I well remember visiting a friend of my mother. I was sent to the playroom with her friend’s daughter, Emily.
The nursery was a typical 1950s room, filled with wooden furniture and simple, yet charming toys. There were wooden blocks, a rocking horse, and a dollhouse with miniature furniture. The walls were painted in pastel colors, and a large window let in plenty of natural light, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
Emily’s parents were upper class, and their home reflected their status. My parents, on the other hand, were working class. The upper class were known to be a little more severe when disciplining their offspring, using such things as canes, straps, and hairbrushes. In contrast, working class parents tended to use the spoon and slipper.
After some naughtiness, Emily’s mother, a woman in her 30s, arrived and announced that she would have to be punished. My mother, also in her 30s, thought that as I was involved I should be included in the punishment. Her friend replied that she didn’t like to punish somebody else’s child, but if Mother assisted with Emily’s punishment, she would return the favour.
Emily’s mother produced a small, thin nursery cane from behind the toy cupboard while my mother held Emily’s hands behind her back and bent her over a table. Emily’s eyes widened with fear, and I could see her trembling. I felt no excitement as I watched – only trepidation about what was to happen to me!
The first stroke landed with a sharp crack, and Emily let out a yelp, her face contorted in pain. The sound of the cane striking her echoed in the room, making my heart race. Emily’s mother gave her three sharp, stinging strokes – each one eliciting a louder cry from Emily. Then it was my turn.
My mother was handed the nursery cane and told to hit quite hard, as I was wearing thick trousers. The first strike sent a jolt of pain through me, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. In spite of this protection and my mother’s inexperience, I was soon joining Emily in tears. The sound of the cane striking my trousers was muffled, but the pain was very real.
Both mothers looked stern but determined, their faces showing no sign of relenting. My mother later acquired a nursery cane and used it on me from time to time. So far as canes go, it was not the most severe cane on the market, but the memory of that day stayed with me for a long time.
