No Laughing Matter
By Clarissa
She could hear the hubbub from halfway down the corridor – a groundswell of noise punctuated by the occasional peal of outright laughter. It was of course coming from Miss Hargreaves’ Latin class. Miss Hargreaves was new to the school, in fact new to teaching, and her lack of classroom control had been the talk of the staffroom for weeks. Despite her outstanding academic references, it seemed she could not handle the classroom situation – well, one class in particular, and one girl.
Miss Svenson listened at the classroom door a few moments: she heard a few muffled noises then an abrupt ‘Sit down at once!’ from Miss Hargreaves, followed by a pause then another peal of raucous laughter. Miss Svenson pushed opened the door and stepped swiftly into the classroom – a stiff silence fell instantly on proceedings. One look at a flushed and distressed Miss Hargreaves, and a tall blonde girl still standing, said it all. Miss Svenson threw a ferocious glance around the room then barked ‘Miranda Spears, follow me!’ Miss Svenson turned on her heel as the tall blonde girl made her way slowly out of the class. Miss Svenson kept ahead of the girl, past the geography room, the history room, down the main stairs with their gleaming marble balustrades, along another corridor to a fine oak door marked ‘Headmistress’ in shiny brass letters. Miss Svenson entered her study, keeping the door ajar, and waited for the schoolgirl. Against her better judgement, she was furious – she knew she shouldn’t take this out on the girl (even though she had had to deal with her before) but it would be difficult. After a few moments Miranda Spears appeared at the door. ‘Come in’ boomed Miss Svenson. The girl entered and stood silently in front of the Head. Miss Svenson didn’t look up immediately, trying hard to compose her feelings. After a short while, ‘Do you have anything to say?’ The girl didn’t respond. Miss Svenson stood up – ‘I am going to give you six strokes of the cane, but I want you to know I will repeat the stroke if you don’t respond to me during the punishment – do you understand?’
The girl looked a little nonplussed, but didn’t reply. ‘You’ve been here before,’ continued Miss Svenson, ‘assume the position!’ The girl took off her blazer and bent her body carefully over Miss Svenson’s polished walnut desk. Miss Svenson pulled back the girl’s blue pleated skirt then made her way to the corner cupboard, from which she produced a long, crook-handled cane. A few practice swishes then wham, down on the girl’s exposed behind. ‘Do you think it’s funny to humiliate people?’ she demanded; no reply from the girl. Down came the cane again, and again, the same question. Still no response. The cane again, then a stifled ‘please’. ‘Please what?’ demanded Miss Svenson. No response. The cane again, this time harder than ever – ‘Do you think it’s funny to humiliate people?’ This time Miss Svenson paused; she could already see the caning had inflicted some serious marks and, although angry, she did not wish to thrash the girl within an inch of her life. She raised the cane again; then heard a quiet ‘No’. ‘No what?’ demanded Miss Svenson. ‘No, I don’t think it’s funny to humiliate people’ from the girl. The cane again – five strokes now. The girl gasped then buried her head in her arm. ‘So you will apologise to Miss Hargreaves?’ the cane one more time, and another gasp from the girl, followed by a muffled ‘Yes.’ Miss Svenson looked at the girl, her head was still buried in her arm, her behind, although obscured by her knickers, still revealed the tell-tale ridges of a good hard caning. ‘Get up and adjust your dress’ commanded Miss Svenson. The girl got up, and pulled down her skirt. ‘Face me’ continued Miss Svenson. The girl turned round – her hair was dishevelled and, for the very first time, she looked on the verge of tears. Miss Svenson couldn’t help smiling to herself at this; after all, it was no laughing matter.