In the early 1970s, a time when corporal punishment was commonplace in both homes and schools, and ‘Six of the best’ was a frequent phrase, many believed it did no harm. During this period, I was under the care of my Aunty Margaret at my house on the council estate while my parents vacationed in Wales.

Aunty Margaret was a stout woman in her 50s, known for her quick temper. Despite her size, she always wore floral print dresses that seemed a size too big, and her hair was often tied back in a tight bun. I was terrified of her.

One day, my friend Simon suggested we skip school. In the 1970s, school wasn’t the most engaging place. The teachers, though mostly in their late 20s, seemed outdated, and the curriculum was dull. We skipped school and weren’t caught. Encouraged by our success, we did it again two days later. This time, we weren’t so lucky. Turning a corner, we ran into my aunt Margaret, out shopping.

Needless to say, Aunt Margaret was furious.

She immediately began scolding me, recounting the consequences of misbehavior in her day. She said, “In my time, skipping school was unheard of! We respected our teachers and valued education. If we ever dared to play truant, we would be punished severely. You think you can just skip school and get away with it? Well, you’re in for a rude awakening, young man. I’m going to punish you just like they did in my day, and maybe then you’ll learn the importance of school.”

By the time she finished scolding me, and Simon had run off as fast as he could, I knew exactly what awaited me when we got home.

Among Aunty Margaret’s many unappealing traits was her tendency to meddle. Most of my family had this trait, but Aunty Margaret took it to another level.

When we got home, I was sent to the bedroom and told to wait. After what felt like an eternity (about 10 minutes), she came in holding a leather strap. It was a thick, dark brown piece of leather, worn from years of use, with a handle that fit perfectly in her hand. She sat down on a chair, and I had to stand in front of her while she continued to scold me. Then she pulled me across her ample knee.

I received about 12 strokes of the strap over my bottom, with only my shorts for protection. Each stroke was accompanied by a stern lecture. “This is for skipping school,” she said as the first stroke landed, the leather biting into my skin. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions,” she continued, delivering another sharp blow. “Education is important,” she emphasized, the strap coming down again. “You can’t just do as you please,” she lectured, the pain intensifying with each word. “Respect your elders,” she insisted, the strap relentless. “Learn from this,” she commanded, each stroke a painful reminder. By the end, I was a very sorry and tearful boy. I remember thinking the strapping would never end as I sobbed over my aunty’s knee.

After the strapping, Aunt Margaret showed a different side of her personality. Gently, she lifted me off her lap and made me look at her.

She explained that the only reason she had given me the strap was because she cared enough to do so.

This sent mixed messages that I couldn’t understand.

My parents rarely used smacking as a form of punishment, yet Aunty Margaret, who had just caused me so much pain, was telling me she did it because she cared.

In a strange way, I did feel loved and cared for by Aunty Margaret, and my opinion of her changed from that day onward.

One thing was for sure, I never wanted to feel the sting of Aunty Margaret’s strap ever again.