The Making of Barrett

Albeit rare, public canings were not unheard of and an example that always springs to my mind was during a junior assembly when the lady in charge of the junior house, I had recently taken up a position in, took the boys' morning assembly. Like most housemistresses/masters, she was in the habit of calling out the boys' names and instructing them to wait outside her study straight after assembly.

I remember how the boys' faces would literally blanch as she called the list out. Indeed, a morning encounter with their housemistress meant spending the first few lessons of the day standing behind one's desk at the very least. I have to say that it both amused and puzzled me as a teacher to watch the boys' reaction as they had undoubtedly been alerted to their imminent fate the day before. On reflection, I suppose it was more to do with the ending of that vain hope that we teachers might just once forget to pass on their names. But no such luck, I'm afraid!

I can still remember quite clearly young lads arriving late during my lesson after being `delayed' by Miss Hargreaves. Watching them make their way to the back of the classroom silently groaning and wincing thanks to their housemistress's skilled handiwork usually brought a silent chuckle to the face of pupil and teacher alike. Such a sorry spectacle was sure testament to just how Miss Hargreaves was very well versed in the art of administering a good old-fashioned swishing to a young lad's backside! I later discovered that her father had been a headmaster of a boys' school in Gloucestershire and she had been brought up on the grounds, so dealing with young lads was both in her upbringing as well as in the blood.

Moreover, she was liable to administer extra strokes to any boy who arrived at her study looking slovenly so ties needed to be straightened and shoulders kept back in perfect fashion when they waited for her to arrive. Under Miss Hargreave's leadership, the boys looked smart, very smart indeed and, thanks to their housemistress's insistence upon high standards and traditional values, they wore grey shorts with a formal blazer and tie along with very smart-looking sock gaiters that bore `flashes' or ribbons in the junior house colours. The uniform helped to create a very pleasingly traditional atmosphere to the place and made the school feel very orderly indeed.

And, I must say that I, along with the rest of the boys' masters and mistresses, thoroughly approved of Miss Hargreave's approach and all of us worked hard to ensure that such values as discipline, a sense of duty and respect for authority were held in high esteem by the boys at all times.

Towards the end of morning assembly, the housemistress read out her list of names one by one in strict alphabetical order as was her custom.

"Bigwood . . . Collis . . . Hunt . . . Page . . . Saunders . . . Thompson . . . and . . ."

However, she paused for a good few seconds before announcing the last name in the list. Instead, she looked across the hall and stared straight at a young lad nervously sat upon the very end of one of the wooden chairs towards the front, desperately wondering at why his name had been omitted.

"and finally . . ." she announced in a slow and deliberate fashion ". . . Barrett!"

The boy looked back at the mistress with a look of fear and puzzlement in his face.

"Mam?" he said quietly as though not quite believing what had happened.

"Yes, Barrett," she replied in the same calm voice, "up here on the stage please, and you can bring your chair with you, young man."

Barrett stood up immediately and carried the bare wooden school chair with great care up the steps towards the stage. He instinctively knew that it was not there to be sat upon, but as a support for his school blazer on its back and something to grasp on to each time his mistress applied a stroke upon his backside.

"Chop, chop, Barrett," she called over to him, not offensively, "we haven't got all day, young man!"

The boy finally reached the stage and froze for a moment as he realised he didn't know what to do next. He felt acutely aware of all the eyes firmly held upon him and looked beseechingly back at his housemistress.

"Put the chair down, if you please, Barrett," she said in a quiet voice which approached a semi warm, maternal tone as she noted the boy's confusion, "and leave it there – I want you to stand in front of me now!"

Miss Hargreaves was a tall woman in her early thirties and, as the young lad approached her across the stage, it suddenly became evident to everyone that, the closer he got, the less he was aware of the fact that the entire junior school was indeed watching him. For him, only one thing figured in his mind and that was the tall elegant mistress that stood before him in her impeccably pleated navy blue skirt, finely ironed white blouse and long black academic gown. Miss Hargreaves stooped forward slightly, both hands lightly held together before her and cleared her throat.

"Well, Barrett," she said in a soft voice, "I have heard a lot of stories about you, young man. And it would appear that you have become quite famous in the school for your bad behaviour and laziness."

The boy lowered his head and looked towards the floor, searching for an excuse that might never come.

"Please look at me when I am talking to you!"

Barrett quickly raised his head and looked sheepishly back at the gowned figure of authority that now stood over him by what felt like several feet.

"That's better!" she affirmed, "But I am not quite so happy about the knot in your tie, straighten it up please, it looks very slovenly and I'm sure you don't want to look slovenly and let your school down, do you now, Barrett?"

The boy immediately placed both hands upon his tie and quickly straightened its knot as he shook his head and answered, "No, Mam!"

"Good!" stated Miss Hargreaves who slowly nodded her head with approval making the tassel on her mortar board gently wave from side to side, "Now I would like you to explain a few things to me, young man, a few things concerning your recent behaviour."

Barrett nearly looked down again, but luckily caught himself just in time. He quickly raised his gaze to meet with the housemistress's eyes who briefly nodded with approval and then held him in her gaze. The young lad felt that he could now not look anywhere else and felt himself shrink as Miss Hargreave's voice become more enquiring.

"What do you think of your recent behaviour, Barrett?"

"Erm, I don't know, Mam!"

"I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed with surprise in her voice. "Well, this is even more worrying that I had at first thought, young man. Maybe I can jog your memory with a few things that your teachers have said!"

Miss Hargreaves reached for a small brown notebook on her lectern and opened it, licking her fingers and turning pages as she did so. "History," she announced, raising her voice as though forgetfulness might be akin to deafness. "Barrett is inattentive during lessons'. Science . . . `Barrett has a great propensity to play around during experiments, nearly spilt chemicals over another boy's clothes'. Geography . . . `Barrett would appear urged to engage in constant tomfoolery during all lessons'. English . . . `Barrett has made precious little effort'. Mathematics . . . `Barrett is bone idle and never listens' . . ."

As the Miss Hargreaves spoke, it became ever more apparent that both mistress and boy were now quite unaware of a hundred others listening not more than a few yards away. Her voice became faster and gradually louder with exasperation as she read out words such as `inattentive, tomfoolery, a constant nuisance'. As she did so, she held the boy firmly and securely in her gaze, not allowing him even the slightest of reprieve as she grilled him ever more closely. She then brandished the small brown notebook before his nose before slamming it indignantly against the wooden surface of her lectern.

"Please explain, Barrett!" she finally announced as her academic gown waved a little and seemed to merge into a whole with the boy's equally black school blazer, "Well, Barrett?" she insisted after hearing no reply, "I'm still waiting for an answer to my question!"

Barrett took in a deep breath and then managed to answer in a small, diminutive voice that nobody could ever hope to hear.

"Speak up, Barrett!" she answered loudly, "I can't hear you, boy!"

The same stifled voice tried to answer again, this time, a little louder. "I'm sorry, Mam!"

"Sorry for what, Barrett?" she asked immediately, requiring the boy to prove that he knew full well why he had earned the displeasure of his teachers.

"For letting you down, Mam," he added.

A lengthy silence followed. Miss Hargreaves breathed in and then finally pulled back her shoulders, granting Barrett a brief, yet short-lived respite from her attention. Then, slowly, she turned towards her lectern and reached into a box that had been neatly placed at its foot. She stooped down, lifted its lid and drew out a long, slender cane. Holding it between both hands she turned back towards the boy and cleared her throat.

"True, Barrett, very true. You have let me down, but you have also let your school down and, most importantly of all, you have let yourself down."

Barrett still knew better than to follow his instinct and let his gaze drop to the floor. This time he fixed his gaze upon the slender rod of correction that was now formed into a neat and very well defined arc between his housemistress's hands. Miss Hargreaves smiled slightly as she noticed where the boy's attention now lay and gently flexed the supple rattan into a tight circle and then relaxed it again. She did this a couple of times, quite frankly for effect, before gently addressing the boy now firmly under her tutelage.

"Do you agree, Barrett?" she said in something akin to a faint whisper.

"Yes, Mam," he replied not once taking his eyes off the school cane that continued to flex in and out between the lady's hands.

"Good boy, Barrett," she replied with genuine warmth in her voice, "Now you can fetch the chair and we can begin. That's right," she announced as the boy turned around and fetched the small wooden chair he had brought with him onto the stage just a few minutes before, "Off with your blazer, please and take position over the chair . . . and mind that you don't get up until I decide that your correction is over, Barrett."

"Yes, Mam!" came the boy's reply who, if the truth be told, was strangely relieved that the grilling was over and that his punishment could now finally begin.

Miss Hargreaves slowly walked towards the boy and carrying the cane in just one hand, gently placed her other hand upon the boy's shoulder, "Now is your chance to show your school what you're made of, young man!" she murmured under her breath for her pupil's ears only.

Barrett nodded imperceptibly and closed his eyes tightly shut. As he did so, he felt the hem of his mistress's gown gently brush against the backs of his legs and felt somehow specially privileged to have been the one selected as an example. He opened his eyes again and, looking downwards, he saw the sober navy blue fabric of his tie reaching down to the seat of the chair where its triangular end rested showing the junior school crest embellished in red and gold. The same pattern was repeated between each stripe of his house tie and he felt proud to be wearing his housemistress's colours and that his duty was to prove her right in her decision to pick him as, obviously, she knew full well that no other boy could have withstood the ordeal.

"Are you ready, Barrett?"

"Yes, Mam!"

Both mistress and boy were surprised at the affirmativeness in the latter's voice and Barrett surprised himself beyond all comprehension when he felt himself urged to straighten his legs and push out his toes in order to make sure that his housemistress would be able to administer a good, clean swipe across his backside. Miss Hargreaves was moved as she took a pace back and then sent the rattan whistling through the air with her shoulder behind it. The cane swiped across the boy's full expanse and, with a deft twist of her wrist which had come with expert practice, she managed to cause its willowy tip to whiplash against the edge of his grey shorts.

The sting was monstrous and Barrett gasped as the entirety, and not just one area, of his bottom erupted into a medley of scalding pain. However, he did not move or show one sign of being in pain. The boy's mistress nodded in recognition of his will power and raised her cane once more.

On the second swipe, a sharp crack echoed around the school hall causing all assembled to jump in their seats and then gasp with pained disbelief. Barrett jolted slightly, but otherwise remained just as silent and still as before.

The third and fourth strokes were just as withering as the first two. Yet, Barrett still remained steadfastly silent, the only clue of his inner battle against the bitter sting of his mistress's rod was the pure whiteness of his knuckles and his sharply clenched lips as he stared resolutely downwards and vainly willed the pain away.

After the fifth stroke, Miss Hargreaves was genuinely moved and, instead of raising her cane once more, held it limply in one hand and stretched her hand out to pat the boy briefly upon his shoulder. "Barrett . . ." she whispered in a very low, hushed voice that denoted the genuine maternal affection that she held for her boys. "I'm proud of you, Barrett. Very proud of you, indeed. Just one more to go, Barrett."

At first, the boy failed to respond to his mistress words, but instead of chastising him, she rubbed his shoulder once again and repeated his name a few more times, "Barrett . . . Barrett . . . Can you hear me, Barrett?" The boy enjoyed hearing his name being repeated with such admiration behind it and slowly began to nod his head as he felt comforted by her kindly voice and the edge of her gown that had draped itself over his back and down his legs as she reached towards his shoulder. "Yes, I can, Mam," he replied, "Thank you, Mam."

Shortly after, the boy thought he could hear a gentle chanting coming as if on a hundred whispers from elsewhere. "Barrett. . . Barrett . . . Barrett . . . Barrett . . . Barrett" he wondered if he had imagined it and then just as he realised that it was in fact the entire junior school urging him on a teacher's voice cut across the hall and extinguished it straight away.

Miss Hargreaves then raised her cane aloft and took a full pace and a half back. She knew that this one was going to bite and that, laid upon five other stinging red lines, it would probably send the poor brave lad to Hell and back. She drove the rod through the air, driving her body behind it as it rasped against the air and then finally cut into the boy's cheeks with a loud crack. Barrett immediately jolted forwards thrusting his head sharply upwards and then literally wailed like a wolf towards a full moon as he called out, "Oh, Mam . . . Oh, Mam . . . Please, Mam! . . . Oh Mam . . . Please, Mam!" at the very top of his lungs.

"There, Barrett!" said the housemistress once the boy had finished, "It's over, young man." Miss Hargreaves then placed the cane across the top of her lectern and told Barrett to stand up, put his blazer back on join his form group below.

"Thank you, Mam!" he said courteously before leaving the stage.

A few days later, Miss Hargreaves summoned Barrett to her study during morning break. She joked with him, asking him if he had sat down yet since the morning assembly a few mornings before. Once she had finished laughing, she looked back at him seriously and added, "I do admire a lad who can take a good swishing, Barrett. And I must say that you took yours like no other boy I've known!"

Barrett felt his chest swell with pride as his housemistress spoke these words.

"Thank you, Mam," he replied, feeling his shoulders moving back and his chest coming forward to show willing respect for a superior. "I'm glad I didn't let you down, Mam!"