“Is that you Miss Brown?” Angela asked hesitantly.

“Yes it is,” replied the woman with a smile in her voice.

“I don’t suppose you remember me, do you Miss?”

The woman leaned back slightly and peered over her half-rimmed glasses.

“Of course I do, Smith, isn’t it?” She hesitated. “Angela Jane Smith, the class of 62?”

“That’s it,” beamed Angela, flattered that her old headmistress remembered her.

“Well, well, well. How lovely to see you. What on earth are you doing down here in Eastbourne?”

“I moved down here with mum and dad, just after I left school.”

“And tell me, what have you been doing with yourself since leaving? It’s been fifteen years hasn’t it?”

“Well, I’m afraid I've just had a series of waitressing jobs. I really regret not trying harder at school now.”

“Oh dear,” replied Miss Brown. “I tell you what, Smith. I’m very busy just now but what say you call in to my new school here in Eastbourne. It would be lovely to reminisce, and I might have a proposal to help you out. Shall we say Friday 3.30 pm?”

That evening, Angela sat back in the old worn armchair of her bedsit and smiled to herself as her thoughts went back to school days. They were happy days indeed. She was sporty, captain of the netball and rounders teams, and even if she said so herself, very popular and always at the centre of any fun in class.

Of course, there had been the occasional slippering, usually for being too boisterous in class, and a caning once for smoking, but she had always avoided the dreaded summons to Miss Brown’s study on a Friday afternoon.

When Angela returned home after her Wednesday lunchtime shift at the local tearooms, she found a business card pushed under the door. It was a gilt-edged thick card. The legend was embossed in black and read:

C M BROWN BSc (Hons) PhD Headmistress The Institute for Change & Improvement Acacia Avenue Eastbourne

She turned it over and in large flowing handwriting it read, 3.30 pm DO NOT BE LATE!!

Angela rolled her eyes. Miss Brown was obviously still as overbearing as ever. She put the card in her purse.

‘I’m thirty years of age. I don’t need to be told not to be late!’ she thought to herself.

As the evening passed, Angela couldn’t help but mull over the card from Miss Brown.

‘I’ve a good mind to be late, just to annoy that old battleaxe,’ she thought to herself.

But, by the end of the evening she had decided to call in sick on Friday for her shift at the tea rooms, just to make sure there wouldn’t be a problem getting there on time.

Angela turned into Acacia Avenue at just after 2.30 pm. She was now too early and on edge, but couldn’t quite understand why. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, over the day her nerves grew worse, and her departure time got earlier and earlier.

She eventually found herself outside a large old building that looked like it may once have been an Approved School, but was now a private school. The sign on the large metal gates confirmed it was the correct place. There was an intercom on one of the stone pillars supporting the gate hinges. Angela pressed the button.

“Can I help you?” crackled a voice.

“I’m here to see Miss Brown.”

There was a loud click and the gate started to open.

“Follow the path to the front door,” the voice said.

Angela walked through a large flagstoned courtyard to the building. The front door was solid oak with a large bronze knocker in the shape of a lion’s paw holding a ball. It all felt a little intimidating. Angela nervously banged the door knocker.

Soon, the door opened and to Angela’s surprise a young woman stood in front of her smiling. She was, Angela thought, ten years younger than herself, but taller with jet black hair pulled back and tied in a pony tail.

“Angela Smith?” the woman asked.

“Yes, I’ve come to see Miss Brown.”

“Gosh, you’re keen!” exclaimed the young woman. “We weren’t expecting you until 3.30 pm. Never mind, come through.”

The young woman led her through a corridor and into an office.

“Please take a seat.” She gestured towards a row of four old school chairs. The woman then went over to a door at the far end of the office, knocked and put her head around the door.

“Angela Smith to see you, Miss Brown.”

Angela couldn’t quite hear the reply but the woman came back and sat behind her desk.

“Is she busy?” Angela asked.

“Yes, Miss Brown is a very busy lady. We’re working on the applications for the next academic year; we only take in a select few. She’ll let me know when she’s ready to see you. Are you here for an interview for one of our places?”

“I don’t think so. Miss Brown is my old headmistress. I bumped into her earlier in the week and she invited me here.”

The two women continued chatting and were soon laughing and joking like old friends. Although much younger than Angela, the woman had a confidence and air of authority about her which Angela found intoxicating.

Suddenly a loud buzz broke into their conversation and startled Angela. The young woman pressed a button on the intercom sitting on her desk.

“Yes, Miss Brown.”

“Send her through, Miss Watkins.”

“There you are Angela, didn’t have to wait too long. Just knock and go through to the study.”

Angela knocked and went in. It was an impressive study; oak flooring with a large thick rug, oak wall panelling, a number of bookcases full of reference works, a filing cabinet and two tall cupboards. At the far end of the study sat Miss Brown behind a fine old antique desk. She was bathed in sunlight from a large Georgian window directly behind her.

Angela walked up to the desk and stood in front of it. There was no chair to sit in. Miss Brown was deep in concentration, reading over a letter. Angela was beginning to feel very much like the pupil Miss Brown had been treating her as. She stood silently waiting for Miss Brown to acknowledge her.

‘Why am I doing this?’ she thought to herself. ‘Normally I would’ve said something.’ But she felt strangely subservient.

Soon, Miss Brown put the letter down leaned back in her chair. She fixed Angela with a stare, and the silence continued for what seemed like an eternity. Angela fidgeted nervously.

“Smith, do you know why you’re here?”

“No Miss,” Angela replied, for she no longer knew why she was there or indeed her status. Old acquaintance? Friend? Pupil? She was beginning to feel like a pupil and, more to the point, a pupil in serious trouble.

“Can I take you back to your last week of school, Smith? Do you remember that?”

“Not really, Miss,” Angela replied nervously.

“Well let me remind you, Smith, because you were caught smoking and I was obliged to administer three strokes of the cane.”

“Yes, I do remember that, Miss Brown. I thought it most unfair! It was the last week of my school life, I was sixteen, old enough to smoke legally and I was in the middle of my exams. I thought you could’ve been a lot more lenient.”

“Well, young lady, although you were the only girl caught smoking that lunchtime, what you are obviously unaware of is that later that day we caught two 3rd formers smoking, both of whom confessed to buying their cigarettes from you.”

Miss Brown again fixed Angela with a long withering stare.

“Oh, I, err, um, I don’t remember that, Miss,” replied Angela, feeling any confidence she may have had drain away.

“Indeed not! And because, as you say, you were in the middle of exams I decided to be lenient and just administer the three strokes.”

“I didn’t realise, Miss. I’m sorry, and thank you for being so lenient with me,” Angela said, feeling completely dejected.

“Furthermore, Smith, after receiving your caning instead of the customary ‘thank you’, all I got was a sulky silence. Under normal circumstances I would have administered a further three strokes for insolence, but again I was being lenient.”

Miss Brown finished with another long stare which Angela made no attempt to meet, but stood awkwardly wringing her hands and stifling a tear.

“And now we come to the last day of your final term, Smith,” Miss Brown continued, sounding more like a prosecuting barrister than a friendly headmistress, Angela thought.

“At 3.30 pm on that last day, I was watching all my pupils happily filing out for their summer holidays when I noticed one pupil kneeling by my car. To my horror, I could see this pupil was letting my tyres down. Naturally, I rushed down to the staff car park, but by the time I got there the miscreant had made her escape.” Miss Brown paused, her eyes now burning into Angela’s.

“This wretched miscreant thought she had got away with her crime, and indeed she had until I noticed a discarded handkerchief next to one of my car’s wheels, with the initials AJS. A quick check of the school register soon confirmed my suspicions, you were the only pupil with those initials.

“Now Smith, have you anything to say in your defence?”

“I-I-I’m very sorry, Miss Brown. I’ll obviously accept any punishment you feel is suitable,” Angela replied, looking down at the ground.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear. Now go and wait outside whilst I decide on an appropriate punishment.”

Angela, close to tears, returned to Miss Watkins office and sat silently on one of the chairs.

“That didn’t take long, Angela,” Miss Watkins said, smiling.

“I’m afraid it’s not over, Miss Watkins,” Angela replied dejectedly. “I’ve got to wait here whilst Miss Brown decides on my punishment.”

“Oh!” replied Miss Watkins as she immediately pressed the intercom button.

“Miss Brown, can I see you immediately?” said Miss Watkins, in what Angela thought was a surprisingly officious manner.

“Of course you can, Miss Watkins. Please come in right away.”

Miss Watkins disappeared into the study.

Angela could hear muffled voices but couldn’t make out any words. Soon, the study door opened and Miss Watkins stood in the doorway.

“OK Angela, Miss Brown is ready for you.”

Angela got up and walked slowly into the study. Miss Watkins gave her a sympathetic smile as she left.

As Angela approached Miss Brown’s desk, she saw a cane placed in the middle of the desk with an old red exercise book labelled ‘PUNISHMENT BOOK 1962’. She sighed. With all that had gone on in the last half an hour, it was no surprise.

Miss Brown pointed to the front of the desk. “Stand there, Smith,” she commanded as she picked up the punishment book.

“Six of the best, Smith,” she pronounced as if she were a judge sending a defendant down. “And I suggest you thank Miss Watkins afterwards. She put forward an eloquent defence on your behalf. I was minded to give you twelve.”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss,” replied Angela glumly.

“Right, Smith, I’m sure you’re as keen as I am to get this over with,” Miss Brown declared, although Angela very much doubted that this was the case. Miss Brown rose from her chair and walked around the desk to where Angela stood.

Miss Brown was a tall, well-built woman, a little overweight, and she towered over the petite Angela.

Angela grimaced as she felt a tight grip on her ear, then a twist whilst pulling her ear up high, forcing Angela to tilt her head over and stand on tiptoes. She was then marched into the centre of the room. To her relief, the painful grip on her ear was released and she felt two strong hands on her shoulders push her down into a bending position, accompanied by the order to, “Touch your toes.”

Angela obeyed and stretched down. Miss Brown’s hand was now on the back of her head forcing it down further than Angela thought really necessary, but of course she was no longer making any decisions.

Angela’s real embarrassment came next as she felt the hem of her skirt raised up over her back and her knickers pulled down to her knees. Angela’s hair cascaded down around her head and she struggled to see what was happening. She could just see Miss Brown’s hand collect the cane from her desk. The next thing Angela was aware of was a terrifying swishing noise as Miss Brown took some practice swings.

Then she felt the cane lightly touch her bottom, followed by a light tapping as though a golfer was teeing up for a particularly difficult stroke. Finally, the caning started. Miss Brown was true to her word and delivered six of the very best, each stroke whistling through the air informing Angela of imminent and severe pain. As each stroke made contact, a loud thwack echoed around the study, and a deep red welt, which felt like a branding iron, appeared on Angela’s bottom.

“OK Smith, that’s your lot,” Miss Brown announced after the sixth excruciating stroke had left its mark.

Angela slowly straightened herself up, distorting all the welts as she did so and causing another wave of pain.

“Thank you, Miss,” Angela immediately said, not wanting an accusation of insolence to be made and the extra punishment that might invite.

“You’re welcome, Smith. Now, back in front of the desk.”

Miss Brown took her seat and opened up the Punishment Book. Angela watched as she wrote:

Angela Smith, six strokes for wanton vandalism.

Angela noted that she dated it the last day of term 1962.

“Well Smith, you’ll be interested to know I’ve been in contact with Miss Falmer, your old form tutor.”

Miss Brown stopped abruptly mid-sentence.

“Smith, will you stop fidgeting and rubbing your bottom whilst I’m talking to you!”

Angela was indeed hopping from one foot to another and furiously trying to rub away some of the pain in her throbbing bottom.

“Stand still, put your hands to your side and concentrate on what I’m saying.”

“Yes Miss,” replied Angela, using all of her willpower to obey.

“Now, as I was saying, you’ll be interested to know I’ve been in contact with Miss Falmer, your old form tutor, and she would also like to see you, so we’ll see you back here same time next Friday.”

“I’m not sure I’m available next Friday, Miss, I'd have to check,” Angela replied, fearing the worse and desperately trying to think of an excuse.

“Smith,” Miss Brown started with a tone of incredulity in her voice. “Miss Falmer is a very busy woman. Do you expect her to arrange her life around you?”

“No Miss.”

“Good! You will be here at 3.30 sharp next Friday and I suggest you bring a whole new attitude with you, is that clear?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Good. Now you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Miss,” Angela replied, almost running to the study door and freedom.

Angela emerged from Miss Brown’s study in a dishevelled state, her hair a tangled mess, her mascara had run down her face, and her lipstick was smudged. Miss Watkins was momentarily taken aback, then jumped up from behind her desk and scooped Angela up in a huge hug. Angela buried her head into the young woman’s chest and sobbed.

“There, there,” Miss Watkins comforted her. “It’s all over now.”

Angela composed herself as best she could, her crying stopped and she slowly stood back.

“Come on,” Miss Watkins said with a smile. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

She led Angela by the hand to the toilets, picking up her handbag as they went.

“Right, first things first. I bet your backside is on fire. Well, I’ve got just the thing.”

With that, she pulled out a jar of arnica cream.

“This will ease the pain and reduce the swelling and bruising. Now, pull your knickers down and bend over. Don’t worry, this will be a much better experience,” she said with a smile and a wink.

Angela blushed and then did as she was told.

Miss Watkins took a large intake of breath and whispered, “Ouch!” to herself as she surveyed Angela’s bottom. Miss Brown had delivered all six strokes at the very bottom of Angela’s backside, all the strokes were a hairsbreadth apart merging into one large welt, making it painful to sit, stand or walk.

“What is it?” Angela asked with some concern.

“I was just thinking what an old meanie Miss Brown is. Now, let me get this cream worked into your poor bottom.”

Miss Watkins gently rubbed in the cream, which was a great relief to Angela.

“OK let’s get your makeup fixed now,” Miss Watkins said enthusiastically.

The pair chatted again as Miss Watkins brushed Angela’s hair and reapplied her makeup.

“Miss Brown said I’ve to thank you for only getting six of the best. Is that true?”

“It certainly is, Angela. Miss Brown has been in a foul mood all day and was all set to give you twelve of the best. I said that was completely out of proportion to what you had done all those years ago and suggested a few whacks with the plimsoll would be far more appropriate. She was adamant you had to be caned, though, so in the end we agreed on six. I’m only sorry I couldn’t have helped more.”

“You did what you could, Miss Watkins, and I’m very grateful,” replied Angela with a huge smile.

“It’s a shame you’re not here next week. You could’ve met Miss Falmer. She’s a bit of a hero of mine. She recently became a magistrate and tells us the most hilarious stories of the people up before her. She keeps saying they should reintroduce the birch, which I’m sure she’d love; probably volunteer to dish it out herself!” Miss Watkins said rolling her eyes.

“You know, if she’s coming here to administer a beating, as she calls it.” More eye rolling. “She brings her own cane, says it’s more painful than any of Miss Brown’s! Can you believe it!”

“Oh Angela, you’ve gone quite pale. Are you OK?”

“Well, as it happens, I will be here next Friday. Apparently Miss Falmer wants to see me.”

“Blimey Angela, what have you been up to?”

“I have no idea, to be honest. I don’t even remember letting Miss Brown’s tyres down, but she was so convinced it was me I just agreed. I mean, she’s never wrong, is she?”

“No,” replied Miss Watkins with a raised eyebrow. “Look Angela, I’ll have a talk with Miss Falmer before you get here next Friday. You know, put in a good word for you again. It would help if you could wrack your brains as to what you might have done. Then prepare yourself an apology speech.”

“But what if I can’t think of anything?” Angela replied with a hint of panic in her voice.

“In that case, just make a few things up. Nothing too outrageous though. We don’t want you on the receiving end of one of her beatings, do we? I’ll look after you, Angela, don’t worry! Now that you’re all straight, let me show you out. Is it far for you to go?”

“No, not too far. I got the bus and walked here, but I think I’ll walk all the way back. I’m not up to sitting on a bus yet,” Angela said ruefully.

Miss Watkins frowned in sympathy. “I’ll just let Miss Brown know you're going.”

Miss Watkins knocked on Miss Brown’s study door and waited.

“Come in.”

“Miss Brown, just to let you know I’ve tidied Angela up and I'm going to see her out now.”

“Thank you, Miss Watkins.”

“Oh, by the way Miss Brown, just how many times did you have your tyres let down when you were at that school, because that’s the third ex-pupil you’ve caned for that offence I’m aware of?” Miss Watkins asked with a disapproving look. “And poor Angela doesn’t even remember doing it.”

“I really don’t know what you’re suggesting, Miss Watkins!” Miss Brown replied with a slight smile on her face. “Now go and see Smith out before I decide to warm your backside!”

Miss Watkins mischievously poked her tongue out as she left the study.

“Come on, Angela, I’ll walk you to the door,” Miss Watkins said as she linked arms with Angela.

Once at the door, Miss Watkins gave Angela another huge hug and they said their goodbyes.

Angela walked down the footpath and started thinking about next weeks meeting with Miss Falmer.

‘I know I should be dreading it.’ she thought to herself. ‘So why am I feeling so excited and actually looking forward to it? And why can’t I get Miss Watkins out of my mind?’

The End

© Mark Devonshire 2025