My headmaster caned me twice. I was 12 and 15. The first time, he hit six strokes with such force that the weals and bruises lasted three weeks, turning red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet as they faded (I never had any trouble remembering the colours of the spectrum after that thrashing}. He beat five other boys those I have named – that morning. I remember looking at their faces, white with fear, as we stood outside his study and heard the cane whistle and thump and waited to be called next. Our average age was at most 13. None of us had been beaten before. I remember the horror and disbelief on Barry’s face as he said: “It can`t be six! Not six!”

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