Nanny was a woman of stern demeanor, often reinforcing parental punishments with her own. She was always impeccably dressed in her crisp, white apron over a dark, modest dress. Her hair was always neatly pinned up, and she wore sensible shoes that clicked softly on the wooden floors. She carried herself with an air of authority, and her presence commanded respect from everyone in the household.
We grew up in a wealthy family, residing in a grand 28-room mansion in York, just after the war. The children’s quarters were separate from the adults’ entertainment areas.
The mansion was a majestic edifice, with towering columns at the entrance and an expansive garden that seemed to go on forever. Inside, it was equally splendid, with high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers and walls lined with rich, dark wood paneling. Each room was filled with antique furniture, plush carpets, and ornate decorations that exuded old-world charm and elegance.
Under the large dining room table, there was a button my mother could step on to silently summon the maid during dinner. It was hidden under the rug. The large white tablecloth hung down to the floor, allowing me to crawl underneath unseen.
Although the rest of the UK was still on rations, we always seemed to have plenty of food. This allowed my parents to host lavish parties, filled with an abundance of delicacies and fine wines. The contrast between our opulent lifestyle and the austerity outside our mansion walls was stark, but it was a testament to my parents’ resourcefulness and connections.
I loved being with the guests, performing like Shirley Temple. I resembled her, except I lacked dimples – my brother Jeff had those. I would play the piano for the company, and then Nanny would take us up to the nursery for toast and cocoa before bath and bed. We also had a story read to us at that time.
One evening, Mother and Father were hosting a dinner party. After performing for the guests, I was sent up with Nanny. It was hard to leave, as I received too much attention for my own good. After my bath, I was undressed and told to pick out a story while my brother was being bathed.
Instead, I sneaked down the back staircase and dashed through the pantry to the dining room. The guests were in the parlour finishing their cocktails, about to enter the dining room.
I quickly crawled under the table and scooted to the far end where the silent floor buzzer was. I leaned on it with both hands, pressing hard. The pantry door opened, and the maid stepped into the dining room. She looked around and then went back through the door.
The guests came in. I was thoroughly amused under the table. Mother sat down, and after everyone was seated, the pantry door opened, and the maids began serving dinner. They knew exactly when to come in and out. Just as they left, I pressed hard on the buzzer near my mother’s foot.
In came the maid. “Yes, madam?” she said. “I didn’t call you,” my mother whispered. “The buzzer rang, madam,” she replied. Then she left again. No sooner was she gone than I did it again.
I was laughing hysterically now, though silently. In came the maid, and the whole routine repeated itself. My mother was getting annoyed at the maid, and the maid was getting frustrated. This happened about five or six times.
Then, as my mother looked at my father helplessly, he came over to her side and bent down to look under the table. There I was, stifling a laugh. He hauled me out of there.
I was a real sensation. The guests were roaring, and I fell apart with laughter. My parents were trying to laugh, but I guess they didn’t find it as funny as I thought they would. Nanny was summoned. She was filled with apology, and she had Jeff in her arms, all in his pyjamas with carefully combed, wet hair. She took me from my father and led me up the stairs to the nursery.
Once inside, she closed and locked the door, placing the key in her pocket. She put Jeff in his bed in his adjoining room and took me across the playroom to my door. Inside we went, and she closed the door.
On top of my bureau was a stick, which Nanny had brought with her. She had intended to hang it in my room because I was learning to read. It said ‘Board of Education’ on it. I didn’t know it was there, and I had never seen it before. She told me that she was going to explain what it was and what it was for. I still hadn’t caught on.
There was an armchair in the room, near the window, where she would read to me sometimes, but this time she laid me over the arm, with my knees on the seat of the chair. Then she came around in front of me and told me that this was a ‘bottom smacking stick’ for naughty little girls.
I knew what a smacked bottom was! I felt the fear flash right to my toes. With one hand in the small of my back, Nanny brought that stick down several times on my bottom. Each strike was sharp and stinging, sending waves of pain through my body. I jumped every time. I was really crying by this time.
She stood me up on the chair so that I was nose-to-nose with her, shook me a bit, and said that I had done a very naughty thing by disobeying her and embarrassing my parents like that. She said that I deserved a jolly good smacked bottom.
With that, she took me to a regular, desk chair and placed me over her aproned lap.
With that ‘Board of Education’, she proceeded to light into my backside again and again. Each smack was harder than the last, and I could feel the heat and pain building with every strike. I was crying so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath. I thought I was going to suffocate – I had never experienced such pain.
After what seemed like eternity, she stood me up. I collapsed onto the carpet, dissolved in tears and rubbing my bottom. Nanny put the dreaded stick back on the bureau. Then she told me to get into bed. There would be no toast and cocoa for me, no story and I would have to face my parents in the morning.
I put my thumb in my mouth and clutched my teddy bear and dolly with the lace dress. I sobbed and sobbed. Nanny left the room and left the door open to the playroom. I heard her unlock the nursery door, and I heard my mother come into the room. She and Nanny talked softly there for a few minutes, and then Mother came into my room.
“Amelda, you were very naughty tonight. You disobeyed daddy, mother and nanny. You are in a punishment time now. I am very angry at you.” Then she gave me five soft smacks on my bottom. Each smack was gentle but firm, a reminder of my misbehavior. “Daddy is going to smack you too, so stay right there!”
I was really scared, because daddy’s smacks were harder than mother’s. I waited. Nanny stood me up by the window, and daddy came in. mother had gone back to the guests.
“Gigi, this was a very bad thing, you know.” “I know, I know!” I said in tears. He sat in the armchair, put me over his knees, and gave me five medium smacks on my behind. Each smack was deliberate and strong, making me wince with every strike. Then he carried me to bed and kissed me goodnight.
My memory of this is coloured by what others have told me over the years. I guess it is a family story that won’t die out quickly. I am 56 now and remember it as though it were yesterday.
