During my formative years, my mother held a steadfast belief in the value of corporal punishment as a means of instilling discipline and moral rectitude. It was not uncommon for my sister and me to find ourselves summoned before her, our misdeeds carefully explained, and our undergarments respectfully lowered, as we were placed across her knee to receive a measured and deliberate spanking.
Each act of discipline was carried out with a small wooden paddle, an object that held a place of significance in our household. This implement, which bore the affectionate moniker of the Family Bottom Smacker, was reserved exclusively for the correction of the children. On its surface, the words “Bum Burner” were inscribed, accompanied by a quaint illustration, yet within our family it was most often referred to as the ‘Nanny Smacker.’ This paddle had been presented to my mother by my grandmother, a memento from a seaside excursion to Blackpool, and it became a symbol of maternal duty.
The Nanny Smacker, though modest in size—comparable to the back of a hairbrush—was amply sufficient to cover the entirety of a young child’s lower anatomy. The sensation it produced was sharp and memorable, serving as a physical reminder of the lesson imparted. After each spanking, the warmth and discomfort lingered, reinforcing the importance of obedience and respect for one’s elders.
My sister and I were always corrected in one another’s presence, and frequently, both of us would receive the same just punishment. Each occasion was preceded by a solemn explanation of our transgression, followed by a firm but fair application of the paddle. These moments, though difficult, were intended to guide us toward proper conduct and to instill in us the virtues of honesty, diligence, and humility. The Nanny Smacker remained a fixture in our upbringing until we reached adolescence, at which point it quietly vanished from our lives.
The ritual of spanking was a meticulous process. My mother would first sit us down and explain our misdeeds in a calm, measured tone. The anticipation would build as she reached for the Nanny Smacker, its polished wooden surface gleaming in the light. We would then be instructed to lower our undergarments, a gesture that added to the gravity of the moment. As we were placed across her knee, the coolness of the paddle against our skin was a stark contrast to the warmth that would soon follow.
The first swat was always the most startling, a sharp sting that seemed to reverberate through our entire being. Each subsequent swat, delivered with precision and care, built upon the last, creating a crescendo of sensation that was impossible to ignore. The physical discomfort was intense, but it was the emotional impact that lingered long after the spanking had ended. The tears that flowed were not just from the pain, but from the realization of our wrongdoing and the desire to make amends.
After the spanking, we were always held close, our mother’s embrace a balm to our wounded spirits. She would remind us of her love and her hopes for our future, her words a soothing counterpoint to the discipline we had just received. The warmth and discomfort in our lower anatomy served as a lasting reminder of the lesson imparted, a physical manifestation of the values she sought to instill in us.
