At such moments, I hugged Mrs Bigwither tightly and cried with tears of pure release as I nodded to her various remarks and questions. That was the only part of a spanking I ever liked. Fortunately, both Mrs Wiseman and my Mother also understood how important a long hug was for a naughty child after a spanking.

The other reason I cried more easily than the other older boys in Sunday School stemmed from the psychological effect of being with so many younger ones. I always ended up feeling and acting three or four years younger than I was and enjoying every minute of it. I threw spitballs, played tickling games, passed mischievous notes, drew dirty pictures, tripped unsuspecting playmates, and, in short, joined in a full range of innocent mischief. As an only child, I suppose I took advantage of Sunday School and regressed a little. It was a chance to behave like a real kid without any serious consequences (other than an occasional sore bottom). We were even dressed like young ones in Sunday School, the boys in shorts and bobby socks, the girls in white or pink blouses with little jumpers. Given this isolated, juvenile environment, it was easier to accept the more childish punishment of a spanking which others could hear. Indeed, the semi-public spankings added greatly to the childish atmosphere and made me feel and act even more like a little boy. No wonder I cried like one when spanked.