This pushing or testing of my mum’s patience was something I would do quite frequently for some reason, even though I knew what the consequences would be. Perhaps I just wanted the attention, even if the result was a sore little bottom!
We were all (my dad as well) sat at the dining table, an old brown wooden one – there wasn’t a lot else in the dining room. It was all pretty sparse but, as I say, times were hard. The war, and rationing, were really not that far behind us at that point.
I was playing with my food – really, just messing around with my meal. Particularly because of our circumstances, this didn’t go down well at all with Mum. She told me to stop messing and to eat my food. Being in a testing sort of mood, I pushed my luck. I was warned again – only this time, I was told that if I didn’t eat my food properly, I would be getting my bottom smacked and put in my sister’s high chair.