Every discussion I have been involved in on the subject of smacking children has involved one or more people claiming, “It never did me any harm”. Well, I think it did, at least to the extent that it made them believe that violence towards children was acceptable and may well have led to them behaving in a more violent manner to others. And now I find that the Royal College of Paediatrics and Child Health agrees with me.
I do not want to get into the semantics of smack or slap or strike or thump or hit. They are all abusive. Shake may be slightly different, but it is equally dangerous, and it is still violence. If I hit a member of my staff, I am quite rightly likely to find myself in court. Why should I be immune from prosecution if I hit a child?
It has been a long journey. As one of six boys, there were many occasions when one of us thought my parents would be justified in hitting one of the others. I remember only one time when my father hit anyone – my elder brother. I remember there was formality and a cane. I do not know how he felt at the time, but my sense was that he always regretted it. And he never did it again. He was a truly gentle man.
I was bullied by my grandfather, my mother’s father who lived with us. I was overweight and made fun of by my schoolmates. Where making fun of becomes bullying I am unsure, but both are a form of violence that can be devastating.
Primary school
My primary school was chosen for being *a Roman Catholic institution, as it followed my mother’s religion. We were sent there with the best of intentions. I was beaten only once at the age of about ten. We were misbehaving. One classroom had an outside entrance up three steps to a corridor where coats were hung. We poured water across the lino floor and ran from across the playground, up the steps and skidded the length of the corridor. There were a few bruises and some tumbles, but it was great fun.
The headmaster felt otherwise. He lined us up outside his study and then called us in one by one. We had to admit our fault and may have had to apologise. We were then required to hold out our hands, upon which he administered a number of strokes of a thin flexible cane. I cannot remember how many times he hit me, but I doubt I will ever forget the swish of the cane through the air.
Grammar school and the Scouts
At 11, I was sent to a ‘good’ Roman Catholic grammar school. Three weeks in, I was sent to be beaten for altering a letter in my English exercise book in ink rather than crossing it out with a ruler and an HB pencil and rewriting it. The whack, as it was known, was administered by the discipline master. In later years a psychotherapist would identify from my description of standing in line watching him run the length of the physics laboratory to hit another boy’s backside that there was probably a sexual element to the smile on his face.
I joined the Scouts* and had some wonderful times until the scoutmaster left. His replacement called me “fatty” most of the time. At my last scout camp he participated in the blackening with boot polish of the testicles of those on their first camp. In one of the bravest acts of my childhood, shortly afterwards, I cut all the badges from my scout uniform and attended a scout meeting to return them and tell him I was leaving. My one regret was letting him take me into his office for this. I should have told him what I thought of him in front of everyone else.
Being hit was the norm
School was physically and mentally violent. The PE teacher could cause considerable pain with a plimsole on the buttocks for having kit he considered dirty, and with the cord on his whistle, he used to hit whoever was last in cross-country, and that was usually me. Another teacher had a method that was arguably more subtle. He approached from behind, grabbing the wrist of a child and pressing the fingers down on the desk edge so he could hit the backs of the knuckles with a wooden ruler.
Being hit in English lessons was the norm, including the occasional class whacking because of an unidentified soul’s misdemeanour. Humiliation was the commonest alternative, centring on any perceivable difference from hairstyle to accent to name, and in my case, to weight.
Learning that violence works
One day I had enough. At about 15 I met my Chemistry teacher in a corridor, and as we walked towards each other he said, “Hello fatty”. I pulled back my right arm and hit him as hard as I could in the chest. He was clearly taken aback, but possibly because there were no witnesses to this incident and he knew he had been in the wrong, he proposed, and I accepted, that we apologise to each other. He never called me “fatty” again, and I had learnt my lesson well – I knew violence worked.
Nothing further was ever said about this, and the ethos of the school remained unchanged. My parents had not hit me, but those with parental responsibility had. The effect was the same. They made me one of them. The school took me into its arms and bound me to its spirit by making me a prefect. Physical violence between and from pupils was frowned upon other than on the rugby pitch. So, I honed my verbal and argumentative skills and became a remarkably successful bully.
Taking part in theatre may have helped mitigate my desire to lash out and hit some people, as it allowed me to play out some of my violent fantasies rather than imposing them upon others. And still, I could verbally abuse with the best of them.
The blow was soft
I became a teacher of English and Drama, having discovered the wonders as well as the power of words. One class gave me peculiar trouble as they developed their creative chaos skills. The ringleader needed discipline and detention failed, exhortation drew a smile, so I went to talk to his head of year. I was told he should be caned, a punishment only heads of year could administer.
I was not allowed to cane him, but I could slipper him, as that did not need to be recorded in the punishment book, and the head of year thought this would help establish my authority. When I told the child what was about to happen, he bent over, well used to this ritual. As I swung the plimsole back I could feel my shoulder stiffen, and my arm moved slowly as it began its return. The blow, when it fell, was soft. I stepped away. The boy stood up and looked at me. A smile crossed his lips as he turned and walked out. He left and I stayed, and I have never hit a child since.
The bully has never left me
I do not know why the training of my schoolmasters and priests failed – perhaps the truer gentle love of my mother and father held true at that moment. I may have restrained the violent man, but they had instilled a bully in me. It took a long time to come to terms with my bully. And he has not left me; he is always there deep within me and sometimes bubbles near the surface.
And is bullying any better or worse than physical violence? If parents hitting their children is outlawed, does this risk increasing the bullying of children by their elders? It is illegal for bosses to hit their staff, so it rarely happens, but they can and do bully, as I have experienced from both sides. Where the boundaries between request, pressure, bully and blackmail lie depends hugely upon the context and the power.
Policing parents hitting their children will be difficult; we cannot spy into every home. Policing bullying would be much more difficult. And does banning smacking only work if every infraction is prosecuted successfully? I do not think so.
Helping children grow into better people
I would measure success with every child who does not receive a bruise; with every child who does not feel they are being unfairly thumped; and with every child who does not cower, fearful of what may happen when their actions are discovered.
I would measure as achievements every child who has not been taught that violence or bullying is the way to success; every child who has not had the worst in them honed to sharpness; and every child who does not need to fear those in authority.
Banning smacking says that we, as a society, find this unacceptable. Some will take no notice, and children will still end up in pain, in hospital and on mortuary slabs. And some children will be hit less often or not at all, and may be listened to and helped with growing into better people, so when they reach the time to have children of their own, those children will not be hit and will be nurtured and will have the opportunities to grow, perhaps to greatness.
*Editor’s note. The writer is describing events that happened more than 50 years ago. Nowadays, the Scouts have comprehensive a safe-guarding policy which is stricly adhered to.
Section 157 and 172 of the 2002 Education Act requires all schools, including Roman Catholic schools, to have a safe-guarding policy.
