The head prefect caned severely by her headmaster.

Sunday, 11.45am

Alice wanted to turn. Turn and run, down the stairs, out of the door, down the school’s long drive and away. To escape. To safety.

But she knew she couldn’t: that fleeing would only make things worse. That she’d only be brought back, later, to stand here again – outside the library door, dreading what was to happen. Yet at the same time not knowing exactly what was to happen: that was the worst part.

That the punishment would hurt – that was for sure. That was the easy part to comprehend. How much, she didn’t know. Almost, didn’t care. It couldn’t be that bad – could it? Or could it? Would she be able to cope without making a fool of herself? To retain some dignity in this awful predicament.

But the humiliation – of being ordered here, like a naughty child. With everyone knowing – everyone in the school aware that their proud, intelligent, attractive, confident and usually oh-so-well-behaved head girl was to be disciplined at this very moment.

And the total, abject lack of control. That for the next five, ten minutes (how long would it take? How long before it would be all over, before she’d be free?) – that for the next few minutes, there would be nothing she could do other than to obey whatever instructions she was given; to be meek, mild, to submit.

She steadied herself, noticing her hands shaking as she brushed her dress, making sure she looked tidy. And then, heart fluttering, she knocked gently on the heavy, wooden door.

“Come in…”

Four days earlier: Wednesday, 8.30am

Green was in a bad mood. A very bad mood. It always happened, of course, at this time of year. The start of May. Most of the school year completed, in that strange period before exams started when the need to study contrasted with the delights of wandering outside in the glorious sun.

And yet this year, somehow, the balance was wrong. Too much of that lazing around in the summer sunshine. Too many pupils missing lessons. Too many reports of sixth-formers being seen in local pubs – even of younger students out in the next town, fifteen miles away, in the middle of the school day (although how they had got there, goodness knew).

Well, it was time to lay down the law. He walked towards the assembly hall, scarcely acknowledging his deputy head and the head boy and girl as they fell in behind their headmaster and he strode through the hall, up onto the stage and looked down on the pupils of Ridgewood College.

He watched them as they sang the morning hymn: half-heartedly, discordant. Half of them wearing their blazers, half not. Untidy. Ill-disciplined. Well, he’d had enough.

The popular consensus afterwards was that none of the students had ever seen Green look so annoyed. He lectured them on the importance of their exams, of their need to repay the investment that their parents had made in their education. He bemoaned their appearance: “scruffy clothes are the result of a scruffy mind”. He tore into them for damaging the reputation of the school in the local area by their truancy and misconduct.

And he gated them. All of them. “No-one is to leave the school premises without the express prior, written permission of a member of staff. I’ve had enough of truancy, and intend to stamp it out.” Black and white. Clear cut. Not even to buy sweets in the local shop.

And the final warning. “The next few weeks will see this school be a serious place. A place of learning. A place of study. A place of quiet, mature behaviour. And woe betide anyone who steps out of line, for I will punish them with the utmost severity.”

Well, the threat was there. Plain, for all to note.

And he would, too. Green was usually a tolerant man – soft, some would say (although never to his face). But it was well known that corporal punishment, although rarely used these days, was there as a last resort – and which of them was going to risk that?

The previous Wednesday, 5pm

She turned up the volume on her car stereo, pulling out to overtake yet another line of dawdling drivers. Glorious sunshine. A great day for hitting the road – especially in her red open-top Beetle. Being allowed a car at school was one of the better privileges of being head girl, Alice thought to herself. And of coming from a well-off background, of course: not many girls were given a convertible for passing their driving test!

The rapidly-approaching van almost caught her off guard, and she just managed to cut back into her lane, horns sounding as other drivers showed their annoyance at her. She gestured, rudely, at the car behind – didn’t he realise that driving fast was part of the fun of a sports car?

Soon, Alice reached the edge of the high, stone wall that marked the boundary of the school. Back to reality, back to boredom – back to studying for her A Levels in three weeks’ time. She braked sharply, flinging the car to the right through the school gates, the gravel scrunching underneath the wheels as she tore down the drive. She threw the vehicle into a vacant parking space, pressed the button to close the electronic roof, and threw her cap and sunglasses onto the seat.

She glanced at her watch – just after five. Damn, she thought – she had to supervise an hour’s homework for the first year students. Just what she didn’t want…

Wednesday – a little later

“Did Green find you?”

Alice turned around. Matthew caught up with her: “He was looking for you about ten minutes ago. I told him I thought you were in the library.” She looked at her – well, not quite boyfriend… her best friend, smiling at him.

“I was. I had to supervise it for an hour. Did he say what it was about?”

“Nope. Still looks in a foul mood, though.”

“Wonder what’s got into him?”

“Sunstroke?” They both laughed. Matt did that – made her laugh. He was fun – a good companion, someone with whom she could sort out the world’s problems, and a useful if very occasional shoulder to cry on. And nothing more. Despite what any of the rumours might say. A strictly platonic relationship. At the moment.

“Well,” she said, “I’d better go and hunt down the terrible ogre – see what he’s after. See you.”

“Bye. See you at dinner?”

“Yep. Unless his lordship sends me off on some errand!”

“As if…”

“As if! Must go.” She danced off, happy. She wondered where the headmaster would be. Dinner was twenty minutes away, so he’d be somewhere around. If Matt had told Green that she was in the library, he may well have gone that way. And then when she hadn’t been there, he’d probably have gone on to his study.

She skipped up the stairs, turned left and into the school secretary’s room. Miss Carter was still there, and looked up.

“Evening, Miss Carter. Is Dr. Green in?”

She looked up, solemn. “He is, Alice. Although he’s not in a very good mood, I should warn you. But go on in.” She pressed the buzzer: “Alice Meadows to see you, headmaster.”

Alice rapped on the door and entered. Green was standing by the window, silhouetted against the sunlight. He turned round. Sternly: “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know, sir. Matthew told me. I thought I might find you here.”

“Sit down.” He pointed to the armchair. Wow, she thought to herself, as he walked round and sat opposite her on the leather sofa, he WAS in a bad mood!

Green continued: “Do you know why I wanted to see you, Alice?”

“Erm… no. But let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Stop being frivolous. I’m not in the mood. Well, if you’re not prepared to hazard a guess, let me ask you this: since when has the head girl been above the law in this school?”

“Pardon?” Alice thought fast. What was he talking about?

“I asked you to let me know when it was that we decided that our head girl could disobey school rules?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“You were in assembly this morning?”

“Yes, sir.” She tried to rack her brains. Assembly? What had she done wrong in assembly? “What did I do wrong?”

“Well, I’d hope that what you did wrong was not to listen. Otherwise I’ll be even more annoyed.”

“I…. I don’t understand.” There must be some confusion.

“Listen, girl, I’ve just had a meeting with a gentleman who was considering sending his son and daughter to the school next year. And he wasn’t very happy. Said that he was reconsidering his decision. Said that he had been concerned about the standards of behaviour here.”

She looked puzzled. “And what has this got to do with me not listening in assembly, Dr. Green? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

“Apparently, when he was about half a mile from the school this afternoon, he was overtaken by a young girl in a red sports car. Who was driving dangerously, and who – to use his words – ‘gave him the finger’ when he let her in to avoid a van that was coming the other way as she overtook.”

“Oh….”

“And he then turned into the school and parked, and saw said red sports car in the car park and a young lady very much fitting your description getting out of it.”

“Oh….”

He leant forward, looking at her in the eyes. “So what do you have to say other than ‘oh’, Alice?”

“I… I … Well, he must have been mistaken. I did go out for a drive, and I do remember waving to thank someone for letting me in when I was overtaking, just before I got back to the school gates, but I wouldn’t have made a rude gesture. Honestly, I wouldn’t.”

Green paused. “You went out for a drive?”

“Yes…. I felt like some fresh air. I didn’t go far.”

“So you weren’t listening this morning? Or did you have permission?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well if you had been listening, you would have heard me saying that no pupil was allowed off the school premises without written permission.”

Momentary panic. “I was listening. And I did hear. But. I mean. That was for the pupils as a whole. I didn’t think it covered me.”

“Why? Are you somehow above the law?”

This was awful. “No, sir. But, I guess, there’s all sorts of things I do as head girl that are different to everyone else.”

“Absolutely. And which of those are in direct contradiction of school rules, and which go flatly against an unequivocal policy I announced only a few hours before in assembly?”

She paused, and stared at the carpet. “None. Look, I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again. I promise. I guess I just didn’t think.”

“Well, I’m glad it won’t happen again. And thank you for the apology.” Green stood up, and walked to his desk, taking out his fountain pen and scribbling something on a piece of paper. He folded it, put it into an envelope and sealed it.

As Alice stood up, Green walked back over to her. “However, on this occasion, an apology is not enough. When I spoke in assembly this morning, I made it very clear that anyone who disobeyed me would be punished severely.” He handed her the envelope. “Please give this to Miss Carter on your way out, or leave it on her desk if she’s gone.” And he turned and walked away.

Alice was in a daze. She felt her bottom lip tremble, her cheeks flushing. This was unreal. “But sir. I mean, I’m the head girl. It was a mistake. I’ve apologised… Please.” She looked across at the headmaster, desperate, blinking back tears.

“I am not going to let a pupil – any pupil, even if she is the head girl – undermine me within a day of me making myself clear in assembly. You’d better look at the main noticeboard on Friday when we publish the Punishment List for the week. You can expect me to have taken the fact that you are head girl into full account when determining the punishment that I have chosen to award. Now leave.”

“Sir…” She looked at him again, but he had sat down at his desk and started to write. Shell-shocked, she turned away. The Friday notice went up every week listing the worst offenders – and their punishments: usually a weekend detention, but occasionally worse. The notice usually left three sections blank – expulsions, suspensions and… and corporal punishment.

“Punish severely”… Surely not…?

She was shaking as she went out of the door. The secretary had left, so Alice placed the envelope on her desk, desperate to open it and see what Green had written. But that would make it worse. Much worse. So she walked away, composing herself, out into the corridor, and fled as quickly as she could to her bedroom, where she lay on the bed and burst into tears.

Alice walked around the school as if in a daze for the next two days, terrified of her potential fate. Matt had been reassuring when he came and found her in her room on the Wednesday evening: Green would be fine about it. That the head knew she’d done a good job as head girl; that he was just trying to scare her. That he would realise that even by giving her a weekend detention, and publicising it on the school noticeboard, he’d be humiliating her enough.

And yet. And yet. She knew deep down that that was not the only option. That infrequent as the use of corporal punishment was on girls in the school – once every three, four years perhaps – Green had been very angry. And that even if he’d calmed down, he’d written that note for his secretary at the height of his anger. Alice tried to recall how much she’d seen Green write, trying to guess what he might have written, picturing the envelope that she’d placed on Miss Carter’s desk, the envelope in which her fate was sealed.

And what if it was worse still – if he expelled her? Suspended her, at this critical time before her A Level exams? All she’d worked for at school could be under threat, her promised place at Cambridge included. And her stepfather… no, Alice shuddered to think how he might re-act if she was sent home. She remembered that time aged 15, when he’d found a pack of cigarettes in her room; pictured him unbuckling his belt and sliding it out, bending it in two. And only her mother’s pleadings had saved her. Yet this time… no, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Matt was being great. Supportive. Kind. Protective. Yet at the end of the day, there wasn’t that much he could do to calm the butterflies in her tummy. Her mind wandered in lessons, drifting over so many regrets: why she hadn’t realised Green’s edict applied to her; why she had decided to go for that fateful drive. She thought about Matt – kind, sweet Matt, Matt about whom she cared so much and whom she’d miss so much when she went to University. If she ever got to University. Matt who wanted their relationship to be more than ‘just friends’, but from whom she’d stayed ever so slightly withdrawn, separate, as if scared to take that leap of faith and give in to her emotions.

And she thought about what might happen. How many times did she visualise walking up to that noticeboard on Friday afternoon, checking… yet all she could see in her mind’s eye was a blank sheet of paper pinned to the board.

She hardly slept at all. On Wednesday, she finally cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning. On Thursday, she tossed and turned for hours, nodding off in her chair at 3 am, History textbook in hand.

And then it was Friday… Punishment List day.

Friday, 3.32pm

She’d looked at the noticeboard several times, of course. The list was always displayed at some point in the afternoon, but the exact time varied from week to week. Alice first looked at 11am, then again after every lesson: trying to be discreet, hoping that noone would sense the cause of her curiosity, of her anxiety.

Double History after lunch was not the easiest of lessons through which to concentrate. The Napoleonic Wars somehow paled into insignificance compared to her own private torment. And as the lesson drew to a close, with it came the ever increasing realisation that the notice might be there at afternoon break.

Her hands were shaking as she picked up her textbook at the end of the class and made her way into the corridor. And then she noticed – Miss Carter climbing the stairs, up towards her office – away from the noticeboards. That could only mean…

Heart fluttering, she galloped downstairs, and spied a group of the younger pupils already standing by the board. As she came into sight, she sensed them stop, look up at her in excitement, then make way as she walked towards the Board to read of her fate:

HEADMASTER’S NOTICE RIDGEWOOD COLLEGE PUNISHMENT LIST WEEK ENDING FRIDAY, 8 MAY WEEKEND DETENTIONS P. Hyde (Form 3B) S. Jones (Form 4A) F. Owen (Form 3C) SUSPENSIONS None EXPULSIONS None CORPORAL PUNISHMENT A. Meadows (Upper 6 Arts) ALL PUPILS APPEARING ON THIS LIST SHOULD CONSULT THE ADJACENT NOTICE FOR FURTHER DETAILS P.Green Headmaster

She bit her lip, tears welling up, reading again. ‘A. Meadows (Upper 6 Arts)’. Alice Meadows. Her. She scanned the more detailed notice. This wasn’t happening to her, surely? She read on:

CORPORAL PUNISHMENT Pupils whose name appear on the list of those to receive Corporal Punishment should report to the School Library immediately following Sunday morning Chapel two days after the publication of the relevant Punishment List. They should wear their usual school uniform.

And then she heard their excited voices. “Is that you, Alice?” “Is there a mistake?” “What did you do?” “Alice is for the whack.” “Greenie’s going to cane the head girl.” “Bend over, Alice.” “Come and look everyone…”

She turned and fled, tears dripping down her face, the shame and humiliation too much to bear. She sensed others looking at her as she rushed through the school, wondering what was amiss – knowing that they too would soon learn of her fate. The girls’ washroom was just in front of her, and she hurried in, going into a cubicle and shutting the door. She sat down and buried her head in her hands, trying to prevent the sobs from being heard by her neighbours.

And then – and only then – did the shame and humiliation give way to a rising terror of what was really in store for her: of the fact that she was going to be caned. Caned. Thrashed. Flogged. Hurt. But as she started to panic, the bell went, summoning the students back to the final two lessons of the afternoon. She left the cubicle, went to the sink and washed her face in the cold water, trying to make herself look presentable.

“Be brave, Alice,” she repeated to herself, as she dried her face and walked into the corridor. Hearing, as soon as she did, the first of the cries that were to haunt her for the next few days: “There she is! What did you do, Alice? Why are you up for the stick? It’s going to hurt, you know.” She tried to block their jeers out, to stand tall, not to cry. “Be brave, Alice.” And she walked into the German classroom, past the staring eyes of her fellow sixth-formers, and sat at her desk as the teacher started the lesson.

Sunday morning, 11.05am

The past day and a half had been terrible. Any vain hope she might have had that her fellow pupils might not notice that she was to be punished, or might be in any way sympathetic, had vanished within the first moments in front of that hateful notice. And aside from Matt and a couple of other good friends, the laughter and teasing had left her bewildered, dismayed. And scared.

And now this. Sat in Chapel, in the prefects’ usual row – at the front of the choir stalls, where everyone could see them. And five hundred pairs of eyes, focused solely on her, watching, knowing all about her impending appointment with the headmaster – who was right now standing a matter of feet from her, reading the lesson. Hearing sniggers, as they realised his pointed choice of biblical text, any thought that Green might have forgiven her forgotten as soon as she heard the most oft-quoted line from the passage in question – “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

Matt had tried to reassure her, of course. Had sat up with her through much of the night, talking, trying (without much success) to persuade her to play cards with him, to keep her mind off things. But this morning… she’d just wanted to be on her own. To think. To shower. To put her uniform on, making sure it was carefully pressed, the school blazer on top of the knee-length blue dress that she was entitled, and supposed, to wear to denote her position as head girl. (Unlike the other girls, she noted, whose black dresses would allow them to blend into the crowd, even her uniform set her aside, made her visible). Her bare feet in the freshly-polished black sandals that the summer term required.

The service dragged on – but to Alice’s mind, that was a good thing – every hymn, every prayer a delay for what was to follow. But soon the chaplain and the headmaster were gathering up their books and processing out of the chapel to the sounds of the organ. As always, the pupils filed out from the back of the church first, leaving the prefects and choir until last. And then, head down, Alice left the building, through the crowds, through the taunts, and walked across the school grounds to the main building and up the stairs towards the Library.

She steadied herself, noticing her hands shaking as she brushed her dress, making sure she looked tidy. And then, heart fluttering, she knocked gently on the door.

‘Come in!”

She walked in, trying to appear confident, desperate not to give away her true feelings. The headmaster was seated across the room, behind the librarian’s desk, and she noted that the tables in front of it had been moved towards the side, out of the way. And on the desk… her eyes were drawn to the long, wooden stick with its curved handle, to which she was shortly to be so painfully introduced.

There was no chair in front of the desk, so she stood, nervously, her legs shaking.

“I’m not going to waste time lecturing you, Miss Meadows. We both know why you’re here. I am furious at your conduct. As you will have seen from the punishment list, I intend to administer corporal punishment to you, to teach you a lesson. Have you anything to say?”

She stumbled over the words, excuses pouring out; clichéd, like the pleas of any naughty girl in her position. “Sir, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t do it deliberately, honestly I didn’t.”

“Well, I am going to teach you to be a little more deliberate in your compliance with school rules, and I am certainly going to make you sorry. I want you to remove your knickers, place them in your blazer pocket, and then take off your blazer and fold it neatly on the table to your side.”

Take off her knickers? But…. surely not?

“Are you waiting for something?”

“No, sir.” Stunned, she reached under her dress, and felt for the elastic, pulling the white knickers down and stepping out of them. Fumbling, she stuffed them into her pocket and took off the jacket, laying it down as instructed. He was going to cane her on the bare!

Green opened a large, old, leather-bound book on the table, and took out his fountain pen. He turned to a fresh page, and started to write. “This book retains the details of many decades of pupils who have seriously transgressed, Miss Meadows, but as far as I am aware, none of whom have shared your esteemed position as a head prefect. So this is doubly disappointing for me.” He looked up at her, and then down at the leather tome.

“Now then. Name: Alice Meadows. Class: Upper 6 Arts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Date: 10 May. Offence: truancy and wilful disobedience. Implement: senior cane. Strokes: six.”

Alice gasped. Six! Green continued. “And for the further offence of rudeness to College guests – that’s your gesture to the gentleman you overtook – an additional two strokes. Making eight in all. Now I have very simple rules for this: you bend over and touch your toes. I cane you. You count the stroke and thank me, then stay in position for the next stroke. Anything different, and the stroke doesn’t count: I repeat it and add another one to the overall total as well. Understood?”

Dazed, she nodded.

“Good. Then bare your buttocks and assume the position.” Green stood, and picked up the rod.

This was too terrible. Surely he wouldn’t cane her on the bare? “What are you waiting for, girl?”

Scarcely able to comprehend what was happening, Alice lifted the back of her skirt and bent forwards, reaching down towards the ground. The headmaster walked behind her, cutting the stick through the air, and moved closer. She felt him tug at the dress, pulling it right up over her back, her buttocks bare, her backside (and she dreaded to think what else) completely exposed.

She flinched as he stepped to the side and measured the cold wooden stick across her. And then…. AND THEN! The swish as the cane cut through the air; the blow almost knocking her forwards. And then the pain. She gasped in shock. Oh the pain. Intense. Burning. A hundred times worse than anything she had expected. She took deep breaths, trying to control herself. And then she remembered: “One, sir, thank you, sir.”

He measured the rod out again, lower, pressing into her flesh, before flogging it against her just as hard as the first, the retort of wood against skin filling the air. “Owww… two sir, thank you, sir,” she yelped, staring down, focusing intently on the carpet, struggling to prevent herself from standing.

And then the third. Oh my goodness. If she’d never experienced pain like the first two lashes, then this took the girl to new levels of anguish, as the perfect blow striped her buttocks. She drew breath, composing herself, before counting the stroke. “Thank you… sir… three, sir.”

The fourth and fifth were just as hard, Alice clenching her fists after each stroke, gasping, trying so hard not to move. She was starting to blink back tears now. “Be brave, Alice,” she told herself. “Be brave.”

And then she felt the headmaster move slightly, lifting the cane higher, and as the sixth stroke landed there was nothing she could do. Alice leapt up, her hands instinctively reaching behind her. Green rapped her knuckles with the stick, annoyed. “Get over.”

“Y..y..yes, sir, sorry, sir. Six, sir. Thank you.”

“Not six, girl, it doesn’t count. Still five. And the total is up one to nine.” WHACK! Almost bowling her over with its force, and finally causing her tears to start to fall. “Six, sir, thank you sir,” she yelped, only just getting the words out before the seventh descended. CRACK! Low down, hard, stinging as it hit: unbearable. “S…s…seven thank you, sir. Thank you,” the words tumbled out.

Green stepped back. “And of course, that would be it for now if you’d not flinched, girl. But we still have two more to go.”

WHIP!

“Aaaaargh. Oh God, no, please, sir. I mean, eight sir, thank you.” Alice wriggled her legs, as if trying to shake the pain away, and then concentrated: the last stroke, and then it would all be over. Waiting… sensing Green watching her… lifting the rattan… and delivering the final blow with all of his strength. Yet she hung on, terrified lest she moved, unable to bear the thought of another two blows. And then she counted this final stroke: “Nine, sir, thank you, sir.”

Green was already walking back round the table, placing the rod down on the desk and sitting down. “Stand, girl.” She reached back and pushed her skirt down, standing up and letting it fall back to her knees, looking at the head through a mist of tears. Her hands strayed behind her, as if the burning pain could be rubbed away. The caning had been awful – far worse than she had imagined, but at least it was now over. All she wanted was to leave, to get back to her room, to be alone.

“That completes your caning for your truancy, disobedience and rudeness, Miss Meadows. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The headmaster continued. “Now then, young lady, place your hands by your side. I want to make one other matter very plain. You’re the head girl of this school, and as such I have the right to expect certain standards of behaviour from you. You have fallen far short of those. When I spoke to you on Wednesday, I told you that I would be taking your position into account when I decided what discipline to mete out to you, and I still intend to do that. So having completed your caning for the initial offences, I now intend to punish you for your betrayal of the trust I placed in you as head girl.”

“Sir…?” Surely not. Surely he couldn’t? This was too awful…

“I notice that you have on the head girl’s blue dress, Miss Meadows. In betraying my trust, you have to my mind forfeited your right to wear that garment, and so for the remainder of your punishment I would ask you to take it off.”

Dazed. “Sir?” Remainder of her punishment? Taking the dress off? But…

“Take the damn dress off, Miss Meadows, before you end up in even more trouble. And get rid of your shoes whilst you’re about it.”

Slowly, fingers trembling, she undid the zip, and took off the garment, letting it fall to the floor, bending double as she reached down to take off her sandals. She gathered them up, and took them to the table next to her blazer, before turning to face him again – one arm wrapping around herself to cover her bare breasts, the other hand reaching down to cover her lower modesty.

“No brassiere on today, Miss Meadows?” the headmaster asked.

She gave a muffled sob. “No, sir. I mean, I don’t always.” And why hadn’t she today, she thought, cursing herself. But never in the countless times she’d turned over the scene of what might happen in her mind these past few days had she imagined being made to strip.

“Well I shall avoid the temptation to check the rule book to see if it’s mandatory. Now stop this contortion act. Put your hands on your head if you can’t stand straight.”

Slowly, she uncovered herself, resting her right hand on top of her left, on top of her head, totally bare now to his gaze.

“Had you been an ordinary pupil, Miss Meadows, the caning I administered would have sufficed. On this occasion, I intend to repeat the punishment to illustrate my displeasure with you. You have enjoyed a range of privileges as head girl, and so it is only right that you should be treated more severely if you have misbehaved.”

He looked down at the punishment book, and picked up his pen. Alice watched him, dumbstruck. Green looked up. “I was quite forgetting myself, young lady. We need to finish the paperwork for your first caning before we can start this one. So, we have one remaining offence in there: ‘Flinching, senior cane, two additional strokes.’ Come here and sign to acknowledge receipt of your punishment.” He turned the volume around and handed her the pen, which she took, shaking like a leaf. She scribbled as close an approximation as she could to her signature, before stepping back, hands again on her head.

“Now. Let’s add this second punishment as a separate entry. Name, Alice Meadows. Class – Upper 6 Arts. Date: 10 May. Offence: Failing to meet behaviour standards expected of the head girl. Implement: senior cane. Same number of strokes as before – let me see now: six, seven-eight, nine… ten.”

Alice swayed on her feet. “Please, sir,” she pleaded. “You can’t. I’m really sorry.” Her worst nightmares weren’t just coming true – they had been left long behind, and she had no idea how she was going to get through the next few minutes.

“I can and I’m going to.” Green stood up, walked round the desk and pulled over a high-backed wooden chair from under one of the tables. “I will, however, be generous and let you get over this for your second thrashing. Otherwise exactly the same rules apply. So stand here, bend right over, and place your hands on the seat of the chair.”

Taking her hands off her head, Alice moved into position, her nudity now forgotten in the face of the further humiliation that was to be inflicted on her. She leant forward, her hips touching the top of the wooden back of the chair, and waited.

Again, the dreaded stick tapped her behind, as her tormentor took careful aim. CRACK! The blow landed, straight across the centre of her buttocks, re-igniting the early fires. She bit her lip: “One, sir, thank you, sir.”

He paused, waiting, as she stared ahead. A long pause – almost as if he was going to take his time, to enjoy her discomfort. And then he whipped her again. “Aah! No… Two, sir, thank you, sir.”

Again the pause. The rod lined up. Four gentle taps. And then back, and then down, and then the by-now-familiar anguish. Through clenched teeth: “Three, sir, thank you, sir.”

If anything, the next was the hardest stroke of any to date, and she cried aloud in agony, before subsiding into sobs. “Four, please, sir, no more, thank you, sir, please…”

WHACK! (Don’t flinch, don’t flinch, stay in position). “Oh God, oh no, please… six, sir thank you sir.”

“You miscounted, girl. You’re still on five.”

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean…. Owwwwwwwwwwww….” (Be brave, Alice, be brave). “That’s six now sir, thank you sir, please sir….”

And then a low one. Hard. Loud. Agonising. (Stay down, don’t move, don’t let him beat you.) S…sss…ss… seven, sir, thank you, sir.” She glanced backwards, with horror, as the headmaster walked several paces back, swishing the cane through the air, then raised it high and started to canter forward. (Be brave, stay still, don’t flinch). “Aaaaaaaarrrgh. No, please, no more, sir, sorry, thank you, sir, eight sir, oh no…..”

Green stood behind her, watching, as if weighing up his options. “Two to go, girl.” And then he delivered the blow that she couldn’t take, couldn’t bear, that brought her howling to her feet, hands clenching her buttocks, sobbing openly and loudly.

He spoke clearly: “But that one doesn’t count, and you now have an extra stroke too, young lady. Three to go.” And as she took her position again, he delivered another almighty CRACK!

And again she rose to her feet, shoulders heaving with sobs: “Please, sir, I’ve had enough. No more. Please.”

“Well with the extra stroke again, I think we have four more to go, actually.” She listened in horror, knowing that not only had she received her second ten blows, but that the agony was to continue.

Green moved round her, and pulled away the chair, gesturing to the large, oak desk. “So we’re not here all day, can I suggest that you bend over that and clutch the far side – and don’t let go?” Alice moved forward, leaning over, rising onto tiptoes and reaching forward at full stretch.

“I shall make these quick. No counting. No flinching. Understood?”

“Sir, yes, I do. Understand. Yes, sir.”

WHACK! High up, right on one of the most painful of the earlier bruises. TWHACK! (Oh goodness, please, no, stay down, be brave, Alice, be…) CRACK! (…brave, oh no, please, that was as bad as any of them, don’t flinch, whatever you do don’t flinch, Alice, be brave) and…

So hard….burning… “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.” (deep breath, sob, deep breath) “Thank you, sir, sorry, sir. Thank you.”

“Stand up! Hands on your head again.” The headmaster walked round the table as she tried to compose herself, to stop crying, to pull herself together. He drew the leather punishment book towards him, and added in another line: “Flinching. Four additional strokes” before handing her the pen to sign. Shakily, unsteadily, she wrote her name. Wiping the tears away. Realising that for ever more, people would see the details of her ordeal in black and white. The first ten. Then the second, awful caning – fourteen, it must have been. Twenty-four in all. And she’d worried about six.

He was addressing her again. “I hardly need to say that this is not a meeting that I would care to have to repeat, young lady.”

He leant forward. “I also have to say that I am very disappointed in you for not taking your punishment more bravely – flinching so many times really is very poor. I’d have thought you’d have more control, more self-esteem.”

She sobbed again, his words biting just as much as the cane. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant to be brave.”

“Mmmm. Well, even in the way you took your caning, Miss Meadows, you have let yourself down. But as you have taken your punishment, I am going to allow you to continue as head girl – so you’d better get dressed and go.”

“Yes, sir, thank you sir.” She stepped to the table, pulling on her dress first, shoes next, then her blazer. She wiped her eyes with her arm, trying in vain to make herself look presentable. And then she turned to face the headmaster: “Thank you, sir. Thank you for caning me. And I’m sorry I was bad.”

He pointed to the door. “Leave. Now. And don’t ever let me see you in here again in these circumstances.”

She walked out of the door, into the empty corridor, hands reaching behind her. But no, she thought, I can’t stop and cry here.

She walked quickly away, taking the back stairs, hoping not to be seen by anyone. But as she climbed the stairs at the other end, up towards her room, two of the fifth-form boys blocked her way: “Oh look, it’s little Miss Cane. How was it for you, darling?” they mocked, as she pushed past them, onwards, up to her floor of the building, and along the corridor to her room.

And then she threw herself onto her bed, and gave in to deep sobs, her hands gingerly reaching down to her hot, swollen buttocks, whilst her mind raced. Humiliated. All pride vanished. And a school full of pupils, who knew exactly what had been done to her behind that closed library door, to face when she could pluck up the courage.

Be brave, Alice. Be brave…