It was a typical Bank Holiday upon the Oakfield Estate, the sky heavy with gentle rain and the air filled with the scent of damp earth and coal smoke. Children, attired in well-worn jumpers and patched trousers, played merrily upon the green, their laughter mingling with the creak of a rusty swing. Mothers, wrapped in sensible coats and headscarves, gathered by the lamppost, exchanging news and kindly advice as prams and bicycles rested nearby.
My dearest friend, Graham, and I found ourselves at a loss for amusement. Having played football until our shoes were sodden and our knees muddied, we sat upon the steps, gazing wistfully at the rain. Observing our discontent, our mothers resolved to take us to the church jumble sale at the community hall. “Come along, boys,” my mother called, “perhaps you shall discover a treasure or two if you look carefully.”
The hall was alive with neighbours, and the tables were laden with the cast-offs of many homes—old hats, chipped crockery, and boxes of well-thumbed books. Graham and I searched without much hope, until we espied a stall with a pile of old comics. Our eyes shone with delight. Pooling our coins, we purchased four battered issues—two Beanos and two Dandys, their covers worn but the stories within still bright and cheerful.
We returned to Graham’s modest flat, where we sat at the kitchen table, absorbed in our comics, while our mothers conversed over mugs of tea. The room was warm from the coal fire, and the aroma of toast lingered in the air. We soon noticed that nearly every tale concluded with the main character receiving a sound spanking from a parent or teacher. We compared stories, remarking upon the reasons for the punishments, the positions adopted, and the implements used—a slipper here, a wooden spoon there.
“Observe this one!” Graham whispered, indicating a picture of Dennis the Menace bent over his father’s knee. “He merely knocked over a flowerpot!” I replied, “And this one was punished for taking biscuits!” We wondered if such discipline was truly common.
Presently, Graham’s mother inquired as to the subject of our whispers. With great boldness, Graham asked if she had read such comics in her youth. Both mothers nodded, recalling similar stories and mischief from their own childhoods.
Then Graham, ever forthright, asked, “Did you receive spankings, as the children in these stories do?” Both mothers admitted that they had indeed been subject to such discipline, both at home and at school. I was astonished to hear my own mother say, “Oh yes, I remember being sent to bed early more than once, and my mother’s slipper was always close at hand.”
Graham, undeterred, inquired, “What is it like? Does it hurt?” His mother replied with a gentle smile, “Of course it stings, but it is soon over, and one remembers not to repeat the mischief.” My mother agreed, “It is not meant to be cruel, but to remind one to behave properly.”
Graham then asked, “Might we try a spanking, simply to know what it is like?” I looked at him in surprise, but I too was curious.
Both mothers laughed, and Graham’s mother said, “Do not be silly! You have done nothing wrong.” But my mother, with a twinkle in her eye, said, “Perhaps you deserve a smack for cheek!” The room was filled with laughter.
To my astonishment, Graham’s mother agreed. She set aside her tea, looked at Graham, and said, “Well, do you wish to try?” She patted her lap. Graham, with great courage, approached, took her hand, and lay across her knees, just as in the comics. “Are you ready?” she asked, and Graham nodded.
My own mother beckoned to me. Graham, already in position, called, “Come, Peter—it is your turn!” Embarrassed but curious, I joined him. “It is only a game,” my mother whispered, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I approached my mother, who smiled kindly and guided me over her lap. I had never experienced such discipline before. Graham grinned at me, his cheeks flushed with anticipation.
The mothers exchanged a few words, and then the spankings began. Graham’s mother delivered three firm but gentle smacks to his seat, each one producing a soft sound and a slight wriggle from Graham. My mother did the same, administering three measured smacks to my own shorts. The sensation was not painful, but rather a tingling reminder of the lesson being imparted. Graham giggled, and I too could not help but laugh.
The mothers then conferred and decided to repeat the exercise, this time with a little more firmness. Graham’s mother gave him five crisp smacks, each one a little sharper than before. Graham wriggled and let out a small yelp, but he remained cheerful. My mother followed suit, giving me five brisk smacks, which stung but were not unbearable. The sound of discipline echoed in the small flat, and our mothers smiled, knowing that the lesson was being learned in good spirit.
Graham, ever the brave soul, declared that he had hardly felt a thing, and that my mother had not smacked me hard enough either. For his cheek, Graham’s mother gave him two proper whacks, each one landing squarely and producing a surprised yelp from Graham, though he was still smiling. The mothers then decided to exchange children, so that Graham found himself over my mother’s lap, and I over Graham’s mother’s.
This time, perhaps because we were not their own children, the smacks were a little firmer. My mother gave Graham six sound smacks, each one delivered with care and purpose. Graham’s face grew red, and he wriggled with each smack, but he bore it bravely. Graham’s mother gave me six gentle but clear smacks, and I felt the lesson keenly. “You boys are courageous,” she said, “but remember, this is only for fun. True mischief brings true consequences.”
When the spankings were concluded, the mothers allowed us to remain over their laps for a moment, laughing at our red faces and the warmth in our cheeks. “That is the best afternoon’s work I have done in ages!” Graham’s mother declared. They spoke of the ‘good old days’ and then helped us to our feet, embracing us warmly. “You are good boys,” my mother said, “and we are proud of your honesty and courage.”
Graham’s mother, with a playful smile, said, “You have a very smackable bottom, Peter!” She gave me a kiss on the forehead, and I blushed deeply. Though I never spoke of it, I cherished her kindness.
The mothers asked how we felt about our spankings, and we discussed the matter earnestly. “It is not about being unkind,” my mother explained, “but about helping you remember to do what is right.” Graham agreed, “It is better than being sent to bed without supper!” We all laughed, and the mothers promised that as long as we tried our best, we would always be forgiven for our mistakes.
The afternoon ended with stale cakes and more tea, before my mother and I walked home. I clutched my comics and rubbed my still-warm backside, reflecting that it had been a most instructive and enjoyable day. The rain had ceased, and the estate shone in the evening light, fairy lights twinkling and the aroma of supper drifting from open doors.
Upon our return, my mother teased, “That was a pleasant day, was it not? Perhaps I should make a habit of smacking your bottom!” But she never did, not even in play. Instead, she ruffled my hair and prepared cocoa, humming a tune from her own childhood.
I asked if she had smacked Graham more firmly than me. She smiled, “You both received the same, until he complained! I gave Graham a proper smack after that—my hand stung, so I am certain his bottom did as well!” We both laughed, and I promised to be good—at least until the next adventure.
That night, she tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight. “Are you well after your spanking?” she asked, still smiling. I replied, “I hardly felt a thing!” She laughed and gave the bedclothes a playful pat where my bottom lay. “Be careful what you wish for, young man!” she said, and I snuggled down, feeling safe and loved.
(pause) It was all so long ago. My mother is gone now, but that day remains one of my fondest childhood memories—a lesson in mischief, friendship, and the gentle justice of a Surrey council estate. I learned that even when one is naughty, there is always an opportunity to make amends, and that laughter and love are the finest parts of any adventure. The moral, dear reader, is this: discipline, when given with kindness and understanding, helps us to grow into good and honest people.
