The First Seventy Years: 13 - Encountering A Violent Cat
...Mr Bilson, the music teacher and Mr Chapman who sometimes taught maths, or more correctly arithmetic, are particularly remembered for their sadistic tendencies with the 'cat of three tails', a leather strap which they were both apt to turn to with some relish...
Eric Biddulph recalls painful secondary school experiences.
To read earlier chapters of Eric's life story please click on The First Seventy Years in the menu on this page.
In 1948, having failed the 11 plus examination, I left Forest Fields Junior School and presented myself in the September at Claremont Boys Secondary School. It was a twenty minutes walk away. Its playground faced on to the busy Hucknall Road along which my father's bus routes lay most of the time.
The catchment area of the school extended some miles to embrace two council housing estates. One of these, Bestwood, had acquired a reputation as one of the most 'difficult' in Nottingham. It was an estate into which my father regularly drove a service bus so he was well aware of its reputation.
I did not know much about the school prior to my arrival. I do recall, however, that a few of the teachers appeared to be more interested in displaying their supreme powers of control over us rather than focusing on any subject matter.
Mr Bilson, the music teacher and Mr Chapman who sometimes taught maths, or more correctly arithmetic, are particularly remembered for their sadistic tendencies with the 'cat of three tails', a leather strap which they were both apt to turn to with some relish.
It was an irony, therefore, that one of the teachers for whom I had great respect should be the one who crossed the threshold of acceptability as far as my parents were concerned. Mr Cork, 'Korky' to us lads, after the famous cat who appeared in The Dandy comic of the time, was the physical education and games teacher.
One particular day I stepped out of line in some respect which I cannot recall. Anyway, the upshot of it was I was pulled out to receive a taste of the leather strap on my hand. Just as Mr Cork had released his strike at my hand I moved my position. Instead of the 'three tails' inflicting pain on my hand they unleashed their wrath on my arm. Soon afterwards trickles of blood began to appear in profusion following the numerous cuts inflicted. I was to go home at the end of that day with my arm swathed in cottonwool and a retaining bandage.
The next day my parents presented themselves at the school demanding an explanation. They were persuaded that corporal punishment was justified. Mr Cork was very upset by the incident and received the sympathy of my parents. In retrospect I am sorry for him. As he said to my parents, "It would not have happened if he had stood still." Such a response was in keeping with the mood of the time, but one has to question whether or not my instinctive reaction was abnormal.
Corporal punishment was the standard reaction by many members of the teaching staff to almost any misdemeanour. Usually this did not go beyond a mild clip of an ear or a modest tap of a ruler on the head or hand. Sometimes, however, it would extend to a fairly severe beating on bare legs with a ruler or, in even more violent displays of aggression, as many as six strikes, three on each hand with the 'three tails'. Any similar behaviour on the part of teachers today would constitute a violation of the Convention on Human Rights.
My unfortunate encounter at the hands of Mr Cork and other teachers at the school undoubtedly shaped my rejection of corporal punishment as a sanction against rebellious behaviour by those in a weaker and inferior position. I have always found advocates of this option to lack any moral foundation for their view. All the research indicates that the adoption of violence to influence behaviour change tends to effect a response of 'racheting up' by the victim in subsequent situations involving others.
All my written work at school was done with a pen having a steel knib and liquid ink, which sat in an inkwell held in place by a small hole in the desk. It was a punishable but nevertheless, favourite pastime to collect as much ink as possible on the half-moon shaped knib and flick it at another pupil. Writing with wet ink was something of a nightmare, as it dried very slowly.
It was advisable to make good use of blotting paper, which was designed to mop up excess ink whilst still leaving a written impression on the paper. I invariably forgot to use it. As a consequence, a great deal of my writing took on a smudged appearance.
The school never required us to do any homework. This was in sharp contrast to grammar school pupils.
