The local school was quite a long walk. At first my mother took me to and from school, but after a while I managed the just over a mile walk on my own. I shortened the distance a little by going along a muddy footpath that ran across a field. This was a route my mother would only take if it was very dry.

There was little traffic on the road that was next to the house. Local traffic knew to avoid this road at the time I went off to school, as a farmer would take his cows quite a way down the lane. Not having had much contact with animals, I found nothing really to be afraid of when I met them during my journey to school. If I did not make a fuss, they calmly walked past me. I found it easier to stand in the middle of the lane and let them pass me on both sides rather than be forced into the hedge.

My new school was similar to my previous schools. The English lessons were like my first school as the alphabet was back to twenty-six letters. Although it was not really a telling off by the teacher, it was an error on my part to use some of the extra letters I had learnt at my last school in the written work I produced.

 For most of the time, I was quite happy at school. There was only one point when I had a few problems. The school was divided into three classes, one for infants and two for the juniors. This covered all the ages between five and eleven. Having just turned seven, I was still in the lower class of infants and looking forward to when I would move up into the middle class of juniors in a few months time. The older children had told me even more interesting lessons went on once you were in the middle class.

At the end of break, I had been chosen to take the hand bell back to the top class. The headmistress took that class, and would decide when the breaks would start. It was the first time I had entered her classroom. The instruction I had been given was that I was to put the bell on her desk.

Three of the boys from that class were already in the room; my attempt of trying to get the bell to her desk was thwarted when they blocked my passage for fun. In an effort to reach her desk, I made my way by walking between several desks. I nearly managed to get to her desk, but they pushed a couple of desks along the floor cutting off my route. I tried a second route around some desks, but again my path was blocked for fun.

I was on the opposite side of the room when the headmistress walked in. As she had entered, the other boys were still pushing the desks around the room and although I was not actually climbing over any chairs or desks, the angle that the desks were in made it look as if I was also pushing the desks around.

The four of us were brought to the front of the class. As the rest of her class filed in, we were led out to her office. There was a telling off; it appeared that we should know how to act indoors. It was easy to see we were all in the wrong, and needing to get back to her class, our punishment was over in seconds.

My friends had told me that the cane was given to any boy who badly misbehaved; I had imagined that you had to do something very naughty to be given it. All four of us were now given a stroke on one of our hands. I was too stunned with the suddenness of the punishment to think about crying. As soon as the cane had been given, we were sent back our rooms. I rejoined my class.

Our teacher did not notice that I was a few minutes late as she was busy dealing with some others in our room. I sat at my table and looked at my hand; there was a red mark forming across my palm. As it now stung, I started to cry. In time, our teacher came over to see what the matter was. I was not crying loudly or making a real fuss. If I had just received a little sympathy and told to be better behaved in future, things would have been fine. At first, my teacher thought my tears were due to one of our class hitting me.

As soon as I mentioned that the headmistress had hit me with the cane on my hand, matters worsened. I was now told to come with her and we went to the upper class. I was left to wait outside for a few moments whilst my teacher went to get the headmistress.

They were soon outside and discussing what I had done wrong to be given the cane. My teacher thought I was too young to be given such a punishment. All that the headmistress was saying was that she thought I had already moved up to the middle class and was no longer in the lower class. The matter was left like that; I was led back to my own class. Before we went in, I was taken into the girls’ lavatory and made to wash away my tears. I was now told that when my mother came to collect me, she would explain why I had been punished. Once back in the classroom life returned to normal. I had almost forgotten the event by the time it came to going home time; the pain had really finished whilst I was being taken to see the headmistress.

It was only at the point we were all leaving the school, that my teacher asked if I would bring my mummy to see her. Most parents were waiting outside the school gates when we finished school. A few times a week, my mother did come to collect me; this was only when she had some time off work. On all the other afternoons I walked home on my own. I told my teacher that I was walking home on my own today. Now I was told to tell my mother about today and next time my mother came, she would have a word with her about my punishment.

The journey home was no fun, I was dreading telling my mother about what had happened today. On earlier occasions I had seen boys of my age receive a slap on the legs if they were naughty and a couple of older boys hit with a plimsoll, but until now I had never seen anyone caned. I knew my mother would think I had been very bad to be given the cane, even if I tried to tell her that I hadn’t. If I then told her that my teacher wanted to talk to her about the matter, she would think I was still in trouble.

 On arriving back at home, my mother was still in the main part of the house working, so I had even more time to think about what I was going to say. Eventually my mother returned; with the need to get me changed out of my school clothes and get my tea ready, I found I just could not tell her. By the time I went to bed I had really put the matter out of my mind. There was no pain and the red mark on my hand had long ago vanished.

School the following morning had returned to normal. It might be best to keep out of the older boys’ way, as they would think I was to blame for their being punished. Almost as soon as my teacher saw me, I was taken to one side and asked if my mother coming to see her at the end of the school day. All I could do was tell her that I might be collected today. I was left to get on with my lessons. I knew this afternoon was one of the times I would be met at the gates.

When school finished I rushed out and managed to get my mother to walk away from the school as soon as possible. Often on the days I was collected, my mother would take me across the playground and out of the other gates that went in the direction of the shops. I was not looking forward to school tomorrow; my teacher might have even seen my mother waiting for me; I was going to be in trouble.

On going to bed, I was still worrying about school the following day. It was quite early the following morning when I woke up. If last night I had worried about what my teacher was going to say, I now had something else to worry about: my bed was soaked. I simply waited for my mother to come and get me up; I thought that my punishment would be the plimsoll. This was the first time I had wet the bed since we arrived here. Now I was seven I didn’t think it would happen. There was a telling off from my mother about not getting out of bed in time, but I did not receive a smack.

The worst part was the bath I had to take. The hot water for the bath came from an electric cylinder. In the morning the water was always cold. To save money my mother tended to turn it on only for a short time in the late afternoons ready for baths at night. No time was spent to see if there was even the slightest amount of warm water; my bath was filled very quickly from the cold tap and soon over. With my mother having work to do in the main part of the house first thing in the morning, that I had now caused a delay by having a bath meant I was not in her good books.

The events of the morning were forgotten by the time I arrived at school. Again, my teacher asked if my mother would be coming to see her today. As it was a day I knew my mother would not be coming, I announced that I would be making my own way home. My teacher now told me that she would write a letter to my mother about the matter. I was dreading having to take her letter home, but nothing was given to me. On the way home I thought that my teacher might be sending it by post, so I was not looking forward to the next morning when the post would arrive. By the time I went to bed, I was worried about what my teacher was going to say about my punishment. Life was not going well; again I woke up to a soaked bed.

My mother thought I might not be very well; her answer was that it might be best if I did not go to school today. After a cold bath and clean sheets I went back to bed for the rest of the day. I knew I was not ill, but if it meant not having to see my teacher, things were better. There had been no post today, so everything went fine, if rather boring with the entire day in bed. My mother decided that I appeared to be well enough to go to school the following day.

Friday could have turned out better had I not wet the bed again. My mother had decided that there was nothing wrong with me; I must be wetting the bed on purpose. So there was a sterner telling off, and the time spent sitting alone in a cold bath was longer as a punishment. I was asked if everything was all right at school, and was it so that I did not have to go to school?  I never had the courage to say anything about my teacher wanting to see her; all I said was everything was fine.

Once I had been given breakfast, I was given the benefit of the doubt and again let off school. Staying in bed for a second day was no fun. I was restless and bored. By the evening, I was wide-awake. My mother checked me all over; I did not appear to be coming down with anything. My night problems were put down to either laziness or not wanting to go to school. I was now warned that the next time I wet the bed I would be given the plimsoll.

The problems continued over the weekend. On Saturday as I did not have to go off to school, I should not have been afraid, but my bed was wet again. The time I spent sitting in a bath of cold water was much longer. Once dressed I was given the plimsoll; the scolding I received lasted the entire day as there was nothing wrong with me and as it was not a school day, I must be lazy at not getting out of bed. Sunday was a repeat of the day before. I was actually looking forward to returning to school and a reprimand from my teacher for not bringing my mother to see her.

On Monday morning after another wet bed, my mother decided to come to school in the afternoon and have a word with my teacher about me, and to see if there were any problems at school. With the need to get me off to school, there was no time for any punishment.

The afternoon came around and my mother was there. I waited outside the classroom whilst she went in and had a talk with my teacher. I could guess that my mother would now start to stop my sweets and going outside to play as a punishment for receiving the cane at school. Finally, my mother came out. It appeared everything was now sorted out, but I was a naughty boy for not telling her about my teacher wanting to see her.

As we left the school, my mother explained that now she had found the cause of my bedwetting, she did not expect my bed to be wet after this. My mother could be firm; my plimsoll would be used for all future wet beds, even if it were a school day and there was not time to punish me in the morning, I would receive it when I returned from school. This final telling off seemed to be the end of the matter. I was happy that everything was now sorted out.

On the way home, I was questioned a little more about the cane; I was now asked if it hurt. All I could say was that it hurt and I did cry but I told my mother that it did not hurt as much as when grandmother had given me the cane. That I had been caned earlier was now news to my mother. I was asked to tell her where my grandmother got the cane. When I explained it was the one used to close the kitchen window, it was known that I was not making such things up

It was now decided that as I was seven and the school could use the cane on me, this might be a further deterrent if I was very naughty. I could decide to either stay indoors or have the cane; my mother thought that the gardener at the house could soon find her one if it was needed. My only thought was that there might be a way of avoiding spending a day in my room.

Continued

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