(gap: 2s) In the heart of a most respectable English village, where the hedgerows were always neatly trimmed and the sun seemed to shine obligingly through the lace curtains, there lived a boy named Peter. Now, Peter was at that awkward age—no longer a schoolboy, yet not quite a man, at least not in the estimation of his parents or, indeed, the world at large. In those days, one was not truly considered an adult until the age of twenty-one, and so, despite his best efforts at dignity, Peter was still regarded as a child in many respects.
Peter had just embarked upon his very first employment, and after a few months of earnest endeavour, he was dispatched to a training course in a distant town. His parents, ever cautious, forbade him from riding his motorbike such a distance, and so he travelled by train, his heart a curious mixture of trepidation and excitement. At the station, he was met by Mrs Groves, a kindly lady from head office, who drove him through winding country lanes to his new lodgings.
The house in which Peter was to reside belonged to Mrs Watson, a lady of about thirty-five, with a brisk step and kindly eyes. She was, in Peter’s estimation, quite beautiful, with a gentle smile and a manner that made one feel instantly at home. Mrs Watson, who worked as a secretary at head office, kept her house cheerful and bright, with vases of fresh flowers and the ever-present aroma of baking. She showed Peter to his room, which was neat as a pin, with a patchwork quilt on the bed and a window overlooking a garden brimming with hollyhocks and roses.
That first evening, Mrs Watson brewed a pot of tea and set out a plate of homemade biscuits. As they sat together, she explained the house rules in a tone that was both gentle and unyielding. “No young ladies in your room, Peter, and you must be home by ten o’clock each evening,” she said. Peter, recalling his parents’ insistence on good behaviour, nodded dutifully. Mrs Watson also informed him that his parents had signed a form making her his guardian for the duration of his stay, and that she was to look after him as if he were her own son. This, she added, included the right to discipline him should he misbehave. Peter, who had often found himself on the receiving end of a stern lecture from friends’ mothers, agreed without protest, for he knew that rules were not made to be broken.
For several weeks, Peter settled into his new routine. He worked diligently at his training, and in the evenings he would read by the fire or assist Mrs Watson with the washing up. Occasionally, they would play a game of cards or listen to the wireless together. Peter felt rather grown-up, yet he could not help but enjoy the comfort of being cared for, just as he had been at home.
One evening, however, Peter’s sense of adventure got the better of him. He met a young lady at the local public house—a little older than he, with sparkling eyes and a ready laugh. They conversed and laughed together, and before Peter knew it, the hour had grown late. The young lady invited him to her flat, and they talked until the church clock struck midnight. Realising the time, Peter hurried back to his lodgings, his heart pounding with apprehension.
To his dismay, the front door was locked. He knocked softly, hoping not to rouse the entire household. Mrs Watson opened the door, her face a picture of concern and disappointment. She ushered him into the lounge, where the fire had burned low. “Peter, you know the rules,” she said, her voice gentle but resolute. “I was most anxious about you.” Peter hung his head, acutely aware that he had betrayed her trust. “I am too tired to deal with you now,” Mrs Watson said. “We shall discuss this in the morning.”
That night, Peter lay awake, pondering his misdeeds. He recalled all the times his parents had reminded him that rules existed for his own good. He felt a mixture of guilt and dread, but also a peculiar sense of anticipation, for he knew that Mrs Watson would not allow his transgression to go unpunished.
In the morning, Mrs Watson knocked on his door. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing in the garden. “Breakfast is ready, Peter,” she called. He dressed quickly and went downstairs, where the table was set with toast, marmalade, and a pot of tea. After breakfast, Peter helped clear the table and washed the dishes, hoping to demonstrate his contrition.
When the chores were complete, Mrs Watson regarded Peter with a kind but determined expression. “It is time for your punishment, Peter,” she said. She fetched a sturdy kitchen chair and placed it in the centre of the lounge. Sitting down, she smoothed her skirt and beckoned Peter to her side. With a mixture of embarrassment and relief, Peter bent over her knees as instructed. Mrs Watson then administered a most thorough and severe spanking, her hand falling with unwavering firmness upon the seat of Peter’s trousers. The sound echoed through the room, and Peter wriggled and gasped, but Mrs Watson did not relent until she was satisfied that the lesson had been well and truly learned. Her manner was not unkind, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of her intent.
When it was over, Mrs Watson rose and went to the cupboard, from which she produced a long, slender cane. “This is merely to remind you to keep the rules,” she said. Peter, his face flushed, bent over the back of the chair as instructed. Mrs Watson delivered six sharp, stinging strokes, each one landing with a crisp report. Peter bit his lip, determined not to cry out, but the pain was considerable. When it was done, Mrs Watson put the cane away and told Peter to go to his room and reflect upon the consequences of his actions.
For the next several days, Peter was the very model of good behaviour. He returned home punctually, assisted with the household chores, and was unfailingly polite and cheerful. Yet, as the week wore on, he found his thoughts returning to Mrs Watson’s firm but fair discipline. He wondered if she would ever need to punish him again, and what he might do to avoid such a fate.
The following Friday, temptation proved too much for Peter. After the public house closed, he wandered the quiet streets, enjoying the cool night air and the twinkling stars. He knew he was late, but he could not bring himself to hurry. When he returned, Mrs Watson was waiting for him, though this time the door was not locked. She summoned him into the lounge and addressed him with gentle reproach. “You must learn to keep your promises, Peter,” she said. “We shall address this matter in the morning.”
The next morning, Peter descended the stairs in his dressing gown, resigned to his fate. Mrs Watson, dressed simply, had breakfast waiting. After they had eaten, she repeated the same ritual as before. Peter bent over her knees, and Mrs Watson delivered a spanking even more severe than the last, her hand falling with unwavering resolve. Peter squirmed and promised to do better, but Mrs Watson was not yet finished. She fetched the cane and, with a steady hand, administered eight sharp strokes, each one leaving a vivid impression. Afterwards, Mrs Watson confided that she too had been caned at school, and so she understood precisely how it felt. Peter was surprised, but he respected her all the more for her candour.
This pattern continued over the next few weeks. Each time Peter broke the rules, Mrs Watson would scold him kindly and then administer a most thorough and memorable punishment. The spankings were always harsh, but never cruel, and Peter began to realise that Mrs Watson’s discipline was a sign of her genuine care. He endeavoured to behave, but, as all boys do, he sometimes found himself testing the boundaries.
As the end of his training course approached, Peter felt a curious mixture of sadness and excitement. He knew he would soon return home, but he also knew he would miss Mrs Watson and her gentle, if formidable, care. On his last morning, after one final scolding and a sound, stinging spanking, Mrs Watson told him that he was the naughtiest lodger she had ever had, but also the most endearing. Peter blushed, but he was secretly pleased.
The final day arrived, and Peter packed his suitcase, ensuring his room was as neat as he had found it. Mrs Watson walked him to the waiting taxi and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I have enjoyed having you here, Peter,” she said. “Remember always to do your best, and never be afraid to admit when you are wrong.” Peter promised he would, and waved goodbye as the taxi drove away.
In the years that followed, Peter often thought of Mrs Watson and the lessons she had taught him. He remembered the warmth of her home, the kindness of her words, and the fairness—if firmness—of her discipline. He knew that he had become a better person because of her care. And so, dear children, remember that rules are there to help us, and that those who care for us may sometimes be strict, but always act out of love.
