Daily Mail, London, 28 November 2007

'My whole back felt like it was on fire': As a British teacher faces 40 lashes, one man speaks out

Just what is it like to be lashed? In 1993, GavinSherrard-Smith, a computer expert from Cheltenham,received 50lashes with a bamboo cane in a prison in Qatar.

He was accused of breaking an alcohol ban while living in Doha, thecapital - something that Mr Sherrard-Smith, now 47, has alwaysdenied.

This is his astonishing account of how the brutal punishment wascarried out, and how he endured it.

Punishment: Gavin Sherrard-Smith received 50 lashes with abamboo cane

"Tuesday was punishment day. There were 22 of us on the list andone by one we were led into the doctors' clinic to be examined.

Finally, it was my turn and they laid me on a couch, spentseveral minutes discussing me and, after listening to my heart,judged me fit.

Having been searched to make sure we had no padding under ourclothes, another man and I were ushered into the waiting room.

His name was called out first so I remained in the waiting roomwhile he received his punishment next door.

I could hear the cane whooshing through the air and landing witha thud, 50 times.

And then it was me. The room where we were beaten was lit byfour striplights in the ceiling.

It was about 12ft by 14ft of whitewashed breezeblocks, withwindows on one side and dirty cream curtains hiding the ironsecurity grilles.

There was a stained carpet covered with cigarette burns.

Three policemen, three doctors, a senior police officer and areligious judge were sitting on benches and behind a wooden desk asI was marched in.

They were all holding canes - each more than a yard long andabout half an inch thick.

One fellow prisoner had told me he'd been hit so hard that thebamboo cane had broken, which wouldn't be a problem here as therewere another eight propped against the wall.

The sentence of the Islamic court was read out and translated byone of the doctors.

The judge asked if I had anything to say and I replied only thatI was innocent, although I'm not sure that was translated.

Then I was told to lie face down on a rug on the floor, stillwearing my prison uniform.

The lashing started immediately. One, two, three - in quicksuccession. I buried my head into my forearms, gritted my teeth andconcentrated on not breaking down.

The man lashing me was the tallest and biggest of the threepoliceman.

He was supposed to have a book - usually the Koran - under hisarm to reduce the swing and stop him from lifting the cane abovehis head, but there was no sign of it.

Four, five, six, seven - they kept coming thick and fast. Atfirst the pain wasn't too much and I could feel where he washitting me.

The blows were raining down on my body, from the shoulder bladesto the calves, then back up again.

But with each blow, the skin softened and the pain grew and grewto the point that my whole back felt like it was on fire.

Soon it was unbearable, but they kept coming, mostly on my leftshoulder and calf. I had to summon up all my control not tomove.

I didn't realise the human body could generate and tolerate suchpain. I had never felt anything like it before, and I hope I willnever feel anything like it again.

At about 20 I lost count because I was in too much pain, butsomeone else was counting each stroke out loud in Arabic.

I had to grit my teeth even more and screwed up my eyes.

I was determined not to make a sound and to lie perfectlystill.

Only one of us would leave this room with their dignity intact -me.

After a while I had no idea where he was hitting, even though myclothes were getting torn. The last ten strokes were agony, bloodyagony.

I thought I was going to pass out.

Then just as quickly as it started, it was over. Thirty to 40seconds was all it had lasted. I was left to stagger to my feet andwalk out.

The first person I saw was the prison governor. He said: 'Youare still alive then?' I replied: 'Yes, I'm fine.'

I was shaking uncontrollably, but just glad it was all over.

Although I'd been given a medical check before I was beaten,there was nothing afterwards.

A fellow inmate counted the marks on my back and there werescores of weals - blue and black, surrounded by yellow swellingsand extremely painful. Any movement set them on fire.

I couldn't lie on my back for days and, two weeks later, I wasstill in pain.

Today, the scars have healed, but I will never forget theordeal."