Mid-Career Reflections or "How the Heck Did You End Up Here?"

year, a boy would knock, enter the classroom, and make his way to the teacher's desk, bearing a note. We knew what it was. Some squirmed uncomfortably in their seats as bowels began to shift; others, smugly confident, made faces at each other. teacher then pronounced the dreaded words: The Master would like to see the following boys: Bonehead, Kosygin, Orifice. Off you go, boys. You don't want to keep the Master waiting. Bonehead, Kosygin, and Orifice, or whatever their names really were, would respond to the dreaded summons in various ways: one might grin and leave the classroom with a carefree swagger; another might sigh and trudge resignedly across the schoolyard to the Master's Study; another might just faint and have to be carried off to the infirmary (this was actually the best trick if you could pull it off). One year it was my turn. I don't recall grinning, swaggering, sighing, trudging, and certainly didn't faint, but made my way dutifully and full of apprehension to meet my fate. Upon arrival at the study door, I encountered a collection of thirty or more ashen-faced boys already standing silently in line, having carefully arranged themselves in alphabetical order. Thank the Lord my name began with 'B' and I was the first to have to respond when the Master's voice boomed Enter! Master was in shirtsleeves, his suspenders loosened for the occasion, holding a cane. We knew the drill: walk over to the chair, bend over, and take your punishment like a man, even though you might only be twelve or thirteen. Six of the best, the swish, as we used to call it, a whacking. There was no point in trying to cushion the blow: anything stuffed in the pants would be immediately visible to an old pro like the Master, and something less obvious like an exercise book would make a suspicious sound when it encountered the cane. No, just get it over with, and be thankful your name wasn't Williams or Zygulski and that you wouldn't have to stand around awaiting your turn listening to the sounds of swish, thwack, and the occasional whimper. In the event, it didn't hurt much-at first, anyway. Only as the day wore on (or as the Liverpool poet Roger McGough once wrote, as the day wore off), did the pain

Political science · Politics · Presidential system · Law · Lexicography and Language Studies