(gap: 2s) In the days of my youth, when the world seemed impossibly vast and the sun shone with a golden promise over the red-brick council estates of Folkestone in Kent, I lived with my family in a modest house. The air was often filled with the cheerful racket of children at play, and the scent of soap powder and freshly washed sheets drifted from the windows. Our home, though humble, bustled with life and simple pleasures, decorated with bold-patterned wallpaper and sturdy, well-used 1970s furnishings. I, Edward, was the eldest of three, and my brother and sister—both younger—looked up to me with a mix of admiration and exasperation, as siblings do. Our mother, a woman of steady resolve and gentle wit, ruled our household with a firm but loving hand, while Father, always hard at work, was more often spoken of than seen, his presence lingering in the stories we shared over tea.
(short pause) It is with a sense of duty that I recount the tale of a most memorable spanking—an episode which, though it stung both body and pride, imparted a lesson that has lasted a lifetime. Such events, dear listener, were not rare in those days, for it was widely believed that a well-timed spanking was the surest cure for youthful impertinence.
(pause) As the eldest, it was my lot to test the boundaries of patience and propriety. My brother and sister, perhaps wiser or simply more cautious, rarely found themselves in such trouble. I sometimes fancied myself the family’s experiment, the one upon whom the rules of parenthood were first tried and tested. Both Mother and Father, being the youngest in their own families, were learning the art of discipline as much as we were learning the art of obedience.
(pause) One bright spring afternoon, when the world outside beckoned with the promise of adventure, I found myself in a most disagreeable mood. My tongue was sharp, my temper short, and I argued with Mother over the smallest things. She warned me again and again to mind my manners, but I, in my youthful stubbornness, was determined to have the last word.
(pause) At last, Mother’s patience wore thin. “Edward,” she said, her voice tired but resolute, “I’ve warned you enough. Go and take your bath at once, and get ready for bed. I won’t hear another word.” Though the clock had only just struck one, I knew better than to argue further. With a heavy heart, I trudged to the bathroom, filling the tub myself—a small act of rebellion, perhaps, but one that brought little comfort.
(short pause) The water was warm, and for a fleeting moment, I fancied myself master of my own fate. Yet, as I soaked, the door creaked open and Mother entered, her face serious. She handed me a pair of clean Y-fronts and announced, “When you’ve finished your bath, Edward, I’ll have to spank you.” The word hung in the air, heavy as a thundercloud. I searched her face for mercy, but found only steady resolve.
(pause) “Mother, surely I’m too old for that,” I pleaded, my voice wavering between bravado and dread. She didn’t argue. “Out you get, dry yourself, and go to your room,” she instructed. I obeyed, my heart pounding as I made my way to the bedroom, which now seemed cold and unfamiliar.
(pause) There she stood, framed in the doorway, her expression unyielding. I busied myself at the dresser, fumbling with my pyjamas, but her command was sharp and clear: “No, Edward. Come here at once.” With leaden feet, I approached. Mother took me firmly by the arm and, with practiced ease, lifted me across her lap, my body draped over her knees, my face pressed into the psychedelic bedspread.
(pause) Then, with a swift and certain hand, she produced her trusty slipper—a most memorable article, and one that all three of us children regarded with a peculiar mix of dread and fascination. It was not just any slipper, but Mother’s favourite: made from sturdy brown leather, its surface worn smooth and shiny from years of use. The sole, thick and slightly flexible, bore the faintest trace of a floral pattern, now faded with time and many a shuffle across the linoleum. The upper was lined with soft, cream-coloured fleece, peeking out at the edges, and the heel was just high enough to give it a certain authority when brandished. I remember, too, the little scuff on the toe—a souvenir, perhaps, from some long-forgotten tumble down the stairs. In the manner of all proper English slippers, it was both practical and formidable, and when Mother wielded it, there could be no doubt as to her intent.
The first smack landed with a sharp crack, and I gasped, more from surprise than pain. But the blows continued, each one stinging more than the last, until my resolve crumbled and tears pricked at my eyes. I bit my lip, determined not to cry aloud, for I fancied myself too old for such displays. Yet the lesson was being delivered with unmistakable clarity.
(pause) At last, the ordeal was over. Mother set aside the slipper and, with a gentleness that belied her sternness, tucked me into bed. “You are to stay here, Edward,” she instructed, “and not move until I say so. If you disobey, you’ll get another spanking.” Thus admonished, I lay on my stomach, the smarting in my backside a constant reminder of my misdeeds.
(pause) The hours crept by, the afternoon sun giving way to the cool hush of evening. I could hear the distant sounds of my family at tea, laughter and conversation drifting through the door, but I was not allowed to join them. Alone with my thoughts, I pondered the folly of my actions and the justice of my punishment.
(pause) Later, Mother returned to check on me. Finding me obedient, she left me to my solitude. I missed tea that night, and when Father returned home, I imagined him and Mother discussing my fate in hushed tones. I remained in bed until morning, the ache in my backside a dull throb, my mind replaying the events of the day.
(pause) With the dawn, Mother entered, her manner softened by the passage of time. She asked what I wanted for breakfast, and I, eager to return to normal, requested a bowl of cereal. I sat at the kitchen table in my underthings, as if nothing had happened, though the lesson lingered in my mind.
(pause) As we ate, Mother spoke quietly of the previous day. “Naughty boys must be corrected, Edward,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. Beneath her words, I sensed a deep and abiding love—a desire to guide me towards better conduct and greater understanding.
