Not long after this it was discovered that I had learning problems, so I was sent to a special school in Sunderland. The headmaster, Mr R, was a strange man. I remember going with my mam and auntie for an introduction to the school. Mr R sat me on his lap and he kept tickling me in fun.
However, things quickly got more serious when he mentioned that the punishment for bad behaviour was the dreaded cane. It sent a shiver down my back. Mr H told my mother that I would be caned on the bare bottom – three strokes for less serious issues and ‘six of the best’ if I was really naughty.
I began to cry thinking about the prospect when, just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, he told my mam and auntie that he liked to give new pupils a taste of the cane before they started as a warning of what to expect if they were naughty. To my dismay, I had my pants taken down in front of my mam and auntie right there and then and received two strokes of the cane across my bare bottom. It hurt so much that I determined to be a very good boy, and never saw that cane again during the three years I was at that school.