My sister Clare and I, as young girls, were often engaged in disagreements, much to the distress of our dear Mother. In our household, such discord was not tolerated, and the result was frequently a firm and well-administered spanking, which served as a lesson in proper conduct and familial harmony.
As the elder by eighteen months, I must admit that I was often the originator of these almost daily disputes. Nevertheless, the blame was seldom one-sided, and the familiar refrain of “She started it” echoed through our home with regularity.
On one particular day, which remains vivid in my memory, both Clare and I were treated to some sweets from our local corner shop. I received pear drops, while Clare was given aniseed balls. Upon returning home, Mother busied herself with her household duties, and we played together in relative peace, even exchanging our confections so that each might sample the other’s treat.
However, a disagreement soon arose regarding the ownership of the sweets. I cannot now recall who was truly at fault, but the quarrel escalated, and we began to strike one another in our frustration.
The commotion summoned Mother from the kitchen, and she demanded an explanation. Predictably, she was met with two simultaneous and highly partial accounts, both concluding with the inevitable accusation, “She started it.”
Mother, exasperated by our behaviour, declared us ungrateful and resolved to put an end to our bickering. “I do not care who began it,” she announced with finality, “I shall be the one to finish it.” She removed the bags of sweets from our hands and returned to the kitchen. When she reappeared, she carried with her the implement reserved for such occasions—a rubber spatula, known in our home as the ‘bottom smacker’, which was both effective and memorable in its application.
Our protests and pleas for mercy were to no avail. Mother, steadfast in her resolve, took Clare by the hand, seated herself upon the settee, and gently but firmly placed her youngest daughter across her lap.
Clare, being the younger, was always disciplined first when we were punished together. I believe Mother considered it kinder to allow the younger child to have the ordeal over with. I watched as my sister’s plump little bottom, so like my own, grew increasingly rosy with each measured stroke of the spatula. Clare’s cries and lamentations filled the room, a testament to the seriousness with which Mother regarded our misbehaviour.
When Clare’s punishment was complete, she was gently lifted from Mother’s lap, and I was summoned to take her place. I, too, was positioned across Mother’s knees, and the lesson was repeated with equal care and attention.
I made a considerable fuss, as any child might, but Mother was experienced in such matters and could distinguish between mere protest and the genuine, penitent tears that signified a lesson well learned. She continued until she was satisfied that the point had been made.
Afterwards, we were both sent to our beds in disgrace, where we listened to each other’s quiet sobs. The discipline we received that day was not unique, but it was effective. For a considerable time thereafter, we conducted ourselves with exemplary behaviour, having been reminded, through Mother’s firm but loving hand, of the importance of obedience, respect, and sisterly affection.
