I was brought up in the North East of Scotland in the early 1900s. I attended the local Primary School and was the first girl to gain a place at the Senior Secondary School. Until then, the unchallenged dogma was that girls were incapable of doing the advanced study. So, irrespective of their ability, girls were sent to Junior Secondary School, where they were mainly taught in the domestic sciences. I still do not know how I achieved exam results better than any boy who had previously progressed to Senior Secondary School. However, they meant that the Primary School had no choice but to recommend studying at a higher level.

 My parents were overjoyed by this achievement, but it was not widely accepted. Girls had very defined roles in that ultra-traditional straightlaced society. They were required to be demure and, above all, obedient to their betters, that is, males. They had no entitlement to question the macho status quo or challenge the exclusive rights of boys. Instead, they were expected to be submissive and domesticated. To work at first as scullery maids, housemaids, servants, shop or office assistants or typists and eventually, to be housewives and mothers, the dutiful property of their husbands. Girls had no other options. So, I was ruffling feathers and upsetting this accepted norm. Also, the horror of horrors, I was stealing a school place from a boy.

I can understand why many adults scolded me for getting above my supposed station in life. After all, I was defying the supposed idyll. But nothing prepared me for the shocking attitude of my schoolmates. I had expected them to be pleased for me, but this was far from the case.

“Big-headed, toffee-nosed, and thinks she’s better than us,” were some of the kinder epithets used to describe me.

I was a pariah during my last weeks of Primary School, so I was relieved to move on to Senior Secondary School. Not that things were easy there. There were only five girls in the first-year intake and only three more in the whole school. I do not know how these three survived in that macho environment, but they had and thankfully took us under their wing.

This support network was vital because, from day one, it was clear that most boys thought that we had no business being there and did not hold back in making their views clear to us. Most of the staff seemed to agree. Somehow wearing a blouse and skirt was an indication of low intelligence. Therefore, any time spent teaching us was a waste of their ‘vast intellect and expertise’.

This ethos meant that we were fair game for the boys. Skirt flipping, bra twanging, and copping a feel was just a small part of their jolly repartee. Despite our efforts to keep together and protect each other, we were all repeatedly subject to these horrible attacks.

The harassment declined during the third term as class examinations came to the fore but then returned with a vengeance after the summer break when a new intake of girls arrived at the school. This increase in girl numbers, albeit still small, seemed to heighten the fear in boys that they were losing their birthright of dominance. So, they set about doing everything possible to demean and ridicule us. Sadly, this worked on one or two of the girls, and they left the Senior Secondary School, but most of us stuck together and coped as best we could.   

I became a particular target of the boys during the fourth year because I was the senior girl and very vocal when any junior girls were having difficulties. This did not go down well, especially amongst the staff I had to cajole into acting against the miscreants. Unbeknownst to me, a nod and wink understanding developed amongst them that I was trouble and needed to have my wings clipped. 

I finally snapped after weeks of daily hands-everywhere harassment when I was surrounded by a gang of boys and had my skirt pulled down. They laughed hysterically at my distress and started baying “more, more” as their leader moved towards me.

His hands were almost at the waistband of my drawers when he said, “Well, well, this is a bit tame. Let us see what is hidden under here.”

It was my good fortune to struggle free just as his fingers touched my knickers. I shouted, "I do not think so," as I struck out at him. There was a sharp intake of breath as the tip of my shoe thudded into the most tender of spots. This was quickly followed by a string of foul oaths as the boy then collapsed to the ground clutching his tortured groin.

It was inevitable that an unsympathetic teacher saw these events. This was just the excuse that they needed. I was reported to the Headmaster and quickly found myself bent over his desk. Violence was a severe offence, no matter the circumstances, so the tariff was always high. The Headmaster, who previously was tolerant and understanding, really had no choice but to strictly enforce the School rules. He showed me no mercy, and I soon discovered that knickers gave little or no protection against the heavy tawse. After ten of its fiery kisses, my bum was burning, and I was blubbering like a baby.            

"I hope you have learnt your lesson, young lady. Any repeat of that despicable behaviour and your punishment will be far, far worse.”

The news of my thrashing quickly spread around the school. Many boys gathered to mock and laugh at me as I made my tearful way from the Headmaster’s Office.

“You got what you deserve. You have no right being here. Go back to the kitchen.”

My distress only subsided once I was back in the company of the other girls. As they hugged and comforted me, the agony in my bottom settled to a tolerable level. I was angry at the travesty that I had just endured. But simply remembering the look of shock and horror on the boys’ faces as their macho leader was felled by a sissy girl somehow made it worthwhile.

The events of that day had surprising but lasting consequences for all the girls at school. From then on, only a few of the more reckless boys bothered or harassed us. After all, they realised that we now knew how to bring them down and were unwilling to risk the devastating loss of face and credibility of being beaten by a soppy girl.

That day was also a wake-up call for me. While growing up, my misdemeanours were either overlooked or dealt with by a mild tongue-lashing. I was never delinquent, but I did, in many ways, think that I could get away with anything. The short-sharp shock I got that day in the Headmaster’s office shattered my naivety and awoke me to reality. Every venomous strike of that tawse taught me that rules were there for a purpose and had to be obeyed to avoid swift and painful retribution. I was by no means an angel after that, but I knew the limits and never faced the Headmaster again.

I did, however, encounter the educative properties of the tawse on one other occasion. Despite my general enthusiasm and drive, my interest in studies began to falter during year five. My classwork steadily declined in quality. This caught the attention of my form mistress, Miss Noble.

“Your Schoolwork is well below standard. This is not good enough. You can do so much better. Why are you slacking off? Explain yourself, girl."

I struggled to come up with a suitable answer but eventually stuttered, “I have lost interest, Miss. I spend so much time studying that I have no time to be with friends, to socialise, to be more than just a book nerd."

“Hmph, so you want to throw away the unique opportunities that you have to waste your time on trivia. That attitude is unacceptable. You obviously need some extra motivation, and I know what is in order. Bend over.”

I was utterly taken aback by Miss Noble’s instruction but knew better than not to comply immediately. As expected, she folded my skirt over my back as soon as I was in position. But her next move was a shock. Unlike the Headmaster, Miss Noble made no concessions to modesty and pulled down my knickers.

“This is going to be a lesson that you will never forget.”

I am no shrinking violet but to be so bare and exposed was alarming and frightening. I shivered with fear as I realised just how seriously Miss Noble took my present ambivalence to study. I admit that I had not been giving my best, but I could not stop myself for reasons unknown. Now, my bottom was going to pay an excruciating price for this stupidity.

My anxiety was heightened even further when I saw Miss Noble take an extra heavy tawse out of her desk drawer. I immediately braced myself for the coming onslaught, but then nothing happened. This lull was a ploy by Miss Noble because she knew that I would soon relax, leaving my bum unprepared and at its most sensitive. That was the moment that she chose to unleash the vicious spite of the belt.

The hit itself was sore but tolerable. However, the aftershock was not. I screamed as excruciating pain surged throughout my bum when the fiery stripe on the surface released its accumulated malice. This torment became unbearable as the second, third, fourth, and fifth lashes left more burning stripes across my behind. I was sobbing uncontrollably and begging Miss Noble to stop.

"Please, Miss, please, Miss, I cannot take any more. I will work hard, I promise.”

“Promises are simple to make and just as easy to forget. I guaranteed you a lesson you will always remember, and I keep my pledges. The tariff was ten, but now you have earned two extras for whining.”

Amid the agony, I recognised that I was in more pain after five strikes from Miss Noble than after the whole tariff from the Headmaster. Unlike him, she clearly had no qualms about flaying a girl and was not holding back. How could I cope with seven more? I did, but my bottom was on fire, and I was reduced to a gibbering, sobbing wreck before Miss Noble finished her motivational lesson.          

“Get up, girl. Remember this torment any time that you feel that less than best is good enough. I can assure you that I will not let you get away with it. You know what you need to do to ensure that this does not happen again. Now, go through to my restroom, tidy and compose yourself, and head off home.”  

I spend some considerable time there before I felt that I was in a fit state to leave. As I walked through Miss Noble's office, a wave of pain surged through my bottom, and I grimaced. She said not a word, but she did at least let me leave by the back door to her office so that I did not have to run the gamut of oh-so supportive boys.

Over the next six weeks, most of my compatriots also fell afoul to Miss Noble's remedial tawse. The only difference was that they got it on the panties rather than on the bare, being it was the first time for each of them. We all hated Miss Noble with a vengeance from then on, but her tuition did the trick. We refocussed on our studies and got high grades for the remainder of our time at school.

During my final year, I noticed that a few fifth-grade girls hit the same melancholy, almost airhead-like phase that we had gone through previously. They received the same corrective tutelage from Miss Noble as us, mostly with equally effective results.

Much to the dismay of most in the Secondary School, we girls matched or exceeded the boys in English, Mathematics, the Sciences and History. This was not due only to motivation by Miss Noble. Although most of the staff had little time for us, four forward-thinking teachers noted our commitment to study. They took us under their wing and gave us additional tuition away from the boys. This tutoring was crucial because it allowed us to speak freely without dealing with boys' disparaging comments if we got it wrong or did not understand. It allowed us to study in peace, debate the subject, and coach each other.

All five of us qualified to go to the University, a first for the school. On my last day, I went to see Miss Noble to apologise for my behaviour and to thank her. By now, I realised that her actions had not been malicious. She was desperate that I achieve my potential and saw that painful shock as the best and quickest way to bring me back to my senses.

“There is no need to be sorry. I knew that you would be upset and angry with me. At your age, I loathed the teacher who thrashed me for the same thing. I do not know why some of the cleverest girls go through a brain fuzz, but I have seen their hopes for the future snuffed out if they do not quickly snap out of it. Girls are allowed no second chances. The macho great and good are just waiting for them to fail so that they can say ‘we told you so’. I am sorry that I had to beat you, but I knew that it was the only thing that would work. You responded in the best way, and I am delighted. I wish you all success in the future.”

“I understand. I do not know why my studies faltered, but I am grateful that you took things in hand and encouraged me to buck up my ideas. I want to make you proud.”  

A good teacher can make a lasting impression on a pupil. Miss Noble certainly did on me, not just on my bottom but on my whole person. From that agonising day onward, I always strived to give my best in everything. Any time that I was tempted to dither from this path, the memories of Miss Noble’s fiery tawse would remind me not to be so stupid.

We girls stayed together as a group while attending University. I studied the biological sciences and found my situation far better than at school. Some males were antagonistic, but the majority treated me as equal once they knew my interests. After I completed my degree, I worked for four years in a research laboratory before teacher training. By then, I had realised that the career options for girls were still restricted. It was essential to get more highly qualified girls into the workplace to break the glass ceiling. I decided that I could best help by teaching and encouraging girls in academic study.

I was enthused and optimistic when I began my first teaching position. However, it was a baptism of fire in a Junior Secondary School. I had a class of rebellious fourth-tier girls who had no interest in education and certainly did not want to be there. Three young teachers had already tried and failed with them, so who better to dump them on but a newbie fresh out of teaching college.

I had just started my first rollcall when a ruckus, instigated by Jenny Smith and her two hangers-on Joanne Smyth and Mary Beaton, broke out. I knew that I had to act quickly. If I did not immediately stamp my authority over the class, I would never control it. So, I called all three girls to the front. They practically swaggered their way to my desk, clearly to show everyone that they were not afraid of me. As she reached my desk, Jenny even held out her hands in readiness for the belt.

It is no understatement to say that they were utterly deflated when I said, “No, no, girls, there has been a regime change. Bend over my desk.”

“What, what? But that is not fair.”

“You misbehaved in my class. My rules apply. Get into position now.”

The girls did not make as sound as they settled themselves in place, but each gasped aloud when I folded their skirts over their backs to reveal their pantied bottoms for all in the class to see.

I could have given the girls the belt over their skirts, but I followed the sage advice from an experienced teacher. “There is nothing is quite so demeaning or status-busting for supposedly tough girls than having their classmates see their underwear. Even the most-timid of girls will have no qualms of reminding them about the eye-catching show.”

Luck was on my side. There was much sniggering in the class when they saw that Jenny, Joanne and Mary were wearing sweet girly panties rather than the unfeminine regulation knickers. Everything went quiet when I picked up the heavy tawse, but there was a collective gasp when the belt released its spite into Joanne’s bum. She shrieked at that first strike, wailed as the second hit home, and was sobbing profusely when the third left its fiery imprint. Then I told Joanne to get up and go stand facing the blackboard.

Mary was now shaking when I moved behind her and was sobbing buckets after three thunderclaps had rung out around the room. She made the mistake of rubbing her bottom as she made her way to the blackboard. This meant that her skirt did not slip fully down, so everyone in the room got a good view of the bright red cheeks peeking out from under her briefs.

Jenny had not reacted in any way to these events. After all, she was formidable. Jenny merely grunted as I applied three hard strikes to her bottom. Then she relaxed, thinking it was over and that she had won. This meant that Jenny was totally unprepared and screamed as I rapidly applied a further three strikes onto the same places on her bum as the first three.

The cumulative agony pushed her over the edge, and she burst into tears. I told her to stay where she was and think about the consequences of her bad behaviour. This was salutary for her and for the rest of the class because her pink knickers could not mask her bum cheeks' bright red glow. The commotion had caught the attention of several people passing by my classroom. I even saw the headmaster look in through the window. He gave a nod of approval before he went on his way.

In today’s world, my actions would be considered brutal and an abomination, but corporal punishment was a necessary fact of life in those days. Had I not brought these girls to heel, I would have lost control of the class and allowed them to disrupt and ruin their futures and those of the whole group. The tactic worked. Jenny became almost the model pupil. In hindsight, this spanking was a first for her. It was the wakeup call that broke her rebellious bravado and encouraged the real Jenny to come to the fore.

Also, my pupils now knew that if they misbehaved, there were to be no soft options. They would get the tawse on the behind, with the only question being how many and how hard. This resulted in the group becoming one of the quietest and most attentive in the school. Only two other girls tested my patience sufficiently to merit close acquaintance with my tawse throughout the year.

Naturally, I was now feared and hated by the class in equal measure. Still, compliance allowed me to make changes to their teaching. They were never going to be highfliers, so traditional education was airy-fairy and of little relevance in their everyday world. I adapted the course content to encompass questions and problems that they would experience in real life. For example, arithmetic and mathematics are far more interesting when couched in terms of purchasing, portion sizes, purchasing and costs of items in a standard shopping basket. This led to a change in the girls' attitude to study. By the end of the year, my class had as good metrics as their third-tier counterparts.

I would have loved to try out these new teaching approaches with higher ability girls. Yet the following year, I was once more allocated a class of the supposed lowest achievers. They were in the main a quarrelsome and combative bunch and in no mood to cow-tow to some no-it-all teacher. Sadly, this meant that I had to introduce about a quarter of the class to the tawse's behaviour-correcting properties over the first two weeks.

This included three bossy and belligerent girls who tested the water several times before the increasingly painful consequences of their bad behaviour got through to them. Thankfully, once they got the message, they settled down and began to behave acceptably. Then, as in the year before, I had the opportunity to tailor the girl’s coursework to practical relevance. The whole class then worked hard, fared well and far exceeded any expectations for them. Of course, my status as a crabbit teacher was also sealed.

“Do not mess with ‘Miss Tawse’. Your bum will endure the not so loving kiss of her belt if she gets annoyed.”

This reputation had advantages. Few girls dared misbehave in my classes, a reality reinforced when they saw the quick and painful retribution that I meted out to the rare miscreant. Indeed, often as not, my tawse only saw the light of day to motivate girls who were parachuted into my class due to their disruptive behaviour elsewhere. The disadvantage was that it was difficult to get the girls to come out of their shells and express themselves. That took time, but once they saw that I was fair and wanted them to understand and succeed, they became more outgoing and assured, which pleased me no end.

Teaching for girls at the Secondary Modern School was not about encouraging inquisitive minds. Instead, it was geared to providing the necessary knowledge to be servants, maids, secretaries, shop assistants, and eventually housewives. I tried to broaden the educational experience for my girls. However, I faced resistance from colleagues in the school and from parents who did not want their daughter’s heads filled with ‘worthless nonsense’ or thoughts above their station.

Given my own experiences, these archaic attitudes were troublesome. Fortunately, I quickly realised how to play the game. My girls were taught all the expected subjects in the usual way. No-one then paid much attention to any extracurricular projects that we did together. This allowed me to introduce the girls to some basics of the physical and social sciences. Just to see the early seeds of curiosity about their place in the world take hold was a great reward. I had no illusions that these inquisitive instincts could be squashed by society’s will. Still, I hoped that a few girls might slip through the net. Thankfully, several did and went on to have lives and careers that far exceeded anything that had been expected of them. 

My teaching career at this point was not going quite as I had hoped, but at least I thought that I could deal with most Schoolgirl issues. This confidence was rocked to its foundations during my third year. Two of the girls in my class fell pregnant. They were the shyest and most demure of girls, and I was at a complete loss. I had no idea what to say to them or how to guide them. The moral outrage, bile and hoo-ha directed against them because they had broken a taboo and supposedly disgraced their families was sickening. Instead of being helped and supported, the girls were demonised. They were eventually taken out of school and sent away from home.

By far, the biggest shock for me was to find out that neither girl understood how this had happened. This was no lie. Both admitted that they had gone to bed with their boyfriends after pressure from them to prove their love. They had then done things together, but, unbelievable as it may seem today, they had no clue how this had led to them becoming pregnant.

In floods of tears, one girl said, “What a fool I have been. I thought I was in love when a gorgeous older boy began taking an interest in me. After a few wonderful smoochy days, he said that if I really loved him, I would sleep with him. I was afraid that I would lose him, so I gave in and went to bed with him. I thought it would be like when my sister and I cuddled together when we were young, but of course, he wanted more; to do special things with me. I feared losing him, so I just let him have his way. He promised that we would be together forever, but before long, he was gone. Now you are telling me that while I was proving my love, he left me with a child.”

“That is the gist of it. Shush now, it is not your fault. That boy took advantage of you and used you for his pleasure. Explain what happened to your parents.”

“Oh, I cannot do that. My parents will never listen or understand. They have already said that it is all my fault.”

Sadly, she was correct. Both girls were sent away to have their babies and were never allowed back to the family home. Amazingly, despite the apparent abuse by the boys, neither girl identified them. It was already ingrained into them that boys were untouchable and would never be blamed.   

I was fortunate to have a mother who talked with me as best as possible about female issues, including the birds and the bees. In my naivety, I had assumed that this was the same for all girls. So, it was a significant shock to now find out that this was not the case. Most girls knew nothing about their bodies because their mothers knew next to nothing or were too embarrassed to discuss such intimate things. Also, no one else would tell them. Society wanted it that way. Girls supposedly could not be trusted' They were to be kept in ignorance about themselves to prevent lustful and promiscuous thoughts.           

The great and good did try to keep boys in ignorance about sex and away from girls. Still, these tactics were doomed to fail. They took no account of boy-boy banter, particularly the raunchy tales of female conquest passed down by older boys to their impressionable young peers. These stories were always about macho dominance and the ravishing of girls. So, boys learned from a young age that girls were their playthings and that riding a girl was an essential rite-of-passage to manhood.

Although these macho concepts would be of little significance during the early years, the poisonous seeds were sown. They could become an obsession once puberty was in full flow. Add to this the relentless pressure from peers to be manly, and you have a possible recipe for disaster. Horny young males who are desperate to add a female notch to their bedpost circling innocent girls who just want to be loved. This situation is no excuse for predatory or immoral conduct. Nevertheless, it often leads to even the nicest of boys resorting to coercion and blackmail.

“You say that you love me, but if you really do, you would be happy to go to bed with me.”

“But I do love you very much. I just do not want to do things I am not sure about.”

“That’s just a feeble excuse. Get into bed now and show that you love me, or I will find someone else who does.”

In this circumstance, the besotted girl is usually so desperate to keep her boyfriend that she succumbs, albeit unwillingly, to his intimidation. Sadly, only after doing what the boy wants, does she realise that she is now entirely at his mercy. Having put out once, the girl now has no choice but to continue servicing the boy's sexual demands to prove that she loves him. You may think that the girl should have said no. In today’s more empowered times, that would be the likely response, but back then, it was different. Girls generally had little choice but to accept the boy’s will.

I could hardly believe my ears when the two girls told me that they had done the needful to please their ‘boyfriends’ once or more every day for weeks—all to no avail. The boys finally got bored with them and sought out new companions leaving the girls to deal with the after-effects. To compound the heartbreak, the boys got off scot-free. In fact, they were now idolised by many of their peers because there was no doubt about their masculinity. How cool was that?  

Unexpected pregnancies were just one symptom of the broader problems around female health and welfare at the time. ‘Women’s troubles or issues’ as they were colloquially described were rarely discussed. For example, most girls had to deal with puberty, a distressing period of change even for teenage girls today, on their own. Imagine coping with the onset of monthlies without an adult to explain the whys and wherefores and comfort you. The support of best friends that had gone through it helped the majority, but some were left scarred for life.

I knew that I had been lucky to have a knowledgeable and caring mum and that all girls needed and were entitled to have similar support and reassurance. I, therefore, suggested at a School meeting that we should teach girls about the basics of health, wellbeing, and relationships, but this was slapped down immediately.

“Our daughters do not need to have their heads filled with that disgusting filth. They just need to stay pure and become obedient wives.”

The absurdity of this attitude never ceases to amaze me. Did these people really believe that girls would run amok if they knew about their bodies? More likely, they were scared that girls who could think for themselves would not accept a compliant domestic role. Sadly, the Luddites held sway. I was forbidden, the Headmaster's instructions, to talk about girls’ health matters with my pupils. I had no choice other than to accept the unfair decision. However, this did not stop me from lobbying for change. I knew that the attitude of great and good to health and welfare matters would have been quite different had mother natures' monthly revenge occurred in boys.

Before this edict, a few girls had come to ask for advice on looking after their pets and keeping them fit and healthy. I thought that this was an excellent opportunity to increase the girls’ knowledge of nature and began setting aside time once a week to discuss any issues that they had. At one of these get-togethers, a girl said that her guineapig had a litter of pups. I will admit that I blushed when she asked how this had happened.

The girls looked totally bemused and mystified when I tried to explain the birds and bees for guineapigs. However, they must have chatted about it during the break because they came back with many delicate questions that I found difficult to answer given my working limits. A surprising thing that came up in the discussion was that several weeks before the female gave birth, the male guineapig had been incessantly badgering and pestering her. To their credit, the girls drew the obvious conclusions.   

At the end of the day, one girl came up to my desk and asked, “Is it the same for girls and boys?”

I must admit that I spluttered for a bit before saying, “Not exactly, but the basics are similar.”

I gasped when she said, "Oh, so that is why my boyfriend wants me to go to bed with him. He has been hassling me for days, and I was about to give in. But now I know that he just wants to ride me. There is no way that I am going to take that risk. He may be cute, but not I will carry your babies cute.”

I felt a sense of relief and triumph. Only one girl was saved, but it was a start. I set up a lunchtime pets club for the girls, and we had many ‘nudge, nudge, wink, wink’ debates about animals and their nature. Word spread quickly, and many girls from other classes began attending our gatherings. We never talked directly about girl matters. But all attendees soon had a good idea what was hidden in their knickers, what it was for, how desperate boys were to use it, and the risks of letting them.

This reality about the club was our secret. Outwith the meeting room, only our discussions about pet management were ever mentioned. The overall result was that my girls were more informed than most others of the time. During my subsequent years at the school, most girls regularly attended the lunchtime club. It would be naive of me to think that none of them gave their boyfriends the ultimate prize, but thankfully there were no further teenage pregnancies.

Over the years, I built a reputation as a firm but fair teacher that could motivate and enthuse my pupils to exceed all expectations for them. Despite this, I was never allocated other than the lowest tiers of pupils because overinflated male teachers did not want to waste their ‘great intellectual skills’ upon them. It should be noted that this discrimination was not exclusive to girls. Boys destined to work in the factories or farms were treated in an equally dismissive manner by these same teachers.

Fifteen years were to pass before a new opportunity came my way. A former colleague became the Headmaster of a nearby Senior Secondary School, experiencing a rapid rise in girl pupil numbers. He was seeking to increase the complement of experienced female teaching staff to deal with this. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity to further develop ‘innovative’ approaches in girls’ education and welfare. Yes, the Headmaster was quite aware of what I had done under-the-radar at my previous school and was keen to be more upfront and proactive on girls’ matters.

The downside to this move was my reputation as a disciplinarian. Most male teachers had no idea how to deal with teenage girls, so just as with boys, they gave them the belt for even the most minor of infractions. Now that I was on staff, these teachers felt entitled to palm these supposedly disruptive girls off to me, expecting me to do the unpleasant duty for them.

My main difficulty with this situation was that I was totally opposed to the belt's indiscriminate use. Despite my reputation, I knew that the tawse was effective only if given for the most severe of cases. From my own experiences, I understood that most girls were so terrified of the tawse that its indiscriminate use caused them to withdraw and cease to function as pupils. That said, just as with boys, a small but belligerent set of girls saw getting the belt as a badge of honour, a sign that they were more robust than the rest.

There was a significant group of these disruptive girls at the school. They delighted in disrespecting male teachers and competing to show each other who was hardest. These girls were a challenge, but I soon began to reduce their swagger. In most cases, I just gave them lines, loss of privileges and detention or, worst of all, menial tasks throughout the school. For them, nothing was quite as ego-deflating as having to admit to their mates that they did not get the belt. Being seen doing low-status chores was even worse.  

This approach, of course, meant that I was now branded by my male compatriots as a soft touch who would let the girls get away with anything. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before someone stepped way over the mark. That girl was Sandra Munro, and she was caught bullying. When she was shown into my room, Sandra was the typically snide and cocky teenager. But her arrogance quickly disappeared when I told her to bend over my desk.

It was clear that Sandra’s hands may have felt the belt many times before, but her bottom had not, and she was afraid. She began quivering the moment that I folded back her skirt and gasped when I pulled down her knickers. I hesitated for a moment, but when I thought of all the girls she had tormented, I knew that there was no room for compassion. The only appropriate punishment was bare bottom tanning.

“Miss Munro, your behaviour has been totally unacceptable, and you are about to pay the full price. You will get six for harassing the girl today and six more for all the others that you have hounded over the last few weeks.”

“But this was the first time.”

"The first time you were caught, you mean. I know how many girls have suffered at your hands, and now you will pay.”

My initial suspicions were confirmed when Sandra screamed as the tawse's first strike released its venom into her bum. She was shrieking, crying, and begging me to stop after six. I will admit that I wavered over continuing her punishment. However, a flashback to Miss Noble’s treatment of me strengthened my resolve to make an example of this bully. Sandra was sobbing buckets, and her previously pink bottom was glowing red when the tawse left its final scorching mark.

I gave Sandra the same courtesy that Miss Noble had shown to me. I let her use my restroom to compose and tidy herself and then let her leave by the back door, thereby avoiding the ‘sympathetic’ cheers and comments of her fellow pupils. Was I soft? No, there was no need to rub salt in her wounds. If it did not already, the whole school would soon know of her punishment. Over the next few days, her peers would be ‘very compassionate’ about it, and her undoubted struggles to sit comfortably.

Sandra and her father stormed into my office two days later. He demanded an explanation of why I had given his daughter the belt. To be fair, once I told him what Sandra had done, he said, “My apologies, now that I know the truth, I can see that your actions were more than justified.”

Sandra's jaw dropped when her father said, “If Sandra steps out of line again, you have my full permission to further her remedial education.”

I swear that Sandra’s father smiled and winked at me when he said that. It was clear to me that his complaint was probably made to appease his wife, but deep down, he felt that Sandra’s painful wake-up call had been long overdue. He may even have been envious of me for being the one that gave his rebellious daughter her comeuppance. I did have pangs of guilt over being so severe with Sandra, given that she had never been spanked before. However, her breach of discipline was such that it was the only option and her tushie had to pay the agonising price.

Sandra was a chastened and demure pupil for the remainder of the year. However, her belligerence returned after the long summer break. She was sent to my office within a week of the return to school. I was disappointed but not unduly surprised since Sandra would have enjoyed free rein during the holidays. This time I had no compunctions about turning her pink bottom a blazing red, and again it appeared to have the desired effect. Sandra reverted to being a model pupil. Indeed, I never had the need to further discipline her. Later, I found out that this was due only in part to my efforts.

Sandra had tested her dad's patience beyond its limits during the subsequent summer vacation. I dare say her bottom then discovered that the pain inflicted by Miss Tawse for misbehaviour was as nothing compared to that from a tolerant dad pushed too far. It is pleasing to know that between us, we kept Sandra on the straight and narrow. After completing school, she went to college and now has a successful career in human resources and personnel management.

As the years passed, girl numbers at the school steadily increased. By the mid-1960s, there was an almost equal split of girls and boys at the Senior Secondary. Teaching for girls was still bedevilled by some old-fashioned prejudices, but great strides towards equality were being made. With the help of several forward-thinking mums, we were allowed to push the boundaries and run regular health and wellbeing courses for girls.

The most significant change by far was in the girls themselves. They were now more confident, outspoken, and dare I say it, flirtatious than ever before. They were rebellious, but not in the wrong way. In the main, they no longer accepted a subservient role and were keen to improve their lot. As may be expected, their behaviour and dress often went beyond the traditional norms, especially in the eyes of the more old-fashioned members of staff. As Deputy-Headmistress, I was expected to crack down on this in the usual way, but they were generally disappointed. I did try to enforce decency standards but used all means other than corporal punishment to do this, except for the most extreme cases. In truth, I was envious of the girls’ new freedoms and did not want to overly cramp their style.

I was happy to see and help girls build their confidence and self-esteem and develop their career potential. However, one aspect of their lives disconcerted me: the more outgoing and open approach with boys. When I was growing up, it was an absolute no-no to even be seen alone with a boy. This situation was less strict at the University. However, while highly educated girls were accepted and appreciated, they were not generally perceived as likely to be dutiful wives. Once I moved on to my teaching career, men could be no more than just friends as I would have had to give up my post if I married.

I had accepted all these aspects of my life and considered myself content as a spinster. But now, as I watched the changing situation, I was unsure whether I had made the correct choices and full of what-ifs. Had I not been so career-driven, could I have found a partner, had a family, and a more fulfilled female life? Would I have been happier than in my present solo existence? I tried to convince myself that I was content and comforted myself in my teaching. Still, doubts had taken hold, and an unexpected occurrence was about to bring them to the surface.  

I loved to spend much of my weekends in the countryside, and one day while walking through a nearby wood, I heard a commotion. I investigated and came upon a small clearing where a boy and a girl from my school were eagerly engaging in practical sociology and biology. I was shocked by the immoral scene and about to intervene, but then a commanding voice in my head said, ‘Do not be a killjoy, you are just jealous, let them have their fun', so I held my peace. I just stood there transfixed by the couple’s unbridled intensity and passion.

This was how it was meant to be; not a girl being used by a boy but a virile couple giving freely, sharing, and pleasuring each other. My whole being shivered as their energetic lovemaking reached its stunning climax.  I left unseen and slowly meandered my way home with the afternoon’s enthralling vista spinning around in my head.

I went to bed but could not sleep. I tossed and turned late into the night before succumbing to an unexpected urge. Despite my views on teaching girls about themselves, I still believed that self-exploration was wicked, so I had never touched myself down there. But now, I slipped my hand inside my pyjamas, over the bushy mound, and onto my vulva. I was delighted that my first touch of that private place did not bring the sky crashing down upon my head. Instead, it immediately triggered a warm and tingling sensation in my labia. These sweet feelings intensified as my fingers caressed the pussy lips and finally found my clitoris.

“Oh my, oh my,” I gasped as that magic button trembled and sent out an excited and welcoming message.

‘Well, hello there, nice to meet you at last. Let us have some fun and make up for the lost time.’

There was no stopping now. I briskly massaged my fud, and before long, waves of pleasure spread through me as it convulsed and released a small amount of juice. I sighed with joy at my first-ever climax. I also mentally thanked the two horny teenagers whose enthusiastic coupling had by chance led me to this satisfaction.

I was still in a dewy daze when I spotted the randy couple in school the following day. Both looked tired but oh so happy together. I was sure that they would not be able to concentrate on their studies that day and decided to be understanding if the girl was sent to me for failing to do so.