To any boy who rented my lederhosen for the purpose of absorbing the pain of a caning I will refund the two bob or half-crown I charged back then. You will need to send me your receipt.

Recalling the bad old days of Langford's corporal punishment regime in the late 1950s, many will know that preliminary exploratory taps always detected magazines or extra clothing stuffed between skin and grey flannel.

But my leather shorts worn under the trousers did the trick. This Teutonic arse-armour was early 'stealth' technology. To seasoned whackers like Langford himself they still presented what appeared to be an authentic, unshielded, taut and inviting young bottom.

Heh heh.

Even with the power of whacking aces Cooley and Dan Collins, through the lederhosen one felt no more than a tickle. To maintain the deception, a feigned wince or perhaps a little yelp was always good.

I shouldn't have charged fellow fourth-formers, but I needed money for cigarettes.

Fred Wehner