I attended an all-boys grammar school in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Most teachers used corporal punishment to some degree, mainly the slipper, which was a thin rubber soled gym shoe. Some just used the palm of their hand to impart whacks, as we called them. This would usually be to the seat of a boy’s trousers while he bent over in an attempt to touch his toes. Sometimes a boy would bend over a desk, and small boys might be taken over the teacher’s lap. For more serious offences, a boy might have to report to a teacher

I was 8 or 9 years old, and our class in a mixed junior school was evenly split 12boys/12 girls. Handy for things like dancing lessons which we had to do, unless someone was absent, of course. Our teacher, Miss A, was a pretty, probably early 30s lady, blond hair, slim with a kind smile. She could, however, be a strict teacher when her mind was set. In the summer term, we had a student teacher, Miss P, a tall, slightly chubby lady, if I remember correctly, but she was very good at games and also read stories wonderfully at the end of the day.

I’m in the tenth grade at high school in the state of Georgia. It has always had the paddle available as a punishment, although its use had been dying out until a couple of years ago. Then it started to be used more frequently, mainly for boys, but we girls also found we were not exempt. I had never been paddled. I was sent to see the principal, Mr J, about 6 months ago when my work started to deteriorate and I was getting to classes either just in time or a few seconds late. I guess my teachers kind

Slippered by matron on the first night at prep school I was sent to prep school in York in 1966 at the age of 8 years old. My mother was very ill, so never saw me at prep school, but a picture was taken of me in my new herringbone suit with short trousers and school cap. That was the nearest she was to see me in my prep school uniform. My father, who was an old-fashioned military man, took me on my first day and, as soon as we arrived, he was taken into have tea with my new

It was the last day of the reign of Miss Brown as headmistress of my all-girls school. She was retiring, to be replaced by Mrs Fothergill in the new school year. The day was hot and sticky, and we were getting restless for the end of school, which traditionally was at lunchtime on the final day. Miss Brown was being thrown a party by the governors and staff, and she was to be presented with a beautiful grandfather clock which we had been invited to contribute towards. Finally, I had had enough and sneaked out of class. I had a glass

My most embarrassing memory of high school was two years ago when I was fourteen and I had been in a fight with another girl in the hall between lessons. It was a silly argument really, about some boy we both liked the look of. He was at least two years older than us, though, so it wasn’t like he was boyfriend material or anything. Of course, we were soon separated by some older students and a couple of teachers, and then we both got sent to Mr B’s office, our school principal. Fighting was always a big no-no, so

I was in the 3rd year at an all-girls school. Being a private school, the discipline regime was strict to encourage the girls to behave and perform to their best. I had suffered a run of sanctions for missing the handing-in of homework. I had actually done the work; I was just forgetful at having it with me at the appropriate time. A couple of tellings-off were followed by a trip over Mrs J’s knee, which was my first school spanking. This was a wake-up call supposedly, but in all honesty having my bottom spanked really didn’t change a great deal. So much so,

I attended a grammar school in Wales in the 1960s. I had no direct experience of formal corporal punishment before that. My parents didn’t believe in spanking, and while the cane was used at my primary school, the headmaster would only use it on very rare occasions, and always in private. The only times I saw a teacher hit a pupil would be a ‘clip round the ear’ type, meant to show disapproval rather than to cause real pain. In my first year in the grammar school, I was at my desk during break. As several previous occupiers of the

My mate Charlie and I were camping during spring half term week on a campsite we had been to before in the general South Downs area. We were at the far end of the site and, over the fence behind, was an outdoors pursuits business where small huts were used for accommodation. They had a group of girls, looked to be about 15 or 16 years old, judging by their build. They were clearly from a very posh school, at least compared to us. We didn’t have anything to do with them as there was a wooden fence between the sites. We fished and

It was the Monday afternoon of the last week before Christmas break in the late 1970s.  By tradition, although not formally linked to any church, we had an annual advent service at the local Catholic Church, St Mary’s, which was only a stone’s throw from the school gates. The whole school would attend, the first years at the front and sixth formers at the back. Some of the singing was OK, but most of us still found it a chore as it was the same each year. Three of us were together in row; Mary and Trish, like me, would