In the gentle days of the 1950s, in a small English town, life was simple and full of sunshine. Children played merrily in the fields, their laughter ringing out as they ran and tumbled in the grass. The streets were quiet and safe, and every neighbour was a friend. Families strolled together down the lanes, and brothers and sisters shared happy moments in their cosy homes. Each morning, the children would brush their hair and look out of the window, wondering what adventures the day would bring.
In our little town, there was a sweet shop on the corner, filled with jars of colourful sweets and stacks of comics. The kindly shopkeeper always had a smile for the children, but she was very firm about honesty. A sign on the door read, “No Stealing,” and everyone knew it was important to be good and truthful.
Sometimes, children were tempted to do things they ought not to do. One day, two boys tried to take sweets without paying. The shopkeeper, who was very wise, noticed at once. She closed the door and stood before them, her face stern but not unkind. The boys’ faces grew anxious as they realised they had been caught. The shopkeeper explained, “Stealing is wrong, and you must learn to be honest.” She told them that, as a lesson, each would receive six firm smacks on the seat of their trousers, so they would remember never to steal again. She took each boy gently by the hand, laid him across her lap, and gave six sound smacks—one, two, three, four, five, six—on each boy’s bottom. The boys cried a little, but they knew the lesson was fair, and they promised never to steal again.
At school, discipline was also very important. The boys and girls wore neat uniforms and worked hard at their lessons. The teachers were kind but strict, and everyone knew that good behaviour was expected at all times. If a child was naughty, such as talking in class or forgetting to do their work, the teacher would give a warning. If the child did not listen, he or she would be sent to see Miss Rose, the headmistress.
Miss Rose was tall and dignified, with sharp blue eyes and auburn hair in a tidy bun. She believed that children should learn right from wrong, and she always explained why a punishment was given. If a boy was sent to her for misbehaviour, she would sit on a chair and call him over. “Come here, please,” she would say, her voice calm and clear. The boy would stand before her, hands on his head, feeling very sorry indeed.
Miss Rose would then take her Mason & Pearson hairbrush, which gleamed in the sunlight. She would gently place the boy over her knee and say, “You must learn to behave, for your own good and for the good of others.” She would give the boy twelve firm smacks with the hairbrush—six on each side—counting them out in a steady voice. The sound echoed in the quiet room, and the boy would try his best to be brave, though sometimes a tear would escape. When it was over, Miss Rose would help him up and say, “Now, remember to be good. I know you can do better.” The boy would rub his sore bottom and promise to try his very best.
At home, mothers and fathers also taught their children important lessons. One day, I, Peter, did something I knew was wrong. I took two cigarettes from my father’s pack, thinking it would make me seem grown-up. I crept behind the garden shed and tried to smoke, but it tasted dreadful and made me cough. When I returned to the house, my mother was waiting by the window, her eyes full of disappointment.
She did not shout or scold. Instead, she spoke gently but firmly. “Peter, you know that cigarettes are not for children. They are very bad for you, and I must teach you never to touch them again.” She sent me to my bedroom to think about what I had done. I sat on my bed, feeling very sorry and wishing I had not been so foolish.
After a little while, Mother called me to the bathroom. The room was cool and smelled of lavender soap. She sat on the commode, the hairbrush beside her, and a bowl of water and a bar of soap on the wash stand. She took the soap and made a thick lather, then placed a little on my tongue. “This is to remind you that cigarettes are poison, and you must keep yourself clean from bad habits,” she said kindly. The taste was bitter, and I made a face, but I knew it was for my own good. She gave me the bowl of water to rinse and spit, and I did as I was told.
Then Mother said, “Now, Peter, you must come here.” She took me gently by the hand and laid me across her lap, just as mothers did in those days. “You must learn that actions have consequences,” she said. She gave me ten firm smacks with her hand—five on each side—so that I would remember the lesson. Each smack stung, but I knew it was because she loved me and wanted me to grow up honest and good.
After the hand smacks, Mother picked up the hairbrush. “This is to help you remember never to touch cigarettes again,” she said. She gave me ten more smacks with the hairbrush—five on each side—counting them out in a calm, steady voice. The sound was loud in the tiled bathroom, and I could not help but cry a little, but I knew I deserved it.
When it was over, Mother hugged me and said, “I love you, Peter, and I know you will remember this lesson.” She left me to think about what I had learned. I sat quietly, rubbing my sore bottom, feeling grateful that my mother cared enough to teach me right from wrong.
From that day on, I never touched a cigarette again. I remembered the taste of soap, the sting of the hairbrush, and most of all, the look of love and concern in my mother’s eyes. I knew that discipline was given with kindness, and that every lesson was meant to help me grow into a good and honest person.
In our little town, all the children learned these lessons. Sometimes, a spanking was needed to remind us to be good, but it was always given with love and a wish for us to do better. We played, we laughed, and we learned, and we grew up knowing that honesty, kindness, and obedience were the most important things of all.
