THE regular tales from John Porter of schooldays in Andover are always a good read.

Living at Quarley, the epicentre of the intellectual world, my first day at Grateley school began with a oneand- a-half-mile walk, time enough to increase the feelings of excitement and fear every new boy has.

Procedures had to be learnt.

The first whistle in the playground demanded that you stop instantly, the second that you quickly and silently form a queue for your class, the third you quietly proceed past the teacher to your allotted classroom.

You soon realise that in fact the game was to push, trip or pinch those around you to get them in trouble which would amuse everyone. It is at this point that you are introduced to the first level of punishment — the clip around the ear.

At the lowest level this amounted to the teachers hand just brushing the ear and, “I’m watching you, Forrest.”

The next level amounted to a hot ringing ear that lasted for perhaps an hour. Luckily, I never received the third in which an attempt to remove the head from the neck; this was reserved for those that answered back or — almost unknown — fought back.

A visit to the boys’ toilet showed a trough filled with peat, used in the production of gunpowder we were told, and a single cubicle with a cold seat over a bucket. Bucket and trough were regularly emptied, hence the place was called the ‘bucket and chucket’.

The cubicle door had a sixinch gap top and bottom and no lock. In fairness, all the time I was there the bucket and its contents was never stolen.

Elevation to the next class meant the introduction to the slipper. Having been sent off in an inter-school football match I had to learn about inflation — well deflation really — the fact that we live in a blow-up world.

Apparently, I had let my team down, the school down, my parents down, but most of all myself down. Although the slipper hurt me, the rest of the school really enjoyed the sight.

A silly prank I played on my friend Gerald Ruddick involving him being hurt by scalding water (sorry again Gerald) meant I had to drop my trousers in front of the class to receive the slipper again. At this time I was told that any further misbehaviour would involve me lowering my pants as well.

Now this was a defining moment in my life. Not wanting for this to happen, I decided to change, to grow up and I promised myself that I must make sure that I would not get caught again.

In the top class the cane was the next level of punishment.

Administered in an anteroom to the headmaster’s office. It was never brutal but involved much humiliation and talk of deflation.

At Andover boy’s school however the cane was given by Chalky — Mr Charlton — the headmaster. What he had mastered was the ability to cane on the fingers rather than the palm — much more painful. One stroke was bad, one on each hand worse, but two on one hand dreadful.

I would like to say at this point that I always took my punishment like a man. I would like to say that, but it would be a total lie. In fact, some of my best sprint times were achieved running away from fights. I have nothing but respect for those that punished me, I deserved it every time.

Some 15 years later I met one of my teachers whom I immediately called ‘Sir’. We had a good chat, it was still teacher to pupil though. An apprentice nearby told me he had never called anyone ‘Sir’ and never would. His loss not mine.

Brian Forrest, Over Wallop.