.....

At the classroom at the other side of the corridor a man called Mr Paton had
taught us. A rather undiscerning one-dimensional dullard of a fellow. Tallish, slim
and aquiline featured. I was inclined to see him as intelligent, at least initially, but he
was as quick to jump on the bandwagon of giving me the strap as Mrs MacDonald
tended to be; she who had tossed my coveted POW! comic into the bin. She would
give me 'the belt,' almost every day. It was obvious to her it gave me no lasting
discomfort and better still, I accepted it without a qualm. It might have been a
different story with some of the others, namely the girls, if they were less conditioned
to accept such treatment, not being from a “broken home” as they say, and where
neither of their parents could be described as out of control. It was a bit off that I just
so happened to be the centre of attention with these people all too often, which
coincided with my being an easier target as I had arguably less comeback. Though it
was only the same one or two who would send me to Paton’s when I had fallen down
somewhere in their estimation.
That he could punish me when I had done nothing to him if at all seemed
peculiarly arbitrary to me, as he was only another teacher, whereas to be sent to the
headmaster made more sense. It was probably sometime after the new headmaster
Young appeared on the scene that it stopped. I could be wrong, but that’s how I recall
it. And Paton’s belt was hard. Or rather, being a man, he put more muscle into it. It
seemed that my slim but strong physique and acceptance of pain was making things
worse for me, if anythng. That if they got little reaction they put more effort into it.
His buffoonery was confirmed for me one day when he confronted the whole
class for some infraction or other, which he ended by suggesting the culprits own up
to it. Here’s the thing. It may for all I know have been the pissing in the close
episode and I’ve got my previous facts mixed up, and it was later and for something
else entirely we had to see the headmaster, Young. Or, it could have been something
else in Paton’s class. Whatever it was, it wasn’t serious, as no one had to administer
justice as they saw it except him on his own discretion. When asked to own up, Colin
Heron walked straight out. Paton, predictably, took this as exemplary behaviour, and
he immediately dismissed him for being prompt. I felt instinctively if obscurely that
this was bullshit. I knew Colin Heron a tad better than he did having been in the
same class since I’d been at that school. It was a small school as I say, and each class
was permanent through the years. Standard practice, in those days at any rate. I also
couldn’t see why Colin’s quick response should negate anyone else walking out.
Were we now all automatically guilty because it had been decided almost arbitrarily
that he wasn’t, just because he knew how to flatter the self-inflated petty
authoritarians? That behaviour was more important than the reality of the situation as
I intuitively grasped it to be?
This was the case, as I found out as soon as I did walk out. And why the former
fell into place. Paton immediately pointed out I had only owned up to my guilt
because I had just seen 'the other boy', to all intents and purposes, get off scott free.
Naturally I was mistakenly assuming the same. A clear insult to his and everyone
else’s intelligence. Who was I trying to kid, kid? I knew that somewhere along the
line I had been hoodwinked, but not in the way he seemed to be assuming I was. If I
had done nothing it would have been no better for me, for all I knew. And who was
he to assume I would let myself slink into the background to let others take any rap
for it anyway? And who was I to watch the sneaky little shit Heron march up without
a qualm like some local hero? (“Sir I cannot tell a lie for it was I…”) I knew what
my motivations were, and that was good enough for me, even if I couldn’t quite
fathom his, because clearly it wasn’t good enough for him. Quite the opposite in fact.

But what was obvious to me was that Heron was an actor. What I didn’t grasp
was that he shared the same mind-set in unspoken collusion. As soon as he walked
out, the formerly “guilty” blended into the foreground and morphed into the
“innocent” party, at the expense of the guilt of the rest of us. As far as we were
concerned the die had been cast and we were damned if we did or didn’t – own up.
Not that there was anyone around to inform me of this, or any of us. They didn’t
really need to. I had already grasped the essence of it. That Patton, under the pretext
of accusing me of trying to con him had conned me. I felt it wasn’t right, in a
disturbingly significant way. That if it wasn’t right for me, for any of us, then that
included Colin. It also included himself for that reason. In some profound way he
was failing all of us. Through some socially acceptable pretext, hiding behind the
rules and regulations and justified retaliation and punishment, he was radically
missing the point. All was not right in his class and his world I felt, now mine. And
as there was nothing I could do about it, even if I was capable of rationally and
coherently explaining it to anyone if I had the chance, which was very unlikely, I
knew this would niggle me for the rest of my days until I truly fathomed it.
I wouldn’t have verbalised it that way as such, but intuitively knew this to be
true because of the level, the intensity of anger and outrage I felt. I wanted to tell him
this was garbage, that I wasn’t having it. But at the age of ten or eleven I didn’t have
the selfconfidence, the conviction. And there was also the lingering doubt that I might
be somehow getting the wrong end of the stick; that as it is subtle, then that’s more
likely to be the case. On some level I knew he knew this. That he was the adult and
even if I had the gall to stand my ground, I would only make it worse for myself. It
was a telling experience in the light of later experiences, come a year or two later in
Secondary school.
Since then, corporal punishment has long been outlawed. And the teaching
community has been up in arms about the behaviour of pupils over the years. There
have been numerous calls to bring back the strap as they like to call it, and some kids
are virtually psychopathic. But it’s equally obvious to me the threat of the infliction
of pain was also used as a gag. To stifle further 'dissent.' You knew full well that if
they disapproved, it was punish now and investigate later. Usually. But no questions
were asked because many of them were in agreement and collusion that the infliction
of pain was the quick fix as well as being personally satisfying. Punishment of the
miscreant, the individual, of the body had always been the way to go. History bore it
out and who were they to question tradition and long tried and tested means? And if
you were unlucky or foolish enough to find yourself locked up in the sixties the same
tradition was carried on, only more assiduously, and even ingeniously, where the
vindictive, vicious aspects were there only for warden and reprobate to see, as it
would take place in private; punishment was brought indoors and away from the eyes
of the public.
If it had been the policy in the sixties (and seventies) that another adult had to be
there when punishment was administered, or better still, a parent, less of these
situations would have come about. Not having any of these policies in place was so
they did happen. Everybody needs someone else to blame. Neither do I believe it
was warranted in my own case as often as they assumed. Or to put it another way, I
don’t agree with the idea there was some dark force or aggression that they picked up
on whether subconsciously or more overtly, in me. A view I read expounded recently
in self-styled spiritual teacher Elkhart Tolle’s A New Earth. One could as easily say it
was the light or sanity they saw in me that they resented.
But it does seem obvious that as we used to relish watching individuals being
garrotted and disembowelled in public and are now at the stage where hands on
punishment of children is seen as a physical assault and rightly so (All those mums
and dads who would never dream of hitting their kids only to have some dull, self-
inflated mediocrity assume they can get laid into them under the pretext of a local
authority), it only stands to reason that the complete dissolution of physical
punishment for its own sake is the way to go and the mark of a truly civilised society
or at least a right step on the way to getting there. It was obvious to me or became so,
that there were so many personal factors and distortions in these people’s
interpretations of situations, and of me that, as often as not, it amounted to little more
than personal bias. There were no checks that I could see and the same carried on in
Secondary school. When I was in primary two, our teacher, a Mrs Scott once woke
me up by hitting me over the head with a big fat book. She was younger than the rest
and clearly immature.
One lunchtime I saw her parked out front, leaning her head against a man's
shoulder, with her eyes closed. I assumed him to be a boyfriend or husband. But
even then it struck me as a bit sleazy; somehow unprofessional. Or, to put it another
way, needy and girlish. Not that I’m equating the two. I can’t recall her being around
for very long in the way I can later teachers, but then I was only six or seven. I was
in primary four when I’d be put outside the class to sit in the corridor. In primary five
and six we had Miss Leaburn, who had read out my story to the class, and in primary
six Mrs Palmer. But then we had her in primary seven, though I do recall getting one
of these teachers twice, and so, over two years, only not in succession.
Whatever the case, I was rarely belted by any of them if ever, Or maybe that’s
the way I prefer to remember them, especially Miss Leaburn. Someone was sending
me to Paton’s class when I was in primary six! It may have been a female teacher
from another class. I don’t think it was Mrs MacDonald. On second thoughts I think
it was, as she was an older teacher. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. If any of them ever
felt they went too far or it wasn’t always quite as justified as they made out, then
they’ll have felt as guilty as they attempted to make me feel, however unconsciously.
On conscious terms, I think I’m the boy, or one of them, who they believed was
destined to never succeed in any real terms, their terms, in their opinion (And opinion
is the key word here). Not if they had anything to do with it. As much a form of
wishful thinking. They wanted it to be that way, and if that’s what happens then it’s
as it should be and only proves they were right in their estimation all along... Always
circular. But as with Paton, how can these people be accurate in their assessments of
anyone or anything at all, when they don’t even know their own minds, let alone the
minds of the pupils they condescended to? In this case, me.