As I look back upon my formative years in the north-east of England during the 1950s, I am reminded of a time when discipline, both at home and within the school environment, was regarded as an essential component of a child’s upbringing. The values of obedience, respect for authority, and the importance of learning from one’s mistakes were instilled in us from an early age, often through the judicious application of corporal punishment. It is with a sense of duty and understanding that I share my experiences, in the hope that they may offer guidance to mothers and homemakers seeking to nurture upright and responsible children.
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My earliest recollection of formal discipline occurred during my years at primary school. In those days, it was not uncommon for both parents and educators to employ spanking as a corrective measure, believing it to be a necessary means of imparting moral lessons and ensuring proper conduct.
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One particular incident stands out in my memory. During a morning assembly, my name was called by the headmistress, instructing me to report to her office. Upon entering, I observed the school crossing warden—known in our community as the lollipop lady—seated across from the headmistress. It became immediately apparent that I had failed to cross the road at the designated place, a transgression that, though seemingly minor, was considered a serious breach of safety and discipline.
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Recognising the gravity of my error, I confessed my misdeed. The lollipop lady, embodying the standards of the era, remarked that if I were her own child, I would be placed across her knee for a sound spanking upon returning home. The headmistress concurred, affirming that such a consequence was warranted.
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With solemnity, the headmistress rose from behind her desk and seated herself in a visitors’ chair. She proceeded to unbutton my trousers, lowering them to my ankles, and gently but firmly guided me over her knee. In a manner both methodical and dignified, she rolled up my shirt, secured me with her arm, and drew down the back of my undergarments, leaving the front in place to preserve a measure of modesty. The spanking that followed was thorough and deliberate, each firm stroke intended not merely to cause discomfort, but to impress upon me the seriousness of my infraction. My skin burned with the sting of discipline, and I understood, even in my youthful distress, that this was a lesson meant to endure.
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Upon completion of the punishment, the headmistress allowed me to compose myself and pull up my clothing. She then wrote a note addressed to my mother, requesting her signature as acknowledgment of the incident and the corrective action taken.
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When I returned home that afternoon, I presented the note to my mother. She regarded me with suspicion as she opened it, her expression shifting to one of pale concern as she absorbed its contents. My mother, a woman of strong convictions, held teachers, clergy, and law enforcement in the highest esteem, believing that their authority must be respected without question. She was deeply troubled by my disregard for school regulations and by the fact that the headmistress had been compelled to administer a spanking—a measure she herself had endeavoured to avoid.
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However, my mother informed me that the circumstances necessitated a change in her approach to discipline. She rose from her chair, took me by the hand, and led me into the dining room. Along the way, she retrieved one of my father’s slippers from its place beneath the stairs—a symbol, in our household, of parental authority.
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With purposeful resolve, my mother drew a straight-backed, armless wooden chair into the centre of the room and instructed me to stand before her. After a moment’s reflection, she declared that although I had been spanked at school, the result was scarcely visible, and she intended to rectify that.
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She placed the slipper upon her lap and directed me to position myself across her knee, with my head lowered and my bottom raised in the centre of her lap—a posture with which, by then, I was not unfamiliar. She encircled my waist with her left arm, ensuring I could not escape, and pressed the cool sole of the slipper against my skin. The anticipation was brief; the slipper was raised and brought down with a decisive ‘whoosh’, landing squarely upon my already tender bottom.
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The pain was immediate and intense, eliciting a cry from my lips. Yet my mother, steadfast in her purpose, continued the punishment, alternating strokes from side to side, from top to bottom, in a measured and unwavering pattern. The spanking persisted, each stroke reinforcing the lesson that disobedience and carelessness would not be tolerated. Tears streamed down my face, and I pleaded for respite, but my mother remained resolute until she was satisfied that the lesson had been thoroughly imparted.
