Stewart Hunter: Chapter 1

We were still getting whacked at our school, a large all boys comprehensive just outside of London, in the 1970’s. The main culprits being the two PE teachers. They were very much the stereotypes. Nothing much between the ears, took a great delight in making life miserable for all the boys - especially those not very good at PE or games - and a desire to ensure boys were beaten at every opportunity. Most times this involved being given the slipper. A boy would be given one hefty whack with his own school plimsoll across his backside while only having a thin pair of shorts for protection. Mr, Herbert, who also took charge of the school’s Rugby teams had slightly refined this by using the plimsoll of a classmate called David Hobson who, even at the age of 12, had size 9 feet. I had taken the slipper once from Mr. Herbert in the Second Year - I suppose that would be Year 8 now - and once from Mr. Baker, who also ran the school’s Football teams, in the year before that. The two teachers certainly had the ability to inflict pain with such simple implements. I remember one PE lesson with Mr. Herbert. It was the last one of the morning and we were doing leaping over the gym horse. There was this really fat boy - Michael Goss (one boy put an 'R' between the first two letters of his surname all over his exercise books). There was just no way that Goss could do these exercises but Mr. Herbert insisted; keeping us all into our lunch break until Goss had performed. I think the idea was that we'd all blame Goss for the loss of most of our break. One boy even argued that it should just be Goss who was kept behind and a friend of his agreed. The two dissenters were promply slippered. Herbert did not want anyone telling him how to run the class. Needless to say the two boys who had been slippered sought revenge on Goss and gave him a punching at the first opportunity - the afternoon break.

Then at the start of my third year, the headmaster introduced all the boys to a new PE teacher - Stewart Hunter, or Mr. Hunter, as we were supposed to call him. At the time we were sitting in the hall waiting to see what forms we would be in that school year. At a first glance, Mr. Hunter seemed to be different. I suppose it might just have been the way he smiled. When we went to our form rooms, so we could be given our timetable, we were all hoping that Mr, Hunter would be our PE teacher that year.

It took just over twenty four hours to realise the truth of the saying ’Be careful what you wish for - you may just get it’. We had PE on the Tuesday afternoon - in the lesson between lunch time and the afternoon break. I was one of the first boys changed and made my way into the gym. There was a store room off the gym where Mr. Hunter had a desk. Though what I noticed were a couple of dumbbells. I had to have go at them. Then Mr. Hunter spotted me and I was given a brief lecture of exercising with such equipment unsupervised. I could have dropped one and broken a toe. He went on to explain that my mum would then come up to the school to nag the headmaster and he in turn would nag him. Also, I would have to spend two weeks with my feet up listening to music instead of coming to school. I would be given the slipper to remind me of my stupidity. With the rest of my class now in the gym they were ordered to sit on the floor while I had to stand in front of them and tell them what I had done, how foolhardy it was and that I was to be given the slipper. I raised my right foot to take off the plimsoll on it and Mr. Hunter told me to stop. There were a pair of kung fu slippers on his desk and I was to bring him one of them. I went to the store room and immediately spotted the pair of slippers. I suppose they were slippers in the true sense of the word. They had a black canvas top with no laces and a hard, very hard, brown plastic sole. I handed it to him and bent over. In some ways bending over was the worst part of it. You seemed to be complicit in your own punishment. And then the first stroke was delivered. Shit, did it hurt. Being used to only getting one stroke I stood up to rub my backside. Mr. Hunter immediately told me that he had not finished with me and I was to bend over again and that I would get even more strokes if I stood up before being told to do so. Another stroke was delivered and I could even see, out of the corner of my eye, one of the other boys wincing. I took four strokes in all. That was more than either Mr. Herbert or Mr. Baker had ever given to a boy at one time. When I was told to stand up, Mr . Hunter dropped the slipper on the floor and told me to pick it up and return it to his desk. Another three boys took the slipper that afternoon, though the last one was for laughing while another boy was slippered. Each of the other boys took three strokes with one of them saying, during the break, he’d rather take six strokes of the cane from the headmaster.

It only took just another three weeks to be bending over in front of Mr. Hunter again. It must have been a Thursday and during the morning break. My classmate, Robert Hedges and me were visiting the toilet and there we saw two boys from the year above us, by the names of Chappell and Kemp, trying to give another boy in our year a bog wash. That’s where the victims head is held down the toilet while it is flushed. I don’t know why but we decided to help out the older two boys. As we were doing do, no doubt because of the noise being made, Mr. Hunter walked in. He instinctively knew what we were up to and the four of us were told to report to him, in the gym block, at the end of the school day. In turn we all instinctively knew what our fate would be. In an attempt not to get the slipper, Chappell and Kemp approached us during the lunch break and tried to persuade us to tell Mr. Hunter that the bog wash was Hedges and my idea and that they were only onlookers. Meanwhile, having not been given the slipper yet from Mr. Hunter, Robert Hedges wanted some reassurance from me that it would not be too painful. He was upset with me when I did not give such an assurance. As instructed the four of us were in the gym block just after four o’clock. When his last class of the day had departed, Mr Hunter marched us into the changing room and handed each of us a pair of shorts, which we were ordered to change into. There was no chance of explaining what we were doing and who was the main culprit. There was no opportunity to make any excuse, however feeble it may be. Mr. Hunter was determined that we should all be punished and that was it. Once in the gym we noticed a kung fu slipper lying on the floor. We were told to stand around it and then drop into the press up prone position. Mr. Hunter then started to explain the rules of the “game” we were about to play. If we moved or fidgeted we would get “awarded” with strokes the slipper. Keeping still meant not getting the slipper. If there were no two clear winners after half an hour then we would “go into extra time”. This was the semi-final and the two boys who got the most strokes of the slipper would come back tomorrow, after school, and compete in the final. The winner of the final would spend the forthcoming weekend writing lines. The first few minutes weren’t too bad but after a while holding the press up position was becoming quite stressful. It was Chappell who gave in first and was instantly given six strokes before being ordered back into the prone position. A few minutes later it was my mate, Robert Hedges, who dropped. However, he only received four strokes. In response to the groans and grunts we were all making, Mr. Hunter suggested that we all seemed to be enjoying ourselves. With ten minutes left Kemp was unable to hold out and he received six strokes. With just a few minutes left I thought I was going to make it. I then saw, right next to me, the Converse All Star basketball boots Mr. Hunter was wearing. I remember they were white and he wore a pair of red football socks which were folded down covering the tops of his boots. I then felt the sole of one of them between my shoulder blades as I was pushed down. I was then told I would be given the slipper. I feared getting six strokes as it would mean no two winners and we would all have to go into “extra time”. As it was, like Hedges, I was given four strokes. I knew what to expect and wasn’t disappointed. I felt it was a little unfair that, in the circumstances, I was given the slipper but I understood when Mr. Hunter, said that there was nothing fair about being bullied in response to Chappell’s question about why he and Kemp and both been given six strokes while Hedges and myself had only been given four.

Chappell and Kemp “played” out a draw in the final, with each being given a further six strokes. Mr. Hunter declared them joint winners and were each given a thousand lines to write over the weekend. Something that would have kept them both busy for most of the daylight hours on the two days.

I had managed to avoid getting the slipper for the rest of that term and so had Robert. But after the Christmas Holiday Mr. Hunter started a karate club at the school. Unknown to the rest of us he was a 3rd Dan Black Belt, which meant he had the title of Sensei - Japanese for teacher. To keep the troublemakers away, membership was by invitation only; but it felt more like conscription.. Boys who were good at PE but didn’t make it into either the football or rugby teams were the first ones drafted in. Then it was those boys who Mr. Hunter felt were being bullied. And finally it was the boys like Robert Hedges and myself; those who were not troublesome but nonetheless would benefit from the extra discipline that belonging to a karate club would bring.

And it didn’t take too long for that extra discipline to manifest itself. One or two of the teachers had questioned the wisdom of teaching the boys karate but Mr. Hunter had replied that discipline would be improved and if any of the boys who belonged to the karate club did anything that warranted a punishment then he would be glad to apply it. We had this new teacher who hadn’t quite got the hang of dealing with a bunch of robust young teenagers and we were giving him hell. I don’t know quite what had come over me but I remember dancing, or rather trying to dance, on one of the desks when at that moment the deputy head came into the class. I immediately jumped of the desk and, somewhat surprisingly, he left the room saying nothing and leaving me with the hope and impression that that was the last of it. The karate club would be in training the following evening. When I arrived in the changing room I got my gi, that’s the white outfit, out of my bag and Mr. Hunter told me to “Stop right there” as he handed me a pair of shorts and told me to put them on instead. At first I was a little puzzled but when we made our way into the gym it was made clear. Mr. Hunter wanted to show the rest of the school - teachers and pupils - that the boys in his karate club were the most disciplined in the school and because of my antics the day before I was now to be made an example of. I wasn’t going to be training that evening; instead I had to kneel down in the corner facing the corner until the end of the session. During that time I was told to reflect on the way I had behaved. At the end of training I would be given the cane. And it wouldn’t be case of being able to keep a count of the number of strokes on the finger of one hand. It took at little time to figure out what Mr. Hunter meant and that was I would be taking at least six strokes. And this time it wouldn’t be the slipper, which was bad enough, it would be the far more painful cane. Not surprising the session seemed to go on much longer. At the end the usual procedure of karate etiquette took place and I was summoned to get on to my feet and stand before the other boys. Mr. Hunter was already holding the cane which he swished through the air a couple of times. The other boys just stood there in a karate stance with feet shoulder width apart and the forearms held parallel to the floor with fists clenched. I bent over and touched my toes. I heard a further swish of the cane then Mr. Hunter seemed to take a sort of a hop skip and jump as he brought the first stoke down. It was funny but it seemed to take a few seconds before I realised how much it hurt. Mr Hunter seemed to be in no hurry to get the caning over with. He positioned himself again and took another short run up before delivering, with pinpoint accuracy and considerable force, the second stroke right on top of where the first one had landed. The third stoke was delivered in the same way and leaving me to catch my breath. The fourth stroke was landed just below where the first three had done and so wasn’t quite as painful as strokes two and three. But then strokes four and five were landed on the same sport as the fourth. When the caning was over all the boys, including myself were ordered to shower and then get dressed. I think Mr. Hunter wanted the other boys to see my backside and hopefully it would be some kind of deterrent to them.

Since coming to the school it had taken two years to receive just two strokes of the slipper. But in two terms I had take eight strokes of the slipper and six of the cane. However, that was the last time I was the recipient of any form of corporal punishment. I witnessed three other boys being caned in the karate club for offences similar to mine and numerous boys got the slipper in PE. Mr. Hunter was my forms PE teacher for my remaining years at the school and somehow we really go to like him. He was hard but fair and, with the karate club, brought the weaker boys out of their shells. One of the boys recruited to the karate club was Michael Goss. Mr. Hunter gave him a lot of advice on dietting and kept him busy during PE when he couldn't do the same exercises as the rest of us. There was no attempt to embarrass or belittle Goss in front of his classmates. When I left school a number of us joined a karate club outside and I got my black belt - 1st Dan just before my eighteenth birthday. Although Goss lost a hell of a lot of weight, sadly, he did not continue with his karate, Myself and three other of the school’s old boys started our own karate club. One of them, Alan Sefton, seemed to have a gift for running the club as business. At the age of 21 I achieved my 3rd Dan and became a Sensei. Three weeks after that I fought in a national knock down competition tournament which meant me travelling to Sheffield. Shortly after arriving at the sports centre I was handed the draw and there it was: Stewart Hunter v me. And it was me who progressed to the next round. Stewart, who had just got his 4th Dan and just turned 30, suggested that he should now retire from fighting but I didn’t think he meant it and I subsequently found out he didn’t. What I’ll remember about our bout was Stewart picking himself up off the floor, putting his arms around me, smiling and saying, “Don’t get too cocky. You’re still not too old to have the slipper put across your backside”.