(gap: 2s) Looking back upon my formative years in England during the 1960s, I am reminded of a time when discipline was considered an essential element of a child’s upbringing, both at home and at school. Corporal punishment, though now viewed with a critical eye, was then regarded as a necessary and effective means of instilling respect, obedience, and moral character.
At my mixed school, the administration of corporal punishment was a matter of routine, always conducted with a sense of propriety and purpose. It was never excessive, and always justified by the standards of the day. For safety, it was administered upon the seat, never the hand. Boys, in particular, were often subject to the ‘slipper’—in reality, a sturdy tennis shoe—for minor infractions, and the cane for more serious or repeated offences.
Detentions were available, but many boys preferred the swift certainty of corporal punishment to the inconvenience of a lengthy detention or the tedium of writing lines. Even the older boys, those in the sixth form, would sometimes choose a slippering over a more protracted penalty.
For girls, written punishments and detentions were more common, but corporal punishment was not unknown, especially in cases of persistent misbehaviour or serious breaches of conduct. At our school, one mistress was entrusted with this responsibility, usually employing the slipper. While not frequent, such punishments were by no means rare.
Only the most serious offences warranted a visit to the senior mistress, the sole authority permitted to administer the cane to a girl. During my years at the school, only a handful of girls ever received such a punishment, a testament to its gravity.
The ritual of discipline was observed with solemnity. On Fridays, after lessons had concluded, those who had been placed ‘on report’ would gather outside the relevant teacher’s study, awaiting their turn. The air was thick with anticipation and, for some, dread. At four o’clock, when most pupils had departed, the punishments would commence, ensuring privacy and decorum.
Passing by the study, one might hear the unmistakable sound of the cane or the sharp report of the slipper. Afterwards, the recipient would emerge, subdued and often rubbing the affected area—a visible reminder of the consequences of misbehaviour.
I recall, with a certain clarity, the sense of justice that pervaded these proceedings. Discipline was not meted out in anger, but with the intention of correcting faults and guiding us towards better conduct. It was understood by all that such measures, though unpleasant, were for our own good.
The home, too, was a place where discipline was valued. In our household, my parents believed in a firm but fair approach. I was an only child, and while my parents were not unduly strict, they held clear expectations regarding behaviour and responsibility.
When I transgressed, as all do from time to time, I knew that consequences would follow.
My mother took responsibility for my punishments, and had the normal range available for the day – I was kept in (‘grounded’ in today’s parlance) for a given period, stopped from doing things I wanted to do, had my pocket money withdrawn and so on.
In her armoury (quite normally for the time) my mother included corporal punishment. Following age-old custom, if my actions deserved it, I would be chastised. This was always administered in a traditional manner and on the usual place – with comprehensive ritual and formality, I was given a sore bottom.
‘Getting my bottom tanned’ or receiving a ‘smacked bottom’ were not common experiences, but neither were they that rare. When I was in trouble at primary school, I was given a traditional spanking. My mother sat on a chair in her bedroom and put me over her knee – , she smacked my bottom until it was hot and stinging.
As soon as I reached secondary school, I was deemed too big to go over her knee – but far from too big to receive a sore bottom. I then had to bend over, most often for the slipper.
Because I was only beaten when I was thoroughly in trouble, for something for which I needed a salutory lesson, her punishments were not lightly administered. I viewed them with considerable trepidation and they weren’t easily forgotten. However, I would say that on every single occasion that I was beaten, the punishment was fully deserved and appropriate.
Every so often, my mother used corporal punishment on me throughout my time at secondary school, right up to my leaving home for university. In my early years at secondary school, when I was in serious trouble and thoroughly deserved to be punished, she would discuss with me what ‘sentence’ I deserved, and usually I couldn’t disagree that a hiding was appropriate.
Having been informed that my fate was to get a ‘severe dose of the slipper’, ‘a whacking’ or ‘my bottom tanned’ (she used the terms interchangeably), she would never punish me immediately but tell me when she would administer it, leaving a good while for me to meditate.
Typically, like a school, she would tend to save up my punishment till the end of the school week, and administer it when I got home on Friday afternoon. Like the boys at school, I knew what was coming and had all day to dwell on it. I’ve always considered one of the more memorable sensations from my school days the feeling of increasing unease as it got nearer the time for me to go home. I would feel sick in my stomach, weak-kneed, couldn’t concentrate and would need to visit the loo.
When I got home, my mother would send me to my bedroom, where I would try to concentrate on my homework – but usually failing, since the anticipation of a whacking always left me in a real state.
I can say there was some s feeling though – I’ve always found my bottom one of my most erogenous zones, and although I was always aware how much the tanning was going to hurt, I knew that afterwards the intense burning sensation would be stimulating, once the stinging had died down.
Perhaps more significantly, I have always been of a rather submissive nature, and turned on by a degree of humiliation and embarrassment. For example, during the punishment itself, I used to fantasise that I was getting it at school, in front of the class.
When my mother tanned me with ‘the slipper’, it was actually an old, large tennis shoe of my father’s, with a thick rubber sole, kept for the purpose in my wardrobe. I would have to bend down, leaning on the bed whilst raising my bottom for the punishment.
Mother always used her full weight, with the strength of her tennis-trained arm, in applying each stroke. Each was given as hard as she could, while the severity of the tanning was varied by the number of belts given.
If Mother had determined that I needed a hiding, her punishments were never minor affairs – the slippering was always a serious punishment, never a few whacks for show, but always at least a dozen and usually more.
I used to press my face into the bedspread, trying to keep from crying and calling out whilst the slippering was administered. I can well remember how each successive whack would sting more and more, whilst the burning of my bottom grew to an almost unbearable level.
Afterwards she would leave me, lying on the bed and usually having a bit of a cry.
I have to say that compared with the apparent effects of a slippering on boys at school, I always seemed to find it both more painful at the time, and the soreness lasted for longer. Evidently a girl’s bottom is more sensitive, in my case at least.
Once, when Mother had given it me midweek, I can remember how uncomfortable it was sitting on hard classroom chairs the day afterwards. This constant reminder of the recent tanning of my bottom was all part of the punishment – my mother always said that she hadn’t done it hard enough if I wasn’t still sore the next day.
