London Spanking

Spanking & Caning in London with Miss Elsa Svenson


Archive for the ‘Headmistress Diaries’ Category


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries…the last entry.

Monday, March 19th, 2012

Thurs­day 21 January

What a topsy-turrvy day  It started in the worst pos­si­ble fash­ion when I slipped on the ice in the school drive, fell and sprained my wrist. Matron gave me a pain-killing injec­tion, but as it was my can­ing arm, I could tell I would be badly hand­i­capped if I had to admin­is­ter cor­po­ral pun­ish­ment. The same thought must have struck Bracken, who was sent to me mid-morning for cheek­ing the geog­ra­phy mas­ter, Mr Con­tour. I could see him sim­per­ing as he stared at my can­ing arm, which was ban­daged and in a sling. What to do? Though I say it myself, I came up with an absolute brain­wave, ask­ing my way­ward sec­re­tary Celia if she would do the hon­ours. From the vigour with which she laid on the stripes – six absolute scream­ers – she is obvi­ously a nat­ural. I must use her again next time my arm is sore.

This, sadly, was the last of Miss Blackstock’s diary entries. I don’t know why she sud­denly stopped keep­ing a record of her days as head­mistress — or even whether she remained as head­mistress. My the­ory, after exhaus­tive research, is that she may have mar­ried and moved south of the river. Records at the Maryle­bone Record Office for that year indi­cate that a Miss Black­stock got mar­ried to a Mr Rod­well from East Dul­wich in the spring of that year. That of course would have made Miss Black­stock Mrs Rod­well, as it was vir­tu­ally unknown for mar­ried women to use their maiden names pro­fes­sion­ally. What did Mr Rod­well do? Did they have chil­dren? Were they very much in love? One can only guess. But I do find it sig­nif­i­cant that, by 1957, there was appar­ently a Mrs E Rod­well  SCO on the staff of the Penge Penal Insti­tute, only a short bus jour­ney from East Dul­wich. SCO stood for Senior Cor­rec­tion Offi­cer, so it looks as if the head­mistress who had wielded the cane and strap with such vigour on errant school­boys may have found a new out­let for her skills. Cor­po­ral pun­ish­ment was still used in some bor­oughs of South Lon­don in the 1950s: not just in schools, but in other, quasi-judicial con­texts. I am doing my best to unearth doc­u­ments relat­ing to the Penge Penal Insti­tute and, if I am lucky enough to find some, shedding light on Mrs Rodwell’s role there, I will post them on this site in due course.’

From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Saturday, March 17th, 2012

Tues­day 19 January

Will boys never learn? I had put up a large notice on the board, enti­tled SOCKS, warn­ing boys that any­one who didn’t wear the school socks in the pre­scribed fash­ion, pulled right up, could expect ‘seri­ous con­se­quences’. Did I have to spell out what I meant? Not twenty-four hours after I posted the notice, I caught Ross Junior – one of the dim­mer boys in the Remove, which is say­ing some­thing – with his socks around his ankles, sum­moned him to my study, flexed my cane, told him to take down his trousers and he had the cheek to look sur­prised, even indig­nant! I gave him six of the best for not wear­ing his socks prop­erly and four ‘extras’ for being a total moron. Harsh, but effec­tive, I fancy, judg­ing from the tears welling up in his eyes.


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Saturday, March 17th, 2012

Sun­day 17 January

One of my most reward­ing days in my entire teach­ing career. Peter McEl­waine, who left last sum­mer and now has a well-paid job in a local build­ing soci­ety, came round to have tea with me and, in the course of a most cor­dial con­ver­sa­tion, THANKED me for not spar­ing the rod! ‘I hated it at the time,’ he told me, ‘but the great thing about you, Miss Black­stock, was that you never flogged a boy with­out good cause. Firm but fair: that was your motto.’ He then reminded me (I had com­pletely for­got­ten the inci­dent, I am ashamed to say) of the time I strapped him for run­ning in the cor­ri­dor. ‘I’ve never run in the cor­ri­dor since,’ he said, with a cheeky wink. Was it my imag­i­na­tion or was their nos­tal­gia in his eyes as he con­tem­plated my leather strap, hang­ing in its usual place?


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Friday, March 16th, 2012

Fri­day 15 January

It is still the first week of term and I have had to deal with a most dis­con­cert­ing inci­dent in the show­ers. I heard gig­gling as I was pass­ing, went to inves­ti­gate, and to my absolute hor­ror, found Watkins and Wrig­glesworth, whom I had given six of the best not half an hour before, com­par­ing their stripes. Unbe­liev­able behav­iour! Call me naive, but I had always imag­ined that a boy unlucky enough to be on the receiv­ing end of my senior cane would dis­play a decent pen­i­tence for at least the next twenty-four hours. This almost boast­ful parad­ing of well-marked bot­toms seemed dis­re­spect­ful of the entire process. I gave the lit­tle toer­ags a fur­ther six of the best apiece, with plenty of fol­low through, but how do I know they won’t go off and com­pare the NEXT set of marks? I feel almost phys­i­cally sick at the prospect.


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Friday, March 16th, 2012

1 Jan­u­ary 1953

I don’t nor­mally believe in New Year’s res­o­lu­tions, but this year I am so bloody deter­mined to raise stan­dards at this school, how­ever much phys­i­cal pain it causes some boys, that I have made THREE res­o­lu­tions which I intend to keep scrupulously:

1.       There will be no sec­ond chances. As soon as I have warned a boy about his behav­iour once, that’s it. Any rep­e­ti­tion of the behav­iour that has got him into trou­ble and he can expect six of the best with the cane, pants down, no ifs, no buts.

2.       I must use my hair­brush more. For some offences, the cane or strap is NOT nec­es­sar­ily the best rem­edy. Some boys respond bet­ter to an old-fashioned, no-holds-barred, over-the-knee spank­ing with a wooden hair­brush – with no limit on the num­ber of strokes. You just spank them till they are beg­ging for mercy, basically.

3.       I must be pre­pared to pun­ish my sec­re­tary Celia WITHOUT MERCY until she gets the mes­sage. It is vital she remem­bers who is boss.


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Wednesday, October 12th, 2011

Thurs­day 31 Decem­ber 1952

And so another year comes to an end. Itís been a strange twelve months. Look­ing at the offi­cial school pun­ish­ment book, I see that I have admin­is­tered 118 strap­pings, 33 on the bare, 48 can­ings, 18 on the bare, and assorted other pun­ish­ments, all of which left their mark. The slip­per would nor­mally be at the milder end of cor­po­ral pun­ish­ment spec­trum, but I shall not quickly for­get young Knox, after a mere eight swipes with slip­per, beg­ging, beg­ging me to stop. Who did he think he was fool­ing? I had promised him twelve swipes with the slip­per, and that was what he going to get, how­ever sore his bot­tom. I laid on the last four like an aveng­ing fury. Result? Knox has been a paragon of good behav­iour ever since. If I have learnt any­thing this year, it is that it is bet­ter to thrash some­one too hard than not hard enough ñ itís the best deter­rent.
The other curi­ous fea­ture of 1952 has been the way my daffy sec­re­tary Celia has TWICE had to be reminded, through the rat-a-tat of my cane on her back­side, that I donít put up with non­sense from any­one. Fin­gers crossed, I will never have to deal with her in that way again.


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Monday, October 3rd, 2011

Mon­day 21 Decem­ber 1952

…the last full day of term and noth­ing more oner­ous to deal with than the school carol ser­vice. I wore my aca­d­e­mic gown for the occa­sion, the boy scrubbed up nicely, there was a Christ­mas tree in the school hall and the whole atmos­phere was serene and stress-free, until… I could hardly believe my ears!!! Two fifth-formers, Cook and Atkin­son, were singing a ver­sion of Good King Wences­las that was so coarse and smutty and gen­er­ally obscene that I could see Matron blush­ing ñ and sheís a hard woman to shock. I waited until the ser­vice was over, made a lit­tle end-of-term speech thank­ing the boys for their efforts dur­ing the term, then added, with men­ace in my voice: ëI am afraid Cook and Atkin­son are dis­hon­ourable excep­tions. Could they please present them­selves in my study imme­di­ately?í I donít like thrash­ing boys with the strap in Christ­mas week, trousers down, but needs must. My strap was warm to the touch after­wards ñ and I dare say their back­sides were, too.

From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Thursday, September 8th, 2011

Fri­day 18 December

… one of the stu­pid­est boys in the whole lower fifth ñ which is say­ing some­thing. He is a friendly soul and, in gen­eral, not badly behaved. But his aca­d­e­mic work is so slovenly, and he makes so lit­tle effort, that I when I read his end-of-term reports from his teach­ers and saw that he had got bot­tom marks in just about every sub­ject, my patience snapped. ëDo you ENJOY get­ting bot­tom marks, Kelly?í I said, flex­ing my cane. The poor lad paled and started gib­ber­ing. ëNo, miss, of course not, miss, it wonít hap­pen again, miss, Iím very sorry, miss, please, miss ñ not the cane.í ëBut, Kelly,í I said, smil­ing sweetly, ëI thought bot­tom marks were your spe­cial­ity. You get them every term. Unfor­tu­nately, you are not the only per­son in this school who spe­cialises in bot­tom marks. Bend over and touch your toes.í Six real stingers later and he was left with bot­tom marks that will last till Christ­mas and into the New Year.


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Monday, July 18th, 2011

Thurs­day 17 Decem­ber †1952

Another dis­taste­ful episode involv­ing my way­ward sec­re­tary Celia. I had just given Watkins six of the best on the bare ñ he had been run­ning in the cor­ri­dor for the third time in a week ñ when I heard a faint cough out­side the door of my study. On going to inves­ti­gate, I found Celia kneel­ing on the floor with her ear to the key­hole. She had been lis­ten­ing in on Watkinsí can­ing! At a human level, I could iden­tify. There is cer­tainly some­thing hyp­notic, even erotic, in the sound of a cane land­ing full force on naked but­tocks. But that is no excuse for what I regard as lit­tle bet­ter than voyeurism. A sim­ple solu­tion was at hand and I wasted no time in apply­ing it. Six of the best for Celia, pants down, with Watkins watch­ing! From the sheep­ish way Celia left the room after­wards, I think she had learnt her lesson.


From Miss Blackstock’s Diaries:

Wednesday, July 13th, 2011

Tues­day 14 Decem­ber 1952

… hands in his bloody pock­ets! Con­sid­er­ing he was sup­posed to be read­ing the les­son at the school carol ser­vice, I took a very dim view indeed. I have thought for some time that Wil­son has been get­ting above him­self, but the lit­tle ras­cal is usu­ally clever enough not to get caught. He also has an annoy­ing habit of smirk­ing when oth­ers receive a thrash­ing. Well, he was for the high jump this time! An exem­plary sen­tence was called for, and I took great plea­sure in admin­is­ter­ing it. First, I made him write out fifty times, ëBoys who behave like total slobs get bot­tom marksí. Then I marked the said bot­tom accord­ingly, strap­ping his bare back­side until it was as red as a ripe tomato. He wonít be putting his hands in his pock­ets any time soon.