(gap: 2s) In the heart of a bustling hartlepool estate, where the red-brick towers stood proud against the grey northern sky and the air was always tinged with the scent of coal and the distant echo of Mersey buses, there lived a little girl named Barbara. She was seven years old, with eyes as bright as the morning and a mind forever brimming with questions. Barbara’s world was one of hopscotch chalked on fresh concrete, the laughter of friends, and the gentle warmth of her little sister’s hand in hers. She was a good child, as most children are, but like all, she sometimes found herself led astray by the curious tug of temptation.
(short pause) One brisk afternoon, with the wind nipping at their cheeks, Barbara’s mother bundled her and her little sister into their coats and set off for the doctor’s. The waiting room was a world of its own—rows of hard chairs, the low hum of grown-up voices, and, in one corner, a small basket of toys for restless hands. Barbara’s gaze fell upon a tiny wooden horse, its paint chipped but its charm undiminished. Her fingers itched with longing, and, glancing about, she slipped the toy into her pocket, her heart fluttering with a secret thrill. She told herself it was only a small thing, and surely no one would miss it.
(pause) The journey home was filled with the rattle of the car and the soft chatter of her little sister, who was only four and looked up to Barbara in all things. When they were safely inside, Barbara could not resist showing her treasure. Her sister’s eyes widened with delight, and together they played, their giggles filling the car. But mothers, as wise as the old city itself, see more than children ever guess. Mother’s voice, gentle but edged with knowing, broke through their laughter: “What have you got there, Barbara?” Barbara’s heart skipped. She hesitated, then whispered, “I found it,” hoping her fib would float away unnoticed.
(short pause) But a mother’s eyes are sharp, and her love is sharper still. Mother stopped the car, her face calm but serious, and turned to look Barbara in the eye.
She immediately informed me that she had seen it at the doctors, and she knew I had stolen it.
Mother took the toy off me and smacked the top of my leg sharply, which made me cry. She told me I was going to straight to bed when we got home, and that I was in big trouble. I rubbed my stinging leg and cried all the way home, as I hated having to go to bed early.
Once we got home, Mother took me by the arm and dragged me up the stairs to my bedroom. She began to give me a big telling off, and finally said: “Stealing and lying is very naughty and will not be tolerated. It’s time you understood what a real smacked bottom feels like.”
Mother led me over to the bed and bent me over one of her legs. She lifted my dress up and gave me a hard smack on my knickers, on my right Bottom cheek. I remember trying to jump up and put my hand back to rub where she had smacked me, as it really stung. But she held me tight and then spanked me again, giving me about six or seven more smacks. I was crying my eyes out by now and clenching my Bottom to trying to escape some of the sting.
I thought for a minute that Mother had finished but then she said: “What you did today was very serious and naughty, which is why I am punishing you – to make sure you never do this again.”
She ordered me into my nightie, adding that I would go to bed until it was dinner time.
She left and I remember clutching my bottom and rubbing it. I was sobbing, as I had never had a proper sore Bottom like that before.
I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed. My backside continued to sting for the next 30 minutes or so before it wore off. However, I did learn my lesson and I never stole anything again.
