Although corporal punishment was present at my charming little primary school in Wembley, London, during the 1960s, I managed to avoid it. However, at my senior school, I was regularly caned and slippered, as was the custom for all boys as we entered the 1970s.
I was not chastised at home. However, I did have an ‘aunt’ who would sometimes place me across her knee in play or with mock seriousness – but this was more of a game, and I would often even encourage it.
There was a day, however, when everything changed. Aunt Pam was a devout Christian, and in my teenage years I would sometimes spend weekends or school holidays at her delightful house in Amersham, where she also became something of a tutor to me.
I was, in fact, Jewish, so Pam was not a blood relative, but an ‘auntie’ – a close friend of the family. When I reached the age of confirmation and ‘manhood’ in both Judaism and Christianity, her attitude towards me became rather less playful and decidedly more stern.
I had gathered that she used to cane her son Rory across his bare bottom until he left for university – it was hinted at within the family and used as a vague threat, but while I was intrigued, I did not imagine it would ever apply to me. Indeed, I never truly knew Rory, who was at least ten years my senior. Pam also had a daughter, Jane, but there was never any mention of her being punished in such a manner. Even then, it seemed, corporal punishment was reserved mainly for boys.
I found the atmosphere of discipline that pervaded every aspect of cultural life both exciting and rather alarming. At my primary school, I was once sent to the headmaster for playfully smacking a girl’s bottom – but instead of receiving the cane, as was customary, he simply scooped me up, gave me three firm slaps, and told me never to do it again. I was otherwise a model pupil, so perhaps I had earned some credit.
Before my turn in his study, however, was a girl named Anne, for whom I had a fondness. Our school had a ‘stars and stripes’ system of discipline – stars for good behaviour, stripes for bad. Anne had accumulated three stripes. This usually meant the cane for boys or a traditional over-the-knee spanking for girls. Rumour had it that girls would have their skirts raised and be smacked on the seat of their undergarments, though no girl I knew would admit to this.
Sometimes, an entire class could receive a ‘double stripe’ for rowdiness. Then, if one received a single stripe on top of that, one was in serious trouble. It seemed rather unfair, but this was Anne’s predicament. I had also accumulated three stripes in this way myself a few times, but for some reason escaped with only a reprimand.
Anne, however, was punished on this occasion – I could hear her being disciplined as I awaited my own fate. This experience awakened in me a fascination with the idea that a pretty, innocent girl could be punished by an authority figure.
To see a girl’s undergarments was unheard of in everyday life, so for it to be sanctioned by authority was almost akin to awaiting a most serious consequence, where one was not only punished, but also made to feel quite vulnerable. It was both thrilling and frightening. The adults who usually protected you could also punish you. This kindled in me my first great curiosity in the shadowy world of discipline – the desire to witness someone being punished.
My second great curiosity in this peculiar realm was to be punished myself by a stern, no-nonsense older lady. This was kindled in me by Aunt Pam, with the assistance of her friend Doreen, who lived with her.
One day, Aunt Pam sat me down, quite out of the blue, and announced that she was going to introduce me to her ‘little helpers’. She then produced a genuine crook-handled school cane, a large black tennis shoe, and a wooden cheeseboard with a long handle. These, she explained, would help instil some discipline in me now that I was a teenager.
I remember smiling, not quite believing her, yet feeling a curious mixture of disbelief and excitement. I asked her if it was true that she had caned Rory across his bottom, but she simply told me that it was none of my concern – what mattered now was my own behaviour.
I replied that I was too old to be punished in such a way, and asked what would happen if I simply refused, as she was neither my parent nor my teacher. This was rather bold of me, but Aunt Pam replied that I was certainly not too old to be punished. “Boys are at their naughtiest in their teens – they require more discipline, not less, as they grow older!” she declared.
I believe I blushed at this, and then she added, “As for resisting, I can always ask Doreen to assist me.” At this, a mischievous smile appeared on her lips and Aunt Pam said, “You know what? I think you have earned a demonstration right this moment of how things will be from now on!”
I protested, laughing, for I had done nothing wrong. But Aunt Pam’s face remained serious. “That is not for you to decide, Asher. I will determine when you require discipline. For one thing, your school reports clearly show that you must improve your efforts.”
“I am going to give you a sample of each of my little helpers – three with the cane, three with the slipper, and three with the board.” “You cannot make me!” I protested, but with that she called Doreen into the room.
“This very naughty boy requires a sound spanking and he is refusing to obey me – can you assist me, please?” I am certain Aunt Pam deliberately used language that made me feel quite small. This angered me and I became rather sullen and sulky.
Doreen seemed only too pleased to help. “What would you like me to do?” she asked. “Well, let us see how co-operative he becomes,” Aunt Pam replied, “we shall begin with the cane.”
I held out my hand, though with some reluctance, but Aunt Pam said, “You silly boy! I am not going to cane your hands – there is far too much risk of injury, especially as you play the piano. There is only one place where naughty boys should be punished, and that is on the bottom.”
She took hold of my chin and looked me in the eye. “You have the face of an angel and hands that are a gift from God. Now let us see if you have a bottom that the Lord made for discipline, shall we?”
It was then that I was pulled across Aunt Pam’s knee, quite in a daze. The living room, usually so warm and inviting, seemed to grow quieter, as if the very walls were holding their breath. The patterned wallpaper and the sunlight streaming through the window made the scene feel oddly unreal, as though I had stepped into a storybook moment where time slowed and every detail was magnified.
My face was now close to the floor and I remember clearly the scent of the carpet, mingled with the faint aroma of tobacco as Doreen lit a cigarette. My heart thudded in my chest, a mixture of embarrassment, apprehension, and a strange sense of anticipation. I could hear the gentle ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, and the distant sound of birdsong outside, both oddly at odds with the drama unfolding within.
“Why have you not taken his underpants down?” Doreen asked with interest. “Oh my dear, that is far too improper.” “But you used to cane Rory on his bare bottom?” “Ah, that is different – he is my son, whereas this one is merely in my care. I have no wish to see what he has down there! But with his underpants pulled up tightly, we have a perfect view. Now we shall see who is in charge, young man!”
Aunt Pam began to spank me slowly, but firmly and deliberately, each smack on my bottom making it sting smartly. The first smack startled me, and I gasped, more from surprise than pain. Aunt Pam’s hand was steady and unhurried, and after each smack she would keep her hand in place, as if to savour the moment and ensure the lesson was not lost. I felt a flush of shame, but also a curious sense of being cared for, as though this sternness was a form of affection, however peculiar it seemed at the time.
After a while, Aunt Pam began to concentrate on the lower part of my bottom. “This is where a boy sits, so he will feel it very sharply for a while,” I heard her tell Doreen. “Hold his underpants tight while I give him his last ones.” The slaps echoed around the room and my bottom tingled all over, contrasting with the cool air wafting around my thighs and lower back. I was acutely aware not only of the punishment itself but also the intimacy between myself, Aunt Pam and Doreen. Doreen, for her part, watched with a mixture of amusement and approval, occasionally offering a word of encouragement to Aunt Pam or a gentle admonition to me to “take it like a good boy.”
The smacks stopped for a moment, but then Aunt Pam asked Doreen to pass her the board. I received three firm whacks as promised, one on my left, one on my right, and one across my bottom. Each one landed with a crisp, resounding sound, and I could not help but wriggle a little, though I tried my best to remain stoic. The board was heavier than Aunt Pam’s hand, and the sensation was quite different – a deep, smarting ache that lingered long after the sound had faded.
Finally, Aunt Pam asked Doreen to give me three strokes of the cane, while she continued to hold me firmly over her knee. Doreen obliged. The cane strokes were not too hard, but they certainly stung. I bit my lip, determined not to cry out, and felt a curious pride in my own endurance, even as my eyes prickled with unshed tears. Aunt Pam’s grip on my waist was gentle but unyielding, and I sensed that she was watching me closely, measuring my response and perhaps even approving of my fortitude.
I was kept over her knee for a few minutes when it was all over. “You can see he has a very sore bottom, cannot you, even through his underpants?” Doreen remarked. I felt a strange mixture of relief and humiliation, but also a sense of having passed some unspoken test. After a short lecture, I was finally allowed to stand and told to put the kettle on and make some tea. My legs felt wobbly, and my cheeks were hot, but there was a curious lightness in my heart, as though a great weight had been lifted.
At last, she turned to me, all smiles, and said, “Well, Asher, I think we have an understanding now, do we not? And now you have met my little helpers!” The atmosphere in the room seemed to brighten, and even Doreen gave me a kindly pat on the shoulder as I made my way to the kitchen.
Looking back, of course, all that encounter did for me was kindle a desire for even more discipline – and it was indeed forthcoming, not often but memorably, from Aunt Pam and Doreen.
