Saturday 6th February

It was endemic; casual violence in the classroom.  At Junior school, Mrs. Drinkwater would wield her ruler and whack your fingers, hopefully not edge on, at the least provocation, but it was at Secondary School that we learnt what teacher’s were really capable of.  If you were lucky it was a piece of chalk thrown at you, if not it was the blackboard rubber, or a piece of wood or a metal rod in the handicraft room.  And we must not forget the occasional clip round the ears in passing.  “What’s that for, Sir?” and the reply would come “For next time, Cattermole – I’ve got my eye on you.”  And that wasn’t all, his hands weren’t far behind.

There was also the cane, administered only by the Headmaster (well, some pleasures must be reserved for those in charge, after all).  The first time I had the cane it hurt like hell, and I would look in the bathroom mirror for days to see if the welts had disappeared, but after a while even this ultimate punishment meant little; it was actually easier to take a beating than to have detention.  And all of this casual violence, metered out either in temper or sadistically, did little to control our behaviour; we were at school to have fun, to muck about, to poke fun at the teachers when their backs were turned and the occasional ruler across the knuckles or slap on the back of the legs were incidental nuisances – best avoided but endured if not.  Of course, casual violence was endemic anyway – the younger forms were bullied physically by the third and fourth year boys; crucified on the pegs and your stomach pummelled or your head shoved down the toilet and the chain pulled were fairly rare but I suffered both, but thumps in passing and slapped faces were de rigeur; fights in the playground were common occurrences.  And this was the Grammar School, not the Secondary Modern down the road where the rough kids went to.

And to those who say, “It did me no harm” I would reply that it did you no good either, except in my case a resolution never bully those younger and smaller than me, to run away rather than retaliate, to be cheeky, to use words rather than my fists.  I did on a very few occasions slap my own son, and each time I realized that it was this institutionalized casual violence both at home and school that was coming out in a much diluted form in me.  So, the good old days weren’t all good at all, and thankfully the amount of casual violence in schools had almost been eradicated now.