(gap: 2s) In the gentle countryside, where the sun shone kindly upon the fields and the air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers, I spent my childhood days. Our home was a neat red-brick house at the end of a quiet lane, with ivy climbing the walls and a garden full of apple trees. It was here that I learned the importance of honesty, obedience, and the lessons that come from making mistakes. (short pause) One bright afternoon, I invited three friends to play in our garden. We ran and laughed, our voices ringing out as we chased each other beneath the trees. My mother called to us from the kitchen window, reminding us to be careful, but in our excitement, her words seemed far away. Suddenly, there was a sharp sound—a pane of glass in the greenhouse had been broken. I was the one who had thrown the ball, and I knew at once that I was responsible.
(short pause) My mother, who was always fair and just, came outside at once. She spoke in a calm, clear voice, telling me that I must be punished for my carelessness. To my great dismay, she said the punishment would take place in front of my three friends, so that all might learn the importance of honesty and the consequences of mischief. The garden, which had been so full of laughter, became very quiet. My friends stood in a row, their faces serious and a little frightened, for they knew that a lesson was about to be given.
(pause) My heart beat quickly as my mother brought a sturdy wooden chair into the centre of the room. She sat down, her back straight and her face kind but firm. She called me to her side, and I felt my cheeks grow hot with shame. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I began to cry, not from pain, but from the embarrassment of being punished before my friends. My mother spoke gently, “You are crying because your friends are here, not because of what is to come. You must learn to be brave and accept your punishment.”
(pause) Without delay, my mother took my hand and guided me over her knee. I felt the roughness of her skirt and the cool air on my legs. My friends watched in silence, their eyes wide. My mother raised her hand and delivered the first smack. It was sharp and stung very much. She continued, giving me ten firm smacks, each one a little lesson. The sound of each smack echoed in the quiet room, and with every one, I felt the sting grow stronger. My sobs grew louder, but my mother did not stop until all ten smacks had been given. She wished me to remember that actions have consequences, and that discipline, though painful, is meant to teach.
(short pause) When the tenth smack had fallen, my mother let me stand. I rubbed my sore bottom, my face wet with tears. My mother looked at me with a mixture of sternness and kindness. “You must learn to behave properly,” she said. “If you cannot stop crying, you must go straight to bed.” Her words made me cry even more, and my friends looked at me with sympathy, but also with relief that it was not they who had been punished.
(pause) My mother took me by the hand and led me upstairs, inviting my friends to follow. She believed that a punishment should be seen, so that all might learn from it. I felt very small and ashamed as I climbed the stairs, my tears still falling. In my bedroom, Mother drew the curtains, making the room cool and dim. She told me to raise my arms, and she took off my jumper and shirt, leaving me bare-chested before my friends. Some looked away, but others watched, their faces full of curiosity and concern.
(pause) Mother sat me on the bed and took off my shoes, socks, and shorts. I stood there, red-faced and sniffling, as she dressed me in my pyjamas. The soft cotton felt both comforting and a little babyish. She pulled back the sheets and told me to get into bed. I obeyed at once, knowing that I must accept my punishment bravely.
(short pause) Still crying, I was given a large baby’s dummy to quiet me, and soon I fell into a restless sleep, my bottom still sore and my heart heavy with shame. I could hear my friends playing outside, and I wished very much that I could join them. When I was allowed up for tea, I was still in my pyjamas, and I sat quietly at the table, thinking about what I had learned. Mischief brings consequences, and a mother’s discipline, though strict, is always given with love.
(pause) After tea, I was sent straight back to bed. The lesson of that day stayed with me always. In the quiet darkness, I promised myself that I would listen to my mother’s warnings and remember that true courage is shown by learning from one’s mistakes and striving to do better.
(pause) On another occasion, when my friend Peter was caught taking sweets from the shop without paying, the shopkeeper, Mrs. Brown, was very stern. She called Peter’s mother, who came at once. In front of Mrs. Brown and myself, Peter’s mother sat on a chair, placed Peter over her knee, and gave him six firm smacks on his bottom. Each smack was loud and clear, and Peter cried out, but his mother did not stop until all six had been given. She told him, “Stealing is wrong, and you must never do it again.” Peter’s tears were many, but he learned his lesson well, and never again did he take what was not his.
(short pause) At school, too, discipline was strict. If a boy was naughty, Miss Rose, our teacher, would call him to the front of the class. She would take her wooden ruler and give three sharp smacks to the boy’s hand. The whole class would watch in silence, and the boy would try not to cry, but the pain was real and the lesson clear. We all knew that good behaviour was expected, and that punishment, though harsh, was meant to help us grow into honest and upright children.
(pause) In those days, spankings were given not out of anger, but out of a wish to teach right from wrong. Each smack, whether at home or at school, was a reminder that we must always try to do our best, to be truthful, and to respect those who care for us. And so, as I look back on my childhood, I remember not only the games and laughter, but also the lessons learned through discipline, and the love that lay behind every punishment.
