(gap: 2s) In the Belfast of my youth, nestled among the red-brick council estates and the gentle, ever-present drizzle, discipline was as familiar as the morning porridge. In those days, parents believed that a firm hand and a loving heart went together, and that a well-timed spanking was as much a part of growing up as learning to tie one’s shoes. I cannot recall the first time Mother’s hand found its mark, only that it was long before I could read or write. Her hand was swift, but her love was swifter still. When my mischief was especially grave, she would reach for her sturdy slipper, or, on the rarest of days, her heavy hairbrush—each a symbol of her resolve to guide me rightly.
(short pause) On the most serious occasions, after Mother’s lesson had been delivered, Father would take me gently but firmly by the ear, leading me to my small, tidy bedroom. There, I would be told to lie face-down upon my bed, heart thumping with anticipation. Father’s belt, always polished and strong, would come off with a slow, solemn rattle. For every year I had lived, a single, measured swat would land across my backside—a reminder, not of anger, but of the importance of obedience and respect.
(short pause) These lessons were private, spoken of only within our family, and never shared beyond our four walls. That is, until the Sunday after my twelfth birthday—a day that would teach me a lesson I would carry all my life.
(pause) On that Sunday, Mother’s dear friend Mrs. McAllister came to visit, bringing her daughter Alice. Alice and I were the same age, but as different as chalk and cheese. Alice was always neat, her hair brushed to a shine, her shoes gleaming, her manners as polished as her Sunday best. Mother often held Alice up as an example, and though I tried, I always seemed to fall short.
(short pause) I was a tangle of wild hair and scuffed knees, forever compared to Alice, and forever found wanting. Alice was not unkind, but she was quiet and reserved, and our mothers’ friendship meant we were often thrown together, our fates entwined like the washing lines that fluttered between our houses.
(pause) Alice seemed older than her years, tall and composed, while I still looked alot younger. I admired her poise, even as I envied it.
(short pause) One Sunday afternoon, the four of us went to the park. The mothers sat on a bench, sipping coffee from their thermoses, while Alice and I played ball with the other children. Signs everywhere forbade ball games, and the caretaker’s warnings echoed in our ears, but the thrill of the forbidden was too great. We played on, our laughter mingling with the hum of distant traffic.
(pause) Suddenly, the ball bounced over the fence and into the street. Without a thought, Alice darted after it, her neat plaits flying behind her, heedless of the danger.
(short pause) There was a screech of brakes as the first car stopped just in time. The car behind crashed into it, and another followed. In a moment, the street was filled with angry drivers, blaring horns, and raised voices. Alice and I stood frozen, the ball clutched between us, as the police arrived and marched us back to our mothers.
(pause) That evening, a dinner was planned at our house, and our mothers decided that our mischief would not spoil their plans. As soon as we climbed into Mrs. McAllister’s car, we were told, in no uncertain terms, that we would receive a sound spanking—a lesson we would not soon forget. Tears welled in our eyes as we listened to the stern lectures, our mothers’ voices rising and falling like the wind through the estate.
(short pause) I had never been spanked in front of anyone outside my family, and the thought of being punished before Alice—my rival and my measure—filled me with dread. Yet, I could not help but wonder what it would be like to see Alice, the perfect girl, punished as I so often was. I knew her mother spanked her, for our mothers often discussed the merits of a firm hand, but Alice’s mischief was rare.
(pause) When we arrived home, our mothers sat side by side on kitchen chairs and called us in. “Adrianne! Alice!” Their voices were gentle but firm, brooking no argument. Trembling and sniffling, we entered the kitchen, our eyes downcast. I could hear Alice’s quiet sobs beside me, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of sympathy for her.
(short pause) I had not expected Mother to spank me in front of Alice and Mrs. McAllister. At home, my punishments were always private, and public spankings, when they happened, were always over clothes. But this time, there would be no such mercy.
(pause) With a firm but loving hand, Mother drew me over her lap. The kitchen was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the sound of our anxious breathing.
(short pause) Mother spanked with her right hand, while Mrs. McAllister, being left-handed, had Alice draped the opposite way. The two chairs were close enough that, if we dared, we could lift our tear-streaked faces and look at each other.
(pause) Without further scolding, the spanking began. Mother’s hand fell hard and fast, each smack echoing in the small kitchen. I tried to be brave, to take my punishment in silence, but the pain was sharp and relentless. Soon, I was crying out, and Alice’s cries joined mine, high and desperate. In that moment, we were no longer rivals, but two children united in a lesson well learned. Our mothers, too, seemed to become one—each determined to teach a lesson that would not soon be forgotten.
(short pause) After a time, Mrs. McAllister paused, rubbing her aching hand. “May I borrow a wooden spoon?” she asked. Mother nodded, and I was made to stand while she fetched the dreaded implement. Alice, still over her mother’s knee, pleaded for mercy, but none was given. To keep things fair, Mother slipped off her slipper and beckoned me back. The second round began, the blows sharper and more stinging than before.
(pause) At last, the punishment ended. We were left sobbing, our faces buried in our hands, while our mothers returned to their cooking. Each of us was sent to a corner of the kitchen, skirts raised, to reflect on our misdeeds. The lesson was clear: disobedience brought consequences, and those consequences were best remembered with a sore backside and a humble heart.
(short pause) When dinner was ready, we were allowed to lower our skirts and take our places at the table. Our mothers, not without a touch of kindness, placed double cushions on our chairs. I ate my fish fingers and chips in silence, my eyes fixed on my plate, the sting of the spanking still fresh.
(pause) Shortly after nine, the doorbell rang. It was my father, home from work. Mother turned to me, her voice gentle but firm. “There’s your father. Go to your room—he’ll be in to see you in a moment.” I knew what that meant, and fresh tears sprang to my eyes. Mrs. McAllister laid a comforting hand on my arm. “Never mind, Adrianne. Once we get home, Alice will also have something to discuss with her father.” Alice’s face crumpled, and she began to cry anew. I fled to my room, throwing myself on the bed and sobbing into my pillow.
(short pause) Fifteen minutes later, Father entered. I lay on my stomach, my face hidden in the pillows, bracing myself for what was to come. Father said nothing. I heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle, a sound that had haunted my childhood.
(pause) The first swat landed with a crack, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Eleven more followed, each one a sharp reminder of my disobedience. When the twelfth and final blow fell, I almost felt relief. Father left the room without a word, switching off the light as he went. Alone in the darkness, I wept until sleep finally claimed me.
(short pause) From that day, something changed between Alice and me. The next time we met, there was a new understanding between us. I told her about my father’s belting, and she confided that her own father had whipped her legs with a willow rod.
(pause) The memory of that Sunday—of standing side by side, skirts up, over our mothers’ knees, our tears mingling—became a secret bond. We had looked into each other’s eyes and seen not a rival, but a friend. In the end, the lesson was not just about obedience, but about compassion, forgiveness, and the enduring power of shared experience. That day, a very special friendship was born between Alice and me, forged in the gentle fires of discipline and sealed with understanding—a lesson, dear reader, that I hope you will remember always.
