment, some of the pupils asked Miss Jones to tell them about the old­en daysí, mean­ing her time at school when she was a child, which she was hap­py to do. This set her think­ing, what would they have done about young Hen­ry in the old­en days?

She knew that one can get almost any­thing one wants these days on the inter­net so she start­ed look­ing for that some­thing in par­tic­u­lar which she thought would help. She typed in her require­ments and watched as the many web­site sug­ges­tions came onto her screen. Most of them were quite unsuit­able, (did peo­ple real­ly get up to that sort of thing) and some were quite shock­ing. Thigh high leather boots! Exposed nip­ples! Good­ness me, no! But she per­se­vered and even­tu­al­ly (after hav­ing had a whole new world opened up to her) she came across one she thought might be suit­able. That same evening she sent an email to Miss Elsa Sven­son explain­ing the sit­u­a­tion and ask­ing if, per­haps, she, Miss Sven­son, might be able to help. Miss Jones went to bed that night hop­ing that the lady would answer positively.

The very next morn­ing there was an answer to her email say­ing that Miss Sven­son would be hap­py to see the young man and that she should send him along with a note explain­ing in more detail what, exact­ly, the prob­lems were which need­ed to be addressed.

Three days lat­er, on a bright Spring after­noon Hen­ry found him­self approach­ing a build­ing which looked as though it had once been a school. He was clutch­ing a let­ter from Miss Jones to be deliv­ered per­son­al­ly to Miss Sven­son, And donít you dare be late,î were the last words he heard as he was leav­ing school on a wel­come break from his usu­al Thurs­day after­noon lessons, this lit­tle adven­ture was much bet­ter than dou­ble maths. He rang the entry­phone buzzer and a pleas­ant female voice asked what he want­ed. He explained that he was here to deliv­er a let­ter and he was told to come in and giv­en direc­tions to the cor­rect door. He found it eas­i­ly enough and rang the bell.

A nice look­ing lady, smart­ly dressed and with blonde hair opened the door and told him to come in and to take off his shoes and jack­et, as he was doing this she was lock­ing the door and putting the key in the pock­et of her skirt. He thought this was odd but there is no account­ing for grown-ups. She ush­ered him into a room off the hall­way and said, You have some­thing for me?î Her voice was warm and friend­ly. He hand­ed her the enve­lope and was told to wait as she went into anoth­er room. As she was out he glanced around the room and saw that there was a plain chair in the mid­dle of the room and a sofa and an old arm­chair at the side; on the sofa were some imple­ments he was­nít famil­iar with, he was­nít sure what they were, there were some yel­low sticks and some things that looked like lit­tle oars or pad­dles and a slip­per. For rea­sons he could­nít explain he start­ed to get an uneasy feel­ing. He felt a lit­tle faint so he sat down on the near­est chair. The lady came back into the room and said, in a voice which was much sharp­er than pre­vi­ous­ly, Have you been invit­ed to sit down?î He was con­fused by this so he stood up. ìI think that you and I have some seri­ous talk­ing to do. She sat on the plain chair and beck­oned for him to come and stand beside her, which he did. She reached out to his waist­band and with­in sec­onds had his belt undone and his trousers half way down his legs, she pulled on his arm and he stum­bled and fell across her lap. She put one hand on the back of his head and held it there. Hen­ry strug­gled and kicked and wrig­gled but he was held down. She let him strug­gle for a lit­tle while and when he start­ed to slow down she gave him three very sharp smacks on his bare bot­tom. They stung and he start­ed to strug­gle again but it was in vain, he start­ed to hear her voice com­ing to him from a great dis­tance and his heart felt like it was pump­ing out of his chest.

…you will be still and you will lis­ten to what I have to say. If you calm down and take what is com­ing to you this will all be over a lot more quick­ly. If you make a sil­ly fuss the same things will hap­pen but it will take longer and be more severe. Is that understood?î He did­nít know what to say so he thought it safer to say nothing.

Wrong!

Smack! Smack! Is that understood?

Yes Miss.

Good. Stand up.

He stood up, and waited.

Now, I have here a let­ter from your teacher telling me all about what you have been up to and I am not going to allow it to con­tin­ue. Is that understood?

He knew bet­ter this time. Yes Miss.

Go and stand in that cor­ner while I get things arranged.

Oh God! What was she going to do now? Per­haps he could make a run for it but he had seen her lock the door and the key was in her skirt pocket.

He turned briefly to see what she was doing. Did I say you could turn around? Come here. Bend over.î She pushed on the back of his neck and he went for­ward, his trousers were still half way down his legs, she reached out side­ways and got hold of that oar shaped thing and hit him quick­ly, six times on his bot­tom. He yelped.

Now, go and do as I say. Noth­ing more and noth­ing lessî.

He was back in that cor­ner in no time.

What hap­pened after that is all a bit of a blur in his mind but she read some­thing from the list that was in the note she held in her hand.

Miss Jones says that you have been late for lessons three times in the last fort­night, for that I am going to give you eight strokes of the pad­dle. Oh, so the oar shaped thing had a name, thought Hen­ry. Bend over and grip your anklesî. The first stroke shocked him with its sting and he almost jumped up but man­aged to stop him­self, he had found out what hap­pens when you donít do what Miss Sven­son tells you to do. With each stroke Miss Sven­son told him that being late for lessons was a very bad idea and it would do him no good in the future if he was to fall behind in his lessons. Each stroke stung more than the pre­vi­ous one and he was­nít sure that he could stay down but stay down he must and stay down he did. After the eighth stroke she stopped. Hen­ry straight­ened up and start­ed to rub his poor, painful bottom.

I donít remem­ber telling you to stand up, nor do I remem­ber telling you that you could rub your bot­tom. Four more strokes for dis­obe­di­ence. Bend over again.

Oh no! It was so unfair. Smack. Smack and two more smacks. His knees were weak he was going to stum­ble and fall then he heard her voice say­ing in more gen­tle tones, Alright, you may stand up now.

Gin­ger­ly, Hen­ry straight­ened up remem­ber­ing that she had not giv­en him per­mis­sion to do any­thing else.

Go back to the cor­ner and think about what your actions have made it nec­es­sary for me to do. Put your hands on your head and keep them there until I say otherwiseî.

Hen­ry con­cen­trat­ed on keep­ing still and grad­u­al­ly felt the pain start to recede slight­ly as the min­utes ticked by. He could hear Miss Sven­son mov­ing around the room behind him but he did not dare to turn round.

At last she said, ìCome here. Her voice was soft­er, more gen­tle and Hen­ry realised that there were warm salt tears on his cheeks. He turned round and saw Miss Sven­son though tear filled eyes, she was stand­ing by the old arm­chair near the win­dow. As he approached she said , ìIt gives me no plea­sure to have to do this but many peo­ple are con­cerned about you and do not want to see you led astray by old­er, more uncouth boys. We have only your best inter­ests at heart and will do what­ev­er is nec­es­sary to get you back on the straight and nar­row. Some­times you have to be cru­el to be kind in the longer termî.

Hen­ry found that the tears in his eyes could no longer be held back and the salty metal­lic taste in his mouth became stronger as he sobbed.

ìI am going to fin­ish off with six strokes of the cane and then I will try to com­fort you and explain why you must change your ways before it is too late.

ìBend over the back of the chair and do not move exces­sive­ly or I will repeat the pre­vi­ous stroke, I can, and will, con­tin­ue to do this until you get it right.

Hen­ry mis­er­ably did as he was told and thought it odd that it was the words of con­cern and kind­ness rather than the harsh words of admon­ish­ment which caused the flood­gates to open and caused him to cry uncontrollably.

He felt four light taps and realised with some hor­ror that she was gaug­ing her dis­tance. The first stroke made him gasp and he could­n’t believe the pain. He held on to the edge of the chair with white knuck­les and grit­ted his teeth. The pain did­n’t actu­al­ly get any worse with the next five strokes but it last­ed longer. Miss Sven­son was­nít speak­ing, she was con­cen­trat­ing on what she had to do. Then it stopped. He stayed in posi­tion for some time† until he heard her say, Now, stand upî, and she came to him and held him gen­tly, all the time telling him that every­thing was going to be alright just as long as he went back to how things used to be. Hen­ry’s sobs were mak­ing his body shake and shud­der and he hoped his tears were not stain­ing Miss Sven­sonís cloth­ing. As his sob­bing sub­sided he realised that he did­nít real­ly enjoy all that hang­ing about with those rougher boys and that what he real­ly want­ed was the approval of Miss Jones and, even more sur­pris­ing­ly, he found that he also want­ed the approval of Miss Sven­son. He want­ed her to like him.

Miss Sven­son held the note between her fin­ger and thumb and delib­er­ate­ly dropped it. Hen­ry watched as it flut­tered down like an Autumn leaf and land­ed on the floor as though it were the sym­bol of some­thing that was over and done with.

A few days lat­er Miss Sven­son received an email which said, ìThank you for see­ing Hen­ry the oth­er day, I donít know what went on between you two but he has been unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly qui­et for the last few days, as though he is mulling some­thing over. I will mon­i­tor his behav­iour over the next two or three weeks to see if he needs a return visit.

I hope you are enjoy­ing this beau­ti­ful Spring weather.

With warm regards,

Angela Jones (Miss)

 

 

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