Corporal Punishment in Schools 1970 style

When, on the few occasions I attended school I was often on the end of some of the sadistic bastards that "taught" at Ribbleton Hall Comprehensive.
The was T Square Ted who used to tw*t you with a T-square in Tech Drawing if you smudged your paper- being fcuking left handed meant that it was nearly every lesson for me.
There was Springy Joe in metalwork who used to rattle your arse with one of the long spring things that they used in chairs and sofas.
The raving PT instructor used to take tremendous pleasure in thwacking our bare arses with the sole of a size 11 gymshoe.
And the piece de restance wa the headmaster who gave me and a couple of mates 6 of the very best at assembly after we had accidentally burnt the school goat to death while it was tethered in the field.
Fcuking character building or what just like Tomkinsons school days in Monty Python.

Ganges was a breeze
How things have changed!

Its the opposite now, teachers don't turn in, when they do they get given the physical punishment from the kids and a day of misery, that's why there is so many shit heads like i was in school...And why the country is turning into a jungle...

But i ask the question for you older gentleman who where educated in the above ways...Did it teach you lessons on respect, and did it make you behave?
My parents smacked me silly when I was a kid. Youth has become a byword for crime, antisocial behaviour and everything that is going wrong with the country. Fifty years from now the gap between the educated and the unwashed will be so great it will resemble a George Orwell novel. Can't wait personally, I know which group I'll be in.
Did it bollocks.

Taught us the difference between 'were' and 'where' though.

Maybe i would too if i had of listened in Ingerlish.
Obviously better standard of teaching them days then, i fully agree with that, most of us that have left school in the past ten years cannot write properly.

My parents smacked me silly when I was a kid. Youth has become a byword for crime, antisocial behaviour and everything that is going wrong with the country. Fifty years from now the gap between the educated and the unwashed will be so great it will resemble a George Orwell novel. Can't wait personally, I know which group I'll be in.
That was the difference for me, i knew i could say and do whatever i wanted between the hours of 9 and 3 on a school day, when it was home time, well i wouldn't dare even look at my dad, never mind answer him back.
I was frequently caned by the RE teacher due to my terrible handwriting. Did it do any good? Not at all, my handwriting is still terrible, so bad that when I worked for BAe they issued me with a laptop (expensive in late 80s early 90s) so that they could read my reports.
might have done some good for the RE teacher though sadistic bastard


Lantern Swinger
Having a Polish Ex Sargent Major Armour Corp for a father who would flog; yes flog me. Many is the time I would be getting changed for PE when the other lads would comment about the wealds on my back. So as Stan said, Ganges was a piece of pish.

At the "skool" that I attended the boys would be caned in front of all the other boys and male teachers. The girls would receive the plimsole from the deputy head mistress, in private.

My father is still alive and ressonable well at 93.
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Harry "Bummer" Cr*****y, what is it with Tech Drawing teachers, used to thrash someone every lesson without fail.

Tee squares, slippers, had a cupboard fill of stuff he used, once used a hockey stick on me, bastard.

He and the Headmaster suddenly wernt there one day, and no one would say why, but that was the term after I left.
Was educated by Christian Brothers at school 1955-61: mostly Irish and all armed with a leather strap (known as a tawse north of the Border) and they weren't afraid to use it either. Most of the Lay teachers would give you a clip around the ear or detention, but the Brothers gave the strap on the slightest excuse, whether you were late handing in your homework. or shouting "FTP" in the middle of a lesson. They were the cause and reason for my total emnity towards the Catholic Church and all it stood for from those days to this. Despite this, left school with a shed load of GCEs. Whether this was down to them or being naturally clever, I hesitate to give an opinion.


My Housemaster Adhered ridgidly to the 'no beating' rule. Instead, all misdemeanors were passed to our house prefect, whereupon we were beaten with hockey sticks and thrown down stairs. My mate broke a kid's arm with a Cricket bat for talking during prep. He was advised to 'tone it down a little'.
In first year at grammar school, while in PE, I was sent for by the headmaster, a bachelor Baptist lay preacher, to account for my crime of "stealing by finding" an almost empty Bic ballpen that had been discarded by its owner. My account of the incident cut no ice and I got a very enthusiastically delivered six of the best across my arse. Afterwards, back in the gym, Tarzan, our PE teacher called me to one side and pointed out that my arse was bleeding and sent me home.
My old man was a faceworker at the local pit working nights and was in bed asleep but the old girl went ballistic and woke him up. The old man went ballistic, too and loaded me and my bleeding arse into the car and took me to school.
We went to the third year class of which the owner of said pen was a member and in spite of the form master's objections insisted the lad accompanied us to the headmaster's study.
Imagine the surprise on the head's face when the old man burst into his study with me and the third year in tow. After that third year had confirmed he had discarded the Bic my old man asked the head why he had assaulted me. The headmaster tried to intimidate the old man...big, big mistake because he grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall and threatened to beat ten colours of crap out of him if he didn't stop talking down to him and if he ever mistreated me in such a way ever again. When the head threatened to call the police, the old man sat down on the head's desk and said, "Go ahead and let's see how you explain away the grievous bodily harm you've inflicted on my boy." Needless to say the police weren't called.
Afterwards the old man turned to me and called me a prick for picking up the biro and told me not to expect him to intervene in future if I misbehaved and got reasonably punished.
As for the head, he had occasion to cane me in the future but he never drew blood again. It must really have disappointed the sadistic old bastard not to do so.
It was always the cane at my school's. Got the cane in primary and didn't dare tell my parents. My Mum had to go to the school on an unrelated matter but the head master thought she'd come to complain so apologised for caning me. She just said if he deserves it, crack on and then came home and gave me a wallop for getting caned in the first place.

In secondary school I was called to the Deputy Heads office for my usual caning on the morning we had a written test. The rule was you got 2 on your writing hand and 4 on the other. So I wouldn't be able to do the test I said I was left handed so got the 4 on my writing hand and therefore couldn't hold a pen properly for a while and got out of the test. The teacher white ratted on me and I got another 6 for telling porkies.

As Stan said, Ganges was a piece of piss after school.
:evil3: Ross on Wye Secondary Modern 1954 . We had a woodwork master a Mr Price a ginger Welsh cnut who was a complete psychopath who today would be doing time for G.B.H. Not the odd clip round the ear or thrown piece of chalk;- but full on physical assaults including ripping pupils clothing and throwing tools to hit. Even back then when parents like mine backed caning ; There was a stream of parents making complaints and threatening legal action. I've often wondered what became of the stupid twat and what his problem was?:censored:
It's quite possible that his main problem now is being dead.

Edit: Though philosophically speaking it would be hard to argue that being dead was a problem.
I hope that the cause of his demise was serious, slow causing extreme agony.I don't go fcuk all on this forgiving and forgetting bull shit.
Once got a sound thrashing for lobbing bricks into the Junior School pond,
which was right outside the Headmasters office window. As he zoomed
outside to ask "Was that YOU boy I just observed throwing large objects
into yonder pond then?"
"No was not me. A big boy did it and ran away"
The many dead and rapidly expiring fish littering the ground around the
pond bore silent witness to my act of wanton mindless violence so I
guess a sore arse was just rewards.

Having admitted that - I can honestly say that I had many a wet dream
about my Religious Education teacher (R.E.). She was a bit of a hottie.

Any other adolescent spotty faced fantasies you care to admit to then?

I'm not the only one.
1980s. I got belted 3 times at school, twice in school itself and once at the hostel.

Because we lived on an island with only one secondary school, the children from the south of the island and some from the more northerly parts were accommodated during the week in a hostel on school grounds, arriving on the Monday morning and leaving the Friday afternoon.

Having already been CB’d for some earlier indiscretion that I cannot even remember what for, myself and a mukka decided we would climb out of a ground floor window for a wander around town. Of course, by the time we got back and tried to sneak in, the duty staff was waiting for us and felt our collar as soon as we got back through the window (who would have thought he would have done rounds?). This chap was five foot feck all in his stockinged feet but as a PE teacher and a Mountain Rescue volunteer to boot he was fit as a butchers dog. Having broken quarantine there was only one punishment – 3 of the tawse (belt).
Adopt the position – writing hand out, supported by the other one underneath and the tawse laid on the palm for the up-and-down. My oppo was first – 3 whacks and the tears were flowing. Thing was, ‘cos the chap was so short he actually jumped in the air so he had a higher stroke coming down!

So numbnut here thinks to himself “If I pull my hand back he will only get my fingers and it won’t be so bad” and so I waited until the first one went up and, as the stroke came down, PUSHED my hand forward instead of pulling it back. Result? One fecking throbbing hand and a nick taken out of my wrist where the edge of the tawse hit soft flesh. Didn’t cry throughout (fecking wanted to though).

Still got the scar today!
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