In the days of my childhood, I was utterly enchanted by the radio dramas that filled the air each Sunday afternoon. The Shadow, Inner Sanctum, and other mysterious tales would begin at four o’clock, and there I would be, sprawled on my stomach, my coloured pencils in hand, sketching as the voices crackled from the old Philco.
Supper on Sundays was a modest affair, for our main meal had been at noon. I would often take my plate to the nursery, eating quietly as the radio played. My brother, Jeffrey, had no interest in these stories. He had entered that dreadful phase of childhood—one I myself had only recently escaped—where teasing was his chief delight, and I was his chosen victim.
His favourite moment to torment me was during my precious radio hour. Week after week, he would slip in through one door, dash between me and the radio, twist the dial with a wicked grin, and dart out the other door, shrieking with laughter.
My anger would boil over, for it took an age to find my station again, and by then the most thrilling part of the story had passed. I would shout at Jeffrey, but it was useless. I told Mother, who spoke to him, but he was unmoved. Nanny tried as well, but to no avail. I felt quite alone in my misery. After many weeks, I resolved to take matters into my own hands.
Looking back, I do not believe I had a proper plan, only a burning desire to strike back as he ran past. I decided that this Sunday would be different—no longer would I be the helpless victim!
I lay on my stomach as usual, drawing with my splendid new Mongol pencils, which I treasured. When a show ended, I could relive the entire adventure by gazing at my drawings. It was a marvellous thing.
I soon forgot all about Jeffrey, lost in my story and my art. But in he came, as always, dashing through and grabbing the dial. This time, I was ready. I leapt up and struck him with my fist, the pencil still clutched in my hand. The point struck his head, and Jeffrey ran from the room, howling in pain. I muttered that it served him right and began searching for my station once more.
Mother entered at once, her face grave. She told me I had gravely injured Jeffrey. The lead of the pencil had broken off in his scalp, and he required immediate medical attention. Terror seized me. Nanny bathed his wound in preparation for the hospital, while I stood by, numb with disbelief. The household was in a flurry, and for once, no one paid me any heed. I was grateful for that, though uneasy.
Mother departed with Jeffrey for the hospital, and Nanny instructed me to prepare for bed. There would be no more pencils, paper, or radio that day. I climbed into bed and wept for a long time. Later—how much later I cannot recall—Mother returned and told me the doctors had managed to remove the lead from Jeffrey’s scalp. They remarked that the colour I had used, purple, was the most toxic, but they believed they had removed it all.
Nanny was helping Jeffrey settle in bed—he was still drowsy from the medicine. I went to see him. He lay very still, his head bandaged, a patch of hair shaved away where I had struck him.
Mother took me to my room. “Gigi,” she said, “we must discuss what you have done.” I felt certain I could justify my actions, so I explained everything to her.
She acknowledged that I was having a very difficult time with my teasing brother but that this had been a dangerous and unacceptable solution to the problem. She told me that I would be punished.
She led me to an unused guest room and put me in there in the dark (except for street lights), closing the door. I recall how cold the room was, so it must have been winter time. I sat there for a long time, getting colder and more frightened. They had not done this to me before.
Finally, Mother came to get me. I was so relieved to get out of there that I almost didn’t care what happened. Suzanne, our maid, was out in the hall putting away the last of the linen for the night. She looked at me and just shook her head. I didn’t see the butler, thank goodness. Nanny was furious. I knew she didn’t understand at all, and had it have been up to her, I would be in real trouble.
I was glad to be with my mother, who at least understood my feelings about all of this. She took me into her room and closed the door. “Gigi, are you sorry that you did this to Jeff?” I wasn’t, so I carefully said that I was sorry that he was so badly hurt and that I hadn’t meant to do that. I also made it clear that I was not sorry for defending myself against his abuse.
Mother was really taken aback. I think she expected me to be truly penitent for it all. I was surprised at my bold defence of my actions, for I was still in the unknown as to what the penalty would be.
“Gigi, We didn’t think you would need to have this kind of discipline by this age but your behaviour was that of a much younger child. Little children do not know how to talk well, so they strike out. You do have a good command of the English language, and we could have had a family discussion about this. You chose a very dangerous and unacceptable, unladylike behaviour, and for that you must be punished.”
I tried to convince mother that I had tried to communicate my desperation many times to no avail, but mother was in no place to hear me. She had just gone through the ordeal of seeing her son go through surgery. She told me to take off my robe and lie over the arm of her stuffed chair, which I did under extreme protest. When I was there, she went to her dressing table and got the dreaded hairbrush.
She told me that this was for doing the dangerous thing to Jeff, not for feeling angry with him.
The spanking began. I cried immediately, not just because the spanking was hurting my bottom, but because I was so angry that Jeff was being pampered for abusing me with his teasing. I started to hate him for what was happening to me here – but soon it all washed away, as I had to cope with what was happening in the here and now.
Mother halted the spanking, leaving me there, and returned her hairbrush to the dressing table. My father came into the room, and I reached back to cover myself immediately, sliding off the chair as I did so. He had just been with Jeff and told us that Jeff was waking slowly now, was groggy and in some pain. Nanny had given him some medication that the doctors had given my mother, so Jeff would probably sleep until morning.
“He will have a very sore head for a long time, Gigi”, my father said, “You were really naughty to have done such a thing.” I looked down in shame. He grabbed my arm and gave me several whacks on my behind, and I found myself running in circles around him, trying to escape.
He must have decided that this just would not do, so he pulled out a chair, placed me over his knees, and hand spanked me on my bottom top of mother’s hairbrush. It was over quickly, and he stood me up.
He explained that I had not been a violent person, and he was afraid for me. He wanted to discuss this further in the morning when we all had some sleep. Recalling that the next day was a school day, he said that we would talk as soon as he got home.
Mother took me back to the nursery, and I stood sobbing softly in the playroom as she checked on Jeff. Nanny came past me and said: “You’ll get no sympathy from me, lassie!” She went on past me to the bathroom to put things away. On her way back, she ushered me into my room and told me what she thought of my damaging behaviour to my poor brother.
I was suddenly very angry with her. I told her rudely: “Be quiet! We already figured it out!” or something like that. The basic message was that Nanny should mind her own business, and Nanny figured that out quickly!
Whatever I said, it was taken badly. Nanny grabbed my arm, pulled out a chair and placed me over her big white apron. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again, young lassie! You will respect your elders!”
She was still spanking me when my mother came in. I was kicking and hollering away. Nanny stood me up and told my mother what I had done. Mother was appalled. She made me apologise to Nanny, and told me that there would be a spanking every time I spoke like that to anyone on staff here. She reminded me that she had thought that by my age, I should not need spankings anymore – but they would certainly happen should I deserve them.
I realised that strange new feelings of rebellion were beginning inside me. I didn’t like them, but they seemed to be speaking to me about ‘having to be a lady all the time’ and ‘respecting elders’ etc. Therefore, aside from a smarting bottom, I also had a grieving heart that I hadn’t been heard to my satisfaction.
Mother tucked me into bed and before she left she smoothed hand cream over my smarting buttocks. I didn’t want her to do that, because I just wanted to be alone, but I must admit that it did help. I was asleep shortly after that.
